Chapter Text
( From Stan’s POV )
The quiet breeze of the summer air and the humming of cicadas filled the backyard with an orchestra of “all-natural, wildlife” noises– as Dad would say. We had only moved in last week, and it still didn’t feel … real. It was so strange being back in the town I grew up in, and to my surprise, it was just the way I remembered it to be. The smell of the grass, the thin air of the mountains, the bright, yellow sunflowers that would shine in July…
“Stann!” My dad, Randy, invited himself inside.
I tried to grasp the strength to turn myself over and face him, but my eyes stayed glued to the thick, curlicued curtains that were steeling me from the sunlight. “Stanley, it’s already 1-PM– Eat something… Or at least, unpack your stuff.” His voice was thick from sleep. “I know that you’re still upset about moving… But think of it this way- You can finally see your buddy, Kyle, again!”
My eyes jolted awake.
Kyle Broflovski was my best friend when I was 10-years-old. No, not my best friend. My super-best-friend, as we called each other. We spent everyday together, and for a while, things were perfect. As perfect as life could be for an elementary-schooler. Though, the last time I saw Kyle, he was acting as if he didn’t have a clue who I even was. He never looked at me the same after… the accident.
I could hear my dad sigh from the doorway. “Just… get washed up. You’ve been in bed for days… It smells horrible in here.” His footsteps faded off, and I slowly aroused myself from my bed. He was right, my bedroom reeked, and so did I… I guess it was time to finally unpack anyways, since I had to go to school in 2 weeks. Stretching my legs, I waded my way through the unopened boxes lying on my bedroom floor, and made my way to the bathroom.
…
The shower’s knob squeaked as I shut the water off and wrapped a towel around myself, stepping out onto the cold, bare, bathroom tile. I looked into the mirror, observing and watching how my reflection mimicked my movements. For the past few years, looking into the mirror had felt like looking at a stranger– That’s how people had treated me, anyway. My dad, my therapist, my friends; They always said that it was fine. That I wasn’t in the wrong. I couldn’t have known that Shelley was in the barn. I couldn’t have known that my mom would kill herself because of the grief. I couldn’t have known they would’ve died. But I’ll always know what they think of me– I can tell by the way they look at me. I’ll always believe that it was my fault— that there was something I could’ve done. Anything.
Being back in South Park only made it worse. Every time I stepped outside and saw the mountains– smelt the evergreens– heard the mourning doves- it brought everything back. It was like I was experiencing it all over again… Call me crazy, but it seemed as if a distant vestige of the smokey smell of burning wood along with the stench of weed that had gone down with the barn still contaminated my nostrils.
Anyway, there was no way my dad expected me to just reconcile with all the redneck, god-fearing, assholes in this stupid town. I couldn’t even imagine what I’d say if I saw one of them. Cartman, Kenny,
…Kyle.
I shrugged on a shirt I deemed as “nice” and some shorts, struggling to dress myself with my body still soaking wet and warm from the shower. I shook the towel over my damp hair, which had started to become long and overgrown– It was extremely damaged from dying it in the past, and using shitty shampoo and conditioner didn’t help at all. The last time I dyed it was several months ago, and it had returned to its natural hair color; black.
I walked out of the bathroom and back to my bedroom, drawing open the curtains. My eyes instinctively reacted to the sudden brightness, and I reluctantly opened them back up. I had never really looked outside my bedroom window until now, and honestly, it seemed that in the past I had taken it for granted. I was in a pretty sparse neighborhood, with the houses spread apart from each other— so there was definitely breathing room between the properties. There were tall evergreen trees, and other shrubs with an array of brightly-colored flowers. It almost made me happy that we had moved back here after all. Almost.
I began unpacking the boxes that had nearly begun collecting dust while sitting here on the floor, not feeling any more motivated now that my dad had finally dragged me out of my lazy, sad mattress on the floor. I pulled out a plethora of items from the boxes; CDs, videogames, trinkets, posters… Each holding a memory of how I got it– Where I got it, who I was with, who I used to be.
My friends from my old town, which was around 250 miles away from South Park, weren’t any more remarkable than the ones here. Throughout my whole life, I never felt as if I had a single “best” friend. Someone who completely favored me over everybody else in this world. Of course, that was until I met Kyle, since then, I still haven’t felt that way. It was a gift that I had taken for granted– to be able to just go to your best friend’s house whenever you want to, to be able to tell them anything, and do anything with them. Maybe it was
immature of me to think about, considering that Kyle and I were only 10. What’s even considered a “best-friend” at that age? Someone that only halfway hates you and thinks you’re funny (sometimes)?
…
I finally finished unpacking most of my things– and by then, the sun was setting.
“It looks much better in here.” My dad’s voice startled me from behind. I turned to see him standing at my doorway, “Oh.” I say, “Yeah.” An awkward pause stood between us for a few minutes. “Dinner’s ready. Wash your hands.” He took a look around my room before walking away. I watched him leave before going to wash my hands in the bathroom.
I went downstairs and saw that dad’s already put up our family photos along the walls. I walked past them, glancing at all the past versions of myself that my dad had decided to remind me of consistently by having them hung up. Blonde hair, blue hair, red hair, pale skin, tan skin, eyeliner, no eyeliner, short hair, long hair, a teeth-showing smile, a closed smile...
It’s kind of crazy how much people can change over the span of just a couple of years.
I took a seat at the dinner table, and my dad was already sitting across from me; as if he had been waiting for a while now. “Sorry to keep you waiting for so long.” I say, looking down at the plates of food. “Should we pray?” He put his opened hands in front of me, completely ignoring my apology. I stared at his palms for a moment before answering, “Of course.” I said, grabbing his hands and holding them half-heartedly. I never knew what to think of religion… It always seemed so far-fetched and culty to me- I mean, no way people seriously believe there’s a magical man in the sky that created everything. Then, when you ask what created this “magical man” nobody can even tell you; they say he always was and always will be- or that it’s not our place to question him.
But whatever, if it was real, it wasn’t my place to question “him.” I’ve always just gone along with it, since I’ve always been surrounded by religious people, such as my dad. He went on with his prayer, thanking some divine power for us being able to come back to this perfect town that doesn’t make me feel like a piece of shit at all. “Amen.” His lips curled into a smile as he took his hands away from mine, and my voice echoed his. “Amen.”
I watched him begin to eat, and I looked down at my plate. It was chicken, green beans, and mashed potatoes. I picked at my food, looking around the kitchen and living room that dad had seemed to unpack all by himself. “Did you need help unpacking?” I asked, my eyes glancing over to him. “Huh?- Oh, no. That’s okay, I got it.” He gave me a slight nod, his mouth full of potatoes and gravy. I watched his jaw as he chewed, the way his mouth worked around the food, now seeing how exhausted he looked. His beard was unshaved and prickly, with his eyes droopy from being sleep deprived. I almost wanted to say something snarky, commenting on his obvious lack of taking care of himself, but I figured he’s already had enough.
He finished eating and took his plate to the sink, not bothering to say anything to me. I felt full, but when I looked down, my food looked like it had barely been touched.
“I’m going to bed.” I said, calling out to him from the dinner table. He didn’t answer, but instead opened a beer and left to the couch in the living room. “Randy, did you hear me?” I let out a soft, quick sigh, “I’m done eating.” The TV flipped on, and he let out a long, grumbling belch. I stood up, rolling my eyes, and put the plate on the counter in case he wanted to eat it later in the night. Weed always made him hungry, so I figured the least I could do as his son is help him out. How sweet of me.
My father wasn’t the most impressionable guy, sure, but what could I do? He housed me– fed me– and (kind of) took care of me. My dad always drowned himself in alcohol and got high to deal with whatever shit he was going through, especially after my mom and sister passed away. I never knew how to help him, or if I should even try to- What could I do anyway? Have a heart-to-heart with him? He only ever spoke to me when he had to.
I was now laid on my bed, haphazardly ignoring doing any of my normal nightly routine such as brushing my teeth, flossing, etc. I was on my back, staring up at the ceiling and watching the fan blades whirl around, creating a circular, blurred shape.
In just a few weeks from then, school will have started, and I’d have to see all of the people that I was once close with.
My stomach churned from just thinking about it– I honestly might have thrown up if I saw Kyle or Wendy’s face. I remembered that I used to always throw up when I saw Wendy, back when I actually had a crush on her. She used to make 10-year-old me so nervous and giddy– It’s honestly sad to think that now I would’ve been throwing up out of pure disgust and remorse.
Only three weeks were left of this dull summer.
…
{ Three weeks later, the first day of school. }
I woke up to the not-so-pleasant chirping of an alarm clock, and my arm lazily unraveled from the blankets to shut it off. I mumbled to myself, turning over onto the other side of my body, now facing the window beside my bed. “I don’t wanna go to school…” I sleepily whimpered under my breath.
“Oh, shit! School!” I sprang up from my bed.
Time had flown by, and before I knew it, today was the first day back to school. I had spent all of my summer break rotting in my bedroom and thinking about how much I was going to dread this day, and it was finally here. I finally had to go to school– I could hardly even concretize it in my head. I guess I didn’t realize how soon school would be until it was actually there.
I rolled out of bed and nearly destroyed my room looking for something to wear– only to end up wearing some random t-shirt of a band and old jeans. Who was I trying to impress anyway? I mean, who seriously gets dressed up for the first day of school anymore? I wasn't 5.
I went to the bathroom and negligently washed my face, not exactly paying attention to what I was even doing. I went on to brush my teeth, floss, the usual morning routine. I got eyeliner and leaned in towards the mirror, practically inches away from it. I carefully traced my eye’s waterline with it, darkening the outline of my eyes. I always liked adding that touch to myself, even if my dad did call me a fag for it.
He thought any man who wore makeup was a “cross-dressing fairy”, even though it wasn’t the 60’s anymore. I had always thought it made my eyes pop, and matched my style— which, I guess I sounded like a fairy when I elucidated it like that. I was now walking down the stairs, my backpack wrapped around my left shoulder. I wondered if my dad bothered to make breakfast, or if he just left to work without uttering a word to his own son.
To my surprise, my question was answered by the sweet smell of maple syrup and sizzling bacon. “Morning.” My dad looks up from his breakfast, swallowing orange juice. My eyes scanned the kitchen, but I only saw his plate of food in front of him. “Good morning.” I nodded slightly as a greeting, “Uh, did you make breakfast?” I asked shyly, not wanting to sound needy. Which seemed stupid, considering every human needed food to survive— and plus, breakfast was the most important part of the day, wasn’t it?
“Huh?” My dad stopped chewing for a moment, “Oh, sorry, I didn’t think you’d want any, so…” He shrugged, his mouth full of food. Was he serious? He couldn’t spare even a few bites for me?
I wasn’t surprised.
“No problem.” I said, not bothering to make eye contact with him. As I turned away, I heard my dad’s throat gulp down a mouth full of pancakes and fruit. “I’ll just eat at school— See you later.” I opened the front door and stepped out, swinging it shut behind me. I shoved my old, wired headphones into my ears and scrolled through my playlist to find a good song. I honestly thought that one of these days, I’d simply go deaf from blasting my music so loud in my ears. I couldn’t help it, though— some songs were quieter than others— or maybe that was just the deaf-ness slowly creeping up on me, making everything seem quieter.
I was walking down the pavemented sidewalk now, and luckily– our house was only about a 10-15 minute walking distance from the school, and if I was really lucky– I wouldn’t run into anybody I knew on the way there (although it was inevitable at one point or another). Of course, I’d have to eventually interact with someone, but I’d like to enjoy the last few minutes of peace before I would have to embarrass myself by talking about all the "amazing" things I’ve done and places I’ve gone since I last saw them.
I was sure that if I ran into someone like Eric, he’d nearly talk my head off bragging about everything I missed in South Park since I’ve been gone; As if! South Park was the most boring town in the whole state, but knowing Cartman, he’d find something to try and make me jealous of. I wondered if he was still the same sadistic asshole he was 6 years ago– surely not, right?
“No. Fucking. Way.”
A faint voice somehow pierced through the noise in my headphones and I could suddenly feel the pressure of a hand on my shoulder. I turned around, and low and behold, it was Eric Cartman. My eyes widened slightly, and I thought he noticed. “Don’t look so surprised! If anybody should be the one shocked here, it’s me!” His face wrinkled with aghast. “I had no idea you were moving back– Why didn’t you reach out to me, you big douche!”
He continued to scan my face, “You’re wearing makeup!” He burst out into laughter; “Wow, Kenny was right, you really are a faggot!” His fat throat shriveled as he continued laughing. I guess he really was the same sadistic asshole. “What the fuck?!” —Was the only thing I was able to get out of my stupid mouth. “Can you shut up?” I furrowed my eyebrows. “Yeah, I moved back to South Park– Sorry, did you want a letter?” I held back rolling my eyes, but the sarcastic tone was enough of an attitude for him to get pissed.
My eyes glanced Cartman up and down, and he honestly didn’t look that different. Still fat as hell, just now even more of a weeb— his face was covered in zits, and he had pathetic peach fuzz above his lip and some facial hair down his chin. “You don’t look like you’ve changed much.” I blurted out the first thought that came to mind, “Of course I have, don’t you see my manliness?” He grinned arrogantly, beckoning to his poorly-kept mustache (if you can even call it that)— I had a feeling he would brag about that type of thing.
“Hey, seriously, what are you doing back here?” Cartman asked, raising a brow. “I mean, we all thought you were gone forever, especially after everything that happened,” he added. My face visually stammered, “Uh… Randy just wanted to get back to the countryside.” We were beginning to approach the school now, and I could see people gathered outside; talking, laughing. “You don’t walk with the other guys? Or are you even friends anymore?” I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if those two finally realized what a horrible person Cartman is and dropped his sorry-ass.
He didn’t answer immediately, instead, he took a lull to think over his response— an unusual reaction from Cartman. “I mean it’s been so long, things happen, ya’ know?” He laughed it off, “Kenny and I are still pretty close, but Kyle, not so much.” He admitted, his voice still does that stupid shrill when he says Kyle’s name, sounding more like Keel.
When he mentioned Kyle, my eyes flickered with attentiveness. “What happened?” I asked, now engrossed in their drama. “Huh? He’s just better friends with the sporty guys now, ever since he made the basketball team.” Cartman looked at me, almost confused, as if assuming he pissed off Kyle to the point where they weren’t friends anymore was a crazy thing to think. Though, I will say, I was impressed by the fact that Kyle was able to make the school’s basketball team. For as long as I had known him, he was always really into the sport and wanted to make the team we had at our elementary school.
Cartman and I walked through the front doors of the school and the first person who caught my eye was a long haired, blonde boy from across the cafeteria. This boy turned around and revealed himself to be Kenny McCormick. Next to him, was a skittish Butters Scotch, fiddling with his hands. Cartman and I came over, and I don’t think Kenny even recognized me. “Is this a new kid?” He asked, looking at Cartman and then glancing over to me. “Dude, it’s Stan Marsh! You remember him, don’t you?”
Kenny was visually shocked and his mouth drops, “WHAT?” He shouted brusquely– contrary to him, Butters also looked surprised, but his demeanor was more mellow and collected. “How– how are you back here?!” Butters stammered, revealing he wasn’t as calm about the news, but rather simply speechless. Kenny wrapped his arms around me and pulled me into a chest-strong hug, and not until he fully embraced me did I realize he was…
He was crying.
Kenny reeled himself away from me and wiped away his tear-soaked cheeks, “Oh my God, I really can’t believe this! We missed you so much, man.” he gave me a sad smile. Butters hugged me bashfully, hesitating at first– Butters and I were never as close as the other guys, but we were still friends and all. “Dude, where have you been! You got left out on so much!”— Kenny rambled on about God knows what— and as much as I would’ve liked to listen, my attention was stolen by the back view of a tall, thin figure of a boy, his hair a gleaming yet desaturated red color, curls and locks that appear to be well cared for and treated.
Could it have been… Kyle? Would he even recognize me after all these years? Even less likely, remember me?
“And— and,” Kenny was still spewing, when all of a sudden, he abruptly stopped. “You really missed Kyle, huh?” He glanced in the direction Kyle was walking, then back at me. “What?” I sputtered, and at that moment I wasn’t sure if I should’ve been honest or lied to him. Truly, I wasn’t sure if missed was the word I would’ve used in this situation. “I mean, yeah, but I missed all of you guys, even if things got kind of messy at the end.” I grinned wryly, awkwardly laughing at myself.
My pathetic attempt at banter left Kenny expressionless, the others didn't laugh either. Now looking at Kenny, him and I seemed to have formed a similar style. His hair was grown out; nearly to his shoulders, being much longer than mine. It still had that golden look to it, being a bright, natural blond, and his eyes were encapsulated by a light ring of black eyeliner. He had shiny blue eyes, and a hearty, gap-toothed smile, his teeth yellow and stained from bad personal habits. He was wearing a baggy t-shirt and as I surveyed his outfit, I noticed the lower half of his wrist was consumed by bracelets. Due to most of them being child-like, without a specific pattern or color theme— I assumed Karen, his younger sister, made them for him.
Butters, on the other hand, had much shorter hair than both Kenny and I. His teeth were a piercing white, but were shielded by teal braces. He was slightly shorter than Kenny, and even though I had only been here for about 10 minutes, I could tell that he clung to him wherever he went. His face had soft features, a transparent layer of freckles complementing his cheeks. Glancing at his face, I noticed a faint yet noticeable scar along his left eye.
I was immediately drowned in a feeling of overwhelming guilt, and the memories of how he got that scar washed over me like a powerful tide. My eyebrows softened, and I looked anywhere but Butters’ face. I think he could tell I noticed it, because he also looked away, his face flushed with embarrassment. “I think the bell’s about to ring.” Kenny abruptly mentioned, throwing his backpack over his shoulder. “Yeah.” Butters added.
Sometime within the next few minutes, the school bell rang and we all headed off to class. It wasn't until the bell rang that I realized I forgot to even see if we had any classes together, but I guess I’d find out soon enough. Butters turned his head to Kenny, “My class is off that way.” He pointed off into an unknown direction, his own hand evidently unsure of where he was even trying to refer to. “Oh, alright, bye dude.” Kenny nodded at him, and Butters gave a soft smile before walking off.
The group and I slowly strayed away from each other to leave to our classes, and I soon entered my first period classroom. I sat down in the back corner of the class and put my backpack down beside my feet, getting out an unsharpened pencil. Looking at it, I left out a soft sigh knowing I would have to get up out of my seat to sharpen it. I stood up from my long-lived moment of rest and went to the pencil sharpener. When I found it, I shoved the pencil in and sharpened it to my liking, the loud whirring noise of the machine filling the classroom. The sound of the machine nearly overshadowed the cacophony of students talking in the classroom.
I finished sharpening the pencil and returned to my chair, sitting down and setting the pencil on my desk. While staring down mindlessly at the wood– or at least in its general direction as I spaced off– I heard a familiar laugh from the doorway of the room. I glanced up, and my eyes were met with the one and only Kyle Broflovski. My eyes were locked on him– I wanted to look away, but I just couldn’t. He was laughing and walking with Tolkien Black, another kid from my elementary school. I finally broke free from his spell and I turned my head to the side, hoping that if there was some divine power; Kyle wouldn't notice me.
“Stan…?”