Chapter 1: Got You on my Mind
Notes:
TW: Mentions of Child Abuse, Self-Harm & Panic Attack
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
August 7th, 2024
5:18pm
The Tucker Residence
The only light in the dark of Stan’s room was the fading sun over the hillside facing his window. It bled in through the blinds, lighting up strands of his hair as he tapped his fingers against the desk where he sat. The wood against his fingers squeaked with the polish that had been dripped over it to keep it shining. It was times like these that made him sit and think.
The years that passed had proved to be long, a painful reminder that struck him hard every month. It was something that was drenched in the summer sun and fell beside the fallen leaves of Autumn. It was something that froze in the freshly laid snow of Winter and dragged in the mud of Spring. Then, it would cycle back around. A painful reminder that struck him hard. He wasn’t sure when the cycle would break away from him, he didn’t even know if it would .
Holidays felt dull in the day and birthdays started to feel pointless. But, despite it all, Stan found himself smiling again. Hard days came and went, but they seemed to become less likely to happen now. Everything was falling in place the way it used to, perhaps even better. The sun was starting to shine over the horizon, the breeze didn’t prick and pinch at his skin and the air wasn’t so empty anymore.
Peace is almost in his hand, but just barely out of his reach. He knows he’ll make it. He has too. He knows he’ll make it out and he knows that Kyle would be proud, that’s not something he’s willing to give up.
And now, the nightmares have stilled. The ones crafted perfectly in the back of his skull, the ones that left a creeping sense and made him wake with a fleeting breath. His mothers face was something that he knew would always curse him, the bottles with his name plastered on them would crave guilt deep within his bones, and the Vodka would be enough to stop the drinking habits he inherited from his father. But maybe he didn’t need that reminder every time he closed his eyes to rest.
When they stopped, it was something so abrupt. He hadn’t been expecting it, and he certainly wasn’t ready for the new ones that would come through. It was a place of torture, sleep for him was something he found as punishment. He wasn’t ready for them to grow worse. But when had he ever been ready?
He thinks grief had worked differently when he was a child. When he watched his mother die, he blamed himself. He never knew how to cope with the knowledge of what she did, how she did it, and that he was the one to witness her final breath. He felt like he should’ve done more, even when he knew she was too far gone to save. He just couldn’t help it. Blaming himself was easy—his father thought so, too.
But, when he watched Kyle die, he wanted to blame everyone else. He isn’t so sure why he never had nightmares of his father. Maybe he knew, deep down, that he never truly cared for Randy. But that makes him feel selfish. That makes him feel like a poor excuse of a son. He thinks that's poetic in a way.
A poor excuse of a son crafted perfectly for a poor excuse of a father. A family forged in hell. Satan's favorite game. Maybe his childhood was nightmare enough. But when he thinks about it, maybe he never truly had one. He never got to be an innocent child, he was robbed of that. And, because of it, the nightmares made from the rattle of a bullet, something that jerked Kyle back, stumbling on weak legs; those nightmares were something that he could never grasp long enough to remember. He thinks that's okay. He wants the memories of how happy they were. He doesn’t want to see what his brain has conjured up.
He knew that they would always start the same: A nice breeze near Stark's Pond, trees giving him shade from the sun sitting above his head, and Kyle sitting with him on a bench. It always felt perfect. But, from what he’s learned, perfect things are always doomed to end.
There would be something loud, something that burned his ears till they began to bleed. He would fall from where he was sat beside Kyle, weak and frail, unable to help as he covered his head. Something would choke, maybe it was Kyle, maybe it was himself. A screech of help called from the distant, and was it blood that he felt on his ankles or was it just the pond? He was never sure. Sometimes he’d look up, sometimes he’d keep his head down.
They were always different, and maybe that’s why it was harder for him to remember. But, the situation itself was different. Everything was different. Navigating through it proved difficult, but change had never been his friend anyway.
For a while, he blamed others for what happened. He blamed Kenny for telling to go to the police. He blamed his aunt and uncle for not telling him that his father was out. He blamed God for giving him such a cruel life. And he blamed Craig for not getting shot that night. It felt wrong to blame them, though.
Kenny was only trying to help him in the ways others had failed to help him. He had always been there for Stan, he was trying to make things easier. It wasn’t fair to pin the blame on him. His aunt and uncle were only doing their best, how could he blame them for something they didn’t know how to handle? He couldn’t. And, when he screamed out to God, middle finger to the sky, the clouds darkened and he was drenched by the rain. He sat, sobbing on the concrete until his voice went dry. But, then, he felt a sudden peace, like he would never be alone. He never cursed God's name again after that. And Craig did everything he could, he knew that. How dare he blame him for not getting shot? He didn’t want to wish those things on his cousin, and he didn’t, he just missed Kyle so dearly that he let his judgement get clouded by grief.
Then, there was his father. Blaming him came naturally. Blaming him was easy. Blaming him felt right . But he couldn’t help the excuses he made up in his mind for him. He grew up doing it, it was what his brain had been trained to do. Surviving meant taking the blame for what his father did, maybe even blaming others for it.
It took him a while to see the bigger picture. It took him even longer to understand what it meant. But, when he did, everything clicked in his mind. His father was a man of mistakes. He was someone who refused to take responsibility. He hurt others and he was okay doing that. Stan was just the person who took the brunt of it. Randy didn’t care. Everything made sense to him again when he accepted that.
And, now, it’s all left him alone. Maybe it was accepting it, or maybe it’s because it’s been so long, but it doesn’t matter to him. It’s been a year since the last time he’s had such an awful nightmare, it’s been a year since he’s dreamed at all. Sleep—for the first time in his life—was easy. Bags didn’t stick to the bottom of his eyes and he didn’t move so sluggishly anymore.
He didn’t know why that knowledge made it easier to finally take care of himself again, but it did. Showers came every morning without any struggle. It was something he could get through without getting lost in his head. Eating dinners started to feel natural, started to feel like it was something he was allowed to do again. He felt healthy and he felt good.
And that makes him sit and wonder why he’s struggling to feel as such today.
October 13th, 2016
Stan held tightly to Kyle’s hand, squeezing it every so often as they walked along the dirt path, side by side. Kyle liked it when Stan held his hand, like it when he squeezed it. It was something that kept him out of his head. Stan knew that, but he was never entirely sure why.
They walked in silence, listening to the bugs hidden within the grass creak and chirp. Stan liked it, he liked the silence, the peace within nature. It was a God given gift he took for granted sometimes.
He liked to look up at the stars within the dark ocean above them. His cousin was obsessed with it, he knew everything about space. Stan knew he could ramble on and on for hours about it if he was allowed. But Craig seemed to hate him, a cycle within his family he was familiar with. And, as much as he was interested to learn more about it, Craig wasn’t the type of person to talk with people he hated.
He looked over to Kyle, watching the way he counted in three under his breath at each tap of his foot, eye twitching when he stumbled over a stick or a leaf. He clicked his tongue every once and a while, squeezing back at Stan's hand. It was like he needed to do it, like something bad would happen if he didn’t. Stan didn’t quite understand why.
The longer his eyes lingered, the more he studied his features. His curled hair was bright in the light of the moon, something that made the freckles along his nose beautiful. He was something dipped in honey, something sweet and Stan craved more. His green eyes were always so captivating and his lips looked soft.
Stan forced his eyes away, face burning red as he swallowed harshly. He didn’t like staring too long at his best friend. It made for awkward moments and thoughts that he couldn’t bury any longer. It’s this feeling that drove him and Wendy apart, even when they were already drifting. She had her moments, and he knows it, but she could never measure up to Kyle.
After a few more feet, they drifted off the path and towards a bench sitting before the pond. The grass tickled at their ankles, and it was bothering Stan. He wanted to reach down and itch it away, he wanted to rip the grass from the ground for doing such a thing. He wanted to walk quicker so he could sit already and pull his feet away from it, but he kept at Kyle’s pace. He didn’t like rushing him.
When they finally got to the bench, they both sat on the rusted metal. Stan reluctantly let Kyle’s hand go, pulling his legs up and crossing them over. He stared out to the water, watching as it moved along with the blowing wind, hitting against the mud and slowly falling back.
He looked up, smiling at the stars that shined brightly back at him. He liked it out here. This quiet, this peace, it was what he needed more of in his life. The chaos was catching up to his sleep, to his drinking habits. But out here, sitting beside Kyle, everything felt like it was going to be okay. It felt like he wasn’t alone anymore.
“I think Ken should be getting his cast off tomorrow.” Kyle broke the silence, leaning back against the bench as he looked up at the stars with him.
“That’s good.” Stan commented, “I can’t believe that idiot broke it on a swing set. Like… How?!”
Kyle chuckled, “He’s a special kind of kid, that’s for sure.”
Stan hummed and they let the silence start to bubble up again. It was something far from awkward, and Stan liked that. He liked how comfortable he felt around Kyle. It made him want to be around him all the time.
“So…” Kyle started, making Stan look back down at him, Kyle already looking his way, “You wanna tell me why you dragged me out here, or are we gonna just sit here in silence for another two hours?” Kyle folded his arms with that lopsided grin that Stan loved.
He looked down to his knees, “I just didn’t want to be home.”
“Is it… Is it, like… bad again?”
Stan pulled his knees up to his chest and sniffled, pulling at his lip for a minute before he spoke, “Dad… he, uhm…”
Kyle put a hand atop Stans, “Yeah?”
Stan didn’t like talking about his family, but mostly about his father. He never had and it was a struggle to get him to open up about it. Kyle didn’t like to push, he always felt wrong doing so, but he just wanted to know how he could help him. “He sold my guitar…” It was spoken under a hushed breath, but Kyle heard it.
“What?”
Stan’s eyes watered, wiping away the stray tears against his shoulder before they reached his cheek, “He, uhm, he said he doesn’t think it’s gonna get me anywhere. He said having it is giving me bad ideas and he thinks it’s setting me up for failure.”
“God, that’s such bullshit.” Kyle scoffed, rolling his eyes as he rubbed at his forehead with his free hand. He did that often when he was annoyed, and when Stan’s father was their topic, he was always rubbing at it.
“Maybe he’s right.” Stan’s voice was weak, but it held volumes, “M-Maybe I should just l-let it go…”
Kyle squeezed at Stan’s hand, leaning in closer to get him to look at him, but Stan kept his head down. “Stan, you have always had a talent for this. You’re fathers just a dick because he doesn’t have a talented bone in his body.”
Stan hummed, laying his cheek on his knee and looking away towards the trees, “I don’t, uhm, I don’t really wanna, like…”
“Talk about it?” Kyle finished, sighing when Stan nodded. He never wanted to talk about it. “Okay” Kyle whispered with a nod, keeping a smile on his face despite the fact that Stan wasn’t facing him, “Well, is there anything you do want to talk about?” He asked, repeating the last few words to himself in a hushed tone two more times. He did that often, but Stan didn’t comment on it.
“No…” Stan whispered, picking at his fingers, “I just want to keep my mind off it, if that’s okay?”
“Yeah, that’s okay.”
They talked for a while in the open, their laughs echoing in the empty space that was crowded in by the trees. They rambled on about school, grades, and plans for the future—something Stan never had high hopes for.
Kyle had perfect grades and he was set on Harvard, wanting to fill in his fathers shoes and become a lawyer. But Stan could see right through him. He knew he wasn’t getting sleep because he was trying to speed through assignments, trying to get perfect scores on everything. He was working himself to death, and Stan just wanted him to slow down.
Stan, on the other hand, didn’t have his future planned. He didn’t want another thing to worry about along with dealing with his family now. There was only one thing he knew for a fact: He was getting the hell out of here. He was going to leave this town and never look back, and he was taking Kyle with him. He wanted Kenny to tag along, but he would never want to leave Karen and Kevin.
“So… What, uh, what happened between you and Wendy?” Kyle finally asked and Stan stiffened.
“Uhm…”
“I just- Y’all broke up, what, in August?”
“Yeah…”
Kyle frowned, fiddling with his fingers, “You never really told me why. I’m just… I was curious ‘cause that seems like something you would’ve told me about, you know? I’m your best friend.”
“Y-Yeah…” Stan’s face began to burn as leaned back in his chair and itched at his arms, “Well, I, uhm…”
His nails dug in deeper, scratching more rapidly until Kyle grabbed his wrists, pulling his hands away, “Don’t do that.”
“Huh?” Stan looked down at his hands, “Oh… Wait, why? It doesn’t really hurt an-”
Kyle shook his head and Stan stopped talking, “Because you’ll make it a habit and then it will .”
Stan didn’t understand, but he decided not to ask any further, “Okay.”
“So…” Kyle pushed, letting Stan's wrist go as he scooted in closer, “What happened?”
Stan rolled his eyes, his legs falling to the ground, “God, what didn’t happen?”
Kyle chuckled at that, “Okay, fair, but what caused this? It just came out of nowhere, you know?”
Stan's face burned red, itching at the back of his head, “I-I… Why do you care so much?”
Kyle pushed his shoulder against Stans, “Because you’re my best friend and you really liked this girl. I want to know what happened and make sure you’re okay. You know, like a good friend .”
“I’m fine, Ky.”
Kyle hummed, folding his lips in, “Yeah, see, I don’t really believe you.”
“Jesus Christ…” Stan groaned, rubbing his face with both his hands, “It just didn’t work out, okay?!” Kyle stared at him with a raised brow, silently telling him he knew there was more than that. “Okay! Okay…” Stan sighed, letting himself fall against Kyle’s side, “I know you and the guys were, like, totally against us dating.”
“Well, I wouldn’t-” Stan gave him a look and Kyle stopped, “Yeah, okay, yeah, very much so, yes.”
Stan chuckled, “Yeah. I don’t know, I just thought she was cool! And, I really liked her, but God , she’s so annoying.” He groaned, letting himself relax against Kyle, “She acted as if I was my fucking dad.”
Kyle stiffened, “What?”
“I, uhm, yeah… S-She kept saying it every time we fought and she knew she was losing. She knew it got under my skin, and I couldn’t help but apologize until I was practically begging for forgiveness.”
“Oh that fuckin’ bitch.” Kyle wrapped his arm around Stan's shoulders, holding him tightly.
Stan hummed, picking at his nails subconsciously, “Yeah… She was also, like, super controlling.”
“I remember you yelling that at her face.”
“I didn’t know what else to do!” Stan defended with a groan, “She was drawing in a crowd a-and I panicked!”
Kyle laughed, “It’s okay! Honestly, it was funny as hell!”
“Not to me.” Stan chuckled.
“You’re laughing!”
“Because you’re laughing!” At that, they both laughed for a while, soaking in each other's company. It felt good. It felt right .
After a moment, the laughing dialed down. Kyle cleared his throat and Stan looked up to his face, “So, is that… all?”
Stan pulled himself away, sitting up straight beside him. Kyle knew there was more, he always knew when it came to him. There wouldn’t be anything Stan could do to hide that.
He pondered on it for a moment, thinking it over. It might be good to get it out. It might be good to tell someone. The feeling that rattled in his head had been haunting him for so long, and maybe he just needed to tell someone. Even if it was to the person who caused those harsh feelings. He swallowed harshly as the sweat started to drip down the back of his neck, “Actually, I, uhm… I like someone else…”
Kyle jolted forward, “Really?!”
Stan sunk deeper into himself, suddenly feeling that confidence leave him. He leaned forward, holding the bottom of the bench. He didn’t look at Kyle, keeping his gaze trained on the grass, fearing it would give himself away if he looked at him. “Yeah, I do.” He mumbled.
“Who is she?!” Kyle pushed. There was something in his voice, something hidden under the enthusiasm, something Stan couldn’t pinpoint. It didn’t matter though, nothing he did would make it the way he wanted. He had accepted that.
“Well, uhm, he goes to our school…” Stan whispered, trailing off as he squeezed his eyes closed. His heart was racing out of his chest and his breathing was unsteady. He couldn’t look at him, afraid of what he’d see. He didn’t know what Kyle would say, didn’t know what to say himself, so he waited.
The silence dragged long between them and Stan just wanted to crumble down right then and there. He almost sobbed, but he held himself firm besides the slight shake in his figure. He bit down at his wobbling lip, holding his breath.
Kyle’s hand made its way back to his and Stan felt himself physically relax, forcing himself to finally look over at him. He was smiling, and Stan felt he could cry for a whole new reason now.
“That’s okay.” Kyle whispered, a promise that would remain unbroken. Tears welled up in Stan’s eyes as he choked, covering his mouth, “It’s okay, Stan.”
A sob escaped from his lips, and then it all came pouring out. He let himself collapse against Kyle's chest, holding tightly to his shirt. It was something loud, echoing in the trees, bouncing in his ears. It was painful, but it felt good. His chest was crushed and his eyes stung, but Stan was relieved.
It took him a while to calm himself, laying on Kyle as he whispered in comforting words in his ears. The silence brought through the trees was broken from small cries and a bundle of sniffles every now and then. He grew tired, eyes heavy as he laid on him. He could sleep here. He hated sleeping, but he felt safe enough to consider it.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” Stan muttered, sucking in a breath between his teeth.
Kyle shook his head, “You didn’t owe me that.”
Stan pulled away, looking up at him, “I’m still sorry. You’re my best friend, I feel like you should know.”
“That’s not what being a best friend is.” Kyle mumbled, “I mean, you didn’t know. But, then again, you’re oblivious as hell.”
Stan looked at him with a raised brow and tilted head, “What?”
Kyle chuckled, “Stan.” He made eyes at him and Stan just stared, trying to connect the wires in his head until something lit up.
“What?!” Kyle chuckled, and Stan couldn’t help but chuckle along with him, “Since when?!”
“Since always?”
Stan rolled his eyes, but his smile didn’t falter, “Oh, shut up.”
The laughing died down after a moment and they were just left looking at each other. And Stan couldn’t help but stare, and maybe him admiring Kyle was why he didn’t realize Kyle was staring back. The first thing he always noticed when he looked at Kyle were his eyes. He loved them. They were so bright despite how dark it was outside. The green was something he grew addicted to. The green was something he could stare into all day.
Green had quickly become his favorite color.
The red of his hair was something so beautiful, something he loved to see in the light of a setting sun. He loved how soft it was, something he loved to play with. It was beautiful and he loved that Kyle was growing it out longer. His nose was hooked, something he got from his mother, something he hated. But Stan loved it. It fit his jaw line. It wasn’t something most people could pull off, but Kyle did it so well. Freckles sprinkled his face, and Stan wanted to kiss each one of them.
His eyes lingered, dropping down to soft, pink lips. He found himself leaning forward, unable to stop himself as he let his own collide with Kyles. He reached his hands up to Kyle's cheeks as he closed his eyes, rubbing his thumb against them. Kyle stiffened with shock, eyes wide, but he didn’t pull away.
After a moment, he closed his eyes and sank into it, his own hand reaching up to Stan’s face. But, when he tried to deepen the kiss, Stan panicked. It was as if he just realized what he had done.
A paranoid sense rose in him and he jumped back, sliding off the bench and stumbling to his feet with his hands up to his hair, “S-Shit, Ky, I-I’m sorry… I didn’t- I wanted- I mean-” His breath caught in his throat, teaching up to hold his throat.
He couldn’t handle it.
“Shit, Stan!” Kyle jumped up with him, hands up like he was approaching a wounded animal, trying to tell it he meant no harm.
He couldn’t handle it .
Fucking idiot!
He hates me!
He’s always going to hate me now!
Stan whined, lips wobbling. Kyle took a step forward, but Stan took a step back. He stumbled, his knees buckling from under him. He fell to the ground, sinking in on himself.
I deserve this.
“Let me help you!” He looked up to Kyle. He was kneeling before him, worry plastered on his face, “Please, Stan!”
Stan looked up at him, watered eyes and a strangled gasp, and that was all Kyle needed. He leaned forward, reaching into the pocket of Stan's jacket, pulling out the inhaler that was trapped in there. Stan was too freaked out to follow along with what Kyle was doing, too trapped in his head to understand its importance.
Dad was right.
I mess everything up.
He felt the inhaler against his lips, and then, the air flew to his lungs once again. He sighed with relief as Kyle pulled away, removing the hand from his throat.
“Stan?”
Tears were still falling as he looked up to meet Kyle's eyes, “I-I’m sorry, Ky… I-I… I really like you, but it wasn’t right to just-”
Kyle placed his lips against Stans, shutting him up quickly as he held his face. Stan squeaked, but quickly fell into it. When they pulled away again, Stan looked up with a sparkle in his eyes.
“It’s okay.” Kyle mumbled, pressing his forehead against Stan’s, “I really like you, too.”
“Yeah,” Stan whispered, “I’m starting to get that.”
Kyle shrugged, “You’re oblivious, so I just had to make sure.”
“Oh, Stanny boy!” The loud voice calling from the hall snapped Stan away from his head, making him turn away from his desk to the cracked open door. He watched as Kenny kicked it in, a smile on his face as he pulled off his jacket.
“Stanny boy?” He questions with a chuckle in his throat, folding his arms, “Where the hell did that come from?”
“It came from deep within my soul.” Kenny sighed dramatically with his hand over his heart, making Stan laugh.
Kenny laughed along with him, letting his jacket fall to the ground with the piles of Stan's clothes. He jumped to the bed, his back cracking slightly as he grunted. He dug his face into the freshly washed and baby soft comforter, laying on his arms as he screamed into them. His frustration was muffled, but it dragged.
“You good?” Stan chuckled, standing from his desk as he made his way over, crossing his arms over his chest.
“I’m so fucking tired.” Kenny turned his head, looking at Stan as he sat beside him. He couldn’t help the burn on his face at the sight of Stan looking down at him with that bright smile on his face. It always made Kenny weak. It always did something to him.
Stan’s teeth were so perfectly placed, bright and white. Kenny’s were crooked, stained by the coffee he drank to keep himself awake at work. Stan’s hair had been freshly cut, something that framed his face beautifully. Kenny’s hair fell past his shoulders, his bangs almost over his eyes. Stan’s choice in clothes was something unique, something that fit him so well. Kenny’s choice in clothes was what he could afford, saving everything else for Karen.
They were far from the same, but Kenny’s love for him only grew as the days, weeks, months and years passed them by. It was something he was desperate to pursue, to kiss his lips and hold him in his arms, but he wouldn’t dare. Stan had been through enough. He needed a friend, not a lover.
“Ken?” Kenny hummed and Stan put the back of his hand against his forehead, “You feelin’ okay? Your face is all red and you feel hot.”
Kenny pulled away and sat up quickly, unable to stop smiling as he hid his face behind his hand, “Yup! I’m great!”
“Sure.” Stan chuckled, letting himself fall against Kenny’s shoulder, “How was work today?”
He shrugged, “Same old. Some dumbass came in unsure why his window wouldn’t roll down in the back seats when his fuckin’ child lock was on.”
“Sounds like a nightmare.”
“It is.” Kenny sighed, “The people in this town are so stupid. If I didn’t need the job, I would’ve quit by now.”
Stan looked at him with a raised brow, “I-I thought you liked workin’ down there?”
“I do! I just hate stupid people!”
Stan nodded his head at that, “Yeah, that makes sense.”
“Yeah. But I could never hate you.”
“Than- Hey!” Stan chuckled, hitting Kenny over the head, unable to suppress the chuckle that echoed through his throat when he heard Kenny giggle.
Kenny ducked below the second hit, wrapping his hands around Stan's torso and pushing them both down against the comforter, laughing along with each other. Kenny’s head was against Stan's chest, listening in to the heart best as he looked up at Stan's face. He always looked so pretty when he laughed.
He found quickly that he could live like this forever. Laying beside Stan, hearing him laugh like he meant it with that snort he always tried to hide. It was perfect, even if Stan wasn’t his. Stan was happy, and that was enough.
Notes:
I have returned!
And I will be going back into my hole for another two weeks while I finish up my finials and go back home and do other human type shit!
So I'll see you then!
Chapter 2: Duality
Chapter Text
August 10th, 2024
11:23am
The Tucker Residence
“Fuckin’ hell, man! How many sweatshirts does a guy need?!” Stan asked with his hand leaving the knob of Craig’s closet door. He didn’t know how he ended up in Craig’s room, helping him pack up boxes and bags. He never really agreed to help him pack for college, it just happened. Craig was meant to leave in four days, and Stan was stuck trying to figure out how he’d pass the time. If he was being honest, he really didn’t want Craig to go back. But he also hated himself for feeling so reliant on him, so he didn’t say anything about it.
Realistically, he knew he’d have stuff to do to pass the time. He was doing online schooling with the community college down the street. It seemed to be the easiest thing for him, something that seemed small. It made things simple. And he knew that he was too in his head to handle the long, drawn out lectures Craig would constantly complain about.
He also had his guitar back. He hadn’t found the time to use it. He didn’t have the strength to use it. But he was going to change that. He was determined to catch himself up with what he used to know, his father be damned.
And, most importantly, he had Kenny. Despite the long hours Kenny was dumped with, he always made time for Stan. They usually hung out in the afternoons on weekends and Mondays, and at night throughout the rest of the week. Kenny preferred staying at his apartment with Karen, but he was always happy to make the trip to the Tuckers if it meant hanging out with Stan.
Craig rolled his eyes with a sigh, making Stan get out of his head. Craig folded his shirts neatly against his knee, only to ruin it as he shoved each one deep into the bag in front of him, trying to make as much room as he could, “They’re comfortable and it’s fuckin’ freezing down here. I hate the damn cold. It pisses me off .”
“Yeah, I can see that.” Stan commented, “But, even then, you only ever wear one!” He complained, reaching into the closet.
“I wear what I feel like wearing and I have back-ups for when I can’t.”
Stan scoffed, shuffling around as he pulled one off its hook. It was a forest green with black, fancy letters on the sleeves that he didn’t even bother reading over, “This one isn’t even yours!”
Craig stopped what he was doing to look over at the sweatshirt in Stan’s hands, biting his lip for a moment as a small blush passed through his face, he looked back down to his bag, “Wh-What, it’s a crime to wear your boyfriend’s sweatshirt now?”
“It is when he’s been blowing up my phone for the past month asking me if I had seen it anywhere.” Stan chuckled, throwing it at Craig's head, “How do you even fit in it? You basically tower over him like the freak of nature you are.”
“Oh, shut up.” Craig said, unable to suppress the chuckle in his throat, “He has bigger arms. He works out more than I ever will. He also likes to wear his sweatshirts a size too big.”
Stan hummed, turning back to pull out more sweatshirts, “I thought he stopped going to the gym?” He asked, laying each item over his arm, feeling the pile as it started to grow heavier by the weight.
“He did. At least, for a while.” Craig shrugged grunting as he pulled the zipper of his overfilled back to close it, “But he started going back in our second semester. Says it ‘ helps clear his mind ’, whatever the fuck that means.” Stan knew what that meant. Craig did too. It was just easier to pretend they didn’t.
“Whatever. His grades got so much better and he doesn’t eat like a bird anymore, so I guess it’s good for him. If it works, it works.” Craig shrugged, but Stan saw through him.
Tweek always ate in small proportions, it’s the way he was, and it always worried Craig, despite him never talking about it. And new situations stressed him out, making him unable to process information correctly. Craig was always worried about him. But, now, Craig was more than proud of him.
Stan turned back around, bringing what he had over to the bed and letting it all fall on top of the comforter, a few falling to the floor. “Does this mean he’s gonna get back into boxing again?”
“Maybe. I just hope if he does, his fights don’t land on the same days as my baseball games.”
“Yeah, that would suck.”
“Yup. Watching him beat the shit out of guys who think they’re a God is, not only funny, but also so fuckin’ hot.”
“Okay, gross.” Stan’s face twisted as Craig chuckled dryly, pulling more bags out from under his bed.
It took Craig a long while to pick the school he wanted to go to. He spent so much time going through every option until his father finally told him to just go to Arkansas State University. The scholarship they offered to get him to play baseball for their team was still standing, and only an idiot would pass that up. Craig realized that after his father explained it to him.
And, it worked out for the better when Tweek had told him he had gotten his own scholarship for ASU in psychology. This would mark their second year, getting their own apartment off campus so they could be together with their own privacy.
Tweek had left the week prior. He drove down on his own for the peace and the sites. Craig would’ve gone with him, but he decided to work that week instead and take the next plane out. He was due to fly down at seven in the morning on the 14th.
Stan couldn’t lie, he was a little jealous that Craig got to leave this shitty excuse of a town behind. He was upset that Craig had to leave him behind as well. He couldn’t lie, he was worried Craig wouldn’t have time for him anymore. He was so worried that he almost started unpacking his things. He was so worried that his hands started to shake at just the thought of a missed call. He was so worried-
“You’re doing it again.” Craig commented.
He blinked, “What?”
“You got that look in your eyes when you get trapped in your head. What’s goin’ on?”
Stan shook his head, “Nothing. I-It’s not important.”
“Bullshit.” Craig smiled, “If you’re thinking about it that hard it’s probably important. So, talk, Chuckles.”
Stan rolled his eyes, sitting on the floor beside him, “Do you ever think that maybe I don’t deserve that nickname?”
Craig raised a brow, smile slowly dropping, “What?”
“I just… I mean- H-How could you still call me that after everything, you know? And even before that, I wasn’t the… happiest kid ever.”
Craig stared at him for a moment, trying to process what Stan was saying, “Is this seriously what you were thinking about?”
“Just- humor me.”
Craig sighed, “Okay, fine. You weren’t the happiest, I will admit. But, even then, you at least tried . You laughed a lot in middle school and high school and it never failed to make the people around you laugh. The nickname just fit, you know?” When Stan nodded, Craig rolled his eyes, “Okay, cool, you got your stupid answer. What were you thinking about?”
“I don’t-”
“Don’t do that.” Craig groaned, “You know I hate that. What was it that your therapist said? Don’t hold this shit in ‘cause it’s affecting your sleep?”
“That’s not exactly what she said-”
“You know what I mean.”
He let his head fall back with a groan, “I let you come to one session -”
“And I’m glad you did.”
“You complained about it the whole time!”
“You aren’t getting out of this.”
Stan groaned loudly, rubbing his face as he kicked his legs up in the air lightly, “Fuck you, man.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Craig chuckled, “Now what's going on in that dumbass head of yours?”
Stan swallowed harshly, picking at his fingers, “I guess… I don’t- uhm… I just don’t really want you to go?”
“Is that a question?”
“Well, no.”
“Sounded like a question.”
Stan rolled his eyes, “Whatever.”
“No, not ‘ whatever ’. Why don’t you want me to go?” Craig asked.
Stan bit down on his lip, gripping at his jeans to keep himself from itching. He hated this. He didn’t want to talk about it.
“That bad, huh?”
“Y-Yeah, I guess.” Stan swallowed, setting his jaw. He took in deep breaths, trying to stop the sweat that was dripping down the back of his neck. Craig really needs to get his fan working. “I’m worried.” Stan started, “I mean- okay, look, this shit isn’t easy for me to talk about. It never has been.”
“Yes, I’m fully aware of this.” Craig commented, still confused as he tried to catch on quicker to the situation.
“I didn’t exactly grow up with… the ideal family. And, for the longest time, I only ever had Kyle and Kenny. But, even then, Kyle was head deep in his textbooks until the end of middle school and Kenny had his own problems. I was just… I was alone.”
“Where are you going with this?”
“Just- Shut up and let me get it out.” Craig put his hands up, and nodded, gesturing to him that he had the floor. “My, uhm, my sister never liked me. She tried to show that she cared when the fighting got really bad, but after mom died, she just stopped. She was never really home. Throughout the years, I’ve had people come into my life, and they either ruin it or try to help. But, no matter what, it always ends the same: They leave me behind.”
“Oh…”
Stan swallowed harshly, holding his knees to his chest, “I just got this family, Craig. My mom couldn’t even be bothered to stick around. Shelley changed her number when she left. Dad took Kyle away… and then you took dad away-” Stan cut himself off, folding his lips in as he looked away, “S-Sorry.”
“It’s okay. I mean, it’s true.” Craig shrugged.
Stan hated that. He hated how much Craig pretended he was over it. He hated that he didn’t even flinch at Randy's name anymore. He acted like he was over it so much so that Stan almost believed he was. “The point is, you, Tweek and Ken are the only ones I’ve got left. A-And now you and Tweek are leaving. Just makes me wonder how long it’ll take for Kenny to do the same, you know?”
“Okay, first of all, me and Tweek aren’t goin’ anywhere.” Craig laughed, “College has to happen. That’s a part of the life we want. But we’ll be back-”
“And then you’ll leave again, and again. And I know you and Tweek are gonna move out of this town. It’s all you ever talked about in high school. You hate the cold, and you want out.”
Craig hummed, rubbing the back of his head, “I did say that, didn’t I?”
“Yeah. You did.”
“Well, whatever. That doesn’t mean shit to me. Because, no matter what happens, we’re still gonna be in contact. I’ll visit, and you’re brain dead if you think you’ll never visit me.”
Stan chuckled at that, wiping his stinging eyes, “Of course I will.”
Craig smiled, wrapping an arm around him, “And Kenny would never leave you.”
“How do you know?” Stan spoke in a broken whisper.
“You just have to trust me on that.” Stan nodded and Craig ruffled his hair, “Yeah, you idiot. We’re aren’t goin’ anywhere. If anything, we’re growing as a family.”
Stan looked at him with a raised brow, “What?”
Craig looked away, “Forget it.”
“What, you pregnant or something?” Stan chuckled, sniffling.
“Don’t be weird, Stan.” Craigs face twisted in disgust, “Seriously, that's gross.”
“What did you mean then?”
“Nothing.” Craigs face burned, his poster stiffening, “Nothing at all.”
“No! No, don’t do that! You meant something ! What, you and Tweek gettin’ married or something?”
“Th-Thats none of your business!”
Stan's jaw dropped, jumping forward and in his face, “Holy shit! You- I was joking! When?! How?! Where?!” He crowded in on Craig, hands gripping on his shoulders, “I need to know everything !”
Craig looked up at the ceiling with his hands covering his face, “God save me…”
“He can’t save you from me!” Stan chuckled, shaking him “Tell me!”
Craig sighed, grabbing Stan by the shoulders and pushing him off lightly. He took a breath before he reached over towards his nightstand. He pulled open a drawer and pulled out a velvet case. He wasn’t a fan of the texture, didn’t like the way it rubbed against his finger, but it was pretty.
He handed it over to Stan, keeping his eyes away from the others. Stan was eager to get it open, taking a look at the shiny ring inside. It wasn’t the biggest diamond, but it didn’t make it the smallest. Something that Stan just knew by looking at it that it was real. Three white sapphires and diamonds, the biggest one laying in the middle of two. It was wrapped together, modeled tightly in sterling silver. It wasn’t something too flashy, Tweek would’ve hated that. But it wasn’t too small, Craig would’ve never allowed himself to do something so cheap. He always thought Tweek deserved the best, and this was it.
It was perfect.
“Holy shit, dude!”
“Hey- Keep it down, would ya?!” Craig yelled through gritted teeth, looking back to the door, “Mom and dad don’t know about this.”
Stan could only look at him with shock written on his face, “Wait, what? You didn’t tell them? But you tell your dad everything and your mom always has a way of figuring shit like this out.”
Craig rolled his eyes, “No, I didn’t, and neither will you.”
Stan put his hands up in defense at the look Craig gave him, “I promise I won’t.”
“Good.” Craig sighed, brushing the hair away from his face as he took the ring back, shoving it into his pocket, “I uhm… I’m gonna do it on our anniversary.”
Stan raised a brow, “Wait, that’s not until November. Why buy the ring now if you’re waiting that long?”
“I saw it and it was just too perfect to pass up. It just… It felt right, I guess?”
“Wow, so romantic, Craig.” Stan joked with sarcasm and Craig rolled his eyes.
“I don’t know! I’m not good at this shit!” He folded his arms, tapping his foot against the wood as he avoided Stan's eyes.
But he could read him so easily, “Wow… You’re really worried about this whole thing, huh?”
“No.”
“Your eye twitched.”
“Shut up!”
Stan chuckled, “Sometimes I wonder why you still try to lie when you know you can’t do it to save your life.”
Craig groaned, rubbing his face, “Fuck off…”
“Nah.” Stan took a seat on the bed, and Craig sat beside him, “Come on, tell me how you’re gonna do it.”
“We don’t have to-”
“We do! Tweek is going to be my brother-in-law and I want what's best for both of you! I need to know this is going to be perfect! I will-”
“Alright!” Craig cut him off, taking a breath as he started to regret ever showing him the ring, “Alright… Jesus Christ-”
“Talk, man.”
Craig rolled his eyes, but the smile on his face gave him away, “Well, I wanted to do it at Starks Pond ‘cause I used to take him out there all the time to stargaze when he got back from rehab, but, uhm, w-we won’t be here.”
It was an excuse. There was something else. Something Craig was keeping from him. Stan knew there was something out there that Craig was afraid of. He had refused to step foot in Stark’s Pond ever since the night they talked for the first time after Kyle died. He knew something happened, but he was willing to wait for Craig to tell him himself.
“Oh.”
“Yeah…” Craig sighed, rubbing at his forehead, “So, I’ve been looking at lakes near where we’ll be. I-I think I found a good one, so I’m gonna try and take him out there every weekend so we can make it ours. Try and make it something special, you know?”
“Yeah.”
Craig hummed before he continued, “I’ll take him out for dinner and then we’ll head over there and get a spot far from everyone. He hates crowds almost as much as I do, and doing that in front of people would be-“
“Too much pressure? Yeah, I got that.” Stan chuckled, “I haven’t heard him say that in a while .”
Craig shrugged, “Well, he’s been better now.”
Stan nodded at that. Spending half of his Junior year of high school in a rehab in California had certainly done something because Tweek had come back a different person. He was happier. He had more energy. He didn’t panic as easily as he used to.
Stan doesn’t remember when he had gotten so addicted to Crack and Heroin, but he remembers the day Craig finally put his foot down. It was his seventh relapse when Craig finally realized that he wasn’t going to be able to do anything for him. Telling Tweeks parents about the problem behind his back was the hardest thing he ever had to do. Stan doesn’t think he’s ever seen Tweek so angry, and yet, he couldn’t point any of it towards Craig. So, instead of screaming at him, he went silent. They didn’t talk until he had been inside of rehab for a little over a month.
Stan kept picturing the ring. Despite it not being too big, it certainly wasn’t small. Something like that wouldn’t have been so easy to afford. It left Stan to think long about it.
“Hey, Craig?”
“Yeah?”
“How, uh, how did you afford that?”
Craig looked at him, “I’m pretty sure that's one of those questions you don’t ask. Right? A-Am I right?”
“Yeah, you are, but like… I’m curious.”
Craig turned his head away, looking at the wall, “Ken offered me a job at the shop. Worked a lot of hours over the summer.”
Stan hummed, “Are you sure, or are you looking away because you know I’ll know you’re lying?”
Craig groaned, falling back against the bed, “Drop it please?”
Stan hummed, “For now.”
When the silence circled them again, Stan laid back with him. He stared up at the ceiling, fingers playing with the comforter. He didn’t like the silence. The silence made him think. And thinking always brought him back to Kyle.
Turning twenty without him had felt wrong. And he knew, deep down, turning twenty-one without him was going to feel worse.
He can still remember the nurses rushing into his room, trying to save him while Stan fought back against Craig. Or was it Kenny? That part was always so blurry to him.
He does remember his aunt explaining what had happened. Kyle's lungs had collapsed and the doctors didn’t have enough time for surgery and Kyle didn’t have enough blood. It was something they couldn’t have fixed even if they tried. Accepting that seemed to be easier than Stan had thought.
“A guy came into the shop yesterday.” Craig broke him away from his thoughts, pulling him into conversation.
“Yeah?”
“Oh yeah. Real big guy, ‘round twenty-two. Not my type, but-”
“What are you doing?” Stan asked, cutting him off.
“I- Nothing?”
“Don’t bullshit me, Craig.” Stan scoffed, sitting up, “Why are you telling me this?”
Craig sighed, sitting up with him, “I got his number for you.”
“Why the fuck would you do that?!”
“Because I’m tired of you sitting on your ass all day wishing shit was different!”
Stan stared at him for a while, setting his jaw before folding his lips in. He shook his head, turning away from him, “That’s not fair, Craig.”
“I know that!” He yelled, catching himself when Stan flinched away from him. He took a breath, scooting away to give space and calmed his voice, “I know. I just think it might be good for you to get out there again. Go on a date, break a dude's heart, get a chicks number! Fuck it, go out with someone you know! I just don’t want to see you drown in this anymore! It hurts, dammit. It hurts knowing you're in pain and I can’t do anything about it!”
Stan stiffened. He could feel the sweat start to drip down his neck and the air around him grow thin, but he worked it through his lungs to prevent himself from choking. He knew this topic was coming eventually, he just wasn’t expecting it to come so soon. It felt like he would move too fast to say he was working on it. It was a sense of guilt for even thinking he could.
What would Kyle think of him?
“I’m in a relationship.” Craig groaned and Stan felt irritated, “What?! I am !”
“Jesus Christ, Stan- it’s been two years!”
Stan looked at him, the sting in his eyes burning, but he didn’t let the tears fall, “Why the fuck does that matter, Craig?! I loved him! I still love him! Nothing will ever change that!”
“Stan-”
“Just drop it, Craig.” Stan's breath hitched, but he didn’t back down, “I’m not in the mood.”
Craig opened his mouth to say something more, but decided against it, “Right.”
Notes:
One more final... Just one more...
5/13/2024- Writers block has hit me like a brick and I am dying. I will be back in about a week, sorry for the delay. I am trying. I am trying so hard.
Chapter 3: Ease the Pain
Notes:
Hahaha... here's the whole chapter... like I totally posted before...
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
August 14th
3:04pm
The McCormick Kid’s Apartment
The hallway that led to the McCormick's apartment was small, the paint chipping with lights flickering over Stan's head. The carpet was poorly laid, tearing apart with bumps that made him trip once or twice. Dirt and mud sank deep into it, turning the once deep red into a dark grey mess, burned by cigarettes, ash dipping in below the floorboards cursing it to smell forever of smoke. The paintings the staff had hung on the walls to make the building more inviting all laid crooked on their rusted hooks, something that drove Stan nuts.
He walked as quickly as he could, avoiding the faces of Kenny's neighbors. Moving past the room that was the cause for everything to smell of weed and bourbon. He had grown to hate that smell in every scenario. It made him cringe every time, a small shake in his bones like something bad was bound to happen.
He walked faster.
His breath was ridged, but he pushed through it, clearing his throat and keeping his head down. When he finally stopped, he looked up at the door in front of him with the number ‘412’ plastered off center under a peephole. He sighed, reaching into his back pocket for his keys, sifting through them for the gold one. The ridges scratched through the pads of his fingers as he pushed it into the doorknob.
Kenny had given him the spare key when Kyle died, telling him that if home felt like too much, he was more than welcome to come over. And he did that often—he did that today. He turned the key, pushing it harder than he should until he heard the door click. Pulling it out, he twisted the knob and opened the door wide.
The apartment was dimly lit, the smell of motor oil staining into the wood of the floors near the door of the frames—something he knew Kenny would never be able to wash out. Kenny and Kevin had been working in the same shop for years now, saving up what they could so they could send Karen off to college. Stan had often heard Kevin and Kenny fight about money, nothing that got too out of hand, but words were said. He knew that Kevin wanted to open his own shop, something family owned, but Kenny didn’t want to have to start over their savings with the way the economy was headed.
He took two steps in before arms wrapped around his torso, a face shoved into his stomach. He stumbled back by the force, looking down at the brown hair that danced with bright purple streaks.
“Stan!”
“Hey, kid.” Stan chuckled, hand on her head, “How are you?”
“Tired.” She sighed, pulling away, brushing strands of hair away from her face.
“Oh yeah?” He asked, moving into the apartment fully before closing the door behind him, “Why is that?”
“I started my first year of high school.” She groaned, rubbing at her eyes as she made her way towards the couch in the living room.
Stan hummed at that, pursing his lips as he kicked off his sneakers before following her in. Truthfully, he knew that Kenny, nor Kevin, would care much if he kept his shoes on, but it was a force of habit. It was something that his aunt had told him was the polite thing to do, something she taught him when he was starting to get comfortable around them—his home away from the chaos.
A chaos that he brought on to them.
He leaned against the back of the couch, folding his hands as he looked at Karen, “And how did that go?”
She scoffed, “Could’ve gone better, that's for sure.”
Stan nodded, rubbing at the back of his neck, “Wanna enlighten me a little bit?”
Sighing, She laid back on the couch with her hands on her stomach and legs seeping into the cushions, “Well, for starters, the whole building smells of cigarettes and bourbon.”
“I thought we were talking about your school, not the apartment complex.”
“Oh, haha.” Karen spoke in sarcasm as Stan chuckled, “It’s worse there than it is here.”
“Yeah, I believe that.”
“I almost got trampled in the hall ‘cause I’m so short that no one even saw me. Which is so stupid! And it doesn’t help that I don’t know anyone in any of my classes! Ugh- I fu- uh… I hate it there.” She stumbled, sitting up as she peered over towards Kenny's door for a moment.
It was always so strange to Stan how strict Kevin and Kenny were with letting Karen curse, even limiting themselves when they were around her. She could let out a simple ‘hell’ and ‘damnit’ and that was deemed fine, anything further was forbidden in their apartment.
“I think you’re good.” Stan mumbled, looking at the door that led to Kenny's room with her.
She shrugged, looking back over to him, “You never know, the walls here are really thin.”
“Yeah, well. I’m sorry, about school, I mean.” He walked over and took a seat beside her, “I know how hard it can be when you feel alone.”
“It’s okay. It’s just… It’s rough without Ike there.” Her voice trailed off and Stan suddenly felt uncomfortable.
“Y-Yeah… Well, what about Tricia? Doesn’t she have any classes with you?” Stan hadn’t seen Tricia when he left, she assumed she was in her room sulking about the year starting or out with friends somewhere.
“No, but we have lunch together, so I guess that's something.”
Stan chuckled, “Yeah, at least you have that. And I’m sure it’ll get better. I mean, I had a rocky start getting into high school and I’ve… adjusted?”
Karen laughed at that, “Is that a question?”
Stan raised his arms, “Maybe, who knows at this point!” They both laughed for a while as Karen let her head fall on his shoulder. He wrapped an arm around her, sighing softly. They talked for a long while, mostly Karen talking about the classes she liked and the teachers she hated.
When an hour had rolled by, the door to Kenny's room opened, “Hey, Karry, Kevin's stuck a- oh, hey Stanny.”
“Stanny?” Karen asked.
“I don’t-” Stan sighed, “Your brothers on crack.”
“I am not!” Kenny defended with a giggle in the back of his throat, crossing his arms as he made his way over to the pair.
“Sure.” Stan rolled his eyes, watching Kenny take a seat on the edge of the couch. His eyes drifted, studying Kennys stance. His hair was wet, the blonde darkened by the water as it laid comfortably on his shoulders. His bangs that were desperate for a cut stuck to his forehead, dangling loosely over his eyes. His ears peaked through, showing off the black earrings he got out of a dare in middle school.
Stan noticed how Kenny's eyes looked in the lighting. A green dancing as it blends in with brown. He couldn’t help but wonder if they always shined so brightly. He never thought he could love hazel eyes as much as he did at that moment.
His eyes wandered over to the loose t-shirt Kenny wore, his shoulder peeking out from the fabric. His heart raced and he pulled his eyes away. He didn’t know what that feeling was, he didn’t know why his face burned, and he didn’t know why it hurt to look away. He didn’t want to think about it, but it was consuming his thoughts. He didn’t want to know what the feelings were, scared of what he’d find if he searched for answers.
Kenny smacked his lips, drawing Stan out of his head, a sigh of relief against his lips. “Well, I came out here to let ya know that Kevins workin’ late again, so we’re on our own for dinner.”
Karen groaned, throwing her head back, “Damnit, that means I’m cooking.”
Kenny laughed, “Sorry, Karry, but I’ve been permanently banned from the kitchen and we used up our budget for the week, so we can’t order-”
“I can order.” Stan suggested.
“You don’t have to-”
“I want to,” Stan shrugged, “It’s not a problem.”
Kenny struggled with his words for a moment before giving up entirely, “Fine.”
Karen let out a sigh of relief, “Oh thank God…”
Kenny chuckled, shaking his head, “Yeah, well, you should go and clean your room before then.”
“You’re one to talk.” Karen scoffed.
Kenny looked at her with a raised brow and that was enough to get her to stand on her feet and run towards her room. Kenny was quick to follow, chasing her throughout the apartment as she yelled with a chuckle in the back of her throat as Stan watched from the couch. Kennys arms swallowed her, tackling her to the ground and rolling with wheezing breaths.
There was a loud bang that erupted from below them, a downstairs neighbor hitting at their ceiling for the noise to stop. Kenny sat up, knocking the heels of his feet against the floor, “I think we pissed off Mrs. Cook again.”
Stan shook his head with a laugh, “That poor woman does not deserve this.”
Kenny rolled his eyes, looking at Karen, “Please clean your room?”
“Fine.” She replied, standing to her feet.
“Thank you. I’ll let you know when we’re getting dinner.”
Once the door to her room closed behind her, Kenny stood to his feet. Him and Stan looked at each other for a moment, and Stan noticed the red seeping up his neck before he looked away, but he passed it on the heat.
“Come on, let's head to my room. Karen's right, anyway, I need to clean it.”
Stan snorted, standing up as he followed behind him, “Oh, what, I’m just here to be your personal cleaning lady now?”
“You chose to come over, baby.”
It was something so stupid. Something that Kenny said often. And yet, Stan's chest tightened at the word, his stomach swirling with a burn in his face. It meant nothing. He knew it meant nothing. But, to Stan, it meant everything. Though, he didn’t want it to mean anything.
7:04pm
The hours passed by with little thought behind each one. Kenny’s room took time to clean, but the majority of it was because of how they would both get off track, distracted by each other, but ignoring the tension that grew so subtly between them.
Kenny would change his shirt here and there to the one he found discarded on the floor or under his bed, striking a pose for Stan to comment. And Stan would stare, laughing at the way Kenny would move his arms, blushing at the way he flaunted his legs. The shorts he wore did wonders for them.
Stan had always noticed him, even when they were little and Kenny was just a shy kid hiding beneath the hood of his coat. Even when he was dancing with Kyle and Kenny was off to flirt with a girl from the neighboring school. Stan felt wrong not to notice him, like he would be leaving him out if he did. It wasn’t in a way that he yearned for him to be near him. It wasn’t in the way that he noticed Kyle. Kenny was his best friend, and dammit, he cared for him.
But, now, he couldn’t help but care for him in such a different way. There was always a thought, even when he wasn’t alone, of how he wished Kenny was there. It felt wrong to notice him in the way he did today. Or, in the way he had been for the past four months. Maybe he did know what this feeling was, and maybe he was okay pretending he didn’t.
“Hey, man, you okay?” Kenny asked. He was laying on his bed, head near the bottom as he laid on his stomach. Stan was sitting on the floor, head next to Kenny's with his arm resting on his knee. He had lost himself in his thoughts, and Kenny knew that.
“Just thinkin’.” He mumbled, clicking his tongue to the roof of his mouth. There was a desperate side of him that wanted to talk about it, to scream it off his lips so he could stop the stinging in his heart. But who to talk with, he wasn’t so sure.
He knew what Craig would say, and he really didn’t want to hear about it. Bringing something like this up to him would start another fight, and Stan thinks he’d break down if that happens again. Craig was stubborn, and Stan matched that stubbornness. It was fun when it came for game nights with their family or when they played poker with their friends, but it was a nightmare when it came to fights.
He refused to talk about this in therapy. He was still getting used to spilling everything in his head out on the table, all these pent up emotions and locked up memories he didn’t even remember. Knowing he had post-traumatic stress disorder and actually being told as such brought such different feelings.
And he couldn’t tell Kenny. Kenny was the source of this problem, a problem that Kenny didn’t even know existed. And what if he did? What if he knew there was a burning tension? Stan doesn’t know how he’d react to that. A part of him wanted to find out, and the other part never wanted to.
“Wanna tell me what you’re thinkin’ about, or do you wanna keep staring at the wall?” Kenny's voice broke him out of his thoughts, but he didn’t know if he appreciated that or not.
“I think I’m good.” Stan shrugged and Kenny hummed.
“Yes, well, Craig told me to not let that be an answer anymore.”
Stan looked at him with a raised brow, confusion written within his features, “Excuse me?”
Kenny chuckled, “He sent me a text a couple weeks ago, saying ‘Don’t let Chuckles blow off conversation. Makes him no sleep. Must talk it out’.”
Stan pinched at the bridge of his nose, “He doesn’t even talk like that.”
Kenny shrugged, ruffling Stan's hair, “Maybe not to you, but you see, me and Craig have such a close relationship. A relationship that no one, not even Tweek, could come in between!” Kenny spoke in such a dramatic way, hand over his heart as he pushed himself so his head dangled off the edge of the bed, hair grazing Stan's shoulder.
“You’re so annoying.” Stan groaned, covering his face with his hands.
“Only for you, babe.” Kenny winked and Stan looked away, the back of his hand over his mouth as his face reddened.
“I hate you so much…” Stan mumbled, a chuckle in his throat.
“Glad I can be of service. Now, spill your secrets, pretty boy. What's on your mind?”
He knew it wasn’t right. He knew he shouldn’t push down emotions, but he just wasn’t ready for all of it. He sighed, letting his head fall back until it bounced against the wood that held Kenny’s bed off the ground, “I visited Kyle today…”
Kenny hummed, pushing himself up. He moved slowly like he was approaching a hurt puppy, working his legs over the edge of his bed until his feet touched the ground. “Oh yeah?” He whispered, sitting fully beside Stan.
“Yeah. I mean, I always do. But, after Craig left for his flight, it was different. It felt different…”
A hand was placed on his knee, one that was meant to ground him, but it just felt much more terrifying. “How so?”
“I don’t… I don’t even know. I mean, Craigs left before! And he certainly wasn’t the only that's left me, so I know how this shit feels-”
“Woah, woah, Stan, babe, slow down.” Kenny stopped him, a hand in front of him as he processed the information Stan had laid out, “What are you talking about? Craig didn’t leave you.”
“Then why does it feel like he did!” Stan let out a whine, rubbing his face and swallowing harshly as he set his jaw. No, he wouldn’t cry. He was so sick of crying.
“Because he’s gone physically.” Kenny's voice was so soft, something so soothing to Stan, “But that doesn’t mean he’s left you behind. I know him almost as well as you do, he would never leave you behind.”
“I almost… I pushed him away. I kicked him out of my life for months after Kyle died… and it was all because I was too afraid to face him. What if he was better off without me?”
“Woah, hold on, Stan. Let's back up for a moment.” Kenny grabbed Stan's shoulders and forced his body to face him, “We’ve talked about this. Both you and Craig were going through a lot after Kyle died. You pushed him away because you didn’t want to accept any of what happened and he let you because he was afraid. All he talked about was how much he missed you!”
“You never even spoke to him during that time!”
“I know that! I know that, and it’s one of my biggest regrets, alright?! I should’ve been there for him as much as I was there for you, but I wasn’t!” Kenny took a breath, closing his eyes as he shook his head. He hated talking about how he felt during that time. It felt wrong to, it felt like he was seeking attention. “I wasn’t there for him, but Tweek was, okay? And he couldn’t even think about taking Tweek on a date for the longest time because he was so scared he’d lose him too.”
Stan swallowed, smacking his lips with ridged breaths, “He didn’t lose me-”
“But he thought he did! He thought that you were never gonna speak to him again. That night he called me- fuckin’, I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard him so close to tears. He sounded like he had completely given up on everything. He sounded like he’d been running. And whether he physically was or he was in his head, I don’t fucking know, but damnit, he was.”
Stan bit his lip, his head hanging low, “I never meant to make him feel like that…”
“I know you didn’t.” Kenny sighed, hands resting on the sides of Stan's neck, “You never wanted to hurt him, you just wanted to protect yourself. But, the truth is, you did. You hurt him. But he hurt you just the same.”
Stan shook his head, “He didn’t mean to. He was trying to protect me-”
“And he did. He protected you. And he hurt you just the same. But it’s okay. It’s okay to feel hurt over it all. It's okay that you were scared. It's okay that you were trying to protect yourself. It’s okay that you were angry. And… And it’s okay you wished you had done it instead. Grief makes you think and do really stupid stuff.”
Stan couldn’t help but groan, letting his body fall so he was leaning into Kenny's chest, “I thought I was over this.”
“I think you mostly are.”
“How could you possibly think that?”
Kenny chuckled, “Because I’ve seen how far you’ve come. I’ve seen how much you’ve grown. What happened was awful and if I could go back and change it, I would. But, I can’t. Being upset that it happened and questioning actions that were made is something that everyone gets stuck in, but that doesn’t mean you're not over it.”
Stan hummed, ear over Kenny's heart, listening to its soft rhythm, “What would it mean if I wasn’t?”
Kenny blew out a breath, fingers playing with Stan's hair, “You’d talk about it constantly. Or, maybe you wouldn’t even talk at all.”
“I still talk about it…”
“Talking about it and making it the only thing you talk about are two completely different things, Stan. Plus, I said mostly over it.”
Stan chuckled, “Mostly…”
“Yeah, mostly.” Kenny echoed, chin laying on Stan's head, “Feelin’ better?”
“A little. I don’t think I’m fully over it yet.”
“And that’s okay.” Kenny squeezed Stan, scratching at his scalp lightly, “You’ve had a hard eighteen years, no one is expecting you to just wake up completely fine.”
Stan was, but he wasn’t going to admit to it. “Yeah… I guess not.”
“Exactly. Now, come on, Karen's probably hungry as hell and I need to act like I didn’t just completely forget about dinner.”
Stan chuckled at that, rubbing his eyes as he pulled away, “Yeah, that’s probably smart.”
Notes:
We are going to pretend that I posted the whole chapter.
Chapter 4: Running
Chapter Text
August 14th
8:14pm
The McCormick Kid’s Apartment
It was hard for Stan to hold a conversation while they ate. His mind was trapping him in, pushing him down and cursing him for being too weak to accept facts. It made his head spin, which turned him nauseous. He desperately tried to focus on eating, but that was hard. Eating in general has become hard over the years, even when he thought that problem was done and over with.
He’s sure Kenny could see it, and maybe Karen could too, but they knew better than to ask. Karen was too young for these kinds of problems, she didn’t need the pressure of trying to find solutions to things she doesn’t fully understand. And Kenny knew how much Stan hated the attention. He knew better than to ask what was up in front of his sister. Or, in front of anyone for that matter.
So, when dinner was finished, Stan took his time cleaning up. He moved slowly, almost painfully so, not ready to go back to the walls that trapped him in Kenny's room. Not ready for the suffocating air to be filled with questions he didn’t want to answer.
“Hey, Kare, why don’t you go and take a shower before bed, yeah?” Kenny’s voice had a layer hidden under it, something that told her that it wasn’t a question, something that told Stan to hide, whether that be within himself or physically so.
“Okay.” Her voice was soft, almost knowing.
But how could she possibly know? How could anyone know? Stan rubbed his forehead at the thought. He was trapped in that thought for years and it only got him hurt. It got Kyle killed and his father shot.
When her door closed, Kenny placed a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t say anything, but there was nothing needed to be said as he nodded his head towards the couch. And, silently, they walked over towards the living room, listening to wood creaking beneath their feet. They took their seats on the couch, sitting on opposite sides of each other, Stan keeping his eyes glued to the cushions as Kenny stared.
The silence between them was deafening, no one saying a word for what felt like hours. It was a conversation that Stan knew was coming, something that fell unspoken, but pulled at both of them.
After a long while, Kenny broke the silence with a sigh, sitting up slightly as he folded his arms, “What’s goin’ on, Stan?”
Stan shook his head, looking off to the side, “I already told you-”
“No, I don’t think you did. Not all of it, at least.”
Stan sucked in a breath, bringing his nails to his mouth as he bit and pulled, letting them become ridged and rough. It was better than scratching. But, right now, it doesn't feel as such. He wanted to dig his nail into his skin, scratch along until blood started to soak into the healed marks on his arms, dripping to his pants and staining the couch. He wanted to peel away the skin until he could see the bone beneath the meat. If he did that, then maybe he could finally feel something other than the worry and stress building up in his chest, making it hard for him to breathe.
He promised he’d never do it again, and he had been doing good on that promise for a year, but that didn’t make it easy to forget it was a choice. It didn’t make it easy to forget how good it felt. And it didn’t make it easy to forget how he got so used to it that he started to do it subconsciously.
“Stan, please,” Kennys voice cracked, causing Stan to look him in the eye, “Talk to me.”
It hurt him, seeing how worried Kenny looked. It sounded like he was holding himself together by a thread, just as Stan was doing now. He couldn’t ignore that. Kenny never cried, and if he did now, that would be Stan’s fault. So, he swallowed, sucking in a breath as he itched lightly at his chin and pushed down the last of his pride, “Me and Craig got into a fight before he left. We haven’t really talked about it at all.”
Kenny was taken aback by this, parting his lips and lost in thought for a moment before he spoke again, “About him leaving?”
“N-Not exactly…” He sucked in a breath, moving his hands away from his face as he started to play with the cuffs of the sweatshirt he wore, “He met this guy at the shop. Apparently he’s ‘ a real big dude ’ or whatever…”
Kennys eyes widened a little, breath hitched, “He didn’t…”
“No, he didn’t.” Stan jumped in quickly, chuckling softly as he read Kennys mind, knowing exactly what he was thinking. When Kenny visibly relaxed, Stan continued, “He, uhm, he kind of got his number for me…”
“Oh…” Kenny was shocked, and honestly a little scared of what Stan would say next, a little scared that he would admit he was happy about it. He didn’t want Stan to say that he was texting this guy, because Kenny wanted to be the guy he was texting. “Are you, uhm, are you gonna text him?” He swallowed a lump in his throat, smacking his lips together as he sucked in a breath, readying himself for what Stan would say in response.
Stan could help but laugh at that. It was bitter, almost forced. He looked at the ceiling and shook his head, “No.”
Kenny couldn’t deny the relief that washed over him, even though it felt wrong. He couldn’t force Stan to like him, but he also couldn’t deny the passing looks and how red Stan's face would get when their shoulders brushed up against each other. He knew that Stan needed to move on, to be able to find happiness within someone after it comes from within himself. He would be happy if it could be him, but as long as Stan was thriving, Kenny would be okay if it wasn’t.
“M-Maybe you should.” He didn’t expect it to be as difficult to say the words that he spoke, knowing that it was killing him inside. He wanted to ask if Stan had even considered texting the guy, or tried moving on with others around him. But, he also knew that if Stan said yes, Kenny wouldn’t be able to handle the information. It was hard enough finding out that he and Kyle were going out in high school, and it only grew worse as the years passed. His feelings were strong, and no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t get them to go away.
“I can’t.”
“Why? Maybe it would be a good idea to put yourself out there again. See what you’d find instead of locking yourself away-”
“I can’t do that to Kyle, Ken.” His voice was stern and Kenny was taken aback. He knew that Stan was still struggling, he knew that Stan was still in love with him, but he didn’t know how bad it had gotten.
“Oh, God, Stan…” His voice was barely above a whisper, trying desperately not to set him off. He leaned in closer, a comforting hand landing on his foot, “If there's anything I know, it’s that Kyle would’ve wanted you to be happy.”
Tears started slipping, wetting his cheeks before Stan could wipe them away, “I-I know… But I just… I just wanna be happy with him.” His voice faltered, hand over his mouth.
Kenny took that as his que, crawling in closer with his hands reached out. He let Stan fall into his chest, running his fingers through his hair, “I know you do…”
“It was supposed to be me and him against the world, and now i-it’s just me vs the world… And, right now, the world is fucking winning.”
Kenny shook his head, “It’s not just you, Stan. I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere any time soon.”
“It still hurts, Ken…” Stan commented, gripping at Kennys shirt, “I-It feels like my heart has been ripped out of my chest.”
Kenny squeezed him, closing his eyes tightly and leaning back against the arm rest, “I know, Stan, I know… I’m so sorry.”
They laid on the couch for a while, Stan atop Kennys stomach, hiding his face in his shoulder as silent tears soaked the collar of his shirt. But Kenny didn’t mind it. He would hold him here forever if it meant that Stan was okay. Because that's all Kenny wanted. For Stan to be okay.
“Do you think… if I hadn’t left home… If, m-maybe I didn’t try to go to that dinner-”
“Don’t do that to yourself.” Kenny cut him off, squeezing him tighter, “Don’t go looking for ways this could’ve worked. It’ll only hurt you more…” Stan nodded and Kenny kissed lightly at his forehead. Something that could easily be missed, but Stan caught it. He didn’t ask, he didn’t push Kenny away, didn’t even mention it.
“Hey, Stan?”
“Yeah?”
“What happened when you told Craig that? That you were still with Kyle?”
Stan gripped at Kenny's shirt, sniffling slightly before he answered, “He, uhm, he got upset. He yelled at me ‘cause it’s ‘ been two years ’ and ‘ I should at least try to move on ’...” He chuckled dryly, “He even suggested I go out with someone I know. Like, who the fuck would want that? Who would I even go out with, Butters? Clyde? Try Wendy again? Yeah, no thanks…”
Kenny stiffened, folding in his lips as he looked away for a moment. He knew that Craig knew about his crush. Everyone knew, but Craig was the only one to actually bring it up. Ever since Kyle died, Craig had been warning him to not make a move on Stan, that he wasn’t ready and that Craig would kill him if he even tried. Maybe this was Craigs way of giving him the okay. He wasn’t sure, and he didn’t want to push or pry, but he was curious.
“Well, uhm… M-Maybe Craig’s right.”
Stan pushed himself up, looking at Kenny with a furrowed brow, “What?”
“Maybe going out with someone new could b-be good for you. A-And, uhm… I-If you knew them, it could be easier… I-I’m just spitballing here! I could- Or- someone… It’s just something to consider, you know!” Kenny was rambling and he knew if he kept speaking, it would surely be his downfall, so he bit his bottom lip and waited for Stan to say something.
Stan scoffed, pushing himself off the couch and away from Kenny, “Wow, you too?”
Kenny mentally cursed at himself, sitting up, “Stan, wait-”
“No, Ken, I get it. Maybe I’m just a fucking baby.” Stan chuckled with no humor behind it, rubbing his face, “Or, maybe, and hear me out here, I just lost my entire family, and now, the only people I care about want me to move on from it like it never fucking happened!”
“That’s not what I said!” Kenny defended, standing to his feet.
“You didn’t have to! I know what you meant! I can see it in your face, and I can see it in Craigs too! Y’all just want me to get over it so you can stop hearing me whine on and on about it!”
“Don’t do that!” Kenny pointed his finger at him as he grew frustrated, “Don’t speak for me, you know I hate that!”
“Then don’t fucking force me to move on!”
“Don’t-” Kenny cut himself off, taking a breath, “Don’t swear in here, please. You know how me and Kev feel about swearing around Karen.”
Stan rubbed at his eyes, moving his hands to push the hair out of his face, “I can’t- I can’t do this…” He turned on his heel, making his way out of the living room.
“What- where are you going?!”
“I’m going home, Ken. I need some space from you right now. I can’t- This is too much for me right now.” His voice was eerily steady, and yet, Kenny couldn’t find it in him to be afraid of that.
“Jesus Christ- Is this what you did with Craig, too?! Just left without a word and made it worse for everyone?!”
Stan paused, whipping his head around to face him, “What?!”
“You always do that! Just when things get just a little tense, you walk away and pretend it never happened! Well, I’m not letting you do it this time! We are going to sit here and we are gonna talk about this! I won’t let you just forget about it! It’s not healthy !”
Stan turned to face him again, “Screw you, Kenny! You’re not my mom!”
Kenny bit his tongue, face burning as he tried to calm himself. It was a process, him getting angry, and maybe it's because he never was. He was always optimistic and carefree, never liked boiling in anger—it reminded him too much of his father. “Well maybe someone should be! You fuc- Damnit, man, you need help!”
“You don’t know what I need…” Stan's voice dropped, throat cracking within each word.
“What, Kyle?! Is that what you need?! ‘Cause, damnit, Stan, you can’t have him!” The second his words left his tongue, Kenny regretted them. He covered his mouth, eyes wide as he just stared at Stan. His face was caving in, looking as if he was ready to break down. His hands shook and Kenny knew he needed to fix this. “I-I didn’t mean-”
“You know, you can be a real piece of shit sometimes.”
“Stan, I’m sorry… Honestly, I am. I-I don’t know why I-” he was cut off, yet again, but this time, it wasn’t by words. He hadn’t seen Stan grow closer, or notice when he clenched his hands into a fist, but he sure as hell felt it when it met with his jaw. It was something that slid up, connecting with his nose and sending him to the floor, something he very much knew he deserved. Everything slowed as he fell, feeling the rug rubbing against his skin once his body connected with it.
When he looked up to Stan, hand holding where he had been hit and feeling the blood start to leak from his nose to his fingers, everything came back to speed. There wasn’t anything said between them. Just hardened breaths and disbelief.
The angered look on Stan's face melted, eyes wide and panicked, looking down to his knuckles before he looked at Kenny again. He knew this type of fear. He knew what was going through Stan's head. He knew it because it was the same he felt when he got angry. He needed Stan to know that he wasn’t him. That he’d never be him.
“Stan, it’s okay. Honest, y-you-”
“I-I didn’t mean to- I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-” His voice cracked and he stepped away, lip quivering and eyes matching up to the door.
Kenny knew what that meant. “Stan, wait!”
There wasn’t any use in calling for him as he ran, swinging the door open. He didn’t bother to put his shoes back on or close the door behind him, he just ran. He could feel the burnt ash from cigarettes against his feet, smell the smoke and let it choke his lungs as he let sobs through. His vision was blurry, but he walked through this building a hundred times, so there was no need to see where he was going.
He didn’t take the time to look at the chipping paint of the poorly hung photos as he ran on trembling legs. Didn’t bother to apologize at the neighbors who came out, telling him to keep it down. He needed to get out and away from everyone.
He stumbled his way through the door, almost letting himself collapse and fall down the metal stairs. He scraped his feet against the cold, his choked sobs echoing through the stair well until he reached the bottom floor. He practically threw himself against the exit, rushing through the pouring rain as fast as he could. It soaked his clothes and made his hair stick to his forehead.
And, when the adrenaline finally wore away, he fell to his knees. He was only a few feet away from his truck, but it didn’t matter. His keys were still in Kenny's room and he didn’t think he could drive with such blurry eyes anyway. He held his head down, letting himself sob in the rain.
His breath was short and he knew that if he didn’t do anything about it, he’d surely pass out. He shakenly reached into his pocket, taking out the inhaler from inside. He worked quickly to get the air back in his lungs, but it felt as if it didn’t even matter. He was so angry at Kenny, but mostly at himself. He didn’t like that feeling and wanted nothing more than to get it out.
With the last bit of strength that he had, he wound his arm back and threw his inhaler with a small scream, listening to it connect with the concrete. It didn’t help, and he knew he’d have to go back and collect it, so that only made him feel more frustrated.
He covered his eyes and just let himself cry. He mumbled curses under his breath, sniffling and sobbing, choking softly every so often in the dark. It made him think about Stark's pond. Made him think about how alone he felt then, too.
It was so strange. Because, even after being beaten and bruised, sitting alone and withering in pain, this felt more lonely. Maybe it was because then he knew he could call Kyle to grab him and talk to Craig through the pain. And now, he couldn’t do that. Craig was hours away and Kyle was dead in the ground.
The only person he had left, his best friend who he cared for most in this world, was just a few feet away from him, and he wouldn’t dare ask him for help.
He felt truly and utterly alone.
Notes:
6/29/2025- Currently working on chapter 5. Life got a little in the way, but I should be able to get it out by Thursday.
Chapter Text
August 14th, 2024
8:49pm
The McCormick Kid’s Apartment
Stan hadn’t been counting the minutes he had been outside, hiding away in the dark. He wasn’t so sure how long he had been sitting against the concrete, feeling it scratch at his skin as was getting soaked by the rain and sobbing with a raw throat, knowing it could probably damage it. He hadn’t cared enough to check the time—didn’t even have his phone with him—, but he knew it hadn’t been too long.
His knees were burning against the pavement, but he didn’t bother with moving. He just held a hand over his mouth, hair sticking to his forehead as he mumbled softly to no one but himself. He felt himself start to spiral, and he wanted to let it happen. He figured he deserved to be stuck in his head again, and deserved to believe the awful things that his mind came up with in the dead of night. He didn’t look up to the stars for comfort like he used to at the farm when he was stuck outside in the cold—there was too much light around here to do so anyway.
From behind him, he could hear slow steps growing in closer. He didn’t have to turn around to see who was there, he’d be stupid not to know. He didn’t want to face him—didn’t even know if he could—, so he kept his head down. He could hear the man behind him struggle to speak, sucking in the air to start, but never pushing out the words.
Stan didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want to hear the forced apologies and comforting words. He didn’t deserve them, and he knew that. He had hurt Kenny on his own accord, pure hatred over something that was true. He hurt him and it wasn’t something he could so easily take back.
He messed up, and he didn’t know how to fix it.
“I’m so sorry, Ken…” Stan’s voice was rough but quiet, ridged around the edges as it ripped through his dry throat, “I shouldn’t have- I-I-” A sob pushed through him, cutting him off as he brushed the tears that mixed with the rain off his cheeks.
Kenny sighed, sitting beside him and putting an arm around his shoulders, “It’s okay.” It was whispered, but it was the truth and Stan couldn’t deny that, “I pushed you too hard, and I said something I shouldn’t have… This-This was my fault. I deserved that.”
Stan shook his head, “You didn’t, though. You were right.” His voice cracked, staring off with a quivering lip—the rain muffling everything before him—, “I can’t have him… I-I fucking lost him a-and I can’t… I can’t get him back.”
Kenny's hand was soft against Stan’s face, pulling him up to look into Kenny's eyes, “I’m not letting you take the fall for this.”
“But-”
“Yeah, Stan, you punched me, and it hurt like a bitch. I know you’re upset about it because it’s what your dad would’ve done, but you’re not him. You didn’t punch me ‘cause I was stating facts or tryin’ to put you in your place. You did it ‘cause I fucked up. I really fucked up. I lost my temper and I shouldn’t have done that.”
Stan stared at him, eyes catching the blood that was running from Kenny's nose, mixing in a puddle beneath them. It danced in the rain—dark red with clear water. Stan hadn’t even noticed he had made him bleed. He didn’t take the time to make sure Kenny was okay, and that was something Randy would’ve done. He didn’t want to fall again. He wanted to make it right.
“You’re bleeding.” It was mumbled, Stan reaching his thumb over to wipe it away, eyes softening when Kenny hissed.
“Y-Yeah, I guess I am.” Kenny shrugged, pulling away from Stan's hand as he rubbed his hand under his nose. His eyes squeezed and he groaned, shaking his head, “Damn, that hurts…”
“I’m s-”
“You’ve got a good arm on ya, that's for sure.” Kenny cut him off with a smirk. He didn’t want to hear Stan apologizing anymore, so he vowed to himself to cut him off any time he tried for the rest of the night.
Stan chuckled softly at that, a small sniffle following as he stared up at Kenny, “Well, despite everything, everyone learns a thing or two from their old man, no matter what it is, so…”
Kenny frowned at that, “Stan, I’m serious, I’m really sorry.”
Stan shrugged, “It’s not like what you said wasn’t true-”
“True or not, I shouldn’t have said it!”
“It’s not something you need to make a big deal over.”
“But it is a big deal!”
“Why?!” Stan's voice was loud, echoing through the parking lot, “Why is it such a big deal what you say?! They’re just fucking words, Ken!”
“Because it hurt you!” Kenny screamed like it was obvious, and maybe it was, “That ‘ sticks and stones ’ shit ain’t true, alright?! Words fuckin’ hurt when put in the right order! You’ve been through enough as it is, and I never meant to put you through more, but I probably just did!”
“You didn’t-”
“You punched me in the face and ran out of my apartment sobbing, Stan! Don’t act like I didn’t hurt you with that shit!” Stan sunk in on himself a little bit, but he didn’t say anything against it. He knew Kenny was right, he just hated it. “Stan, you mean the fuckin’ world to me, alright? If I do shit that upsets you, you have a right to be upset . You have a right to tell me to shut up. Maybe hitting isn’t something I should condone here, but maybe I needed it.”
Stan laughed a little when Kenny chuckled, “You didn’t.” He leaned forward, head in Kenny's chest as he held himself, “You never do.”
“Trust me, sometimes I need to be put in my place. I’m human, Stan, I ain’t perfect.”
“You are to me…” It was muffled by Kenny's shirt, something Stan didn’t mean to slip out, but he did. He did and Kenny heard it. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t mention the way Stan started to cling to him, or how red Stan's neck was growing, rising to his cheeks. He didn’t mention the way his own heart started to race.
Instead, he held Stan in his arms, biting his lip and running his fingers through his wet hair. “Stan, I care about you…” He started, his own face getting red with a confession hot on his tongue with a fire he wished the rain would put out, “I care about you so much, I lo- I…” He squeezed his eyes, shaking his head to himself as he sighed, “I care more than you know.”
Stan felt the way his heart skipped a beat at Kenny's words, the way the butterflies swarmed in his stomach. It made his breath hitch with an urge for more. It was the same feeling he had when he and Kyle went to Stark's Pond all those years ago. It was the same feeling he had whenever Kyle would hold him close. It was the same feeling he had when he listed everything he loved about Kyle.
It was the same feeling, and he knew its name, but he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to feel this way. He didn’t want to be another burden for something he loved. Someone he loved. And how dare he? How dare he fall for another when Kyle was still in his heart? This wasn’t right, even when it felt like it could be so good. He craved for more, too see where it would take him, but also he wanted to shove it away, afraid of what it could be.
“I’d do anything for you, Stan…” Stan looked up at Kenny, brushing his hair away from his forehead as it tickled his neck. “I’d kill for you-”
They both struggled for a long while, Craig twisting Randy’s arm up and around until his own finger was on the trigger and the barrel was kissing at Randy’s chin.
“Let go of me! Fucking bitch!”
Craig let a dry chuckle slip, barely squeezing the trigger, “Fuck you, Marsh.”
No…
“I'd do anything to make sure you were safe-”
“Stay with me, please stay.” He couldn’t help the choke in his throat, forming into a sob as he gripped at Kyle’s jacket.
“Hey, hey, hey.” Kyle said, pulling away with his hand on Stan’s cheek, making him look up at him, “I’m not going anywhere.”
Stop, don’t do this…
Kenny, please don’t do this…
“Hell, I’d take a fucking bullet for you!”
He was pale, clenching his teeth and looking up at Stan. They could hear the sirens, the door bursting open with shouts coming from the living room. There was so much to take in, so much he wished he didn’t have to see.
All he wanted to do was close his eyes and go somewhere else.
“I love you, Stan.”
Stop it, stop it, stop it-
“I’d die for you.”
“I-I… I see you.”
And, with that, his eyes rolled back and his eyelids fluttered shut, his hand ready to fall, but Stan held it so tightly before it could as the blood began to stain his sweatshirt.
“No… No, no, no, Kyle please! Wake up!” Stan was screaming, unable to hear his own voice with his hands going down to hold Kyle’s face, shaking him slightly. “Wake up! You can’t…”
“You can’t leave me too!”
Kenny's eyes widened, “I-”
Stan bangs his fist against Kenny's chest, cutting him off as he shook his head with hot tears falling from his burning eyes, “You can’t fucking do that, Kenny! You can’t- You can’t leave me like he did! Please promise me you won’t! Promise me and mean it .”
“Stan-”
“Promise me you won’t!”
Kenny held Stan's face, wiping the tears and the rain away, “I promise, Stan… I won’t ever leave you, I promise.” Stan sobbed with relief, memories fading from the back of his mind, finally going quiet again. His fists clenched at Kenny’s shirt, shaking his head as he pushed himself back into Kenny's chest, begging him to stay.
And that's how they stayed, sitting as the rain drenched them head to toe, thunder cracking through the sky as lightning lit it up first. Two boys with similar stories, both crying as they held onto each other, but one was louder than the other.
One was always louder.
9:27pm
Kenny's shoes squeak through the hall with each step he takes, his arm around Stan as they make their way back to his apartment. He shakes his head, water dripping from his dirty blonde hair and onto the tight walls, making Stan chuckle slightly. Kenny looked at him, smiling with blood still stained on his face, swirling on his lip. It was dried up, no longer spilling, but the pain is still there.
Stan stares at this, guilt pooling in his stomach, but he doesn’t comment. He feels too drained to try, too much energy has been washed out of him by the pouring rain. There's a part of him that yearns for sleep, to slip under the abyss his mind has recently captivated and fall away from the world for a few hours. Another part of him wants to fight that off like he used to, staying awake with Kenny until the sun rises again.
The vibrating feelings won’t leave him, the ache in his heart, wanting two things while unable to have one and refusing to go for the other. It hurts, but he loves it all the same. He knows he can’t let this feeling last, he knows that he’ll have to push it away and curse himself to be alone—it's safer that way. But, for tonight, he’ll let himself be selfish.
A door from the right of them creaked open and the boys stopped in their tracks, looking over as one of Kenny's neighbors stepped out, leaning against the door frame with a cigarette between her fingers. She studied them before taking a drag, letting the smoke fall from her lips and humming for a moment, talking to them in a raspy voice, “You boys are trailing in water.”
Kenny hummed, looking behind at the water soaked under them, “Sorry, Mrs. Johnson. But, to be fair, this carpet has been beyond repair for years now, might be time for a wash, ya know?”
She snickered with a nod as her eyes softened before looking away, “perhaps it may. You know, it sounded like two kids out there in the rain. Sounded like they were hurt. Did you hear it too?”
Stan sunk in on himself and Kenny offered her a smile, “Yeah, I did… But, I’m sure they’re fine and out of the rain by now. They’ve probably rushed home for a shower.”
Mrs. Johnson let out a small chuckle, looking back at Kenny, “I’m sure they are. And I’m sure they also know my door is always open.”
“I’ll spread the word in case they don’t.”
She nodded, tapping her cigarette as more ash bled into the carpet, turning back to enter her apartment, “Have a good night, boys.”
“We will, thank you. Oh, and tell Mr. Johnson his car is almost ready.”
She nodded, “I will, dear.” And, with that, she closed her door with a lock that echoed through the hallway.
“She seems nice.” Stan mumbled after a moment, looking up at Kenny as he took his arm back.
“She is.” Kenny started to walk again, Stan trailing behind him, “She can’t have any kids of her own, so she does her best with all the others, wants to make sure we’re all alright. She used to watch Karen a lot when we first moved here. And, well, Karen talks . Mrs. Johnson pretty much knows everything… even when I tried to, uhm, fly .”
Stan winced at that, hand on Kenny’s shoulder, “I’m sorry…”
Kenny shrugged, looking back at him, “It’s okay. Besides, she brought so many cookies that year after I got back from the hospital. It was practically my heaven.” Stan smiled, chuckling when Kenny did as they reached the apartment, the door left open.
When they entered and Kenny closed the door, Stan watched as Karen peeked out from her room. He knows she heard the fight, he knows that she heard the thud that Kenny made and the awkward silence that followed before Stan ran. She looked up with worried eyes, so Stan offered her a smile and a thumbs up, a small sign that everything was fine. She took what she could with a nod, closing her door again to hide away in her room.
“She came out and saw me bleeding.” Kenny commented, standing beside him, “I-I’m sorry, I couldn’t keep her in the dark. But, she agrees it was my fault, so there's no hard feelings.”
Stan hummed as he looked at the ground, socks soaked and water dripping from his fingers. He was cold, shivering with bumps popping up on his arms. He stood stiff, looking over at Kenny with a quiet plea, “I, uhm… You mentioned those kids having a shower?”
Kenny looked at him with a soft smile, something that fell into a soft chuckle. Stan blushed at the way Kenny's face crinkled, dimples in his cheeks with light freckles that were only noticeable in brighter light. “Yes, hot stuff, you can use my shower.” Kenny was a natural flirt, but Stan still felt special when he used it on him.
Kenny led him back into his room, rummaging through his drawers for clothes Stan could borrow. He grabbed sweats and a loose t-shirt, handing them off to Stan, “You know where the towels are. And you’re staying the night, you look like you're about to fall over with how tired your eyes are and I don’t trust you drivin’ when you’re like that.” Stan didn’t fight him on that, taking the clothes from his hands as he turned for the bathroom.
It was small, white tiles that matched up nicely with the light blue of the walls. The lights were dim—just as everything was in this apartment—, making it easier on the eyes. There were two doors that were right across from each other, one that led back into Kenny's room, and the other leading to Karens—Kevin had his own bathroom. Two sinks sat on the right of the doors, a large mirror covering the whole of that wall. On the other side closest to Kenny's door was the shower, a purple shower curtain hanging from its rod. Most of the bathroom was decorated with plants and small, purple trinkets that he knew came from Karen.
Stan opened the curtain, turning on the hot water and letting it fall from the shower head. He stripped himself away from his clothes, ripping it off as it tried to cling to his skin, sticking to his arms and rubbing against his legs. He piles them together and leaves them in the sink he knows belongs to Kenny, trying to avoid water dripping on the tile—something he was never careful of back at the farm or while staying with the Tuckers.
The shower feels nice, something that warms his body back down from the freezing rain. He sits in it for a while, letting it brush rush through his hair and down his back. His legs had stopped shaking and he finally felt like he could breathe again—he hadn’t even noticed he couldn’t in the first place. He didn’t want to use Kenny's soap, so he just let himself soak, sitting on the ground as he tapped his fingers against his knees.
It felt like a blur, but suddenly, Kenny was knocking on the door asking if everything was okay. That was what made Stan shut the water off. He leaned out, grabbing the blue towel hanging from the hook and cleaned his legs dry before stepping out to the purple rug that matched the curtain. He got himself dressed quickly, feeling another wave of drowsiness crash over him.
He left the bathroom, shutting off the lights behind him and walking back into Kenny's room. Kenny wasn’t anywhere to be seen, his door open as small noises came from the kitchen. Stan sighed, walking over to Kenny's bed, laying down on it. This was the first time that night he really took in Kenny's room.
The wooden floors were old and rough, something that no one really walked across without socks on. His closet door was cracked open, never really being able to shut it fully. All his furniture was old, an almost orange kind of wood that looked to be for a child. His comforter was torn, but Kenny didn’t see a point in getting a new one—It did its job of keeping him warm. Posters were hung over his walls, but they were mostly there to hide cracks in the foundations. The room was small, and most of the time, it was dirty, but it always smelt nice.
A sandalwood and pine scent that Kenny had engraved into the room—Stan would definitely get it as a candle. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that the shirt he wore smelled the same. He lifted it to his nose and breathed it in, and it was truly like heaven. Nothing could quite beat it. Maybe it was even better than vanilla bean and coconut.
Stan sat straight up when that thought passed through him, a slight panic in his eyes. Vanilla bean and coconut belonged to Kyle, he even had that hint of sandalwood he was growing addicted to. He rubbed his face, trying to get his mind to wander somewhere different, but it just didn’t seem too want to.
Luckily for him, Kenny had decided to re-enter the room, glass of water and pills in hand. He placed both on the nightstand, “I figured you’d want those in case this all gives you a headache tomorrow.”
Stan smiled up at him, “Thanks, Ken.”
“No problem. You can have my room tonight, alright? I know you need good sleep, and, as comfortable as that couch is, I think my bed is better.”
Stan giggled at that, hand over his mouth, “I appreciate it.”
“Yeah. Get some sleep, alright? I’ll see you in-” He was cut off by Stan moving to hold his wrist, raising a brow in question to it.
“Can you, uhm… Can you stay with me tonight? I don’t really wanna be alone right now.”
Kenny's face burned, smacking his lips together, “Oh… O-Okay, yeah, sure.” Stan smiled, scooting over to make room for him. Kenny crawled in under the covers and was quickly pulled into Stan's grasp, feeling his face in his chest. Kenny held him tightly, fingers running through his hair. “I got ya.” It was soft spoken, quietly kissing at the top of his head.
It felt wrong. Being with Stan in this way, holding him and caring for him. He loved it, but that's why he hated it. It wasn’t his place, it was Kyles. Though, Kyle isn’t here. Stan needs someone to be strong, so Kenny could do that for one night. He can let Stan cling to him as he returns the gesture. And, maybe, he’d let himself feel content within that.
Stan cuddled in close, tangling his legs in with Kenny's. There was a light shake running through his body, so Kenny pulled the covers in closer and over their shoulders, holding him tighter. They let the world fade into the background, rain lightly hitting the window as it began to slow, breathing each other in, finally at peace. It was soft, quiet, and they both felt relaxed.
“You know, Kyle wanted me to be more open with what Randy did. Wanted me to, uhm, to speak with others about it.” Stan broke the silence with something muffled, his eyes half-lidded as his head lulled, “I never understood how someone could do it until you were able to find the strength too. And… I wanna do the same.”
“Stan, you don’t have to-”
“Living with him was a lot. I’d spend every morning waking up, wondering what was gonna set him off this time, wondering what my mother would say to shut him up. Guess she lost her spark. Me and Shelley could see it, the way she started to double down, but we could’ve never guessed she’d…” Stan moved in closer, hands gripping at Kenny's shirt, “You know, I can barely remember high school.”
Kenny raised a brow at this, “What?”
Stan shrugged, “It’s all fuzzy… It’s like my brain locked it away, trying to protect me, but that also means I’m on high alert and I don’t even know why. I mean, obviously I know my father fucked me up, but he did more then just beat me, Ken… I just- I don’t really remember all that he did. Some of it has come back, sometimes it's on its own accord and sometimes through exercises my therapist and I work on, but we can only do it so often… I don’t like what I see when we do them, so my reactions are, uhm, not all that fun.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“I want to be strong like you.” Stan looked up at him, something shining in his eyes—a glimmer of hope within range of sorrow—, “Guess you could say you’ve inspired me.”
Kenny chuckled lightly at this, his hand landing on Stan's cheek, “You are so strong, Stan. A lot stronger than you give yourself credit for.”
Stan leaned into it, sniffling a bit, “I still… Sometimes, I still wish I was the one who killed him. I guess it would’ve made things easier in my head to blame me, but I can’t. I’m tired of blaming myself, I’m tired of being angry with him, and it makes me feel disgusted that I wanted to do it. But, then… I wish he wasn’t dead at all. I-I miss him… I miss him so much, Kenny, why do I miss him?”
Kenny frowned, wiping the runaway tear that fell from Stans already tired eyes, “Because, despite everything, he’s still your dad.”
Stan sighed, “I wish he wasn’t.”
“Unfortunately, that’s not our choice.”
“I wish it was.” Stan scoffed, “He put me through hell. The nights I spent, hiding in my room, scared he’d lose his temper again, the times I’ve spent sleeping in that stupid barn, I-”
“Woah, wait, what?”
Stan's breath hitched, eyes tearing away from Kenny, “N-Nothing, forget I said anything.”
“I-I can’t… Stan, what do you mean? He forced you to sleep in the barn? Is that something you locked away or just something you never wanted to talk about?”
Stan hummed, moving away from Kenny's hand as he sat up, Kenny moving with him, “Some nights are forgetful, but I think that was more because I’d pass out in the cold or drink myself blind, but… I always remember when it happened. I remember every single time he’d send me out there, but nothing compares to the first.”
Notes:
I DID IT!
I FINISHED THE CHAPTER!
FUCKING FINALLY!
Chapter 6: Rusted Nails & A Broken Nose
Chapter Text
April 4th, 2014
7:14pm
Tegridy Farms
The kitchen was silent aside from the static buzzing of the tv and the wooden spoon that scraped against the pot over the stove. The light was flickering, giving Stan a headache as he sat at the table, his left foot up on his chair as he leaned his face against his knee. He watched as Shelley worked the powdered cheese into the pot, bouncing on the heels of her feet and wiping away the sweat on her brow. The kitchen always ran hot when the stove was on, with no fan or air conditioning to cool it down. Usually, she would prop the window or the door open, but it was starting to snow and she didn’t want the house to get too cold.
“I’m hungry.” Stan whined, turning into a groan as he threw his head back, moving his fingers to the wood of the table. His ripped and torn nails scratched lightly at it, bumping against the cracks.
Shelley rolled her eyes with a scoff, “It’ll be ready soon, so be a little fuckin’ patient, would ya?” There were other words that she had mumbled under her breath, but none of them made it to Stan’s ears.
He rolled his eyes, his leg dropping as he started to swing them both, “Nah… It’s almost 7:30, I feel like I’ve been patient enough.”
“You haven’t.” Shelley noted, shifting on her feet and keeping her eyes on the pot.
“I so have!” Stan defended, “I asked you about dinner two hours ago and you didn’t do anything about it!”
Shelley paused, looking back at him with a raised brow, “Oh? And why didn’t you make anything?”
“I… I don’t know how…”
She couldn’t help but laugh at that, “The instructions are on the box, dumbass.”
Stan shrunk in on himself, his head falling slightly, “I didn’t know that…”
She softened her gaze, looking back at the pot in front of her. She sighed, moving to turn the stove off, tapping the spoon against the rim before throwing it in the sink beside her. She opened the drawer beside her, finding two small, silver spoons for her and Stan before closing it. They were scratched up and bent, something their parents didn’t care about replacing, so they made it work.
She picked up the pot and made her way over to the table, setting it down in the middle as she sat down across from him. “Yeah, well, now you do. It’s never too late to learn how to cook, Stan, and with all the late nights moms been workin’ and with dad runnin’ around doing God knows what, it'll be beneficial for you to learn.” She said, offering him a spoon.
He stared at it for a little while before taking it, tapping it against the pot as he looked inside, “I guess…”
“Do you understand, or are you upset that I won’t be your personal chief forever?”
Stan chuckled lightly at that, looking up at her, “Not with the way you cook.”
Shelley gasped at that, hand on her chest, “I’m offended by that, Stan.” Stan snickered, moving his spoon towards the pot, but she pulled it away, “No, you can’t have any since it’s not good enough for you. It’s all mine now.”
“Hey, no fair!” Stan giggled, reaching across the table, but Shelley continued to pull it away with a smug look on her face. “Okay, I’m sorry, your cooking is the best thing I’ve ever tasted! Now let me eat!”
She smiled, pushing the pot over so he could reach it again, “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
He chuckled, digging his spoon in and gathered what he could as Shelley did the same, looking at him as he concentrated on eating. She sighed, hunching herself over the table, mostly playing with the food so he could eat most of it. She’d go hungry for him in an instant, even if she’d never admit it.
They sat in silence for a while, Shelley watching as Stan ate until the pot was nearly empty, letting his spoon fall into it as he wiped his mouth, letting her know she was allowed to eat the rest. She made her way through it, eating slowly as a way to trick her brain into thinking she was eating more than there was.
When she was finished, she also dropped her spoon into the now empty pot, pushing it off to the side as she looked at Stan, “Mom called earlier today.”
He hummed at that, “Yeah? Did someone die at the hospital or was she bitchin’ over Mrs. Tweak again?”
Shelley breathed out a small and slightly forced chuckle, “No, uhm, something came up at work, I guess some guy needed to get home-”
“She’s working late again, isn’t she?”
“Yeah… She won’t be home until the morning.”
Stan shrugged, rolling his eyes as he shook his head, “No, of course not, because when is she ever fucking home, right?”
“Stan-”
“Sometimes it feels like she picks up these shifts on purpose, like she doesn’t even want to be here with us.”
“Of course she does.” Shelley defended with a scoff, “Damnit, Stan, you don’t get it. You're just a kid, you don’t understand what she does for us at all.”
“I’m not just a kid…” He grumbled, head leaning on the palm of his hand.
“You’re, what, Thirteen?”
“Twelve…” He corrected shyly, biting his lip as he looked down to the table.
“Yeah, exactly. Don’t go on acting like you understand when you don’t.”
He leaned back in his chair, “I want to.”
“Well I don’t.” She replied, leaning back in hers, “It's bad enough that I do. You don’t need to understand any of this, alright? Just be a damn kid.” He hummed, folding his arms as he looked off to the side. She breathed in the air, closing her eyes before sitting up again, leaning forward on the table, “There's one more thing…”
“What?”
She sucked in a breath, closing her eyes as she spoke, “A couple of my friends are going to a party tonight-”
“No, Shelley, please.”
“Stan, I haven’t gone out in fuckin’ weeks. I want to hang out with my friends!”
“But that means I’ll be alone takin’ care of dad when he gets back from God knows where!” Stan whined, “I don’t like being alone with him! He always finds a way to piss me off and he just blows up in my face!”
Shelley folded her arms, eyes soft, but she was quick to shake that away, “You’re not taking care of him, alright? Not tonight, and especially not when he’s drunk. Wait- Have you been doing that?” Stan bit the inside of his cheek, looking off to the side. He didn’t say a word, but Shelley knew the answer, “Shit. Don’t do that anymore, alright?”
Stan tapped his foot against the floor, nodding his head, “Okay.”
“Good. And when he gets here, just go to your room, lock the door and ignore him. If he starts screaming you can call me, alright?”
“I probably won’t have to go as far as locking my door, maybe just to keep him from bitchin’ in my room about how messy it is, but it’s not like he’ll do anything other than yell.”
Shelley stood to her feet, reaching over to grab the pot, “Yeah, well, I don’t trust the bastard.”
“Neither does mom, and yet, she lets him watch us all the time when he’s drunk.”
“Hey, she’s trying her best, Stanley!” Shelley defended, “You should be grateful for that, alright?!”
Stan jumped back at that, “Jesus, alright! I’m not saying I’m not grateful for it, I’m just annoyed I have to deal with it alone! It’s not fair!”
Shelley sighed, rubbing her face. In a way, she’s always felt responsible for Stan: Cleaning him up, feeding him, making sure he gets home on time, sitting with him when the screaming gets too much. They fight, and it’s something that their parents only ever see, but their connection runs deeper than that. Siblings with a relationship bound by tragedy.
She made her way over to the sink, pulling at the rusted knob until the water started to spill, “I know it’s not, but that's the hand we’ve been dealt, so it’s best we make the most of it and do what we can to make it easier.”
Stan sighed, laying his head in his arms against the table as he watched her, “Do you ever wonder if dad would be acting like this if we never moved? Like, at least he was bearable then, but now, he just sucks.”
Shelley chuckles at this, working to scrub away the cheese sticking to the bottom of the pot, “I’m not sure, but I do know he’s aware that he sucks and he’s just making it worse for everyone.”
Stan giggles for a moment, “You’re funny when you’re not being a bitch.”
“Oh, shut up, I’m always funny, you just don’t have a good sense of humor”
“Hey, my sense of humor is awesome!” Stan stood, hands on the table, unable to hide the growing smile on his face, “Just ask any of my friends, they’ll tell ya!”
Shelley laughed, turning the sink off as she shook the water off from her hands, “Yeah, I’m sure they will, Stan.” She moved around the kitchen, throwing away the box and cleaning up the table as Stan watched. She wanted to ask him to help, but she knew he wouldn’t.
After the kitchen was finally cleaned, she made her way to the living room, grabbing her jacket off from the couch, shoving her arms in as it covered the purple turtle-neck she wore, “Try not to burn the house down while I’m gone, alright?”
Stan leaned back against the table, folding his arms, “Do you really have to go?”
“I promised my friends I would. It’s Kevin’s birthday next week, and since he’s doing something with Ken and Karen then, we decided to have a surprise party for him now. I’d be a pretty shitty friend if I didn’t go.” She straightened out her jacket, making her way over towards him, “Just do what I told you and everything will be fine.”
“What if he got into another fight at the bar? He’ll be screamin’ my name all night just so I can clean his wounds like a big baby!”
Shelley rolled her eyes, “Then put your headphones in! He’s a grown ass man, he can take care of it himself.”
Stan tapped his foot against the ground in thought, standing to his feet. He moved to the railing, leaning back against it with his legs crossed, a pout on his face, “What if I just went with you?”
Shelley let out a laugh, “Fat chance.”
“Come on, please?! You won’t even know I’m there!”
“Oh, trust me, I’ll know.”
Stan groaned with his head thrown back, “Shelley-”
“You’ll be fine, you’ve been home alone with him before.”
“But it sucks!”
“It always sucks.”
“You’re just proving my point!”
“Stan-“
“Please, Shelley, he’s so unbearable.”
“I know he is, but you owe me this with the amount of times you’ve ditched me alone with him to hang out with Kyle.”
Stan groaned, “Damnit.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” She chuckled, making her way through the kitchen, grabbing the keys off from the hook beside the front door. She had only gotten her license two weeks ago, using Randy's blue truck when he doesn’t. And, despite the poor choices he tends to make often, he doesn’t drive when he goes to the bar. So, tonight, the car was hers. “I’ll be back around midnight, alright? Call me if something happens.”
“I won’t.” Stan mocked, making Shelley pause at the door, turning to face him with a stern face.
“I mean it, Stan.” He nodded and Shelley sighed, walking out the door, slamming it behind her. Stan sighed in the new silence, pulling at the rolled up sleeves of his shirt, feeling alone in the empty house.
10:38pm
Stan was flipping through the different channels on the tv when he heard the front door open, making him quickly shut it off and turn to look over the couch he was sitting on. Randy had stumbled in, bottle in hand as he stared at Stan with red eyes. His blue, collared shirt was unbuttoned, showing off the stained white tank top underneath. There was a small stubble on his chin—a poor excuse of a beard—that matched his unruly hair that had gray growing in on the sides.
“Did you eat?” He asked, but Stan knew he didn’t really care.
He didn’t say a word as he placed the remote on the coffee table in front of him before standing on his feet. He walked fast, ignoring his father and making his way through the kitchen, trying to walk up the stairs, avoiding Randy's eyes. Something felt off about his demeanor. He wasn’t as snappy, wasn’t as loud, it was strange and off putting.
His foot met with the first step, but he paused when Randy started speaking, “Where the fuck are you going?” It was all slurred, his tongue too lazy to help him speak. Stan turned to watch as he took another swig from his bottle, letting it drop to the ground when he was done, kicking it away and under the table. His mother would surely have a fit over it when she got home.
“Upstairs. I have homework to do.”
Randy scoffed, stumbling forward on heavy feet, “Don’t bullshit me, Stanley. I know for a fact that you’re failing. You’re probably too stupid to figure that shit out on your own. You’re my kid, so that means you’re gonna give up on even tryin’.”
Stan shrunk in on himself, “I-I’m not failing…”
“That’s not what your teacher said. What was her name? Ms. Anderson?”
“Mrs. Honey, dad. Ms. Anderson is Shelley’s calculus teacher.”
“See, calculus!” He shouted, pointing a finger towards Stan, “Now that’s smart shit! Shelley’s like her mom, always workin’ headstrong, wantin’ to be the most intelligent bitch in the room. But not you. You’re like me.” He scoffed, stumbling around the kitchen with bitter chuckles, slurring his words, “We’re both destined for nothin’ . Everythin’ you do with comes down to nothin’ . It’s all worthless bullshit.” There was a forced smile on Randy's face, opening his arms for Stan, “But it’s okay, we can be worthless together.”
Stan didn’t move towards him, didn’t go in for the hug as he felt the water start to fill his eyes, letting his head droop down so Randy wouldn’t see, “I-I’m not worthless…”
The smile on Randy’s face fell, “You can’t seriously tell me you believe that?”
Stan lip quivered, “But… But I-I’m not. I don’t want to be-”
“That’s not for you to decide.” Randy scoffed, folding his arms, “That’s up to fate, and fate decided you are.”
Tears were rolling down Stans cheeks as he started to brush them away, “Wh-What-”
“Oh, man up, Stanley!” Randy groaned, rubbing his face, “Quit the cryin’ before I give you somethin’ to cry about!”
Stan choked, brushing the tears away as fast as he could, but they just kept falling. Sobs were breaking through and he couldn’t stop the overwhelming wave of emotions. He felt he should’ve been used to this by now, that this shouldn’t be getting to him, but he couldn’t help it. He wished he had just gone upstairs or begged a little harder for Shelley to stay. He wanted to be anywhere but here.
“This fuckin-” Randy swore, making his way over towards Stan at a quick pace, something he couldn’t have prepared for. He got up in Stan's face, the liquor loud on his breath as it drowned his nose, “Stop crying, Stanley, I taught you better than that.”
Stan nodded, trying to hold himself together, “I-I’m sorry.”
“You should be sorry about a lot of things, kid.” He nodded again, accepting it fully in hopes his father would just back off for the rest of the night. He flinched when Randy placed a hand on his cheek, unsure of what to do as he stared. “I say these things because I love you, Stanley. I want you to grow up strong.”
“I don’t understand-”
“I don’t expect you to.” Randy sighed, moving to tighten his arms around Stan, holding him in a hug that Stan was hesitant to reciprocate.
“D-Dad?”
“Yes?” He asked pulling away to look Stan in the face again.
“What if… What if I didn’t want to be worthless?”
Randy rolled his eyes, standing up fully again as he pinched the bridge of his nose, “Jesus Christ, you’ll never fucking learn.”
“B-But-”
“What, you want to be like your mother?! Leave me behind like Shelley to be another version of her?! Is that really what you want?!”
“I don’t-”
“Don’t you fuckin’ lie to me!” Randy screamed, and Stan opened his mouth to defend himself, but it was too late for that.
Randy gripped at Stan's wrist, dragging him through the kitchen and out the front door. They moved across the wood of the porch and skipped through the stairs. The cold nipped at his skin and the only light that guided their footsteps came from the moon. Randy let him go rather harshly, pushing him to the ground and standing over him with a disgusted look on his face. Stan yelped, landing on his arm as the gravel scratched at him.
“Get up.” Randy's voice was low, something eerie and something Stan hadn’t heard before. He was lifting himself on his elbows, looking with pleading eyes as he was breathing almost too heavily. Breathing has become harder for him as of recently. Randy refused to acknowledge it and Stan refused to mention it to his mother. Shelley knew, and with the way he was starting to wheeze, he decided that maybe Sharon should too.
He tried to calm himself, thinking of what Shelley would do in this moment—a voice of reason to make him leave—, “Y-You’re drunk and pro-obably tired… Just go to bed a-and we can talk about this in the morning.”
“Get up!” He shouted, it echoed through the air, something so loud that Stan wondered if the town could hear it. He flinched, watching the way Randy shifted himself around, “I won’t tell you again, Stan, get up.”
He hesitated, lifting himself slowly from the ground and onto his feet. His arm was littered with small scraps and cuts, some beading out blood, while others would surely bruise in the morning. His breathing was rough, something that hurt and was uncontrolled. He hunched himself over, lip quivering as he waited for the screaming to start, but it never came.
“You don’t want to be worthless? Fucking prove it. Prove to me that you aren’t.”
“W-What?”
Randy got up close, leaning to get face-to-face with his son, “Go one, prove it.”
“I-I don’t-”
“That’s what I fuckin’ figured. You’re not your mom and your sister. You’re nothing.”
“But I want to be something!” Stan cried.
“Well you’re not!” It was something so fast. He hadn’t been expecting it, wasn’t ready for the pain that coursed through the bridge of his nose or the white blinding his eyes, stars dancing in his vision. His father had never hit him before, so how was he meant to prepare for his fist?
He hit the ground, a sob breaking through as he cradled his face. He pulled his hand back, watching the blood leak down to his palm, feeling it fall from his chin. He looked up at his father, wishing that this was nothing short of a nightmare. He wanted to wake up and realize that it wasn’t true.
“Look at you,” His father scoffed, “A bark and no bite.”
“I-I’m sorry-”
“You want to be a man? Talk back to me when you want? Is that what you want?” Randy asked, taking the collared shirt off and throwing it to the snow that covered the grass, “Well? Is it?!”
“No, dad, I’m sorry.” He sobbed, sitting up and pleading.
Randy shook his head, walking past him and back up the steps of the front porch, “Sleep in the fucking barn, maybe the cold will do you some good.”
“W-What…” Stan asked, a nauseous feeling flowing through him, but he ignored it. He watched with shock, his father entering the house and slamming the door behind him, a lock echoing through the air.
Stan shook his head, unbelieving. He stood with trembling knees, wobbling over until he was practically running towards the porch. He rushed up the steps, his balance lost as he fell against the door, trying to twist at the knob, but it wouldn’t budge. He banged his fist against it, breath short, screaming through sobs as he apologized and begged to be let back in, but he was met with nothing. He wanted to call Shelley, or maybe even his mother, but he didn’t have a phone. He didn’t have access to the landline, trapped inside as he was cast away.
He watched as the light went out through the window, leaving him in the darkness, guided by a helpless moon. He leaned his forehead against it, sliding down to sit on the porch as he cried. Small pleads still cracked through him, the pain pounding through his nose and making his head dizzy.
He sat there for what felt like hours, shivering from the cold, praying that Randy would just open the door again. He looked out, watching the snowfall with the wind blowing it harshly against his skin. It hurt. He tugged down the sleeves, squeezing himself as he sniffled. He stood, walking with no thought in his head as he wiped the blood away with his thumb, wincing at the pain it caused him.
It felt as if he had blinked and, suddenly, he was inside his fathers barn. The smell of weed cursed it, choking him out as he coughed into his elbow. He looked around, slowly walking inside. His eyes spotted a trap in the corner, and he decided that that's where he would sleep for the night.
He huddled himself in, pulling the tarp over himself as he laid on the floor with his knees to his chest. His lip quivered as he continued to cry, tears mixing in with the blood. Everything was spinning and it made him want to throw up, but it never rose. His breathing was still so short, choking him until his eyes finally fluttered shut.
August 14th, 2024
“I never told anyone about that night.” Stan whispered, leaning against Kenny as he pulled his knees up against his chest. “Shelley found me that morning, but I never told her what happened, despite how much she pleaded. She never went out much again after that. Well, until mom died, at least.”
Kenny rubbed at Stan's shoulder, forehead leaning against Stan, “I didn’t know you two were that close.”
“We were once.” Stan hummed, playing with his fingers, “She always did what she could before my mother died. We fought, but it was never something that stuck. Then, she found out how my mother did it, and just stopped talking to me.”
“Oh.”
Stan hummed, “I think she thought it was just easier to blame me for what happened, and I blamed myself too, so I didn’t bother to try and stop her. Soon, she wasn’t even home anymore, and I think she knew she took it too far when she started spreading rumors.”
“That wasn’t fair of her, Stan.” Kenny said, putting a hand on Stan's cheek, making him look at him, “She was your older sister and you needed her, but she just left you in the dust and blamed you for something that wasn’t your fault.”
Stan nodded, reaching a hand up and over Kenny's, “I know, it just hurts. Like- I wish I could just call her, but, even if she didn’t change her number, I wouldn’t know what to say. The day she left for college… I didn’t even know she applied! She left a note on my door with an apology, saying she was a coward because she couldn’t face me. She wanted out of that house, and, for what it’s worth, I’m glad she got that… even if it meant she had to leave me behind.”
Kenny could feel the way he was leaning, his whole body relaxing against him. He shifted them so they could lay against the pillow, pulling the covers to their shoulder as Stan continued to hold Kenny close.
“The more I think back to it, the more I realize it was our mom that really held us together.” He whispered, “And it was Randy who tore us apart. My mom never really found out about it, but it’s not like she was home enough to put the pieces together,” The tears flowed like a river from Stan's eyes, “The more I think about it, the more I realize she wasn’t around for much of anything.”
“Stan-”
“She didn’t know Randy hit me, she didn’t know that me and Shelley had to clean him up when he got home bloody, she just… wasn’t there .”
“I’m so sorry, Stan.”
“I was just a kid, Ken… Why? Why would he-” He choked, biting his lip as he covered his mouth with a whimper following shortly.
“I don’t… I don’t know. I can’t make sense of why someone would want to do this to their kid.”
“It was easier when I thought I deserved it.”
“You didn’t-”
“I know… I didn’t deserve any of it, but sometimes I pretend I did. Gives him more of a reason to act the way he did so I don’t have to get stuck asking ‘ why ’, you know?”
Kenny frowned, brushing the hair away from his face, thumb rubbing against his cheek, “Yeah, I do.”
“Sometimes I think you’re the only one that does.”
Kenny chuckled, “I fear you’ve already said that before.”
Stan smiled, cuddling himself against Kenny's chest, eyes heavy as sleep started to hold him in comforting arms, “Then you should know that it’s true…”
Notes:
Look, I can make Shelley a good sister!
...kind of...
It's also 4:30 in the fucking morning. RIP my sleep schedule
Chapter 7: Silence
Notes:
TW: Self-Harm & Mentions of Child Abuse
Chapter Text
August 15th, 2024
9:12am
The McCormick Kid’s Apartment
The only thing that Stan could feel when consciousness started to flow back was just heavy. His bones ached with limbs bent, everything in him was a comfortable kind of limp. There was a sticky feeling in his mouth—trapped behind chapped lips—, despite how dry his throat was. His eyelids felt weighed down and he was wrapped in safety, content with the warmth that was soft on his shoulders. Everything felt right, like nothing had ever gone wrong.
It was something that only lasted a split second, something to slip away as everything tumbled back, just as it did every morning: The screaming, the blood, and suddenly, a dark abyss that made him helpless—useless—for a week. He whined, snuggling closer to the warmth, trying to get his brain to shut off for just a while longer. Sometimes, he’d have success in that, other times, he shuts off from the world.
Something moves against his head, pushing it lightly before falling again, over and over on repeat—a statement of life. His eyes flutter, the dull room lighting up only slightly with the sun that peaks in through the broken and bent blinds. It adds to the warmth and safety he’s swallowed in. Everything is blurry before him, unfocused as he blinks away the tiredness that lingers—it isn’t easy. He doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to wake, but the confusion of where he was and who was there was strong enough to get him to try anyway.
He softly groaned, breathing in the strong scent of sandalwood and pine. It was all calming, a sense of security that made him weakly chuckle. His vision came into focus, finding himself squished into the chest of Kenny, the fabric of his white shirt clenched in his hands—he hadn’t even noticed. His legs were bent slightly, tangled and trapped within Kenny's, his knees pressed into the elders thighs.
He looks up, feeling small with his cheek pressed into Kenny's chest, feeling his heartbeat against his ear. Kenny's face looked relaxed, features falling in a way that looked comfortable and sweet, cute in the eyes of many—in the eyes of Stan. His lips were slightly parted, showing off his chipped tooth and slightly crooked front teeth that just fit him so perfectly in all the best ways. His eyes twitched every so often, mumbling softly, words too slurred to make any sense. His dirty blonde hair was messy, but despite that, it looked soft. The tip of his nose was a bright red, cheeks flushed, and Stan could finally see some freckles as they made alignment with the sun. Stan would never understand how someone could be beautiful and hold him like he was all the same.
He shyly cuddled in closer, his back cracking as he pushed himself towards Kenny's shoulder, hiding his face in the crook of his neck. His hands moved slowly, wrapping them around him, holding him tightly, like he’d disappear if he didn’t. He held at the back of Kenny's shirt, feeling himself ready to slip away again. He decided he could live here, that he could crave himself into this bed and be wrapped in Kenny's arms, content and free from all the worries he once had.
There was a small chuckle that made him freeze in place, his face burning as he refused to lift his head. He didn’t want to face the embarrassment, he didn’t want to deal with Kenny pushing him away for being so weird about this. He wondered for a moment if he could just pretend to be asleep, but he knew it wouldn’t work. He was too rigid now, breathing too controlled. He squeezed his eyes shut and slowly started to pull himself away, but was stopped when Kenny's hand reached his hair, putting him back in place.
“No, you can’t leave me now.” Kenny's voice was rough, still waking up as he rubbed gently at Stan's scalp.
He leaned into it, groaning softly, “Sorry.” It was mumbled, lips pulling apart and sticking to his teeth, but he didn’t really mind it.
Kenny shushed him, kissing at the top of Stan's head, making the younger's stomach burst with butterflies, his face on fire with a craving for more, “Don’t be, you're comfortable.”
Stan smiles at that, lips against the skin on Kenny's neck, kissing him in a way that wouldn’t be so noticeable. Kenny did though, but he didn’t comment, heart pounding out of his chest with a smile that could rip through the skin of his cheeks. He was happy here, like he could pretend it was always this way, that nothing could take this from him.
They laid together, sitting in each other's arms, slowly waking as they listened to Kevin's boots hitting against the wood of the kitchen, the sound of a can cracking open. Kenny's eyes looked up and over Stan's head, looking at the alarm clock on his nightstand. It was almost 9:30 in the morning, meaning Kevin was going to be five minutes late for work with how long he takes to walk out the door. He could practically see him in the kitchen, looking through the cabinet doors for a granola bar, taking sips from an energy drink as he mumbled to himself about how he’s ‘ gonna be late ’. Realistically, both Kenny and Kevin knew they could be over an hour late and their boss wouldn’t even bat an eye, but that didn’t mean they liked to abuse that.
Kenny had the next two days off from work, requesting the time so he could be with Karen as she entered high school. He knew it would be hard for her, the switch from middle to high school was stressful for Kenny too. He didn’t like the idea of Karen having an awful day and walking into an empty apartment, so he used a few vacation days that he had been saving up. Kevin called him an idiot for doing so, but Kenny didn’t really care. And, being here, Stan wrapped in his arms as he was probably falling back asleep, he’s never been more happy about doing so.
11:30am
When Stan awakes for the second time that morning—not having meant to fall back asleep—, he was alone. The covers were pulled up to his shoulders and the warmth that Kenny had brought him was gone. His hands felt around the empty space, softly whining when he couldn’t find Kenny.
He groaned, pushing himself to sit up in the bed, listening to the springs squeak at his movement as the comforter fell away from him. The shower beside him was running and he could hear Kenny softly humming within it. It etched into the walls and seeped over the door—it was beautiful. Kenny always had such a lovely voice, but it was like pulling teeth to get him to sing. For someone who was so confident, it was strange that that’s where he drew the line.
Stan had only heard him do so a few times, but Stan would never forget the first.
October 12th, 2016
Stan sat on the carpet of Kyle’s floor, resting his leg on a bent knee, guitar in hands as he strung the cords. Kyle was studying beside him, sitting at his desk with papers and pens scattered across it. Kenny was behind him on the bed, writing in his notebook, stopping to bite at his pen for a moment—something that would piss Kyle off, but he wasn’t looking. His arm was wrapped in cloth, keeping it straight in a cast that had signatures from all his friends, Stans and Kyles being the biggest ones. He was meant to go to the doctors soon to get it off, but Kevin hadn’t told him when that appointment was yet.
It was another quiet hang out, a time for Kyle to finally relax and let his mind try and ignore responsibility, for Kenny to soak in the time he had with his friends before he would be pushed back into helping around the new apartment, and for Stan to escape the yelling his father had trapped within the walls of the farm house. These were never planned, but they were also never turned down—Kyle's house becoming a safe haven.
The pads of Stan's fingers pushed against the cords of his guitar, something that would hurt when he was first starting to learn, but now, it had fallen numb to him. He strummed against them, chuckling to himself at the way Kyle would tap his fingers against his desk to the rhythm. It was a song Stan could play with his eyes closed, so he did. He laid his head back on the bed, softly breathing as he worked through memory. He felt completely free, his head separating from body as he floated in a comforting space his brain had conjured for him—alone, but content.
That's when he heard it.
A low voice, mumbling that was slowly turning to singing. Something soft, going along with the rhythm—Stan didn’t even know Kenny knew this song. He opened his eyes, looking up to Kenny who made no eye contact, perhaps he didn’t even know he was doing it. He laid his head on his knee, tapping his pen against the notebook with a crooked smile plastered on his face.
His voice was something that Stan would die for. Kyle had fought him on that many times, saying he could most certainly sing, and most of their grade would agree with him on that. But in that moment, listening to Kenny as he sang the words in such a majestic way, he knew that he couldn’t be that good if he didn’t sound like this .
The strumming came to a soft close, and as did the singing, putting them back into silence. Kenny cleared his throat, finishing the same sentence he had been working on for the last two minutes before closing his notebook. He sighed, letting his pen roll against the comforter as he let his knee fall, leaning down on his hands as he finally looked up to meet Kyle and Stan staring at him.
He raised an eyebrow, tensing slightly, “What?”
Stan breaths out a chuckle, “What? What do you mean ‘ what ’?”
“I, uhm… What? I don’t know…”
Stan turns to face the bed, setting his guitar down gently, “I didn’t know you could sing, dude!”
Kenny's face flushes and he sinks, fiddling with the comforter below him and wishing he could hide away in his hood like he used to, “Oh, that… I can’t? I don’t know, I just-”
“You can’t?!” Stan asks surprised, “Like hell that's true!”
“Stan.” Kyle calls, standing from his desk, “Calm down, man.” He makes his way over, sitting on the bed with his arms crossed.
“Thanks.” Kenny mumbles.
“He’s not wrong, though. You can sing.”
Kenny opens his mouth in protest, but Stan is already talking, “Dude, we should do this together more! I can play my guitar and you can sing, maybe we could perform some-”
“No! Absolutely not.” Kenny squeaked, “I don’t… I never want to be on a stage like that.” Both Kyle and Stan were taken aback by this. Kenny had left the ‘ shy kid ’ part of him behind in elementary school. And, even then, he’d still go out of his way to do things like this as long as he had his hood to hide in.
“I don't think I've ever seen you this nervous about something, and we aren’t even actively doing it.” Kyle chuckled awkwardly and Kenny shrugged.
“It just doesn’t interest me.”
Stan's smile faltered at the memory as it continued to progress. Leaving Kyle's house on that cold night, walking through the slush because his father hadn’t answered his calls to pick him up and he didn’t want to put that burden on Kyle's mother. It was a long walk, his ankles drenched in the slush, freezing the socks to his feet. His knees hurt and his back ached as the guitar case pulled at him, strap rubbing against his neck. He remembers walking back into that empty house, the tv lighting up the dark. Shelley was out with her friends that night, and his mother had another late shift. He was meant to spend the night at Kyles, but his mother didn’t want anyone over on a school night, much to both their disappointment.
His father was drunk that night, agitated and sloppy. He remembers yelling, but he couldn’t be damned to remember how it started. He remembers there was a slap that echoed through the house, and suddenly, his guitar was in Randy's grasp. That was the last time he had seen it until Kyle brought it back to him. He didn’t go to school that next day, too depressed to even think about it, but as the night fell and the screaming started, he didn’t want to be stuck in the house either.
Stan shakes his head at the thought, wanting to forget it all and just focus on the singing, but he can’t. The pain of it all bounces around in his chest as he sits, dissociating as he stares out towards the closet. He doesn’t move an inch, trapped in his mind, letting the screaming words his father would spew, attacking him in the harshest of ways. He hummed slightly, a quiet and soft laugh of sorts, but it didn’t progress to anything more than that.
Randy made him feel like he was worth nothing, like he was an insect beneath his boot. But Kyle made him feel like was worth more than the stars above. Kenny was trying to offer the same, trying to lift him up when he felt beaten and bruised. But, with every little good thing Kenny did, every ounce he used to fuel his confidence, the guilt would just come again to knock him off his balance. He was running from a never ending wave that just builds itself, trying to drown Stan under. Sometimes, Kenny would save him, sometimes it was Craig, but most times—like now—, there was no one to help him.
He was swept under the wave as it crashed down on him, the debris of everything that it swallowed up cutting him with more insults his father had once yelled at him. It was dark and cold, killing him in a stretched out way. His vision blurred in his cage of blue, a small peace that laid in the water as it started to go still. So loud, but familiar, a sense of belonging in the ripples. He didn’t try to jerk, never wished to catch his breath, just letting himself sink down to the sand that would certainly scrape against his skin.
It feels like hands that wrap him in the warmth, pulling him in faster as the voices start to fade. He could live in this suffocating pain, because he can feel as it starts to drain out. The water crashes against him, filling his ears to deafen it all like when he’d put a shell against his ear to try and listen to the beach. Content, the salt water filling his lungs to help his thirst, but still leaving him craving more. It whispers to him, something soft, a low voice to guide him, but it’s not as beautiful as Kenny's.
The bubbles part ways with his lips, a silent goodbye as they pop, and he can feel himself fall just a little faster. The liquid drenches his fingers, brushing through his hair in comfortable silence.
Silence. That’s all he’s ever wanted.
It’s cloudy wherever he looks, something to punch away at his head. So he closes his eyes, letting the dusk surround him. He wants to describe it, and wants to know this feeling like a friend. A word, something to put it simply.
Stygian . That’s a word, isn’t it? Something Kyle knew, a meaning without light. It seems accurate enough to him, so he keeps it. Stygian. He quite likes the way it sounds, but the voices are growing too quiet to hear. His brain has shut down, and maybe it should be worrisome, but he finds enjoyment there. It’s a sin to be so lazy, to let himself sink in sloth as he starts to fight away the consciousness, but it’s not something he really cares for.
Iniquity. Another word. Corruption, something harmful. That's all this is, but he loves it, he knows he deserves it. A use for illegal narcotics. It’s a drug, an addiction—‘ a destroyer of personal health ’. He’s not entirely sure where he had heard this one, but he feels as though it fits here. Iniquity . He doesn’t really like it as much as stygian, but he knows it works.
He tries to think of more, but he can’t think at all as his head starts to fill with the water around him. It leaks through his eyes like tears, mixing back into the water, just to go right back again. It makes him feel dizzy, and makes the drowsiness all the more prominent. His brain simply falls apart to it-
He thinks it was a little bit of Randy’s brain that had fallen to the stairs, but he didn’t look long enough to investigate it.
His body jerks at the image. His arms flail, and, suddenly, stygian doesn’t seem like all that good of a word, and iniquity feels worse. He doesn’t want to drown, not really. He can feel the sand rub against the palm of his hand, and he can’t help but think—‘ how could I have let myself fall so far? ’.
His feet kick at the bottom, pushing himself away from the coral and weeds, opening his eyes to the blinding sun. It’s all white for a moment, but only for a moment. He takes a gasp for air—how had he gotten out so quickly? The white fades to black, then that seeps out to blurry vision. It clears out, showing no water, no sand and no debris. It’s just a room with stained walls and poorly hung posters. He gasped in the fresh air and tasted no salt. He was in Kenny's room all over again, but when had he even left it? He didn’t quite understand it, but he didn’t even want to.
But, if it really wasn’t something that was real, how had his arms gotten so wet? And if the pain from drowning was false, why could he still feel it? He doesn’t want the answer, afraid he already knows what it would be.
He swallowed thickly, setting his jaw as he slowly looked down to see red . It comes from his arms, beading and dripping away, and it’s gotten everywhere: His nails, ankles and shirt, the comforter and the wooden floor. Blood had been itched out, opening old scars, ready to be healed new ones. He didn’t want new ones. He wanted to be better like he thought he was, he wanted to keep his urges at bay. His subconscious didn’t agree with him, though.
A squeak came from the bathroom as the shower stopped, and made Stan look up with wild eyes, “Shit…” He mumbled. He couldn’t let Kenny see him like this, couldn’t let him see how easily he was to drown.
Stygian and iniquity. Silence.
Kenny was fast getting ready in the morning, so he knew he didn’t have much time. He pulled his arms away from his nails, hissing at the pain. He moved to take off his shirt, soaking the blood from the comforter, wiping his arms as well, loose tears leaking alongside it. It was sloppy, and overall, useless, but he didn’t stop.
He didn’t even notice the door had opened until Kenny was grabbing at his wrists, forcing him to let go of the shirt. They looked at each other, a pair of eyes with concern, another with fear. “I-I didn’t mean too-” He choked, swallowing with a hic, “I’m sorry…”
Kenny wrapped him in his arms, pushing Stan's face into his shoulder. He didn’t say a word, and part of Stan hated it. He wanted Kenny to yell at him for breaking his promise to stop or beg him to never do it again, but he was met with nothing. But, the other part was grateful for the silence. He didn’t want to be bombarded with questions, he just wanted to let himself be held, even if he was too weak to hold Kenny back.
Silence.
Chapter 8: A Derelict Gas Station
Notes:
TW: Heavy Child Abuse, Neglect & Near Death Experiences
Kenny’s turn for the spotlight, let’s go
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
August 15th, 2024
2:37pm
The McCormick Kid’s Apartment
Two pairs of roughed up shoes scraped against the rigid concrete, legs moving sluggishly along the sidewalk—weeds growing in through the cracks. It was silent between them, not a word spoken since Kenny had wrapped up his arms. He had given him encouraging words that were only met with sniffles and small nods of acknowledgement. Stan never protested, never pulled away—didn’t even try—, he just let it happen.
When it was all done, Stan laid on his side and curled in on himself, keeping his head down in shame as he pursed his lips. Kenny pouted at that, climbing into bed beside him with arms wrapping around his torso, keeping him safe from all dangers as they just lied together in comforting silence. Stan clung to his shirt, face to his chest while Kenny brushed through messy hair, eyes watered, but he never cried. His heart ached for the boy that buried himself, wanting to protect him, to prove he was worth so much, but he knew it wasn’t so easy. One couldn’t so easily change the mind of what another thinks with kind words. A trick of the mind falsely drowns them, and Kenny can’t simply make it stop with a snap of his fingers, despite how much he wishes he could.
They moved across the pavement, stepping over the curb to walk through the parking-lot. Stan let out a heavy sigh, deflating with the weight on his shoulders and leaning against the taller's side. Kenny jumped lightly with shock, but he never pushed him away. Instead, he moved to lay his arm across his shoulders, squeezing him closer with a chuckle.
Stan was wrapped in a light blue sweatshirt, something he stole from Kenny's closet. He claimed it was because he now had blood on his and he didn’t want the people Kenny lived around to see the bandages, but as his face grew a bright red with fast paced excuses, Kenny knew there was more to it. He ultimately agreed—loving the way his clothes looked on Stan—, but he made him promise that he would tell his aunt and uncle, or at the very least, his therapist, about what had happened.
Stan sucked in a breath, letting the fresh air fill his lungs and relax his muscles. He looked up at the blonde's face, giving him a smile before speaking with a dry and empty throat, “I’m sorry, Ken. I didn’t mean to scare you. I don’t know why… I thought I was better!”
Kenny hummed, rubbing his thumb against Stan’s shoulder, “It’s okay, man, really. I’m just glad it wasn’t as bad as it used to be. Do you… Do you wanna talk about it?
“You know I don’t…” Stan moved his hands up to rub his eyes, Kenny continuing to guide him to his truck, “I couldn’t get out of my head. I don’t know why, but I just rocked myself back to that fucking night when he took my guitar… All I could see was my dad, but it wasn’t what you guys knew. Not what Kyle or Craig had seen that night, or what you and Tweek heard of. That night he was controlled, he had thought everything out, he had a plan with the intent to hurt- to kill . But what I saw everyday was… something else.”
They stopped walking once they reached the hood of Stan’s truck. It was a dark red, rusted near the tires—tires that needed to be changed—with a dent on the left side-door. It ran on fifty dollars worth of gasoline and pure hope that it would even start, but Stan loved it. There was a sticker on the back for the motor shop that Kenny worked at. Kenny never let him pay when he’d bring it in to be fixed, so Stan figured this could be his way of paying him back, spreading the word of the miracles they worked to get that rust bucket working.
It was once his mothers, meant to be a gift for Shelley, but she refused and bought her own car with money no one even knew she had been saving. Stan figured this was her way of cutting ties, not having anything to own and feeling the need to replace with the mess of their family. Perhaps that’s why Stan felt so connected to it, but that wasn’t something he wanted to keep his mind on.
A necklace hung from the rearview mirror, a silver locket from his mother that he just didn’t have the heart to get rid of. Behind it, a green and blue bracelet that Stan had made for Kyle. There were two, a matching pair, but one was buried beneath six feet of soil. There was a picture of him behind his steering wheel, something Stan would stare at for a few moments every time he had to leave the graveyard, a cruel reminder of that beautiful smile he’d never see again.
“What did you see?” Kenny asked, pulling Stan out of his thoughts as he stepped away, folding his arms.
Stan sighed, digging his hands into the pocket of the sweatshirt he wore, leaning against the hood of his truck, “Who he really was, I guess? And a little of who he wanted to be. He was predictable most days, but others he left me shocked, like the night I left. He was frantic, concerned about the wrong things, and mostly just pathetic. The man was an angry drunk who believed solely that the best advice ever given to him was ‘hit first, ask questions later’. He never planned the times he hit me, they just happened. But, when he started, it was hard for him to stop, like it was a drug.” He shrugged, voice trailing off. He stared at the ground, feet kicking at the loose rocks and listening to them skid away as he scrunched his nose, “He wanted to be there for me, wanted me to grow into someone great, but he just went about it in all the wrong ways. It was hard for me to realize it, but when I did, nothing about who he was and what he did changed. He’s a shit father, and he always was, but he’ll never get to be again.”
Kenny sat beside him, leaning his head against Stan's shoulder, moving his hand to Stan's arm. Stan moved his hands out of his pocket and Kenny smiled, holding one of them, “I’m proud of you, Stan, you know that?”
Stan chuckled, squeezing him lightly, “You’ve told me once or twice before.”
Kenny hummed, lips kissing against neck, something to comfort, maybe something he should’ve held back, but Stan never pushed him away. They sat in the sun, it was oddly hot for this time of year, especially with where they lived where it was mostly just cold. Craig would’ve loved it, and Tweek would’ve complained. Stan basked in it, soaking in the warmth with Kenny at his side. It was beautiful, something that felt perfectly in place.
The sweat in his hands made them clammy, a somewhat uncomfortable feeling, but he never let Kenny's hand go. If anything, his grip only tightened, afraid that Kenny would. He wondered if he had ever felt this way, chest heavy with everything he’s been through, despite how easily it seemed that others could walk away freely. He wanted to know how Kenny was able to walk away from it all, to laugh like he meant it everyday, and to love with a damaged heart.
He tapped his foot, biting at his lip in thought, and Kenny had taken notice, pulling away from him with a concerned look, “What's wrong? Did I… Did I cross a line?”
As he went to pull his hand away, Stan pulled it closer to his lap, head turning to him quickly, “No! N-No, you didn’t!” Kenny was taken aback, and Stan swallowed thickly, looking away
The blonde leaned his head closer, tilting it slightly as he reached his free hand over to Stan's face, making him look back over, “What’s going on in that big head of yours, Stanny boy.”
Stan stifled a laugh, face growing red, “Can I ask you a question?”
“You just did.” Kenny chuckled.
Stan hummed, not bothering to banter back at him. Instead, he looked at Kenny with a serious face, “How did you do it? How were you able to get through everything your father put you through?”
Kenny stiffened, taking his hands back as he folded them, “I uhm- I don’t… I mean, I had Kev and Karen, a-and friends that were there for me. I guess that just made it a little easier for me.”
Stan studied him for a moment, biting the inside of his cheek. Kenny's stature was tense, rigid with shaky hands as sweat dripped down his neck, but Stan knew it wasn’t from the heat. He avoided eye contact—something that Kenny never had a struggle with. “Ken? Were you ever able to talk about any of it? I mean- I don’t really know what happened that night, you never explained more than that Kevin got hurt and you felt at fault for it.”
“Because it was my-” Kenny cut himself off when he noticed how loud his voice had gotten, sucking in a breath as he closed his eyes, trying to calm himself. After a moment, he hurriedly rubbed his face, “Stan-”
“Don’t ‘ Stan ’ me, Ken, y’all do this shit to me all the time.”
“I-” Kenny tried to defend himself, but he deflated with a sour chuckle, “Yeah… You’re right! You’re always fuckin’ right.”
Stan shrugged, pushing against Kenny with his elbow, “Not always.” Kenny chuckled again, though this time it felt more real. Stan watched him, the way his face tightened, like he was fighting with his mind of what he was allowing himself to say, “Talk to me, Ken…”
“It’s been eight years. That’s a long enough time to get over something.”
Stan hummed, pursing his lips together, “But you aren’t really over it, are you?”
“I don’t want to do this, Stan. You’re going through a lot and it wouldn’t be right for me to put something like this on you.”
Stan nodded, arms folded as he looked down at the ground, “Yeah, I know. But, you have helped me through a lot, Craig and Tweek have too. It just… I feel wrong if I don’t at least try to return the favor.”
Kenny can’t help but breathe out a laugh, shaking his head, “No, I wasn’t able to talk about any of this. Kevin tried to get it out of me, but I always refused. Those kinds of emotions… I don't want to feel them.”
“I might help to get it out.”
Kenny smiled, looking over at him as the wind brushed through the strains of his hair, tickling at his forehead, “Maybe.”
May 30th, 2016
10:01pm
It was at the edge of town, south of the shopping centers and east of the wealthy neighborhoods. Somewhere past the old railroad tracks that no one used anymore, a place easily forgotten. A small home buried in rotten soil, a roof made with creaking wood, something that should’ve fallen apart four winters ago. A nice forest green that was stained by mud and smoke. The house creaked, broken windows failing to keep out the cold winds of the night.
There wasn’t much inside, a small garage with mountains of boxes full of useless junk. The floor was cracked, concrete poorly laid and walls caving in—it was almost suffocating. Cobwebs and beetles lived in each box, finding warmth throughout the fall and winter. A single step led up to a door that barely closed.
Inside, a space no one could really consider a living room. The couch was brown, but it was once a bright red. The sides were eaten away by termites—a recurring problem—and the back leg was missing. Beer bottles laid within the cushions, broken glass ripping through. The carpet was black, a place not safe to walk across without shoes. The TV in front of the couch was smashed in, something that had happened only a few nights ago.
There was a hall with three rooms—all small—, one was a place where three kids would sleep, the one beside it belonged to a man with a hole in his heart. The bathroom hardly worked and showers didn’t come often. There were no pictures to be hung or decor to lay wasted, just an empty house with trapped souls to make the walls moan.
The kitchenette had only one working light—even then, it flickered overhead—, cupboards were mostly empty and the fridge only held milk and beer. There was a loaf of bread, strawberry poptarts and a family size bag of chips, all mostly gone and all bought by the eldest McCormick son.
And there, sitting at the dusty table, were three kids, eating poptarts for dinner as they huddled together for warmth. It was routine at this point, eating quickly and returning to their room before their father would come home. Most days, they were quick enough to do so, others, they weren’t so lucky.
“Kenny, if you don’t eat, you’re gonna be starvin’ all night.” Kevin spoke in southern draws, leaning his head on the palm of his hand as he watched his sister scarf down the last of her food.
“‘M not hungry…” Kenny mumbled, lying through his teeth and tapping his fingers against the table as he kept his head down.
Kevin looked over at him, moving to fold his arms, “I know that’s a lie.” He spoke with amusement, and part of Kenny hated it. He hated being spoken to like he was a child, even if he was. He felt that if he was forced to grow up as quickly as he did, then he should be treated with the same respect that an adult would have.
Kevin's voice was rough, damaged by the yelling he did all day at work. It was the fourth night in a row he had worked over time, trying to earn enough money to get food on the table. He was doing pretty good, all things considered, but he was always cautious about what he spent. He had an emergency savings account opened, putting in thirty percent of his paycheck each time he got paid, always paranoid that something might happen. And, with the other man they were forced to live with, that wasn’t a stupid thing to consider.
Kenny brought his knees to his chest, holding his legs close, “Why do you always eat after us?”
Kevin straightened himself, clearing his throat, “I… Don’t worry about it, Ken, just eat.”
“You do it because you want to make sure there's enough for us, right?” Kenny asked, but it wasn’t really a question, more of a statement, “That just doesn’t seem fair.”
Kevin shook his head, rubbing his forehead, “We aren’t havin’ this discussion right now.”
“But-”
“Eat the damn food, I won’t tell you again.”
Kenny pouted, hand reaching out and pushing the last of his poptart towards Kevin, “I’m not hungry.”
Kevin smacked his lips together, staring down at it, “You don’t have to do this.”
“I know that.” Kenny mumbled, “I’m not hungry.” He repeated.
Kevin sighed, grabbing the poptart and biting into it. It did little to stop the hunger, but it was something. There were only a few bites left, but he savored each one. He finished, smiling at Kenny, “There, happy?” the blonde weakly smiled back with a nod.
Karen was quick to finish after, smiling up at Kevin with her hands on the table—some strawberry paste laying on the corner of her mouth. Kevin reached a hand over, wiping it away with his thumb. She giggled, kicking her legs and Kevin stood, grabbing the wrappers that littered the table and the empty box they came from.
Once he threw them away, he froze at the sound of squeaking brakes—a sound he’s grown too familiar with. He moved to the window above the sink, watching his father step out of the car, slamming the door behind him as he swayed. He looked angry—he always did—his eyes blood shot and a cigarette between his fingers. He was home early, and Kevin hadn’t been counting on that. But when had his father ever been predictable?
He cursed through his teeth, turning back to the table. Karen didn’t have a clue as to what was going on, but she never really did, too young to understand it all. Kevin had protected her from it, and he did a damn good job at that. He had always gotten her to the room before the fighting started. But Kenny knew, stubborn as always to know, watching through cracked doors despite Kevin telling him not to. He looked afraid, and that was something only Kevin and their father saw.
“Go back to the room. Go now.” His voice was hushed and hurried, but it was demanding. Kenny grabbed his sister's hand and they rushed to the hall, Kevin on their heel, but they were never fast enough. The front door was kicked open, making the lights flicker and a new hole punching through the wall. Kevin froze, turning to look at his father as Kenny and Karen huddled in the hall. “You’re home early…” Kevin commented, and his father huffed.
He folded his arms, looking into the kitchen with disgust written on his face, “It’s a fuckin’ mess in here. What, y’all never learned how to clean up after yourselves? It’s fuckin’ disgustin’.”
Kevin rolled his eyes, folding his own arms with a challenging look on his face. He always did this, always fought back when he knew it was pointless. He never showed fear, even when their father responded with fists—even when Kenny knew he was terrified. Kenny would never admit that Kevin was like Stuart in that way, because Kevin wasn’t Stuart and he never would be.
“I’ll clean it, Stuart, just relax.”
“Don’t tell me to relax!” He scoffed, “I have a right to be upset over my house lookin’ like this! Y’all never clean up after yourselves, and I’m sick of it! I want all of you in here and cleanin’ this kitchen until it’s spotless!”
Kevin rubbed his forehead with annoyance, “Oh, ‘cause you always clean up after yourself…”
“Yes, I do!”
“Really?!” Kevin looked up at him, hands moving to his hips, “You’ve never left a single bottle laying around?! You know, Karen almost twisted her ankle because of that, and it would’ve come out of your wallet to fix it!”
“Well maybe she needs to be a little more careful! That brat is always getting herself hurt and that is not my fault!” Karen's head fell as she bit her lip, hugging at the wall as Kenny sat beside her, whispering in her ear about how Stuart was wrong.
Kevin’s fists fell at his side, teeth clenched before he yelled, “She’s not a brat, she’s your daughter! And she deserves some respect out of you!”
Stuart rolled his eyes, “Jesus Christ, Kevin, she's hardly mine! Your mother was a fuckin’ whore, who knows who the bitch could belong too! You and Kenny are the only ones I know are mine!” Karen looked at Kenny, a silent plea to tell her it wasn’t true, but Kenny didn’t know what to say.
Kevin got up in his fathers face, finger against Stuart's chest. His face was hot and anger flooded his mind, “Don’t you ever call her a bitch!”
Something flashed across Stuart's face, a look in his eyes that called out what he was ready to do. Kevin knew it, but he never backed down. Kenny knew it too, and he had prepared for this. He grabbed Karen's hands, pressing them against her ears and shoved her face into his chest so she couldn’t see, but watching himself with a small flinch and a whine as his fathers fist rocked against Kevin’s jaw.
Kevin stumbled back with no time to recover as Stuart gripped at the collar of his shirt. His hands held at his fathers wrists, keeping an angered face to mask the fear swarming his head—it was easier that way. He grit his teeth and silently prayed that Kenny and Karen would go back into their room, but he knew Kenny enough to know that was wishful thinking.
“Is this what you really want to do?! Deny the facts?! It’s shit like this that made your mother leave us behind! You made her walk out that door, Kevin! And I know you know too!”
“No it’s not!” They both turned at the voice, Kevin's eyes widening as Kenny stepped out from the hall with his own watered. He held his head high, hands at his side—clenched to stop them from shaking.
Stuart's face hardened, shoving Kevin away and making him stumble back into the couch, “What did you say?”
“He didn’t say anything, dad!” Kevin spoke hurriedly, trying to put the attention back on himself. His hand gripped at his fathers arm, but he was pushed away.
Kenny held his ground, but his face faltered, “Sh-She didn’t leave us behind because of Kevin.”
“Kenny don’t.” Kevin pleaded with clenched teeth, shaking his head. Kenny had been hit and pushed around by Stuart before—Karen had been the only one spared of that—, it’s the reason that Kevin spent his weekends at home rather than with friends. But Kevin always intervened, always pushed Stuart away, always made himself a target. Kenny didn’t deserve to be beat, but neither did Kevin, and Kenny knew that. Kevin just wished he didn’t. He would rather have his little brother hate him and think he deserved all of this then have to go through it with him.
Stuart walked in closer, looking down at Kenny. He was short for his age, head barely at Stuart's waist. Doctors said he needed more nutrition, but with money as short as it was, they hadn’t even seen a doctor in four years, “And why did she leave, Kenny? Since you seem to know it all, you should know why she left?”
Kenny took a step back, mouth opening to answer, but his voice was lost. He couldn’t muster anything, so he closed his mouth again. He didn’t want to speak, he didn’t want to be here. He bit at his lip and looked at the ground, keeping the tears down as he focused on his breathing. He wanted to hide beneath the covers of his bed, block out the screaming and just fall asleep. He wanted to sneak out through the window, play as a superhero and hide himself behind a mask where people couldn’t see him as just a scared kid—he felt more confident when he could hide away. He wanted to run to Kyle's house, seek refuge for the night like he used too. But, despite everything he wanted, he couldn’t move.
“Answer me!”
Kenny's body flinched violently, shoulders hunched as he slowly looked back up at him. Saying ‘sorry’ would only make it worse, and he knew that from experience. The best thing he could do now was answer his question honestly, but he couldn’t even do that. And maybe that’s why things happened the way they did.
“Sh-She… She left us, and that’s all there is to it.”
His fathers face darkened and Kenny knew he messed up, but there was no reversing it, “But that’s not what you think, is it?”
“Dad, please…” Kevin tried, “He’s just a kid, he doesn’t-”
“I asked him a question and he’s gonna fuckin’ answer it!” Stuart yelled and Kenny let a sob slip, biting his quivering lip so another wouldn’t follow. Kenny doesn’t say a word, tears slipping away from his stinging eyes, and Stuart has had enough of it. He lands a slap across his face, something loud, something that echoes through the room, making Kevin cover his mouth and Kenny yelp, “Speak, damnit!”
“I don’t know!” Kenny finally spills it out, sobs following as he squeezed his eyes shut, but it wasn’t the answer his father wanted.
Kevin runs over, grabbing at Stuart’s arm, trying to pull him away and make him stop, but his father didn’t want to be stopped. He turns and pushes Kevin to the ground harshly, knocking the wind out of him. He lays on his side, looking up at his father before he’s kicked in the ribs, something that earns a scream as he curls in on himself, gasping for air.
Kenny looks at Kevin through blurry eyes, hands fidgeting as he starts to feel the panic building. He can’t move his legs despite how much he wants to run, but even if he could, he would never leave his brother or his sister at a time like this. His ears start to ring, popping and making him tense, unable to hear anything. His fathers yells go into a void, Kevin's gasps are laid to waste and Karen's sobs fade into the background. Everything moves in slow motion, and Kenny can’t do a single thing to stop it.
There’s another hit—a fists, knuckles to mouth—that rocks him to the dirty carpet. It splits his lips open and he can taste the blood on his tongue as it stains his teeth, the red dripping down his chin. His fingers rub against it, pulling back to see it swirling in the creases. He tries to look up at his father, hoping his face would lay pity on him, but he’s only met with another fist.
And so it goes, again and again, beaten into the floor as he sobs and silently begs. His eyebrow is slit and his eyes are puffy and red. He knows he’ll bruise over, he knows his nose is probably broken, he knows he can’t see through his left eye for a reason. His cheeks hurt, bones feeling as if they were broken and shattered. And he just lays there, staring at the blood pooling with part of his tooth that had fallen out from him.
Everything before him swirls, a dizzy and nauseous feeling that makes him want to vomit, but he holds it back. His eyes grew heavy, like the lights could go out any minute, he could finally fall asleep like he wanted—he smiled at that thought. His body felt heavy, but it’s starting to feel lighter as his head grows fuzzy. It makes him want to giggle, incoherent to everything around him. He’s been here before, so diluted, he just hopes he passes out this time.
Walking breaks through the ringing and he can hear again. He forces himself up, lifting on weak and shaking arms, turning from stomach to back. He looks up at his father, watching as he grows closer, wondering if he’s going to his room or if he’s finally finishing the job. Kenny doesn’t think he’d mind if he did. It might turn out to be a good thing, he wouldn’t cause trouble for Kevin anymore.
He sees the bottle gripped in his fathers hand, standing over him, and Kenny knows what's about to be done. He lets his body fall back, closing his eyes and smiles—he was ready. Maybe he should’ve been scared, maybe he should’ve tried to fight it, but he didn’t have the energy for it anymore. He was tired and sick, and he just wanted to go to sleep .
He mumbled under his breath, something unheard and slurred, a simple ‘ I love you ’ to his brother and sister. He was going to a place where he couldn’t be hurt anymore, but another thought crossed his mind: Who would be there for Karen when the rage got too much for Stuart? Who would be the one to patch Kevin up? No, he couldn’t leave them like this. He couldn’t let them do this alone, how selfish would that be? He tries to move, but everything hurts, and he knows he’s not fast enough. And there he is, scared again, a child shaking as his father raises a bottle over his head.
He feels hands pushing at his arms and he hears the crash of a bottle as it shatters, feeling glass land on his arms. There's a thud to the ground and a curse from his father, and suddenly, silence. He thinks the silence is the worst of it all.
Kenny's scared to open his eyes, but he does so anyway, breath heavy as his uninjured eye widens in panic. Kevin laid where he once was, blood leaking from his head, eyes closed and cheek against the ground, mixing in with Kenny's blood. He doesn’t move, and Kenny isn’t even sure he’s breathing.
Stuart huffed, letting the neck of the shattered bottle fall to the ground. He walks away with a shaking head, but Kenny pays no mind to it. He just stares, scared and alone, wishing Kevin would just get up and hold him like he used to. The bedroom door slams shut and he jolts, crawling towards Kevin like that had broken the spell.
He was afraid to touch him, hands on his shoulder, shaking him lightly, “Kevin…?” His voice was weak and frail, tears dripping from his cheeks and mixing in with the cuts and blood, making it sting. He shakes him again, this time, with more urgency, “K-Kevin, please… W-Wake up, please wake up… I’m sorry… I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” It comes out slurred, everything mushed together and incoherent. His hands move quickly as a sob rips through him, holding Kevin’s head, hand pressing over the wound. He feels as though he can’t breathe, hugging him, “Please…”
Kevin groans, eyes opening with a hand reaching to the wound. Kenny gasps with relief, arms weakening and letting Kevin pull away to sit up. He hisses at the pain, but once his eyes meet with Kenny’s, his pain melts to worry, “Are you okay?” It’s slurred and sloppy, his body swaying, but he’s awake and alive, and that’s all Kenny cares about.
Kenny lets out a sob, letting his body fall forward, arms wrapping Kevin in a hug as he grips at his shirt, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”
Kevin holds him back tightly, his lip quivering, but holding it back as he looks up at the ceiling, trying to keep the tears from falling. Kenny needed him to be strong right now, so that’s what he’s going to be, “It’s okay, Ken, it’s okay. I’m okay…”
Kenny’s throat cracks, snot running as he just sobs, falling apart with his forehead laying on Kevin's shoulder, “I don’t wanna be here anymore… I don’t wanna be in this house… I-I can’t- I can’t breathe here.” He sniffles, “I want out…”
“Okay, it’s okay.” Kevin tries, pulling Kenny away to look at his face. It’s all red as it already begins to bruise. Blood leaks from every which way, and Kevin thinks if he looks at it any longer, he’d sob. He moves to hold Kenny's face, wiping the tears away with his thumbs, only to apologize when Kenny winces away. “We’re leaving. We’re gonna leave right now, okay?” Kenny nods and Kevin's forces himself to smile, trying to show him it’s okay, “Good, Ken, good, just breathe with me.”
Kenny tries, it’s uneven and short, but he works with it. They do that for a moment, and, eventually, Kenny is breathing normally. He’s tired all over again, he wants to sleep and never wake up, but that thought is scary. His lip quivers and he puts a hand over his mouth to stop himself from crying—he never wants to cry again. Kenny looks at the wound on Kevin’s head, the blood has stopped spilling now, but it’s matted in his hair and has stained his shirt. And he can’t help but think that he did this, he got Kevin hurt. He knew what fighting back brought them, and he did it anyway.
“Kenny?”
Kenny rubbed his eyes, wincing from the pain and pulling his hands away with a groan, “I’m okay…”
Kevin hummed at that, “I don’t believe you.” Kenny shrugged, wiping the snot away with his finger, hissing at the pain and looking down to see it wasn’t snot, it was all just blood. Kevin sighed, standing and helping Kenny do the same, letting him lean against him for support, “Come on, let’s get Karen and get the hell out of here.”
They turned for the hall and Kevin’s face fell when he saw Karen curled up on the floor. Her hands were pressed against her ears, rocking back and forth as she sobbed. He helped Kenny to lean against the wall—noticing the way he gripped at himself, but not saying anything about it—, crouching down in front of her and tapping lightly at her knee, “Karry? It’s Kev… It’s okay, he’s gone now.” She shook, looking up at him. Kevin looked her over quickly, “Did he hurt you?”
She shook her head, “H-He only kicked me…”
Kevin closed his eyes and sighed, feeling defeated in himself. He was meant to keep them safe like their mother had failed to do, but now, he felt as if he failed too. He looked up at her, forcing a smile on his face, holding a hand out for her to hold, “Okay, Kare-bear, we’re gonna leave now. We’re gonna go somewhere nice.”
She nodded, moving to hold his hand. There was a noise behind Stuart’s door, a crash followed by a thud and cursing. Karen flinched into Kevin's chest and Kenny stood on shaking legs, taking a few steps back. Kevin swore under a hardened breath, moving quickly as he pulled Karen into his arms, lifting her, “Kenny, let’s go!”
They ran, moving through the house as Stuart’s door opened. He screamed for them to stop, but they kept running, bursting through the front door and rushing down the street. Karen hid her face in the crook of Kevin’s neck and Kenny ran at Kevin’s side, jumping over the train tracks. The cold nipped at them, brushing harshly against their wounds, shoes scrapping against the pavement.
After a long while, they stopped to catch their breath as it mixed in with the cold, looking back. Stuart wasn’t after them anymore, he had probably tripped back at the tracks and decided to call it a night. Kevin laughed, looking up at the dark and clouded sky with relief. Karen was slumped, asleep against him with Kenny at his side, shaking on wobbling legs. Kevin knew it was taking a lot for him to be standing, and that meant he had to act quickly.
He looked around the area—Kenny gripping tightly to his shirt—, finding a light in the distance that belonged to a derelict gas station. He moved to grip Kenny's hand, walking them out of the road and through the snow. It crunched beneath their shoes, Kenny's steps more hesitant as he stared at the ground, and Kevin only wished he had the strength to carry him too.
They walked inside, the bright lights blinding them as their eyes tried to grow used to it. A ringing from the door alerted the man behind the counter, letting him know that people had entered. He looked to be in his fifties—and the only one in the place—, a name tag attached to a buttoned up shirt that Kevin didn’t bother reading. The man doesn’t take any interest in their injuries, instead, looking back down at his computer screen.
Kevin hums, squeezing Kenny's hand as he guides him through the aisles until they find the first aid. He lets Kenny's hand go, grabbing bandages, Advil and some rubbing alcohol. After that, he looks at Kenny, ruffling his hair and asking him to grab some water. Kenny does so with no hesitation and Kevin walks through the aisles, stuffing his pockets with food.
Kenny returns with three bottles of water and they make their way to the counter. Kevin pays in cash for the first aid and water, keeping his grip on the food in his pockets. He’s done this before, and he’s never proud when he does, but he has to feed them somehow. The man didn’t say a word, putting their stuff in a plastic bag and handing it off to them. Kevin takes it with a muffled ‘thank you’ and walks back to the doors, only to stop—Kenny looking up with confusion.
Where were they even meant to go? Their home was a war zone, unsafe and damaged. Friends would lead to questioning, and that was the last thing they needed right now. A hospital was too expensive, Kevin didn’t have that kind of money. Well, he did, but that would cost him everything he had. He needed to save what he could, food was still in question, and now, housing was too.
He swore to himself, turning back to the man, “Would you happen to know where I can find a motel? Something cheap?”
The man didn’t bother to look up at him, “Down the street, take a right at the stop sign.”
11:42pm
The motel room was small, a single king with a shitty desk and a mini fridge. There was a nightstand with a lamp that didn’t work and a bathroom beside a small closet—that’s where Kevin and Kenny were currently. Kevin had laid Karen on the bed, pulling the comforter over her shoulders.
He had Kenny sitting on the counter, bloody cotton balls and band-aid wrappers littered everywhere. His own forehead was wrapped up nicely, though he didn’t like the fact that Kenny was good at doing such a thing.
It was silent between them, Kevin working to clean up the space as the adrenaline started to wear away. Kenny gripped at the counter, sniffling. His face was all bruised, as was his arms and stomach, but the blood had stopped spilling. Kevin moved in front of him, handing Kenny a water bottle. Kenny took it, letting it cure his dry throat.
The older sighed, leaning against the counter beside him, “I’m sorry, Ken… I shouldn’t have fought.”
Kenny leaned his head on Kevin's shoulder, “You only got hurt because of what I said…”
“Kenny-”
“I-I’m sorry, Kev, I’m so sorry.”
“Kenny, please don’t.” Kevin stopped him, holding Kenny's face in his hands, watching as his little brother stopped himself from crying. He hated it. “You didn’t do anything wrong, and you certainly didn’t deserve that. I’d do anything to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
Kenny nods, looking down at the counter as he fidgets with his hands, “What are we going to do? I-I don’t wanna go back…”
Kevin opened his mouth, but the words fought him. He sighed, kissing at Kenny’s forehead, holding him tightly in a hug and rubbing at his back, “I’ll figure it out, but I promise we’ll never go back.”
August 15th, 2024
“I hoped that would’ve been the last time I ever had to see my father, but we had to move apartments a few more times for a reason… It wasn’t until Kevin had threatened him with a restraining order that we could actually settle.” Kenny’s voice wavered, but he cleared it out, rolling his shoulders to straighten himself with little-to-no expression on his face—something that never happens, “We got lucky, though. Kevin was only seventeen and getting an apartment was nearly impossible, hell, we almost had to go back. But, he had a buddy a few towns over get him a fake ID and he’s always looked older than he was. If he hadn’t, we probably would’ve been stuck in that house for a lot longer.”
Stan stared at him, slowly reaching a hand over to his arm, keeping it there when Kenny didn’t try to lean away. The blonde's eyes were glossed over, but he held himself firm. Stan frowned, leaning against him, “I’m sorry, Ken…”
Kenny wore a bitter smile, looking down to Stan, “Like I said, I’m over it. You were right, though, getting it out definitely helps, but I swear I’m fine.”
“I just… How were you able to get over it?”
“Time.” Kenny says simply, “It may seem like it’s against you at first, but soon it becomes your best friend. Truthfully, you’ll never fully let it go, but the pain gets smaller and more bearable. It’ll get easier, and you’ll start feeling less guilty about being happy.”
Stan smiles, wrapping his arms around Kenny's torso, “You really do understand.”
“Apparently I’m the only one that does.” He responded, returning the hug.
Stan chuckled, sniffling, “Yeah… apparently .”
Stan stared for a moment longer, eyes glued to Kenny's as they breathed in each other's presence. It was a lasting moment, something Stan wanted to bask in. Kenny's hand inched closer, fingers tickling at Stans until Stan held his, intertwined and locked together. It left Kenny red and smiling, thumb rubbing against the others.
And, when Stan's eyes flickered down, meeting with Kenny's lips for just a moment, the blonde took a chance. He leaned in, pressing himself against the other, slipping his eyes shut. Maybe it was impulsive, and maybe it was stupid, but Kenny called it worth it when Stan pushed into it.
It was everything he had ever wanted and more, and he knew that it was going to last.
Notes:
We love good older brother Kevin around here.
Sorry this took so long, I am currently working on so many other things while also packing up for school, the fact that I was able to post this chapter right now is a fucking miracle. I decided to end it here because I honestly had lost all my motivation. I didn't want to leave it unfinished, so I forced myself to give y'all an ending. This is still the ending it was leading towards, we just got a little quicker lol.
But, for those of you who wanted to know what was supposed to happen, I'll give you a run down:
- Stan gets more memories unlocked from his childhood
- Stan gets jealous over a girl who flirts with Kenny
- Stan and Kenny almost kiss at Starks Pond, Stan freaks out and runs off
- After a week of Stan ignoring Kenny, Kenny storms into his room and demands answers, they get into a fight and it ends with Stan kissing him
- Stan tells Kenny he needs time and Kenny accepts that
- Craig and Tweek get engaged (Fun Fact: Tweek was also planning on proposing that night, Craig just got to it first)
- Craig and Stan talk, and Craig basically tells him to 'get over it already' (harsh, but Stan needed to hear it)
- Stan runs to Kenny's in the rain, they kiss and get together after a long talk, happy ending (gross)
Thank you all for reading I hope you enjoyed it <3. I do have other South Park fics I'm going to be working on that I actually have a bursting motivation for and I'll have a set schedule for those, so look out for that. Thanks for your patience!
coquettestan on Chapter 1 Mon 28 Apr 2025 05:11PM UTC
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DiscountKnuckles56 on Chapter 1 Mon 28 Apr 2025 09:26PM UTC
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coquettestan on Chapter 8 Fri 08 Aug 2025 06:49AM UTC
Last Edited Fri 08 Aug 2025 06:49AM UTC
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coquettestan on Chapter 8 Sat 09 Aug 2025 06:12AM UTC
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