Work Text:
31 days left.
Those words written in the beginning of a blank notebook. That notebook sitting, open on a wooden desk belonging only to Stanley Marsh. Being 17 years old, he felt like he had peaked in everything non-academic, of course. He was team caption for 3 sports: football, hockey, and baseball. He had gone to every major high-school party, and had a girlfriend, Wendy, that loved and supported him. Shit hit the fan, he picked up drinking after being since freshman year of high-school. He started dabling in risky behavior. He started cutting and burning, and his girlfriend didnt know how to help him, he was too far gone and there was nothing she could do for him. Wendy left him, left him and he felt like a worthless piece of trash.
A week later? Kyle found out about Stan's behavior and his return to alcoholism. Kyle tried to help him get therapy or rehab, but nothing was working. Eventually, Kyle, his super-best friend, had abandoned him. Stan's best friend had left him, after knowing each other since the two were in fucking diapers. All of those years of knowing each other, just being thrown away like it was a candy bar wrapper. The only one who stayed was Kenny, but even then they barely saw each other.
Stan opens his eyes after scunching them shut super hard, he had spaced out staring at the page titled " 31 days left." He felt like in a month's time, everything will be okay again, everything will be back to how things were, and the world would keep turning.
"Stanley! Get up, your gonna be late, you gotta get going if you're driving!" called the voice of his mother, Sharon. Sharon had been alongside her son and Kyle during the attempts at therapy and rehab. She had discovered Stan's addictive personality toward drugs and alcohol after finding him half-dead in the family bathroom, high off of Prozac and drunk from a bottle and a half of Aristocrat Vodka (which is fucking gross, don't drink it, Aristocrat is nasty). Stan could have died of alcohol poisoning if she hadn't found him. The trip to the ER was rough, he kept going in and out of consciousness, dancing on the brink of death.
He had been institutionalized, for almost 2 months. During those 2 months is when he discovered self-harm. He knew people would hit themselves and cut, but not the way he had seen while in the psych ward.
Stan stared down at his heavily scared arms before sniffling a little bit. He had been clean for around 2 months, per his and his mom's agreement to keep his car. He grabbed his jacket and car keys, his bookbag already in the rundown minivan. Straight lining to the driver's side of the vehicle, he opens the door and sits in the seat for a little bit, not really doing much, just thinking. He drove to school, fighting the urge to just drive off the side of the mountain.
21 days left.
Stan had called up Kenny, asking for a few favors.
"Hey Stan the Man! Wassup?" Kenny said in a southern tone, kinda redneck, but not hillbilly deep.
"Hey, can you come over? I need more percs.." Stan said sheepishly.
"Dude, no, fuck you. Kyle told me not to give you any." Kenny spoke over the phone, kinda breaking the audio due to his voice raising.
"Kyle doesn't fucking care, he left me, he doesnt care.. whatever, I'll talk to you later.." Stan said before hanging up the phone. He stared at his contact list before seeing Kyle's name. Stan threw it phone against the wall.
Stan relapsed that night. Had stolen a paint scraping razor from his father's tool box in the garage, he had mutilated his left forearm, just wanting to feel. He drank some vodka before passing out in his bed. He hated himself, he hated himself, no one loves him and no one cared about him.
No one would miss him if he would die or go missing, the world would keep spinning without him.
7 days left.
Stan began trying to get in contact with all of his old friends, trying to hang out and tell them how much he loved them, trying to fix things and tie up loose ends before his countdown was over. He had plans and he didn't want anything on his conscious before then.
Stan got into contact with Kyle. They talked over text and over a phone call or two. They argued for most of the conversations, but Stan managed to get a few words of remorse, apologies, and affirmations before all contact was lost. Stan felt like he had accomplished so much more just then. Only a week left, he could make it through.
1 hour left.
Staring at himself in the bathroom mirror, stan had put on an old band tee, for his band he had in school. Across the chest read "Crimson Dawn" in bright red and messy print. He sighed before taking a fist-full of some mystery pill and shoving jt into his mouth, washing it down with whiskey he had stolen from his father's liquor cabinet. Stan thought he was gonna vomit. The pills began dissolving on his tongue, it was chalky and slimy.
Stan walked over to the shower and tub, closing the drain plug and filling up the tub. When the water was about half-way raised he stepped in, holding his paint razor in his hand, gripping it so it didnt fall out of his hand. Stan let out a deep sigh, shaky and disconnected due to his brain startkng to go in and out, he was slipping, he had to be fast. Stan too the razor before pressing as hard as he could the base of his wrist and before pulling down, dragging the forearm, swipping as fast as possible. His arm now spread open, bone and muscle exposed. he lefted his arm as blood spilled into the dub, thick globs and blood clots plopped into the tub of water, turning the water from clear to a slight shate of red fog. Holding the razor now in the hand of his already horrifically sliced arm, he pressed down on his other wrist, before performing the same ritual. Stan coukdnt help but stare at his body, his arms. He had seen a picture on the internet about what he had done, it said Horizontal cuts wouldnt be as deadly, easily stitchable, but veritcal cuts down the inside of his forearm is were its risky, that couod lead the cutting the veins and arteries straight down them, unable to prevent blood loss. Unable to be stitched back together. That's why he did this action this way, he wanted this to end fast. Thats when Stan dunked his arms into the water, the water causing blood to leave his body even faster. The blood loss was causing Stan to fade. He felt everything get cold almost immediately, his vision going black before there was nothing. His lifeless body sinking into the tub before his head slipped under the water.
Kyle had gotten a timed text from Stan's phone.
"Hey Kyle. I wanted to say that I love you, dude. I know we never saw eye to eye, but i love you so fucking much. I wanted you to know that. Im so sorry for what is gonna happen. I want you to know it wasn't your fault. It was mine. Im fucked up, Kyle. I can't be fixed. We tried. I tried so hard to hold on, but I couldn't do it. Like Gerard Way sings, ' But if I could be with you tonight, I would sing you to sleep, never let them take the light behind your eyes. I failed and lost this fight. Remember you will always burn as bright.' I love you Kyle. I wish I could show you how much. Thats why I'm leaving this world, maybe you can find peace in knowing I'm not in pain anymore.
Im sorry. "
Kyle couldnt help but cry, running out of his house without shoes or a jacket. The Marsh's moved back down the street. Kyle ran down to house before opening the front door. The Marsh family was watching TV.
"Kyle! What are you doing here? Stan is upstairs sleeping—" Kyle ignored Sharon before running up the stairs. Stan wasn't in his room. He ran to the bathroom. The door was locked. He saw water leaking under the door. Stan didnt turn the water off. Kyle rammed himself into the door before he broke himself in. He ran to the tub and turned the tap off. There he saw a lifeless Stan. He had passed away. Kyle reached into the tub and picked up Stan, placing him on the ground. Kyle tried CPR and air compressions, but it was too late. Kyle screamed before pulling the dead body to his chest. Sharon and Randy heard and ran up the stairs before coming face to face with a distriught, sobbing Kyle holding their dead son. Sharon fell to her knees infront of them.
"C'mon dude... this isn't fucking funny..!" Kyle screamed.
"Stan please..wake up."