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“Fuck! Fuck fuckfuckfuck!” Kyle gasped, splashing to get his arms around his chest as he came up for air. Maybe the snow had mostly melted around town, but it was still way too cold to be doing this. Maybe that was part of the fun.
Cartman cackled at him and continued his work, dunking Kenny underwater.
“Hey, guys,” Kyle shouted over the splashing, “Bet I can still hold my breath longest?”
“Nuh- uh, Jew,” said Cartman, “My money’s on Kenny- I heard he’s never gotta come up for air."
Kenny flipped Cartman off, but accepted the challenge anyway and he and Kyle took a few breaths then a deep gulp and disappeared under the water. Once all the bubbles had risen, Kyle was submerged in cold, dark silence. Pressure. Lungs filled like balloons, he sculled down several feet to find something to anchor himself. It was colder at the bottom of the pond, but as Kyle searched for a log to hold onto, he found a strange warm patch and he swam towards it, finding a solid branch to steady himself.
His lungs were screaming for air as he closed his hand around it, but he could ignore that, instead focusing on the pull of a strong tide out of nowhere and the sound of splashing- perhaps Kenny going up for air, but he wouldn’t chance it. Pinching his eyes open he expected darkness. It was always dark for their reunion night swims at Stark's Pond, but he could see Stan swimming away, hauling Kenny in tow, and Cartman’s fat silhouette scrambling out of the water. Confused, Kyle turned towards the light. The warm patch he'd swam into, emanating around the stick.
It came loose in his hand and suddenly something bright flashed through the water, shocking him like a power outlet, shaking energy in his bones. He let out a mouthful of air and his feet had lost the bottom of the pond.
Air- needed air.
Choking, he thrashed. Lost which way was up. The bubbles were swirling around him. The pressure of the water felt like he’d dived a hundred feet. He clutched to the stick as if it would help, but it still felt like hours he was stuck in the dark, pressed in on all sides to the size of a pinpoint, losing control of his limbs without air, but after a moment, the bubbles rose and he was lifting, feet-first in the direction he could’ve sworn was down.
He flipped and pulled toward it fast, bursting up for just a second into blinding daylight and a canopy of green before his body gave out and he was sinking again, drowning, blacking out.
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And suddenly, sunlight. Green sunlight. No- green leaves...trees, rustling in the wind. Birds chirping.
Then- blue eyes hovering over him, searching.
The kind of clear blue that Hallmark card photographers would cream themselves over.
Stan...
Stan...was very close to his face...
Kyle wracked into coughs, shoving him away to heave water and bile, vision blinking in and out as he gasped for air. It was salvation- holy fuck, he would never take oxygen for granted again. The pressure on his chest eased off and Kyle could feel himself moving- well...being moved, muscles too weak with hypoxia to actually do anything about it. Noises were muffled by the water in his ears, but he could make out Stan's voice in the haze, speaking as he lifted him up onto something softer than sticks and mud.
Since when could Stan pick him up?
"M' Lord..." he was saying, arranging Kyle on his side so the water leaked from his ears and patting his back until he stopped coughing. "Say something, please..." he patted Kyle's cheek, kept touching his face every time his eyes slipped closed..
The air was too delicious to pass out anyway, filling out Kyle's chest then his head, bringing his vision back in speckling colors, and he squinted, turning his head up to look at the man that was holding him. What the fuck was up with the...cape and armor? And...M'lord? How long was he out? It was daylight somehow- and definitely didn't feel like the tail end of winter. "What're y'wearing..." he slurred.
"...I should ask you the same," Stan said, voice sounding gritty like he'd just smoked a pack of cigarettes. Abruptly, his hand was on Kyle's thigh, sliding up his hip to his swim trunks. "I've never seen these undergarments before..."
Kyle slapped the hand away.
They didn't touch each other like that...definitely not anymore.
But Stan just laughed, a little awkward and giddy and, "Regardless, did you get to the Stick?" he said. He studied Kyle's face as Kyle blinked back with unfocused eyes. Stan must've decided his answer because he pulled Kyle upright, wrapping his half-naked body up in some red robes, guiding his limp arms into sleeves.
Kyle allowed it incredulously, too weak and confused to fight him off or ask what the hell was happening as Stan manhandled him with a surprising amount of strength.
"Nevermind, I saw the flash and- look at you, you obviously got to it." There was something like pride in his tone. "Let's get you dressed and we can head back..."
Stan was talking mostly to himself as he laced the robes up over his chest, but Kyle's vision started to clear as Stan dragged his fingertips up his neck to trace the round curve of his ears. A strange look came over his face; a sad smile, and- maybe Kyle had missed it when he'd pulled up to the Pond a little late; the sun had been setting, but...
Was that a...scar...across his eye?
"Wh's happening?" Kyle said finally, pushing himself back up onto his elbows, arms now sleeved in soft red fabric. "Stan?"
"You're okay m'Lord," Stan said, nodding at him with this freaky intense look. "You did it," and he cupped Kyle's jaw tenderly, and all Kyle could think was whathefuckwhathefuckwhathefuck on an endless stream. "You used the stick." Then, before Kyle could stop him, Stan kissed his head and pulled his face into his chest like he had been so fucking scared.
It took every ounce of Kyle's restraint not to shove away as he was pulled against a hardened leather chestplate, wrapped in Stan's arms for the first time in about three years, Stan's hair dripping on his face, so- obviously he had jumped in to pull Kyle out of the water.
And, that was pretty cool of him- Kyle figured he should probably thank him for that. But seriously, what the fuck? What was up with head-kissing? The armor? How'd he get in this forest? Where was the town? The church and the elementary school and Skeeter's Bar? M'Lord? How had it become daylight all of a sudden? And why was Stan talking about a goddamn stick?! None of this made sense...
Well...actually...
"I'm dreaming..." Kyle drew in a shaky breath, staring over Stan's shoulder where his face was pressed into it. That's why everyone had been running out of the pond. "There was a flash storm. I got struck by lightening and now I'm in a coma," he said quickly, "...Underwater...fuck."
Stan pulled back, holding Kyle at arm's length to study him- and really, since when was he so tan and square-jawed and scruffy? Since when did he have that big ugly scar? "...My Lord-"
"Stop calling me that!" Kyle snapped, slapping Stan's arm off again and leaning away. What kinda fucked-up hallucination was this? "Why do you keep calling me that?"
Stan's hands went up, placating. "It's your birthright."
They hadn't played Dungeons and Dragons in years, much less LARPed their games with costumes...particularly well-crafted- real battered leather and embroidered silk-costumes... This had to be in his imagination. Or a joke. Kyle held back the urge to punch Stan in the face for it. "This isn't funny, Stan. Where the fuck are we?"
Stan's brows drew together, but he didn't try to touch Kyle again- thank fuck, "Stark's Pond..." he said slowly. "We came to use the Stick," he explained. "We needed it back so you could erase magic from our world..." He was touching Kyle's ears again.
Kyle slapped the hand away a third time. "Stop!" he snapped. "Like fuck this is Stark's Pond! Where are we? Where're Cartman and Kenny?"
The bewilderment on Stan's face deepened and he backed up on his knees. "...This is Stark's Pond, m'Lord..." he implored, "...why would they be here? He betrayed us and...she's been dead for years." Stan got that strange expression again and said, "Whatever happened with the Stick in that water...please just tell me you remember..."
"Remember wh-?"
"The war...the ghosts pouring forth from the mountain, the humans summoning the necromancer, your kingdom burning..."
Kyle just stared long and hard, jaw set. Stan was serious. He was using every tool in his acting arsenal to be a complete dick. It wasn't funny. "Fuck you."
Stan jolted in shock. "M'Lord-"
Kyle did punch him then. Square across the jaw.
"Hey!"
"Fuck you!" Kyle repeated, stumbling up to his feet, still a little dizzy but recovering fast. "I could've died! I thought I was fucking drowning, Stan! This isn't funny!"
Stan followed him up to stand. "It's not a jest, m'Lord!"
Kyle punched him again, fist making a solid impact in the same spot and Stan cursed, grabbing his wrists tightly and twisting them behind his back, arms wrapped around Kyle's middle to hold him, faces brought way too close for comfort. "M'Lord, please..." he pleaded.
And, normally, Kyle would've been able to tug free, but Stan's grip was too tight. He was stronger- rougher. His arms way too big.
Kyle went to knee Stan in the groin, but he quickly side-stepped, anticipating the kick and turning Kyle around, bending him forward and jabbing the backs of his knees so he fell back to the ground. He went down easy with a gasp for breath, head spinning.
How had Stan done that? So quick...
Stan kept holding him, grip gentle but firm, "Please, Kyle, slow down," he whispered, pleading. His tone was way too gentle and...caring. It made Kyle uncomfortable. "What happened with the Stick? Tell me?"
No way this was Stan.
"Let me go," Kyle grit out, tugging his hands.
But not-Stan didn't. He just knelt behind him. "Kyle," he muttered, breath brushing against the shell of Kyle's ear.
Kyle thrashed.
"Tell me what's happened, love..."
Kyle froze.
For a long moment, they sat there in silence on their knees in the tall forest grass, surrounded by the sounds of the trees rustling and bugs chirping, not-Stan pressing some crazy fucking engraved armor to Kyle's back- wearing chainmail and a ridiculous green cloak and Kyle put in some embroidered red robe. Kyle's heart was pumping erratically, adrenaline spiking in his confusion. They waited for his mind to reboot and give him something intelligent to say, but it wasn't every day he got called 'love' by some doppleganger of his ex-best friend.
His ex-best friend who hated his guts.
Kyle gave up. "...let me go."
Not-Stan still didn't. "Please, my Lord," he said again, back to formalities. "Forgive me for using force, but...you are so changed." His voice was tight now, openly frightened. "We agreed, whatever the outcome of the Stick's magic, we would face it together..." he said, blue eyes genuine and unsure, hurting. "But, I need you to talk to me." The doppleganger turned Kyle around, locking both his wrists behind his back.
It was a strange look on him and Kyle felt his anger receding against his better judgment. He resisted the urge to pull back. Not-Stan didn't seem to notice how he kept breaking the personal-space bubble. If anything, it just proved this wasn't reality. Stan wouldn't be getting so close to him. Not even for some fucked up joke. "If this is a prank, I swear to God..." Kyle muttered.
"It's no prank."
And, Kyle believed him. Fuck. He believed him because this was Stan. At least in some form. And, maybe Stan had become a bit of a dick- no an absolute bag of dicks- the last few years, but it was more likely that this was all in Kyle's head than that Stan was lying. Stan was still an honest bag of dicks- even in Kyle's imagination.
"Then, I have no idea what's going on," Kyle admitted. "I was in the water, there was a flash of light, now I'm here and I've got no fucking clue what's happening." It was probably something stupid.
"Perhaps if I show you, you will remember?"
Yes- that would help. A tour of his own hallucination.
Kyle nodded and not-Stan loosened his grip on his hands, pulling him back up to his feet. He then kneeled and took Kyle's feet in hand to put a pair of boots on him, and Kyle allowed it, still pissed, but it would be smarter to roll with it until he could figure out what the hell was going on. If Stan wanted to play manservant in some fucked up coma dream, fine.
Dream-Stan tied up his boots for him and led him to a tall horse that was tied to a tree a little ways into the forest.
And, Kyle had limited experience with riding horses...never this fast, and never in a goddamn dress. He'd figured that once he'd realized he was in a dream, he'd be able to control what was happening, but this was...not fun. Between the pain in the crotch of riding a horse in his swim shorts and a robe and the discomfort of hugging his chest up against Stan Marsh's armored back, he was pretty sure he'd lost control of this fantasy.
As they rode, dream-Stan babbled about the mountain of 'howlers' that had stormed free and raided the seven human kingdoms, about how the elves had attempted to control them and lock them back in the mountain, but there just wasn't enough magic left at their disposal and they'd failed. He talked about the humans' desperate alliance with a Necromancer, having him reign in the howling ghosts to save the kingdoms of man, and how the Necromancer's risen dead had, in turn, destroyed the kingdom of the elves.
Dream-Stan spoke of how he and Kyle had ridden out to retrieve the Stick to erase all magic from the realm- good and evil- a final measure to end the necromancer's spell...it was a sacrifice that had to be made to destroy all the undead beasts in one fell swoop. Dream-Stan explained this to Kyle like he should've known- like he had forgotten.
"Whoa!" not-Stan said abruptly, pulling on the reigns and Kyle quickly realized why.
In the distance, deeper in the forest, a full-blown battle was going down. Heavily-armored warriors, long blond hair flowing behind them as they flipped through the trees and shot arrows, were fighting two giant giant wolves. But...the wolves were missing huge chunks of flesh, rotting away as they attacked. The pointy-eared warriors seemed to have the situation under control, shooting their arrows with ropes attached, tangling up the beasts into submission.
But, "No..." dream-Stan said breathlessly. "...then the Stick..."
Kyle watched the ordeal in growing horror as full understanding washed over him. He'd sort of known- somewhere in the periphery of his memory, but it was too obvious now to deny. The golden designs on his red robes, the archers...the marking's on dream-Stan's helmet...they were a little different from what Kyle remembered, but similar enough to recognize. "...Marshwalker?" he tried, voice quiet and hands clenching over Stan's chest.
The Stick of Truth game? Seriously?!
This was what he hallucinated of in his death-coma?
But, the Ranger was shaking his head, too caught up in his own epiphany to notice Kyle's growing panic. "No...no, I thought you'd..." Marshwalker turned at the waist to glance at Kyle. "You said you were taking all magic from Zaron, not just your own! Why are we still fighting undead Dire wolves?"
"I didn't take away my magic, I never had any," Kyle said, voice cracking in frustration, "I didn't touch the Stick of Truth!"
The Ranger seemed to believe him, but it just deepened his confusion, blue eyes darting between rounded ears- human ears. "If you didn't touch it, how are you-" human?
Kyle shook his head, eyes locking on Stan's. "Because I'm not your King!"