Archive of Our Own

Stan sat at the bench staring out across Stark’s pond. Not that he was really looking. The bitter cold of was winter nipping at him from all directions - not that he could feel it. His heart felt like a stone in his throat, staring out across the frozen pond with a vacant expression as the fourth graders skated and laughed with their friends. All of them were careful to avoid the center of the pond.

Stan briefly thought of what it would be like to sit in the middle of the pond. How he would listen to the ice crack beneath him. How when it finally gave way he would be plunged into the icy black water with no one the wiser.

He was so lost in thought that he couldn’t hear the footsteps from behind him, nor did he realize when the bench creaked with new weight. That is, not until the newcomer spoke. “Hey man,” It was Kenny. “What are you doing out here?” Stan didn’t speak, he didn’t make any movement to acknowledge Kenny’s presence.

Kenny let out a long and tired sigh. More audible without his hood to muffle himself. He’d stopped wearing it three months ago. “Still nothing? Dude, you gotta come around, Eric’s a mess like you wouldn’t believe.” Kenny looked out across the pond with Stan, the only difference being that instead of imagining drowning, Kenny saw the four of them skating and laughing as fourth graders.

“Well Cartman can go fuck himself.” Kenny looked to Stan with eyes of hope. It was the most he’d spoken in three months. Kenny let out a snicker and cracked a smile, the first real smile in who-could-remember-when. Not Kenny, and sure as hell not Stan. “Good to know some things never change,” Kenny muttered mostly to himself before continuing. “Everyone’s looking for you dude.”

The meaning behind Kenny’s words were not lost to Stan. But he couldn’t do what Kenny was asking; that was an impossible task, like climbing mount Olympus and shaking hands with Zeus. “Kenny you know I can’t do that.” Stan hadn’t broken his stare and other then moving his mouth hadn’t moved.

“Dude!” Kenny stood up in earnest, starting to get angry. “You can’t do this to everyone! They don’t know what to do anymore Stan! You know your mom asked me to find you? She’s devastated, Stan! The way Shelley was looking at me from the stairs as Sharon asked me!” Kenny’s voice broke on his sister’s name. “The fear in her eyes to know you were missing,” he added quietly. It didn’t take a genius to know what Kenny was insinuating.

A pause ensued, in which the only sound between the two friends was the fourth graders ice skating and Kenny’s breathing.

“This isn’t what he would’ve wanted.” Kenny said finally.

In that moment Stan quickly rose from his spot and took Kenny by the collar of his jacket in a death grip. Kenny was considered fairly tall, but Stan was taller and had been on the football team. Until recently, that is, when he got kicked off the team.

It had been a whole spectacle: Wendy had broken up with him just that morning and suddenly the coach approached Stan to tell him that his grades were too low for him to be on the team. That he wasn’t trying in practice anymore and that there were tons of other boys who’d kill to be quarterback.

Meanwhile Kenny was on his toes - literally - as Stan gripped him. “You don’t know what he would’ve wanted.” Stan growled, his voice full of malice and threat. His eyes, glazed over before from daydreaming, were now dark and filled with rage. Kenny kept calm, despite the situation being infuriating. The only thing betraying his fear were his eyes.

Kenny sought to defuse the situation without backing down on his point, so he said the only thing he could say. “He wouldn’t have wanted this.” Stan melted. He felt weak at the knees; scratch that he felt weak in general. He stumbled back, releasing Kenny. No one, NO ONE besides Kenny McCormick had mentioned the taboo subject to him yet. It went to show just how over his attitude Kenny was.

Kenny saw his chance and took it. He grabbed Stan’s arm and dragged him to his truck. “Come on, I’ll drive you home.” Stan didn’t have a choice really; it was starting to get dark anyway.

***

“Happy Birthday Stan!”

“Thanks dude!” Stan smiled brightly at his super best friend.

Kyle shared his joy. “Dude! My mom invited you over for a big birthday dinner tonight! It’s your favorite!”

“Sweet!” Stan exclaimed as they waited for the bus. Kenny and Cartman soon joined them, and Butters too, running and clutching the stitch in his side at almost missing the bus.

“Hey fellas!” He cheered with his usual positivity.

“Shut up Butters. “ Cartman said, probably mad about something.

“Hey, what are you guys doing tonight?” Kenny asked the group.

“I was thinking we could all go over to Cartman’s and game the night away, since it’s Friday and all.”

“Well Stan’s coming over to my house tonight.” Kyle said firmly, as if Stan could be stolen from him. But Kyle failed to remind the others of Stan’s birthday.

“Oh that’s right, you’re seventeen now aren’t you Stan? Happy birthday!”

“Thanks Butters.” Stan said sincerely. Happy that someone besides Kyle remembered, even if it was Butters. Kenny repeated the sentiment as the bus arrived to pick them up and they all got on.

That day was a day for smiles, laughter and celebration.

What really happened that day, Stan could’ve never seen it coming. And he still doesn’t fully understand it.

***

At seven o’clock sharp Stan’s alarm went off, loud and blaring to ensure his wakefulness. His slapped a hand over it before too long and turned over in his sheets, seeking more sleep instead of school.

It wasn’t long before Randy pushed his way into Stan room. “Stan? Stan are you going to go to school today?” He asked in his concerned voice. But it came off more annoying than anything else, like there had to be another motive for his asking besides his son.

Stan pretended to be asleep still, and waited out the mantra of “Stan? Stan?” from his father until he finally left. He managed to fall back asleep before a loud honking woke him again. He waited for it to stop but the honking persisted.

Finally Stan’s phone rang and he picked it up out of habit. His heart began to race, hoping for a split second that it had all been a long and terrible nightmare. That this had all been a long and painful dream.

When Kenny’s voice came through the speaker Stan’s heart dropped like a stone with a deep sadness. “Come on dude, you have to go to school. If you don’t come down here I’m going to drag you down here.” Stan hung up after that and forced himself to dress somewhat properly and slugged down with his bag to where Kenny was waiting at the curb with his truck. He lazily opened the car door and got in.

“Like I said yesterday, you can’t keep doing this Stan, you’ll flunk out if you’re not careful. I know you show up to class less than half the time. I shudder to think what your grades are like” Kenny continued to lecture Stan on the drive to school, but Stan tuned out thinking of his dream. It was like he re-lived that day every night when he closed his eyes. All the good and all the bad.

Even the goth kids when faced with Stan had been shocked. Stan might not have anything black in his wardrobe - besides an outfit he couldn’t wear nor throw into Star’s pond or burn - but his depression and pure grief made the goth kids look cheerful in comparison.

When they arrived at the high school, Kenny parked and dragged Stan inside. The kids from the bus were already there, so on the way to their lockers the pair bumped into Cartman. To Stan’s reluctant surprise Cartman did seem very shaken; he was quiet, not to mention polite. “Oh, hey Kenny.” He paused when he saw Stan for the first time since Stan wore those tainted black clothes hiding in his drawer. He drew a sharp breath and Stan wasn’t sure if he saw right but he could’ve sworn he caught Cartman’s bottom lip tremble. “Stan. “ He said finally, his voice on the verge of a crack. Cartman and Stan just stood there while Kenny dealt with his locker. The three were utterly silent. There were no words, as nothing could describe the empty feeling inside them all. They let the world pass them by as Stan stared at his feet and Cartman fought bitterly against tears. Kenny was taking longer than usual to hide his own face.

Unbeknownst to the trio, Wendy, on her way to class, caught sight of them. She watched them for a moment, observing Cartman’s lip, Kenny’s deep breaths, and most of all Stan’s lack of self. As she watched and remembered tears sprung to her own eyes. It was like a sick joke that after all the name calling, all the cruel tricks, rudeness and just plain being mean, that after all that, Cartman was about to cry. But Kenny didn’t deserve this, and especially not Stan. Wendy could remember how Kenny used to catcall girls and sneak booze into every school dance and house party. Now, his smile looked too fake, he was doing well in school for once while distancing himself from everyone but Stan and Cartman. She remembered how Stan used to laugh and smile, how he used to have a light in his eyes. Now here they were, all so broken with no chance of fixing. As Wendy felt the tears spill over her cheeks, she turned and ran from the sight towards the counselor’s office.

***

Somehow Kenny managed to drag Stan to all his classes. His classmates would take turns staring at him, his teachers were very careful with every word they chose while he sat in class. At lunch the cafeteria was almost silent but for quiet whispers and the scraping of utensils as what seemed like the entire student body stared at the trio. They all picked at their food, but none of them bothered to eat any. Not even Butters could sit at the table they had claimed.

“I don’t know what to do anymore fellas,” He whispered to Tolkien, Jimmy, Clyde, Craig and Tweek.

“The should just g-g-g-get over it already,” Jimmy stuttered.

“Yeah, I mean we’re all sad about it, but it’s not like there’s anything we can do,” Tolkien added.

“It’s not like anything we do will bring him back,” Clyde said.

“That’s mean, you guys,” Craig interjected. His face was stone as he gripped Tweek’s hand under the table. Even the Craig of Steel felt the boy’s absence like a black pit in his heart.

Tweek looked at his boyfriend with worry, making slow circles with his thumb on Craig’s hand. “It’s not their fault, just let them mourn.” Craig suddenly wrapped an arm around Tweek and held him tight to his side as though if he were to let go, Tweek might suffer the same fate as the young boy.

***

When the final bell rang Kenny picked Stan up from his class and they walked to his truck together. When they got in Kenny didn’t start the car right away. “Listen, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have dragged you here today. You were right, you should do what you want tomorrow. I think,” Kenny choked, “I think I just needed you today. Actually, no, I need you now, every day. This is so hard for all of us. Most of all you, but I need you now; we both do, and I thought maybe you needed us too, Stan. But if it’s too much, if it’s not helping, I won’t pick you up tomorrow morning.”

Stan took a shuddering breath before swallowing his hurt and speaking for the first time today. “No, you were right, school helped. It was hard today, but seeing that even Cartman is shaken . . . it was surreal. I don’t know, I think I’ll go back tomorrow.” Kenny stared at Stan with no small amount of shock at how much Stan was talking to him. “Plus,” Stan said, and Kenny had to blink because was that the absolute smallest of smiles? “Being with you guys, it felt good.”

When Stan got home he met an unwelcome sight . . . Drunk Randy.

Stan’s parents had a divorce a few years back that had been really tough on him. He didn’t know so much about how Shelley felt on the subject, but he was somehow caught in the middle of the divorce. Suddenly he was expected to pick and side, and when push came to shove he couldn’t choose, so he had shared custody, though he spent more time at his dad’s purely because his dad didn’t give a shit. Which he thought was a good thing. Shelley went with his mom, and his mom had moved back into their old home.

But when Stan walked through the door to find his dad drunk, stripped to his underwear and crying on the couch for Sharon and Shelley to come home, he just couldn’t deal with life anymore. So he went to the kitchen to do something he’d never before considered in his life. He grabbed a random bottle from the alcohol shelf and took it with him upstairs. He popped the bottle open and started drinking.

Stan prided himself on the fact that he’d never, up until now, had a drink in his life. Despite pressure from Randy to drink and smoke on multiple occasions, he always held strong with the science of what it would do to his brain and liver at such a young age. He saw how drugs and alcohol tore his parents apart, and vowed never to drink in his life, as long as he would live, or until he was twenty-five and his brain was mostly done growing.

Stan took his first hit; he started small but it wasn’t enough. So he took another swig with much more. He kept taking longer drinks until he could feel it in his fingers. By the time the bottle was empty, Stan had passed out on his bed.

***

When they got to school Kyle and Cartman were bickering about something stupid, and Kenny and Butters were snickering along with Stan to whatever they were saying. Something about Kyle being gay for Stan. The morning classes were smooth expect for the one where Kyle and Cartman were forced to sit next to each other.

At lunch was when Kyle finally broke; Cartman said one too many things about him being gay for Stan. Kyle swore at Cartman before leaving the cafeteria. Stan, realizing something was wrong, ran after Kyle. However he had to pause in the hallway, launching to a violent coughing fit that had Stan on his knees for a moment. He’d been purposefully hiding the fact that he was catching a cold to make sure Kyle wouldn’t worry.

When he found Kyle on the isolated corner of the school grounds, he sat down next to him. “He just makes me so angry!” Kyle explained before Stan could say a thing.

“I know, but could you hold off just for today?” He asked with a teasing smile playing on his lips.

“Oh shit, dude I’m so sorry! I totally forgot!” Kyle looked so genuinely remorseful, but Stan just laughed. Kyle looked so, so . . . so something that Stan couldn’t name. He was looking up at Stan so earnestly with his green eyes and matching hat, red curls snuggly tucked away underneath. Kyle’s eyes softened at Stan’s laugh and he was about to join him.

But it was not to be so. Stan’s laughing suddenly turned into another coughing fit. “Woah, dude, you ok?” Kyle asked. But it fell on deaf ears, Stan kept Kyle back with one hand as he continued coughing. Stan ran out of air and started choking on his coughs, eventually tears formed in his eyes from how hard his lungs were working. They soon ached with the effort. Finally, he coughed so hard he gagged before throwing up on the grass.

He fully expected a “dude sick!” from Kyle, but instead he found himself being dragged back inside. Kyle dragged him straight to the nurse’s office, feeling Stan’s forehead on the way. “You’re burning up! Stan why did you come to school?” Kyle chastised as he all but carried his friend through the hall. When they got there, Kyle barged into the nurse’s office. “Nurse Gollum! My friend just threw up!” Nurse Gollum rose from her chair upon hearing this, she helped Stan to a sick bed and started asking question about his symptoms. When she determined that he did have a fever and they had to send him home, Kyle, the only one Stan had told about his parents’ divorce, told the nurse he’d take him home. She objected but Kyle insisted so fiercely she gave in. Kyle called his dad and Gerald took them to Randy’s weed farm. There Kyle spent the rest of the day taking good care of Stan.

***

Stan’s alarm sounding ten times louder than normal the next morning. He slapped it silent and before long heard Kenny’s truck in driveway this time. The sound of the truck door was heard and Kenny came into Stan’s room a moment later. “Come on Stan, you said you wanted to come back today, so here I am.” Stan stayed still before groaning in annoyance.

Kenny pushed the curtains open and Stan groaned again in discomfort muttering something about it being too bright. “Come on,” Kenny said in his usual manner.

“Not so loud.” Stan complained and that was when Kenny saw the empty bottle by Stan’s bed.

“Stan?” Kenny began with disappointment dripping from his voice. “Stan are you hungover?” Kenny didn’t wait for an answer. He turned Stan to face him and forced his eyes open, then opened Stan’s mouth and did the sniff test on his breath. “Oh my god.” Kenny said, the evidence was undeniable. Stan was indeed hungover. “What happened to yesterday?!” Kenny borderline yelled, and Stan flinched from the sudden change in volume. “What happened to the hope? What happened to wanting to try?!?” Stan covered his ears and shrank in his bed curling in on himself, from the shouting. “I thought you wanted to try Stan! I thought you wanted to fucking try, but this is what you give me!?! An empty bottle of vodka?! God Stan, I really thought something changed yesterday, I really thought you were on a turn for the better. But I guess I was wrong. You know everyone told me not to waste my time? Butters did, Jimmy did, Tolkien, Craig, Tweek, Cartman, Clyde, Bebe, hell even Wendy told me to just leave you alone. But I said no. I said no, Stanley Marsh is worth more than that. So I’m going to go find him and prove that he’s not dead or killing himself or suicidal right now. That he still wants to live and there’s still hope for Stanley Marsh. But I guess they were fucking right.” Kenny almost turned to leave, almost.

Because for most of his tangent, Stan was curled in on himself in memory of his parents’ arguments. But eventually he started listening to what Kenny was saying, now he was hungover and pissed. “Shut up!” He screeched, and Kenny did, Kenny froze actually, he’d never heard Stan scream like that before. Never. Except for once. “Shut the fuck up! You know nothing you goddamn piece of poor shit!” Stan kept screaming at Kenny from under the safety of his covers. “You’ll never be more than your whorish parents! So what if I drank last night? It didn’t stop your dad from drinking all weekend!”

Stan’s words hit Kenny like bullets and he couldn’t move. The bottle in his hand fell to the floor as Kenny realized what Stan was accusing him of. “It didn’t stop him from drinking that blue ribbon crap that morning! It didn’t stop him from pulling a gun at the school and shooting Kyle!”

There it was.

The one thing Stan hadn’t admitted in the three months since his birthday. That Kyle had been shot multiple times by Kenny’s drunk father.

That Kyle had died.

Time stopped right then and there for both boys.

***

“Hey, I’m sorry about you being sick.” Kyle told Stan as he tucked the boy in his bed at the farm. “It’s too bad, I was looking forward to dinner.”

“Yeah?” Stan asked his super best friend.

“Yeah,” Kyle agreed, then decided to tell him more. “I was going to tell you something at my house after dinner, I have my room all set up for it and everything, but it sucks that you can’t make it.”

What could possibly be so important? Stan wondered to himself. “Just tell me now.” Stan suggested, but Kyle shook his head.

“No, I don’t think my heart could take it either way if I did that.” He just smiled down at his super best friend and took care of him until Stan was asleep. Or until Kyle thought Stan was asleep.

Stan, so close to sleep that he’d gone still, but still awake, felt the press of gentle lips to his forehead. He thought he was delusional. He thought he was imagining his mother in his sickness. The press lingered, and Stan continued to think it was a delusion until the pressure left and the lips spoke. “I love you.”

He didn’t have enough time before he fell asleep for real to recognize the voice as Kyle’s.

***

Stan spent the weekend glued to his bed and Randy did nothing to help, so Stan went mostly without food medicine or water even. So he wasn’t better until Thursday. When he went to school on Friday, in the front yard of the school, there in the cold white snow, he froze and time stopped.

Then he screamed.

He’d gotten better, but far too late. Kyle had been shot that Monday. Stan didn’t get to see him one last time. He didn’t get to say anything, much less goodbye. That last thing he remembered saying to his super best friend was ‘thanks dude’.

Stan screamed until he was out of air, knees in the snow, in front of all his friends and classmates. Kyle hadn’t texted him, but he had been too sick to notice. Friends did text him, but again Stan was too sick to care.

The sound ripping from Stan’s throat was so broken some of the girls started crying right there. Kenny had flinched back from the sound, traumatized from nights on end of his parents arguing and shouting and yelling. Stan sounded so lost at that moment. He was lost. Without Kyle where was he?

Who was he?

Kyle had been dead for days and he never knew. He never even knew. Stan thought about how when he was sick he hoped every day after school that Kyle would come check on him, to think by Monday afternoon he was in the morgue.

Stan screamed until he choked and cried in the snow in front of the school. No one moved, not even at the bell rang demanding they all get to class. It took a long time before anyone moved at all, they all just watched Stan cry and sob and scream in the snow at his gaping loss.

There was a huge maw in Stan’s heart, he never even got to see Kyle after he’d fallen asleep after Kyle taking him home. He couldn’t help thinking about how Kyle still had something to tell him. That only made him scream even harder.

It took Mr. Mkay to get the kids inside.

***

In the weeks after the funeral Stan stopped going to church. If god really existed then he wouldn’t take Kyle from him. That’s what Stan reasoned. It felt like Stan had buried his faith with Kyle. It wasn’t even an open casket, he’d been cremated. Like that was somehow supposed to set it in stone for Stan, but he wasn’t willing to let it go just like that.

Stan decided to keep holding onto him.

***

One day Stan got out of bed and took a walk thinking it might somehow help. He bumped into Butters who commented on Stan’s lack of attendance in church, to which Stan responded by shoving Butters to the ground and running anyway like an eight-year-old.

He ended up running to the church. Stan pushed his way inside and sat in the first row and for the first time in years he prayed with all his heart.

Screaming at a god he wasn’t sure if he believed in. He prayed for so long, but nothing happened. No miracles or answers. But he really didn’t know what else he could do.

***

One day Stan got enough courage to look through old birthday cards from Kyle. Digging through the years Stan found a crumpled twenty at the bottom. The moment he saw it he started crying, then he read through the letters and cried even harder. Stan knew he’d never be able to spend that money, so he put it all back in his closet.

***

Kenny fled. He ran out of the house started up his truck and left as fast as was legal. Stan knew that his words were poison to Kenny, who surely blamed himself as much as Stan did. If Stan had just not gone to school on Friday, if he’d gone on Monday instead, if he’d been a man and chosen to stay with his mom, not too afraid of losing his dad to choose one. His mom would’ve taken care of him, or made Shelley do it.

Then he could’ve saved Kyle, and maybe he’d be dead, but Kyle would still be here.

***

Sometime in the afternoon Stan left his bed to go to Stark’s pond. When walking, his feet took him somewhere else. He found himself in the Jewish graveyard somehow. When Stan came to his senses and realized where he was, he was about to leave when he heard crying.

Stan turned and saw Ike laying flowers at an unmarked grave. Stan paused and listened. “Kyle, remember what you told me? You said that our blood doesn’t matter, you said that it’s who takes care of us that makes us family. You’ve told me that all my life, alongside a promise to take care of me. If I hadn’t lied to you . . . Kyle why didn’t you just go check on Stan that morning like you wanted to? If you had then you wouldn’t have,” Ike choked on his words, “then you wouldn’t have-!” Ike just broke down into tears.

Before he knew what he was doing, Stan found himself patting the ten-year-old on the back. Ike looked, then sprang up to hug Stan. Shocked by the move, it took Stan a moment to react and hug Ike back. Letting the poor kid cry into his jacket.

Once Ike was all cried out, the two sat on a bench together. “Thank you for coming.” Ike said, playing with his hands just like how Kyle used to when he was nervous.

Stan gave a breathless laugh with no joy and joking. “I didn’t think you’d want me to come.” Their meeting had been an accident, but Ike knew from Kyle’s other friends that he hadn’t been doing well, that Stan had taken the hardest hit when it happened.

“Of course I would, you were the closest person to him, even I was second to you.” Stan gave Ike a shocked look, so Ike decided to elaborate. “That morning, he had a shouting match with mom about whether he could go over to your house to check on you. He really wanted to go, but mom said he had to take me to school and he couldn’t be the cause of my being late. You know what he said by way of comeback?” Ike looked to Stan and Stan shook his head. “Kyle said, and I quote, ‘fuck Ike’.”

Stan gasped, he knew Shelia’s temper, how much trouble Kyle must’ve gotten himself into for saying that, and how hurt Ike must’ve felt upon hearing it. “Yep, mom got pissed as I’m sure you can imagine and made him take me to school. And that was the last time she saw him. They were in the middle of an argument. Mom won’t stop crying and blaming herself, but it’s not her fault.” Stan nodded absentmindedly in agreement before Ike added, “it’s mine.”

Stan was about to object but Ike continued, “we were in the car on the way to school and Kyle asked me if it was ok if he went over to your place anyway after apologizing to me. But I was bitter about the comment he made so I said no. I told him I had an important test first thing.” Ike’s voice began to crack again. “But that was a lie, I was just being petty. If we’d gone, if I hadn’t been petty and let it go and we’d gone to your house-” Ike started crying in earnest now, and Stan rubbed his back.

“If you had he would’ve stayed with me all day.” Ike’s cry’s didn’t stop or quiet, Stan just talked. “Kyle’s the only other one I’ve told about my parent problems, but my dad, he’s full of shit. He’s negligent and acts like a teenagers or a college kid. So when I was sick he didn’t so much as get me a glass of water. I was overcome with fatigue when I walked around, so I minimized my having to get up. By Monday I hadn’t had anything to eat since lunch on Friday. Food was just too much work, I’d barely gotten some medicine for my fever. I was still throwing up, Kyle would’ve taken one look at me, drove you to school and drove straight back to me.”

By the time Stan finished his story Ike had stopped crying. Still sniveling, he turned and hugged Stan’s side and Stan held him back. They sat there for a while more, mourning the man they both loved.

***

Ike eventually left, after giving Stan an envelope with his name on it, Ike said he’d found it in Kyle’s room. Ike also said that Stan should talk to Kyle, that Kyle would like that. Stan now sat alone with the envelope in his hands. Staring at a fancy script that said Stanley in big curly letters. He sighed, and turned the envelope over to open it. Then he read.

Dear Stan,

I have so much I want to say, we’ve been friends forever and I don’t know how to express the gratitude I feel. You’re the bestest super best friend a guy could ask for man. But that’s why I’m giving you this, I suppose. To tell you what I’m to much of a coward to say out loud.

I’m sure you remember all our sleepovers over the years, all the times we’ve hung out, there’s so many they’ve begun to blend together for me. I remember when you and Shelley used to be good friends. I remember how she’d pick you up in her arms after school to take you home.

I remember feeling jealous and one time I asked her to pick me up too. She called me a turd and said that you were the only one good enough. I remember how you used to laugh in her arms. That was when I asked my parents for a big brother. A few years later Ike happened. You gave me a little brother, one I couldn’t be more thankful for.

Do you remember how we’d play in the fourth grade? We’d spend weeks playing super hero’s or humans v.s. elves. We’d get the whole neighborhood involved and spread our game all over town. When you were on my team we were always the winners, and when you weren’t, I have to admit that sometimes I’d throw a battle just to see the happy look on your face.

It took me so long to realize how I truly felt, I kicked myself for not realizing earlier. But one night, holding you in my arms as we slept, I finally figured it out. Seeing how cute you were in your sleep, hair in your face illuminated by the moonlight. I finally realized it. I love you.

Your Kyle

***

Stan didn’t end up taking Ike’s last bit of advice, instead, he found a spot in the woods to sit and think. He didn’t know what to think. There was nothing to think. He was still a little hungover from the night before and wasn’t sure he could think straight. Eventually Stan was dialing up Kenny, he didn’t give a shit about school. Stan listened to the dial tone, it didn’t matter if it went to voicemail, he just needed to talk.

To Stan’s immense surprise, Kenny did pick up.

Kenny started to say something but Stan cut him off. “I think I loved him.”

There was no response.

“Kenny,” Stan’s voice broke horribly on his friend’s name, “I think I love him.”

Kenny was shocked, but only for a moment. “He loved you dude. Stan, Kyle loved you so much he wouldn’t shut up about it.”

“Really?” Stan’s voice cracked again.

“Really, I’ll tell you the rest after school.” With that Kenny hung up and left Stan. So Stan just sat, frozen on the log he’d chosen. What if Kyle had come over that Monday morning and stayed the day with me? Stan thought, and he began to imagine it.

He thought of how Kyle would make him hot soup and serve it to him, how he’d have refreshed his glass over and over as many times as needed, made sure that Stan took his medicine, kept him company and a barf bowl for him. Stan imagined how Kyle would tell him stories and keep him laughing throughout the day.

In the back of his mind a whisper of a memory beckoned, soft lips and murmured words. But when Stan chased it he came up empty, the hazy thing fled into deep water and Stan couldn’t hold his breath long enough to catch it.

With a shaky breath, Stan decided to go home. He decided right then and there that he was finally gonna do it. He was gonna move in with his mom like he should’ve all those years ago.

***

Stan shoved open the door to the ranch house, and immediately found his dad blackout drunk on the couch. Determination ran through Stan’s vanes like adrenaline at the sight. He was getting out of here, this was it, this was the end, he was saying goodbye. He had to accept that his dad wasn’t a good person. Maybe he never was and Stan was really too dumb to see it.

Stan hiked up the stairs, anger now fueling him. He entered his room and dragged his suitcase into the middle of his unkempt room. He started with his clothes, packing the most essential items first, then sentimental objects. His old hat, his old dog Sparky’s collar, Kyle’s old birthday letters, all his money that wasn’t in an account (which was all the money he had considering the bank teller kept losing his money). He filled his backpack too, and with everything he deemed worthy, he left his room of eight years.

Stan purposefully left a few items of importance. The guitar his father had given him, the crappy laptop that was meant to be a Christmas present as an apology for the bong of a birthday present. Cards his dad had given him over the years too, littered with ‘I love you’s and ‘I’m sorry’s.

As Stan stomped downstairs, hate fanning the flames of rage in his heart. He didn’t think about how his dad had played that riff from “Carry on My Wayward Son” in front of all his friends that one time. He doesn’t think about how he’d thought that was actually really cool and how that became his favorite song for a long time after that. He doesn’t think about when his dad taught him how to actually use power tools, and how they built that shed for Sparky together. He doesn’t think about how his dad used to be a popular artist, and how when he told Stan, Stan immediately got into the music Randy had been making. Stan doesn’t think of when they won the Pinewood Derby race together. He doesn’t remember how his dad played along with whatever rules of whatever game he and the rest of the neighborhood kids were playing without question. Stan totally doesn’t remember that there was a time when Randy’s natural singing voice was actually good, that it was when he was younger and hadn’t been addicted yet.

No, nothing of the sort went through his head and he crossed to the door.

By some miracle, Stan noticed that something was wrong. The whole time he’d been in the house, it had been quiet, way too quiet. Even when Randy’s blackout drunk he still snores, in fact, the man is never not making noise of some sort, good or bad. But right now it’s bad, it’s really bad.

“Dad?” Stan asked quietly as he turned towards his father asleep on the couch. He let go of his suitcase, and suddenly Stan’s bag slid off his shoulder. He stared at his father. “Dad?” He asked again.

Randy’s a heavy sleeper, he wouldn’t wake up at a mere whisper, which was what Stan’s voice was at right now. But Randy also wasn’t snoring either. The longer Stan looked, the more panicked he became.

Slowly, he moved in on Randy. “Dad?” His voice shook with an unnamed emotion. He took out his phone, ready to dial.

Another step.

Stan stared at his father’s chest, waiting for a rise or fall.

Another step, one more and he could reach out and touch him.

Nothing. No movement.

Another step.

Stan’s unoccupied hand tentatively reached for his father’s. When it got there, he immediately recoiled. Randy’s hand was cold. Not like normal, human cold, but like he’d been outside in the Colorado snow for a week without shelter.

Stan froze, stiff except somehow his thumb got to the call button on the pre-dialed phone.

“9-1-1 what’s your emergency?” The operator said in a monotone voice.

Somehow Stan got the words out. “My dad.” He swallowed thickly, “he’s dead.”

***

Stan didn’t remember anything else from that day. He woke up the next morning in his mom’s house, the meeting with Kenny after school was completely forgotten. Stan felt he didn’t remember anything from the nine years spent at the farm.

Waking up in his childhood bed had almost tricked him into thinking he was a child again, with a second chance at life. But feeling his size in comparison to the old Terrance and Philip sheets reminded him that that was not the case.

That was it. That was all. No more dad. No more Kyle. All gone, all gone. Who would be next? Hopefully it’d be Stan.

As Stan laid in the darkness of his childhood bedroom memories from the previous day came back. Stan tried to stop them, but they came, none the less.

It was an OD, they’d told him. He’d been dead for at least twelve hours, so sometime the night before. Turned out he wasn’t just drinking but smoking and doing weed all night too. Stan never knew his dad smoked.

Sharon and Shelly were both equal parts shocked and unsurprised. Neither had known what to say when the police dropped Stan off at their house. Sharon was accommodating and Shelly had nothing to say to him for once.

Stan hadn’t said a word. He’d just gone straight upstairs once Sharon had told him that it was ready, ignoring her pleas for him to eat.

He briefly wonders if this was how his own dad felt when grandpa died.

Stan shakes off the thought. Nobody bothered to cry for his grandpa, his grandpa had been trying to kill himself for years before the end finally came for him. His grandpa had been happy to go.

The more Stan thought about it, his own dad wasn’t so different. Randy’s drinking and weed (and apparently smoking) problems were signs that he was begging for death. He’d gotten worse after his dad died, and then the divorce was what seemed to really clinch it. Stan saw him sober maybe twice after him and Sharon divorced.

Was death really that great? If both his dad and his grandpa had been wishing for death, and if Kyle had gone, then maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing like everyone made it out to be. Maybe Stan should die and found out what all the hype was about.

He decided to spend the day in his bed after that resolution.

***

Three in the morning. The house was asleep. The world was asleep. And snow fell quietly outside, eating all sound.

Stan couldn’t sleep, he was giddy. When his phone struck three he threw the covers off himself and dug through his suitcase for his most prized position. Finally, he gently pulled out a delicately folded wash cloth. Stan didn’t even bother putting it in his pocket, he just held it with care as he dawned his jacket, hat and shoes. Then he quietly slipped out the door, the permanent residents of the house none the wiser.

Stan walked as fast as he could without running or tripping to the forest by Starks pond. His heart raced and he felt his scars burn with anticipation, the knot in his stomach was growing with his smile.

He was gonna do it. He was really gonna do it this time. The excitement was almost too much to handle. His pace quickened.

Stan soon came to the log he’d sat at just over a day earlier. He’d come to think. Now he came to die. The irony made him laugh, long and morbid. Tears sprung to his eyes for an unknown reason as he carefully laid the cloth on the log and began to unfold it. The cloth revealed five small strips of metal. Each daintily bent halfway through longways at a sharp ninety-degree angle. Pun absolutely intended.

Stan’s eyes held stars as he gazed at the blades, only one didn’t have dried blood looking like rust to dull it’s shine. Stan had deemed them too difficult to clean, but he kept the dirty ones. As a sick way to keep track. There was a small box that went with the cloth with matching blades, only all were rust-colored and gross.

Stan took one dainty blade between his fingers, the memory of him outside smashing the razor head with a large rock still vivid. He gazed at it longingly, morbidly, until excitement and anticipation overtook him. Stan gently held the blade and with his eyes closed and head back, like a junkie getting a hit after a long absence, he pressed into his skin, dragging for marks and blood.

The relief of the pain was instant, and the warm trail of blood made the moment sweeter. Stan relished the feeling until the pain began to dull. That’s when he dragged again, longer and in a more perilous location. Stan basked in the pain, his mind overcome, he couldn’t focus on anything else. Not his grandpa, not his dad, and especially not Kyle.

Eventually, Stan’s head began to feel light, like he was floating. His body started to go cold, and he began to wonder if he was dreaming, or flying. Ether way, Stan laid on the snow and watched the pure white soak up the red of his blood greedily, melting in some places.

Eventually, Stan fell asleep. Or that’s how it felt to Stan anyway.

***

They were in a field. It was sunset, but it was still so warm, definitely not Colorado. The golden sun lit the golden-green grass into a dream. A slight breeze jostled Stan’s hair and that’s when he realized he was without his usual hat and coat. Just a regular t-shirt, like a regular teen who didn’t live in some crazy-cold winter land.

“Stan, did you hear what I said?” Looking up, he could see that it was Kyle who spoke. Not that he’d needed the visual confirmation, but how’d Kyle get here? Kyle was also missing his hat and coat, unruly red locks swaying in the wind. The look on Stan’s face must’ve told him something because he repeated the statement he must’ve said before asking Stan for his attention. “I said I love you too.”

Shock and grief colored Stan’s features, he didn’t say anything. What was happening? Kyle’s eyes hit the sun just then and he didn’t even blink. Stan just watched as the sun made the green of Kyle’s eyes glow emerald. “I love you too.” Stan repeated numbly as if he hadn’t just heard the words himself.

It felt like the world was in slow-motion as Stan ran the four large steps to embrace Kyle. As soon as he felt Kyle’s familiar frame under his hands he broke down. Exhaustion hit him like a fifty-foot tsunami as relief flooded him. The hot tears from both spilled over his cheeks, but there was no reason for sobs. Just shaky breaths and Kyle had one hand on his back holding firmly, and the other in his hair, gripping tightly.

“Stan, it’s ok. I promise you, it’s ok.” Stan held Kyle like the world depended on it, his world certainly did. Kyle just stood there, and waiting for it to pass, holding Stan all the while.

Once Stan could speak, he took a deep breaths and said to Kyle, “you’ll be here forever right? You’ll stay with me this time?” Kyle pushed him back just enough to look him in the eye.

“Stan,” His tone carried a weight with it.

“Kyle please, I’ve tried, you’ve seen me try to live without you, I can’t do it Kyle. Now my dad, I just can’t do this without you.” Stan eyes were pleading, begging Kyle to come back with him.

“Stan, you know I can’t do that.” Kyle gave Stan a squeeze. “No matter how much I want to.”

“I’ll stay here then-!”

“No.” Kyle’s answer was stone solid. Nothing Stan could do or say would change it. “Don’t stay here Stan. You have to go back, think of Kenny, Shelly, your mom will be crushed.” Somehow Kyle knew Stan’s answer before he could speak it himself. “I know you might not care now, but you should go live your life, for me if nothing else. You need to live Stan. Then one day, when you’re old and grey, you can come back here. Then I want you to tell me everything. I want to know everything about what you do Stan. Tell me what having kids is like, or a job, paying bills and going on vacations. And tell me that you found someone. Someone you could spend your life with who could make you happy in my place.”

Stan stares at Kyle, no words can make it past his throat. “Stan Marsh, love of my tragically short life, please live for me.” There’s no room for argument in Kyle’s beautiful green eyes. So Stan just nods and brings his forehead to rest against Kyle’s.

“Good.” Kyle says and holds Stan tighter. He moves back and kisses Stan’s forehead. His lips linger a little longer than necessary before he whispers, “I love you.”

***

A rhythmic beeping is the first thing that Stan’s senses can detect. He’s not quite ready to open his eyes yet though. He was always prone to be woken by sound. Bright light from beyond his eyelids was the next thing, whispered voices from outside his immediate surroundings. That beeping sound continued to his extreme annoyance. Stan took a deep sigh and slowly blinked his eyes open.

He was in Hell’s Pass Hospital. He’d he get here?

His question was answered when he noticed a sleeping Kenny in the chair beside him. A little farther back was Cartman, to Stan’s surprise, but he hadn’t noticed that Stan was awake yet, buried in some magazine.

The air was completely still in the room, without moving his head Stan could pick out a blood pack dripping through an IV into him. His resulting shudder alerted Cartman to his wakefulness. “Stan?” He asked, putting down the magazine. “Oh my god, Stan. Kenny!” Cartman started shaking Kenny. It started as a gentle thing but got more violent as Kenny didn’t wake. It was only when Kenny started a string of profanities that Cartman stopped.

Stan had to do a double take because it couldn’t be true. Was Cartman . . . crying?

Kenny stopped swearing once he realized the reason his friend had woken him so rudely. “Stan, holy shit, Stan don’t do that again!” Kenny grabbed Stan’s hand; his face covered in tears, both dry and fresh. Cartman was pushing the button to call the nurse in.

“I’m sorry.” Stan told them both. What surprised him most was that he meant it. “I’m sorry.” He said it again just to feel the words on his tongue. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Somewhere in the mantra Stan started crying too.

Kenny hugged him carefully, holding him as tight as could be managed, and Cartman was suddenly on the other side of the bed, rubbing Kenny’s back and hand on Stan’s shoulder. Whenever Cartman had touched him before, there had always been another motive to it, like nothing he did could’ve possibly been genuine in any way. Now the weight of Cartman’s hand felt nice, reassuring, even.

“It’s ok, it’s all going to be ok now.” Kenny murmured into Stan’s ear. Cartman nodded along like he could hear.

***

When Stan was discharged, he went home right away. His mom and his sister had been pacing by the door all day after making all the calls they could and searching far and wide. They’d finally gotten a call from the hospital who told them they couldn’t visit only because the max amount of visitors had already been reached.

Stan knocked once and his mom flung the door open wide and greeted him with a hug so tight he was afraid he’d choke. Shelly came running to join, she embraced her little brother and her mother and held them tight. She could protect them against any foe, even her little brother’s mental health. The yellow light from inside flooded the snow, with nothing but the shadow of the family of three on the driveway to stand up to it. “Thank god.” Stan’s mom whispered into his ear.

“Don’t scare me like that.” At first Stan thought it was his mom again, but the difference in placement told him that it was Shelly who’d spoken. When had she gotten her braces off again? It was so long ago, but her voice had really changed because of it. It was so much softer now, reminded Stan of his mom’s.

The broken family stood there in the cold, with the light from inside illuminating the flakes as they began to fall again. And Stan had never felt so loved by his family.

***

Randy’s funeral was an occasion, to say the least. Nobody really cried, not even Stan. It felt like he’d said goodbye to his real dad years ago. All of South Park attended, small town and all. Even the mayor had a few things to say about the man. But nobody could really find anything that would leave a lasting impression on anybody. Not even Stan.

After the funeral, slowly people filtered out to the reception, promises of booze were made after all. Only Stan, Kenny and Cartman were left. Stan laid a few flowers to join the many at the foot of the grave. He stood, offered a silent prayer, then turned and left without a word. Kenny and Cartman followed; they already knew the destination.

Sure enough, in a few minutes the broken trio arrived at the Jewish graveyard. Stan offered flowers to Kyle’s grave, along with another silent prayer. Then turned to leave. Kenny and Cartman followed once again; this time they didn’t know where they were going.

Stan lead them through the woods to the bench overlooking Stark’s pond. There they sat, with Stan in the middle, and looked out across the familiar view. The sun was beginning to set, its rays golden but the clouds were purple and the sky was blue and pink. The trees cast a dark silhouette on the horizon. The water reflected all of it perfectly.

“Hey guys.” Kenny said as if he’s only just arrived.

“Hey.” Stan and Cartman chorused back.

The silence from before persisted despite Kenny’s efforts.

“Do you think it will ever be the same?” To both Kenny and Stan’s surprise it was Cartman who asked.

“How could it?” Stan asked.

“I don’t know.” Cartman admitted rather flimsily.

Stan watched as a couple of swans swan in the now thawed pond.

“Hey Kenny, how’d you find me?” Stan asked. There was no room for misunderstanding in this atmosphere. Stan didn’t need to stumble with words to know that Kenny knew he was asking out of pure curiosity, not because he was ungrateful.

“To be honest, it was a fluke. My dad was drunk again, you know how he gets. It’s worse now that Kevin’s gone. I told Karen to sleepover at Craig’s, she and Trisha are together you know. I was gonna crash at the treehouse you and Kyle built. I’ve been making renovations on it since you abandoned the thing, it’s halfway livable now. I heard laughing and wandered towards the sound. It happened to be you. Once I saw you passed out in the snow I called the cops. You know the rest.”

Stan nodded absentmindedly, still staring at the swans. Cartman was quiet too. Another moment of silence passed between them.

“Cartman why are you so fucked up about this? Didn’t you hate Kyle?” Stan asked. He’s been dying to know.

Kenny makes a noise and makes a face to go with it but Cartman doesn’t even flinch. “To be completely honest with you guys, I’m in the same boat as you, Stan.” Cartman looks Stan right in the eye with something he’s never bothered to show before. Cartman looked vulnerable, like a breeze could kill him. “I’ve always treated Kyle different; you guys know that. I was always unnecessarily cruel to everyone, but to him especially. There was just something different about him. I could never figure it out. He just had this quality to him that was unique and I was so confused. I dealt with it in the only way I ever knew. It was so wrong of me but that’s why.” Cartman took a shuddering breath.

“You know that morning wasn’t any different? I was always a little jealous of the attention he gave you, Stan. But I took it way too far that morning.” None of them had to ask to know what morning he was talking about. “Then in class, when the shooting started, Kyle just jumped in front of me. Just like that.” Stan and Kenny gasped in harmony. “Yep, he jumped. And in that moment I realized why Kyle seemed so different to me. I realized that I’d never actually hated him and I knew why I teased him all the time. I just wanted attention from him, I wanted reactions and I wanted to get a rise out of him because I loved him.” Cartman choked on a sob for a moment before continuing.

“I can’t believe he actually cared about me enough to take those bullets. It’s always been Stan that he was in love with. It was the ultimate bit of attention one can give. Sick right?” Cartman looked them both in the eyes before he sighed and turns his attention back to the pond and the lowering sun. Maybe someday in the future Stan would have the heart to be angry at Cartman for taking Kyle away from him. But right now as he looked at Cartman’s longing gaze across the pond, he could only feel pity for the man, being so broken for the same reason as himself.

Then the night started to really pull in. The first stars were barely visible and the sky had gotten significantly darker. The sun was hidden behind the trees now.

“So, what are you guys gonna do after graduation?” Cartman asked.

“I’m gonna go into psychology and start up an organization. Non-profit, for people who don’t have enough money or are in tough situations who need support, mentally and physically. I’m gonna go to college and get really smart and work really hard.” Stan could really see Kenny doing it as he painted that picture for them. He imagined Kenny getting his degree, and even taking Karen into business with him, maybe some of the other girls form their high school too, good friends they’d known for a long time. It would be cool if all their friends somehow became involved in Kenny plan, and that generation of South Park graduates was dedicated to helping the less fortunate. Stan loved the change Kenny spoke of, and wished it into the world with all his heart.

“What about you Cartman?” Kenny asked.

“Well Ken, If you’re doing that then I’ll go into real estate. You can count me as an inside when I join a company. If you need help with any re-location I’ll be your guy. I’ll give you a cut of course.” Wow, that was so . . . benevolent of Cartman. Stan had never seen him so kind . . . or determined. This Stan had a more difficult time visualizing, but the look of pure determination on Cartman’s face made it so believable Stan felt he could touch the man’s dreams himself.

“How about you Stan?” Kenny asked.

Stan thought for a minute. Kyle had always been his future and that had been that. No more questions. But he did come up with an answer. “I think I’d like to pursue music. I know it’s a long-shot, and it’s not very likely that I’ll be able to make a living, but it’s what I want to do. I could run fundraisers for you guys too, promote you guys.”

It felt so small compared to his friends’ dreams of grandeur, like it would only help infinitesimally in comparison. Still, Kenny gave him a warm smile and Cartman nodded. “I love it.” Kenny told him with kind eyes.

Together the three looked out across the pond. They watched the swans take flight, and as night fully dawned, it felt like morning was breaking. The sky was finally open again. No more storms. This was going to be the rainbow after the storm. A rainbow made with hard work, perseverance and determination, but a rainbow, nonetheless. There was hope in the air again.

Maybe, Stan thought to himself, finally allowing some small piece of hope bloom in his chest. Just maybe, one day in the future, maybe not today and maybe not tomorrow; but one day, it’ll all be alright.