Chapter Text
Stan Marsh had known more about love at a younger age than any other kid in South Park. Not even romantic love, just… love. Actually, he had learned about the concept of love from the absence of love in his life.
Most kids were born into love; their parents loved them, they loved their parents back. Love was just automatic for them. It was how it was supposed to be.
But early on in his life, Stan had had to decide who in his family he actually loved. It hadn’t been easy, especially as a 10-year-old, to look at himself and realize that he didn’t love his family, when a lot of the other kids his age — spare Tweek and Butters — loved the family they were born into.
Stan loved his mom. She wasn’t perfect by any means, but her kids meant the entire world to her. Stan still remembered all the times she would read bedtimes stories to him as a kid and do all the fun voices. She would make all his costumes, too; his Halloween costumes, and his Ranger Stan Marshwalker costume when he played as Kyle’s knight. Stan would always be her baby boy.
There were times, though, where Stan felt like she resented him a little bit. Stan was the kid of her and the man she didn’t love, he was a permanent tie between the two. Stan and Shelly were probably the only reason Sharon was still here in South Park, and the only reason she was still married to Randy. Like Stan, Sharon felt trapped in their household. Stan was pretty sure that his mom would turn back time in a heartbeat to stop herself from ever marrying Randy. She would much rather go live on the east coast somewhere, surrounded by a bunch of other single women she could chat all day with, far away from every man. But she was stuck with the life she had, here in this crappy little town, arguing every day with her husband, and she was going to love the kids she had.
Stan… loved Shelly. At least, he was pretty sure. It had taken years for him to get over the abuse she had shown him before Stan had been old and big enough to defend himself. He had hated her. They were two people born into the same household with as much resentment for the world as each other.
It didn’t help that Stan was probably their mom’s favorite.
Shelly hadn’t exactly been an easy child; at a young age she had torn up teddy bears and threw tantrums constantly. Then Stan came along, and he was the perfect, sweetest child in his mom’s eyes. To her, he could do no wrong.
Shelly had always resented him for that. And after she got that ridiculous headgear put in her mouth, her rage had reached an all-time-high, and she started beating the crap out of Stan to take her anger out.
But she was better now. She was away at college and posted to her Instagram all the time about all of her new friends and her boyfriend and how jealousy-inducingly happy she was now that she was free from home. Sometimes she visited, but it was mainly just to see their mom — and, actually, Stan. They understood each other now. Stan remembered one summer night last year when she had taken Stan to the backyard while it was actually slightly warm for dusk in South Park, and she had told him that it gets better, that he would be out of there soon, and things would be okay.
Although they were no longer visible, there were still bruises left on Stan from the pain Shelly had caused him. He never forgave her for that. But he always hugged her goodbye when she returned to college. He actually kind of missed her when she was away.
Stan didn’t mind his uncle Jimbo and uncle Ned — yeah, the two had officially gotten married when it was legalized in South Park. Everyone had seen it coming.
Jimbo and Ned had loved having a nephew to go on manly hunting trips with — that was until Stan shot a rabbit for the first time and had burst into tears. Jimbo and Ned had given up on trying to man Stan up after several failed hunting trips, and now they mainly just visited him and told him stories about their time in the war and called him a cissy from time to time. In the summers, though, when he was a kid, they would drive Stan up to the mountains and take him camping. They would let him play in the lakes and climb trees and they would warm him up by a fire at night and feed him peanut butter on saltine crackers. Those were happy memories.
Stan Marsh did not love his father. His father was an idiotic, abusive, lazy alcoholic who didn’t want to better himself. He was more emotionally and verbally abusive than physically, but he did throw beer bottles at Stan from time to time, which always hurt like hell. He mostly just liked berating and mocking Stan, though.
Randy wasn’t loyal to Stan’s mom, he didn’t know how to get along with Shelly, and he expected Stan to be something Stan wasn’t. Stan was more sensitive and emotional than any other boy his age, and Stan knew his dad hated him for it. His dad wanted a manly man for a son, he wanted a kid he could talk about guy things with.
But Stan cringed when his dad made gross comments about a woman, Stan cried when animals died, and Stan preferred playing guitar and spending every hour he had available with Kyle over anything his dad wanted to talk about. Stan was messed-up and wrong in his father’s eyes. He wasn’t his father’s son.
They only had two things in common. The first thing was looks; Stan absolutely hated the fact that he was growing up to look just like his father. Stan’s mom was white and his dad was Mexican, and Stan himself looked way more Mexican. He had his dad’s cleft chin, his nose, his sad blue eyes, his light-brown skin, and his same jet-black hair. It was painful being the reflection of the man you hated most.
Stan couldn’t change his face, but he could grow his hair out to where it almost reached his shoulders and bleach it blonde, and he could get Kenny to pierce him up all over. Which is exactly what Stan did. One night, he had sat on the lid of Kyle’s toilet with a towel around his shoulders as Kyle bleached the shoulder-length hair that Stan’s dad hated. Boys weren’t supposed to have long hair.
Then a few weeks later he had gone to Kenny’s house — which definitely wasn’t a sanitary place for piercings, but it had been free — and had a needle poked through his face all over. He had ear lobe and helix piercings, a septum piercing, and snakebites. His dad hated them all and Stan knew it. God knew Stan had gotten a smack and harsh words for it, but it was all worth it in Stan’s eyes. Anything to separate Stan from his father more was worth it.
And the other thing Stan had in common with his dad was his problems with alcohol.
Stan’s dad was an alcoholic. Ever since money had become an issue and Randy had been forced to sell the farm and move back to their old home in South Park — Stan had never celebrated more than when that stupid fucking farm was finally gone — his drinking had gotten worse.
Every night Randy came home drunk, and he’d yell at Sharon and complain about dinner, and if Stan was home, he’d pick a fight and ridicule Stan and occasionally shove him around — that part wasn’t that common these days considering Stan was now big and bulky enough to fight back, but when things got bad, Randy got physical. Coming home at nights after school were always the worst.
Stan’s problems with alcohol had started when he was only 15. He hadn’t known how to deal with the aching, devastating feeling of sadness in his chest that was always there, so he had begun sneaking drinks from his dad’s alcohol cabinet to try and numb the pain. This habit had continued into his later years, and was still present now that he was 17.
Life was too much, Stan sometimes considered just ending it all, and he was sad all the time and trapped in a miserable family and home where he didn’t feel safe. His depression was horrible. It was like his brain was trying to kill itself with sadness and miserable thoughts, and his chest always ached with unhappiness. Everything was shit to him, it was like he just couldn’t be happy; something in his brain prevented it. Days spent lying in bed with no human contact were common for him.
Alcohol couldn’t fix any of that, but it could make it all go away for a little bit.
Which was why, some nights, Stan found himself breaking into the alcohol cabinet in the kitchen and helping himself to whatever he could find. These nights always resulted in him either calling Kyle to have him come over for help, or waking up in tears and lying in piles of his own vomit with the worst headache imaginable. It was miserable. But he didn’t know what else to do, or how to stop this. He got his addict genes from his dad.
His stupid, good-for-nothing dad.
Love didn’t come easy for Stan, but one thing was for sure: he loved his best friend Kyle.
Not in a gay way, totally not in a gay way. They were best friends, nothing more.
Kyle was the most important person in Stan’s life. They had been best friends for a whole life, they understood each other on a level nobody could ever understand, and they were going to stay together forever. Stan wasn’t gay for him, though. Just because Stan was closer to Kyle than the average male friendship, and his relationship with Wendy never worked out didn’t mean he was gay. He just… loved Kyle. His love for Kyle transcended all labels. They had a special bond.
Needing Kyle was like needing air. He came naturally to Stan, he was always there, he was necessary.
“Daydreaming again, Stan? Whatcha thinking about, other dudes?”
Snapped out of his thoughts by the unpleasant voice of Cartman, Stan turned in his desk seat to fix Cartman with a glare.
“Shut up, fatass.”
Cartman, with his crooked square glasses, and his one brown and one blue eye, and his terrible acne, just snickered.
Cartman had actually changed quite a bit. Sure, he was still that bitchy little fat kid, but he had a more serious side to himself now. After years of being spoiled and protected from the world by his mother, Cartman had been hit with harsh reality after reaching an older age. He had realized that his mom worked as a whore, nobody really liked him — spare Butters, who worshipped him — and he and his mom were actually struggling financially.
Cartman had made the first adult decision in his life by taking a job as a busboy at the local taco shop when he was 14. He had taken a few odd jobs after quitting that one, and now worked as a cashier at the local market. It had matured him a little bit, and he was pretty serious about his job.
He had gone through an angry phase during puberty where he had picked fights with everyone he possibly could, verbal and physical — he always lost — but nowadays he just kind of hung back, stewing in his own pent up anger at the world. He still picked on Stan, Kenny, and especially Kyle when they all hung out, and talked shit about everyone else at school, but the evil schemes he had thought up as a kid had stopped, thank God.
Sometimes, when Stan was alone with him, Cartman would go serious and talk very briefly about his life and how much resentment he had for the world. It was always odd seeing Cartman so willing to open up some, but Stan always took him seriously, as difficult as that was when Stan knew he would go back to being a bigot the next day.
He was still an asshole, basically. That hadn’t changed. He was just… a more mature asshole.
“You’re just waiting for Kyle to get here. I see it in your sad gay eyes,” Cartman teased, his pronunciation of ‘Kyle’ coming out as ‘Kahl’, like always. “God, you two are so lame.”
Stan could feel a blush creep up on his face.
They were sitting in history class, waiting for it to start like always. Kyle was late, probably having to switch out the obnoxiously heavy textbooks from the first half of his classes in his backpack with the ones in his locker. Kyle took so many classes and extra-curricular activities it was ridiculous. He got basically perfect grades, too. Stan didn’t know how he did it. Stan would simply want to die even more than he already did if he had to do that much.
“Fuck off, dude,” Stan retorted. “Of course I want Kyle here. He’s my best friend.”
“Your best gay friend.”
“Do better,” Stan said, rolling his eyes.
“C’mon, Cartman, let the two be gay in peace,” Kenny suddenly chimed in, clearly smirking by the tone in his voice.
Kenny was sitting behind Stan, next to Cartman. Kenny really hadn’t changed much, expect for having longer hair, piercings, a hoodie that didn’t cover his entire face, and occasionally being a girl some days. Honestly, everyone had seen that coming after the whole princess Kenny thing.
Nobody from their class minded, they were all cool with it and rolled with whatever Kenny wanted to be called — except for Cartman, who only ever called Kenny “he”, but treated Kenny like a woman so he could be misogynistic towards her.
Some days, Kenny wore baggy jeans and a t-shirt with odd graphics on it, and other days, Kenny wore crop-tops and skirts. Like now, when she was dressed in a Garfield t-shirt, a short skirt that her legs were bound to get cold in, and an old and raggedy orange hoodie.
“Not funny either, Kenny,” Stan said blandly.
Kenny and Cartman just chuckled together like those damn Statler and Waldorf muppets.
Stan and Kyle were just best friends. So they were incredibly close, and so Stan wanted Kyle by his side at all times, and so they couldn’t live without each other. It didn’t mean anything, and Stan wished everybody would stop making such a big deal out of it.
With his chin resting in the palm of his hand, Stan glanced around at the highschool kids he had known all his life.
They were all kind of… the same. Extra hormonal, sure, but they were still those same obnoxious South Park kids.
Clyde was looking at himself in his phone’s camera, clad in a varsity jacket; Clyde was still just as desperate for girls as he was when he was 10, and he bragged about being the best on the football team constantly.
Wendy, Bebe, and Heidi were chatting, Wendy with her glasses and class notes already out, Bebe with her crop-top and permed-up hair, and Heidi with her homemade crochet beanie; Wendy was Kyle’s academic rival, Bebe loved fashion and marine biology, and Heidi had healed from the damage Cartman had done, and was back to her kind and caring self who made friendship bracelets for all the girls.
Jimmy was trying out some new jokes on Timmy, who was cracking up; Jimmy had grown pretty popular around the school these days, and Timmy was getting better with his vocabulary and mobility, and listened to heavy metal on the regular.
Butters was humming to himself and doodling in his notebook. His parents were still just as awful, but he remained positive and oddly attached to Cartman.
And Tweek and Craig were discussing what all they needed to get for their new guinea pig, Stripe #5; Craig had a ridiculous amount of piercings and smoked like a chimney, and Tweek attended shitty high school parties just for the hard drugs the others somehow smuggled in, and was really into boxing so that he could beat the shit out of people and get away with it. They were basically made for each other.
It was just another dull day in South Park that would ultimately be repeated again and again. Stan wasn’t feeling good, last night had seen him listening to Weezer’s Pinkerton album and crying. The only joy Stan felt these days was from…
“Kyle!” Stan proclaimed, wide grin on his face as the boy in question entered the room.
Kyle had grown handsomely — not that Stan really… thought of him that way, he just couldn’t help but admire the way his best friend had grown up.
Kyle had a defined hooked nose, he had these almond-shaped green eyes, long eyelashes, freckles that looked like constellations all over his face, and a large and curly Jewish Afro that fell into his face.
Kyle grinned back at Stan, his backpack weighing heavy on his shoulders. Stan also noticed that Kyle was wearing his familiar green hat, like always; as a kid, it had been adorably big on him, protecting his ears from the cold, but now it fit him quite snugly. Stan knew that the only reason Kyle still wore it most days was because he was self-conscious about his hair.
“Dude, you’re still wearing that thing?” Stan commented as Kyle sat down in the desk right next to him, poking Kyle’s hat.
“Uh, yeah, dude, because it’s super cold outside,” Kyle said, pushing his hat back into place.
“C’mon, Kyle,” Stan pleaded playfully, “show off your hair. It looks nice.”
“Or don’t,” Cartman butted in, “we don’t care.”
“I kind of care,” Kenny said.
“Why the hell do you care, Kenny?”
Kenny shrugged. “His hair is nice.”
“Yeah, see?” Stan said, looking back to Kyle. “Kenny agrees with me. And her opinion matters way more than Cartman’s.”
Kyle just stared between the three of his friends, a conflicted look on his face.
“I’ll think about it,” he eventually said.
Stan and Kenny both groaned.
“Kyle, when you ‘think about’ something, it just means you’re going to ignore it forever and ever,” Stan sighed.
Brows furrowing together, Kyle pulled his hat further down his head.
“No it doesn’t.”
“It kind of does, man,” Kenny said. “I can think of, like, a million different times where you’ve said that you’ll ‘think about it’ and then drop it completely, like when I suggested dropping acid and watching both Paul Blart movies in one night.”
Sighing, Kyle pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Whatever. I just wanna wear my hat, okay?”
“Nobody ever cared,” Cartman groaned. “Ever.”
“Shut your mouth, fatass,” Kyle snapped.
“Kyle, c’mon, your hair is really nice,” Stan said, brow furrowed. He really meant it. Kyle had the most extraordinary hair Stan had ever seen.
“Geez, get a room, you two,” Cartman snickered, Kenny joining in.
Kyle just ignored the peanut gallery behind him.
“Thanks, Stan,” Kyle said, genuine. There was still that hint of doubt to his voice, though, that Stan didn’t like hearing from his best friend. Kyle shouldn’t have to doubt himself.
But he smiled at Stan, all bright and affectionate, and Stan felt something in his chest skip.
“Um- yeah, totally, dude,” Stan stuttered out. He then swore he heard Kenny mutter something to Cartman, but before he could make a comment about it, their history teacher walked in, snapping at them all to settle down. Their teacher could be worse, though. He could be Mr. Garrison.
The day continued to drag on through the rest of their classes and lunch until the bell finally rang, releasing the poor tortured souls of high school. There wasn’t a high school located directly in South Park, so they all attended one on the outskirts of the town bordering South Park. It wasn’t too terribly far; the ride home took about twenty minutes.
After rushing down the steps of the school entrance, Stan — who was obviously beside Kyle — found Kenny, Butters, and Cartman sat at one of the picnic tables outside, deep in debate about something.
“Hey guys,” Stan greeted as he and Kyle approached them, snowflakes already gathering in his hair.
“Oh, hey gaywads,” Cartman greeted back, looking up at Stan and Kyle with an amused look on his face.
While Stan brushed off the comment, Kyle wasn’t going to let it go. He stared at Cartman with an unamused glare, eyebrows furrowed together.
“You have a zit right in the middle of your forehead, Cartman,” he said flatly.
“Ey!” Cartman snapped. “My mom says that acne is a very natural part of being a teenager!”
“You’re seventeen, almost an adult, idiot. Your acne is from a lack of showering.”
“I skip showers to save time! I’m a very busy man!”
“Right. You’re too busy eating cheesy poofs and playing Fortnite to follow basic human hygienic standards,” Kyle deadpanned.
Stan was watching this showdown with absolute delight. Kyle always knew how to put Cartman in his place. Kenny, too, was giggling to himself. Butters looked concerned.
“I’ll have you know, Kyle, that I got three victory royales last night, so you can kiss my ass,” Cartman said with way too much pride.
Kyle just rolled his eyes.
“Impressive, Cartman.”
“Yeah! It is!” Cartman defended, growing genuinely angry over this. It was honestly still impressive how much Kyle and Cartman could get under each other’s skin so much even after all these years. “Don’t doubt me!”
“Whatever, fatass,” Kyle huffed.
As Kyle sat down on one of the wooden benches across from the others, Stan sat beside him, a little in awe of his friend.
“Hey, Cartman, remind me,” Kenny began, a gap-toothed grin spreading across her face. “How many girls do you get?” Kenny was clearly in a bragging mood, seeing as he was the queen of casual hook-ups with guys and girls alike.
“Uh, like, a lot,” Cartman huffed. “Remember that girl Kathy? We dated for a while.”
“You mean that girl who dated you for like two weeks before you grossed her out enough for her to leave you? That girl?” Kenny said, amusement growing on his face.
“…She still dated me in the first place,” Cartman scoffed.
“I’m just gonna let you sit with your shame, Cartman,” Kenny said, shaking his head.
“What about Stan and Kyle?” Cartman huffed. “Kyle hasn’t felt the touch of a woman in years, and Stan’s love life just makes everybody sad.”
Stan frowned.
He and Wendy had officially broken up a year ago after months of breaking up and getting back together. Everybody had gotten sick of their little will-they-won’t-they thing, but they just didn’t understand the complexity of relationships. Stan and Wendy had just needed time to figure out their situation, that was all.
Stan was still shamefully hung-up about things.
Thing was, Stan didn’t like delving too far into what exactly had him hung-up. Some part of him felt like it wasn’t Wendy herself; while Stan missed her, he had never really been devastated over losing her, but more so losing the relationship itself.
Wendy had tried and tried to make things between them work, but Stan had basically just sat back and watched things crumble. He hadn’t known how to fix things, and that was what upset him. He had loved Wendy, right? Shouldn’t keeping a relationship with the person he had loved come naturally?
He was hung-up on why he hadn’t been able to make their relationship work, and it bugged him, because he just didn’t know. He wished he could be as smart as Kyle, then he could figure it all out.
“Dude, my love life isn’t sad,” Stan snapped. “Sometimes things don’t work out between two people, and me and Wendy just… weren’t compatible.”
“You haven’t dated anyone since you and Wendy broke up, and I’ve seen you get hammered and cry your eyes out over her,” Cartman snickered. “That’s sad as fuck, dude. Seriously.”
“Whatever, Cartman, you’ll never understand relationships,” Stan grumbled, folding his arms.
“Yeah,” Kyle cut in, irritated. “I can date somebody if I want, I’m just focused on school right now.”
Cartman snorted at that.
“Fellas,” Butters interrupted, frowning. “The day’s almost over, we shouldn’t end it arguing.” He gave a little convincing smile.
Everybody sat in silence for a moment.
“You’re so lame, Butters,” Cartman simply said.
“I’ll kick your ass, Cartman,” Kenny threatened.
“Fine, geez, I’ll be nice to you assholes,” Cartman huffed, putting his hands up defensively.
Kenny nodded, looking satisfied.
The five of them continued to chat for about an hour, occasionally laughing and bickering outside of the school. It made Stan content to just sit and talk with his friends after a long day of school. Stan didn’t have that big of a social battery, but he could still appreciate the company of his friends, especially Kyle. His battery never seemed to run out around Kyle.
But when Cartman announced that he had to go so he didn’t miss dinner, and Kenny and Butters had to leave, Stan felt a wave of dread wash over him.
He had to go home as well.
“Hey, Stan, you need a ride?” Kyle asked as Stan watched the other three go.
“Hmm?” Stan mumbled, snapping out of his thoughts. “Oh, yeah, please. If it’s not too much trouble.”
“Dude, we live literally right next to each other,” Kyle said.
“Oh… right.”
“You’re so weird.” Kyle pulled his keys out of his pocket and made his way over to his car.
Stan didn’t drive. His mom was always too busy to teach him, and God knew he didn’t trust his dad to do it. Stan was honestly tempted to just one day take his dad’s keys and teach himself. It was easy enough, right?
“Seatbelt,” Kyle reminded as they both hopped into Kyle’s car.
“You remind me every time, asshole,” Stan said, rolling his eyes.
“I just want to make sure. Dick.”
After Stan got himself buckled in — making sure the little click was as loud as possible just to tease Kyle — Kyle started up the car and began to pull out of the parking lot.
Kyle was… an okay driver. Maybe that was being generous.
Kyle was the very definition of road rage. If anybody on the road pissed him off, Kyle wasn’t going to let that go. He was the best break-checker in all of South Park and wouldn’t ever let people pass him. There was a huge dent in the side of the car from the time Kyle had smashed into somebody else’s car for trying to pass him to be a dick. While the other driver had in fact been being a dick, Kyle shouldn’t have attempted to kill him.
“Sorry that Cartman was being an asshole today,” Kyle said sympathetically, eyes fixed firmly on the road. “He shouldn’t bring up you and Wendy like that.”
“Eh, I really don’t care,” Stan shrugged. While it had struck a nerve to be reminded of his inability to keep a relationship, the words didn’t carry much weight when they came from Cartman. “Cartman can kiss my ass for all I care.”
“That’s the spirit,” Kyle laughed. Kyle looked good, Stan thought, in front of the wheel, expression calm but watchful as he drove. He was always a calm driver until somebody pissed him off. “Oh, hey, can you come over tonight? My mom’s making cheese enchilada casserole. I know you like that.”
Kyle’s mom was basically a second mother to Stan at this point. With the disaster that was Stan’s home life, he took refuge in the Broflovski household a lot. He was over there for dinner constantly, and he slept over there a lot. It was always a sweet, sweet escape from his dad.
Mrs. Broflovski was more than happy to care for Stan as often as she could. Stan would always be grateful for her, even if she was incredibly uptight — and scary — sometimes. She was a million times better than Randy.
Unfortunately, though, today wasn’t one of those days.
“I can’t,” Stan sighed. “My mom wants me home for dinner. I’ve been gone the last couple of nights, so…” he trailed off.
“Oh,” Kyle simply responded, frowning a little.
Kyle was fully aware of the actions of Stan’s father. He was Stan’s best friend. He knew everything.
“Yeah,” Stan whispered, staring out the car window. He could see his own somber expression in the reflection.
A silence settled between the two for a moment. They both knew that Stan wasn’t going to have a pleasant evening; Stan was already dreading the moment he would have to see his dad.
“Hey, I’ll text you tonight after dinner, okay?” Kyle said softly. “We can chat more then.”
Kyle always knew how to help. He was magic or something.
Stan turned to look at Kyle, finding that a small grin spread across his face.
“That sounds nice.”
Although Kyle kept his eyes on the road, he could clearly sense Stan’s smile, and he smiled back. It was one of Stan’s favorite sights.
To keep Stan at least a little happy, Kyle continued to chat with him, discussing things like their next guitar hero session, or Stan’s recent hockey game. Stan was in such a bright mood just getting to talk with Kyle that the feeling of despair he felt when they pulled up to his house nearly choked him. Seeing Kyle had given him at least a spark of joy in his shitty life on this shitty day, and it was already being ripped away from him, replaced by a pit of familiar despair.
Staring in dismay at his home, Stan heard Kyle softly speak behind him.
“You gonna be okay?”
“I can only hope, dude.”
“I’ll be holding onto my phone the whole night, so just text me if you need anything, okay?”
Stan simply nodded and began to climb out of the car.
“Thanks for the ride, dude.”
“Of course. See you, Stan.”
“Bye, Kyle,” Stan waved, taking one last look at his friend’s concerned face before making his way up to his front door.
It was already unlocked, so he simply walked in and tossed his backpack down on the floor, kicking his shoes off next to it. Things were all too peaceful inside; the lights were on, the tv was playing, and his mom was at the table, absorbed in something on her laptop. Randy clearly wasn’t home yet.
“Hey, mom, I’m home,” Stan greeted after hanging his hoodie up, walking up to his mother and kissing her on the cheek.
“Hi, Stanley,” she greeted back, turning to her son with a smile. Her eyes were always exhausted, but they carried a slight shine when she was with one or both of her kids. “How was school?”
“It was okay,” Stan shrugged.
“Don’t go into too much detail,” Sharon deadpanned, turning back to her laptop. Stan noticed that she was looking through work emails. “Dinner’s in the fridge. I figured you would be hungry when you got home, so I just went ahead and made it.”
“Thanks,” Stan said, appreciative of his mom’s consideration. After arguing with Cartman, he had built up an appetite.
Opening up the fridge, Stan found a tray of cooked, meatless frozen lasagna, some of it already eaten. He took it out and cut himself a piece before sticking it in the microwave. Once it was ready, he sat down at the table across from his mom, promptly taking a huge bite and burning the roof of his mouth.
“Careful, Stanley,” Sharon warned, watching Stan chug a mouthful of water.
“Jesus Christ that’s hot,” Stan choked, setting his water down. Dammit. His mouth would be sore for a while now; this lasagna was a menace.
“After years of using that microwave and heating up food, I would think you’d know that food needs to cool,” Sharon said, looking at Stan in amusement.
“When I’m hungry, food should cool for me. Immediately,” Stan said playfully, making his mom chuckle. It was a nice sound; she didn’t do that enough.
Once Stan was finished, he got to work on cleaning the dishes so that his mom didn’t have to worry about that. When she thanked him for doing it, she seemed genuinely grateful.
After the kitchen was cleared, Stan made his way into the living room, where he quickly made himself comfortable on the couch. It was pretty peaceful, just him and his mom here.
“Mom, The Great British Bake-off is on,” Stan called out, eyes glued to the TV. If there was one thing Stan and his mom had in common, it was their love for British people being pretentious about desserts. It was endlessly funny to Stan.
“Oh!” Sharon laughed. “I guess I can take a break for a bit,” she said, shutting her laptop and heading into the living room. She got comfortable next to Stan, already fixated on what was happening.
This was nice, incredibly nice; the Marsh household could actually be pretty pleasant at times.
But only when Randy was away.
And things were calm and fun for only about twenty minutes more before Stan heard the front door click open. This house would soon become a battlefield.
“Hi, Randy,” Stan heard his mom greet, her voice already sounding tired.
“Hey,” Randy grumbled. Glancing up nervously, Stan’s stomach dropped as he noticed the red on his father’s face and the hazy look in his eyes. He was hammered. “What’s for dinner?”
Sharon’s eyes grew dark.
“Lasagna. It’s in the fridge.”
“Is it that frozen crap? Why do we only ever eat reheated shit?” Randy snapped, glaring at his wife.
“It’s just fine, dad,” Stan growled. “I ate it. It tastes good.”
“Stan, stay out of this,” his mom warned, but when she turned to look at him, her gaze was pleading. She was only trying to protect Stan. She knew that if Stan riled his dad up enough, which he was prone to doing, Randy would only grow violent. “I haven’t gotten my paycheck yet, Randy, so we’re eating what’s left in the freezer until then.”
“C’mon, we seriously can’t afford anything better?” Randy asked exasperatedly, stomping into the kitchen and throwing the fridge door open.
Sharon, her eyes dark with anger, stood up and followed him.
“Maybe if you would actually get a job, we could eat a little better!”
“Oh, shut up, Sharon!” Randy yelled, slamming the fridge door closed. “You know I’ve been going to all kinds of interviews! Where do you think I was today?!”
“Ever since we sold that stupid weed farm, you’ve done nothing but drink and mope around like a child! No job will take you because you don’t care about anything! You go get drunk out of your mind at Skeeter’s all day, and then come home and complain about the few things we can actually afford!”
“No job will take me because they’re all ungrateful! Just like you!” Randy shouted.
Stan could feel his adrenaline rising. He hated it when his father yelled at his mom. It was taking every ounce of strength Stan had not to get up and scream at his dad, but he knew that would only lead to more trouble. He just had to keep an eye on things to make sure Randy didn’t lay a single hand on his mom.
“Oh, don’t even start!” Sharon shouted back. “I’ve been working my ass off for months to keep this family stable, and what do you do?! You do nothing! You never improve yourself, and it’s why you can’t find a single job!”
Randy suddenly began to mimic Sharon’s voice in a high-pitched, childish tone. Stan hated him. He really hated him.
“You’re such a child, Randy! God!” Sharon screamed in exasperation.
“Fuck off!” Randy yelled, yanking the lasagna out of the fridge to start aggressively cutting into it. “Let me eat in peace!”
With a look of pure rage on her face, Sharon huffed and turned on her heels, making her way back to Stan. She tried to soften her expression as she spoke to him.
“Stanley, why don’t you go head to your room and finish your homework?” She clearly didn’t want Stan to witness anything else.
“But mom-“
“Please, Stanley,” she sighed.
Stan stared at her for a moment. He didn’t want to abandon her alone with Randy, but she clearly wouldn’t let Stan stay. For his mom’s sanity and peace, Stan had to go.
“Okay,” Stan sighed, standing up off the couch.
“Good boy,” Sharon said, patting Stan on the shoulder. “You’re such a good boy, my precious boy.”
Stan looked at her, at the sorrowful expression on her face, and he felt grief swallow him whole. She was doing that thing again where she tried to convince herself that things were okay, that her family was going to be okay. She had always babied Stan, and maybe it helped. Maybe she liked pretending that things were as simple as when Stan had been a little kid.
“Thanks,” Stan simply mumbled as he began to head upstairs. He heard Randy begin to yell about something else, but he tuned it out. He was done.
Entering his room and slamming the door shut, Stan immediately threw himself down onto his bed, sighing.
He was surrounded by all the posters on his wall, most for his favorite bands, like Nirvana, Weezer, Car Seat Headrest, and some for his favorite hockey teams, or the Denver Broncos and John Elway. His electric guitar and amps were in the corner, surrounded by scribbled notes for song ideas. His laptop sat at his desk next to photos of him and Kyle, him and Sparky, and him and his mom and Shelly. None of his father.
Speaking of Sparky, Stan heard scratching at his bedroom door, and he stood up to let the dog in question inside.
“Heya, boy,” Stan greeted, smiling weakly.
Sparky was getting pretty old, but he still had his love for play and adventure and all things fabulous.
Sparky immediately jumped up onto Stan’s bed, so Stan got comfortable next to him, allowing Sparky to rest his head on Stan’s knee.
“Good boy,” Stan praised, scratching behind Sparky’s ears.
But Sparky couldn’t distract him forever. Stan could feel it, that pit in his chest, that feeling of hopelessness and pure rage at life for giving him the father he had.
His depression was always there, lurking in the depths of his brain. But at times like this, it threatened to swallow him. It threatened to take him over.
Stan stared at his dresser drawers, at the one that held a half-drank bottle of vodka.
He almost got up before he suddenly felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, so he pulled it out to see two texts from Kyle.
Kyle: Just finished dinner.
Kyle: You doing okay?
Stan opened up his messages to text him back. Maybe drinking could wait for another day, when things got worse.
Stan: no my asshole dad just got back home and immediately started yelling at my mom
Kyle: God I hate your dad
Kyle: Is there anything I can do?
Stan: i dont know
Stan: just keep texting me i guess
Stan: its nice
Kyle: Okay, I can do that.
Stan couldn’t help but smile at his phone as he saw more messages from Kyle come in.
Life sucked. Majorly.
But at least Stan had Kyle.