Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In the year granddad died,

we had the worst flood since 1998.

             Craig got trapped on top of a dog house

             the power was out for two days

             Kenny McCormick came by in his dad’s boat

             And I laughed when I saw him

Granddad left me an apple crate of books

He loved ghost stories

And quoted them to himself in the hospital bed

             “They went looking for the gods,

                         and died in lonely places.”

On his last day

he sat up suddenly

and stared bug-eyed through the window

             at the old trains

                         rattling to somewhere else from somewhere else

he turned to my dad 

eyes still wide

“this house is haunted”

he said

and died.

The world passed by in a hazy blur.

Nighttime had long turned the dull blue-grey sky dark, small flecks of stars and a bigger fleck of the moon shining out to stop the surroundings from going pitch black. Stan felt the old bus’s motor hum in the form of vibrations through the chilled window, his breath fogging up the glass as he rested his head against it. The darkness from outside made it easier for him to see his reflection against the window, but he chose to ignore it. He looked too tired; the bags under his eyes were heavier than the one he was returning home with.

Nobody else was on the bus. Just him, his singular backpack, and the driver. She was an older lady with a forgettable presence, she didn’t speak a word to him as he got on, didn’t speak a word as she drove, and wouldn’t speak a word to him when he got off either. Stan’s stop was the last one of the night, and he was disappointed but not too surprised to be met with an empty bus station. The lights were dim, and they flickered and buzzed at him almost mockingly:

ha ha, your parents didn’t come to pick you up like they said they would.

Stan adjusted his backpack over his shoulder, glancing back out the window. The bus was already gone. He was not having second thoughts, there was not anything that would make him want to march his ass back to Denver and re-enroll into college. He supposed it was just a bit ironic that even a bus driver didn’t seem to want to be here. Usually, those who could get out of South Park would not want to make a return.

He took in a deep breath, plastic and linoleum instead of fresh air, and marched himself forward through the bus station instead of back to where he’d come from. Terrance and Phillip played from a lone TV, mounted to the wall but aged enough that Stan wondered how much longer it would stay mounted, cackling as loudly and obnoxiously as he remembered. A large painting on the wall read as a Welcome to South Park sign, and Stan couldn’t help but to turn his nose up at the false advertisement. Never once had the snow of his childhood looked quite as white, quite as sparkly, even half as pristine as it did in the painting.

Stan continued forward, stopping at the payphone that hooked into the wall, and stopping a second time when he realized the phone itself was not there. The string dangled limply, exposed wires where a phone should have been connected. Who would steal a phone? One that would not work without the rest of the machine, especially? So much for calling his parents to come get him.

The front desk was barren. In fact, Stan quickly realized that the only other person there at all was an old man who sported a goatee, balding hair, and a navy blue jumpsuit. A janitor. Stan lingered, just for a moment, and then willed his feet to move him forward again. “Sorry,” he apologized, instead of a greeting. “Does nobody work here?”

The man didn’t turn to look at him. “Not when the building’s been closed for forty-five minutes, no,” he answered, in a tone that suggested boredom but not quite annoyance. It immediately made Stan think of Craig Tucker and, man, he missed that guy. This guy, the janitor guy, started talking again. “Ain’t been too many people getting off here, these days. Just you.”

Yeah, Stan thought. Wonder why.

“Okay, well,” Stan mumbled, as more of a statement than the trailed off comeback he’d failed to deliver. “Could I get past you, then? The door is–”

“Broken. Door’s broken. I’m fixing it.”

He did have a drill out, prodding at the door’s hinges. Stan fidgeted. “Right. So, uh. When will it be fixed?”

“Probably in the time it takes you to grab me a Dr. Pep-er from that vending machine back there, I’d say.”

“With my own money?”

The guy barked a short laugh, and the sound echoed off of the walls. “I rig it when I’m here. Janitor privileges,” he said. The drill buzzed against the door hinges again. He sure was taking his time with this little fix. “‘s free.”

“Like. Free -free?”

“Like, there’s no security cameras.”

That was good enough for Stan. He stood there for a second, as if waiting for the guy to brush it off as a joke and let him through. That didn’t happen, so he was soon turning on his heels and making his way back to the vending machine. He fetched the free -free Dr. Pep-er, despite there definitely being better choices, and held it out to the guy once he returned.

Jumpsuit Janitor nodded his approval, cracking the can open and taking a sip that sounded more like a gulp. Stan inwardly cringed at the sound. “Sick. Thanks.”

“Sure. So the door…?”

“Done. Goodbye.”

And the janitor was gone, right out the door he had ‘fixed.’ 

“O…kay. Bye,” Stan said, to the air.

And as he stepped out the door, into the chilled October-In-Colorado air, it was like he really hadn’t been talking to anyone but himself. The janitor was gone. Stan’s eyebrows furrowed as he glanced up and down for a vehicle the guy could have taken, but was met with nothing. He played it off, blaming it on the sleep deprivation and minor exhaustion, and started forward. 

Walking home. Alone, in the dark, at night. Because his parents forgot about him. Welcome home, Stanley.

When he got past his moping, the walk was almost nice. A lengthy one, but walking the sidewalks of his childhood hit him with blasts of nostalgia. The countryside, filled with grass and dirt and trees, the places they’d made their little hideouts in and the places where Clyde Donovan would hold parties. The woods, where Stan would pretend he saw Bigfoot to try and freak some of his friends out. The old playground, where he used to play with his friends as kids, where he used to smoke with his friends as teenagers. It was looking a little worse for wear, now, but it didn’t stop Stan from approaching it.

Stan dropped himself into a swing. He remembered sitting here as a kid. He remembered wanting to see how high he could swing before falling off, and he remembered Cartman cackling when he’d fallen off and broke his wrist. He remembered ‘racing’ Tolkien to see who could swing higher, and being quite the sore loser when it wasn’t him. He remembered swinging with Craig, and pretending they’d swing all the way up to the moon.

He dropped his backpack off his shoulder, pulling out a tattered journal. It was something he was ordered to do by his therapist, Dr. Hank. As a coping mechanism, or whatever. Write down your thoughts, it’ll keep you grounded. Stan thought it was a load of bullshit, but it was a load of bullshit that he fell for anyway. If anything, it gave him an excuse to sit around and make shitty doodles and call it productivity. So that’s what he did. He sat there on that swing, and scribbled in his notebook:

Until someone wandered around a tree, and he found himself meeting the glaring sunglasses of a familiar face from just a few feet away. Sunglasses? At this hour? “Stan Marsh?”

Oh, good lord.

“Uh. Hi, Officer Barbrady.”

“Long time no see. Hey, you know, it’s really technically past curfew. I can’t really let you stay out here.”

“I was just leaving–”

“Hop in my car, Stan, and I’ll give you a ride home.”

Stan envisioned holding a gun to his head. He managed a fake smile. “Nah, I’m okay.”

“Okay, well then, I might have to arrest you. You wanna be arrested, Stan?”

“…No.”

So he found himself in the back of Barbrady’s car. It was long, it was awkward, and he was only half listening to the things Barbrady was saying. Something about being rehired, something about the South Park Police Department going downhill (as if they were ever uphill), something something something. Stan let his gaze rest on the window again. When the car finally stopped at his house, Stan cut off the guy’s aimless rambling by hopping up and nearly jogging his way up the winding walkway and through the front door.

And he almost gave his dad a heart attack with how quickly he entered. He almost felt bad.

“Hey,” Stan greeted, eyes narrowed. “Remember me? Your son?” 

“Stanley! God damn, you nearly gave me a heart attack–”

“Good!”

Randy’s eyebrows were furrowed, confusion on his face quickly turning into recognition, and maybe possibly a little bit of guilt. “What– Ooooooh. See, Stan, your mother and I thought you were coming back tomorrow night. We would’ve been there.”

“Yeah, well, you thought wrong. I had to walk. And then almost got arrested by Officer Barbrady.”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing! I existed too late in the night, apparently, because you guys forgot about me!”

“Geez– come on, Stan, we didn’t mean to.”

Stan wanted to argue it, he did. But also, he was home. He was back where it was familiar, and the house was warm, and his bed was calling to him. “Whatever. I’m going to bed,” he stated, heading towards the stairs, only to stop for one more snide remark. “Oh, or do I have to wait until tomorrow for that, too?”

Randy didn’t take the bait for another argument. “Good to have you back, son.”

Stan almost wanted to run back downstairs and pull his dad into a tight hug, the first one they’d have shared since elementary school. Stan almost wanted to run back downstairs and punch his father in the face. “ Goodnight ,” he hissed instead, and the stairs creaked under his footsteps as he went up them.

His bedroom was the same as he’d left it, which came with a wave of relief he didn’t expect to be hit with. Posters were all still in their same places, his bass still propped against one of his walls, his bed was still made in the half-assed way he’d tossed it together before leaving two years ago. He avoided the mirror that hung from the back of his door, dropping his backpack onto the floor and kicking his shoes off. Stan knew he should’ve changed into pajamas. Instead, he pushed the door all the way closed and dropped himself face first into his pillows and called it a night. 

Chapter Text

For the first time in two years, Stan woke up because the sun was shining. No alarm clock to startle him awake, no roommate being loud; just himself, the comfort of his childhood bedroom, and the soft sunlight that streamed in from the small gaps in the curtains. For the first time in two years, Stan woke up from a dreamless sleep and actually felt well rested. He took his time in getting up, letting himself bask in the soft, warm, sleepy afterglow for as long as his body would allow him. He stood himself in front of his mirror for just a moment, just long enough to think ‘eh, whatever,’ and not change his clothes before slipping out of his room to start the day. He barely made it half the way downstairs before he heard his mother’s voice call out from the kitchen.  

“Stanley?”

“Yeah?”

“Come here for a moment! Say hi.”

So he did. Much like he would’ve as a middle schooler, Stan let himself jump down the last five steps, and made his way off into the kitchen to see his mom. She presumably had been asleep when he’d arrived the night prior, which might’ve been better now that he was thinking about it. He liked his mom. He was okay with his dad, he supposed. But Stan and his mom, they got along better. She understood more, or at least she tried. Maybe his dad tried, too. Maybe he just wasn’t being fair.

Stan perched himself on the edge of the kitchen counter, next to where his mom stood at the sink to wash the dishes. She looked the same. Maybe a little older. It was comforting, though, that time hadn’t changed her too terribly much. “Hi, mom.”

“Hi, Stan,” Sharon looked up from the plate she was scrubbing at to give him a smile. “Hey, I’m really sorry that your dad and I mixed the dates up. It was just so short notice, and I swore you said you were coming home today instead of last night.”

Stan shrugged it off. It was easier to not be mad at his mom. It was easier to not be mad after a full night’s sleep. “It’s okay. I might’ve given you the wrong date, anyway. I dunno.”

“I dunno,” she repeated, flashing another smile before turning to look back at what she was doing. He watched as she rinsed the soap away and set the plate aside to dry. “Stanley? Is everything alright?”

Stan just stared at her. The kitchen was silent, aside from the soft clinks of silverware being moved around in the sink and the crackling of the bubbles in the dish soap. 

“Just… It was sudden, you know? You deciding to come home,” she continued on, after realizing he didn’t have an answer for her. “It’s not that I don’t want you here. This home will always be yours. Your bedroom will always be here for you. But… surely you can understand my worries. If something happened, you know you can talk to me.”

“Right. Yeah, I know,” Stan mumbled. He swung his legs, the heels of his shoes hitting the cabinetry beneath him with soft thuds. “I’m fine, though. Really. School just… wasn’t working.”

She didn’t buy it. She wouldn’t say so out loud, but he knew. And she knew that he knew.

He sighed. “Can we talk about it later?”

“Okay, honey,” she agreed. Much to Stan’s relief, it was enough to close the topic at hand, at least temporarily. “You know, Craig’s been working at the new Kum & Go station. You ought to stop by and say hi, I’m sure he’ll be excited to see you!”

“Craig doesn’t get excited about anything,” Stan corrected. “We have a Kum & Go now?”

Admittedly, trying to imagine Craig Tucker working anywhere was rather amusing. Especially somewhere that required at least a little bit of customer service. He wondered just how desperate for employees the place had to have been. Probably very, considering most people wouldn’t want to say they worked for Kum & Go. An unfortunate name. Craig probably applied there on purpose.

He sat there for a while longer, grilling his mom on the small town gossip he’d missed over the last two years. She was happy to give it to him: elderly neighbors who died, coworker drama, stores that closed down, books she’s read. And then she shooed him off on his way, sending him out into the world. On his way out the door, he found himself scribbling in his notebook again. 

Despite what his mom had said about stores closing and the world changing, a lot of South Park appeared to have stayed the same. The snow still sounded the same as it crunched under his feet. All of the houses were still in the same places and were still painted the same colors. There was a lot of construction going on, blocking certain paths, but his years growing up here had him accustomed to that, anyway. Stan shoved his hands into his pockets, almost wishing he’d grabbed gloves on his way out.

It was a decent walk. A nicer one than last night had been, at least. No Barbrady, and although it was cold, it wasn’t nearly as cold as it got at night. A voice rang out to him once he’d finally made the trek into the main part of town.

“Hey, killer!”

Stan felt his blood run cold. He whipped his head around, gaze landing on a vaguely familiar face. “Don’t call me that,” he said, immediately. “Who are you?”

She blinked at him, oddly curious. “Allison Mertz,” she introduced. He quickly realized that he recognized her as one of the vamp kids from when they were younger. “I was a middle schooler when it happened.”

“…So how do you even know about it?”

“Word spreads. You ought to know that.”

He did. He was painfully aware, actually. “Yeah, well, that was forever ago.”

“Yeah.” Allison leaned forward, quite literally on the edge of her seat. “So, why’d you do it? Did he have it coming?”

Stan grit his teeth. “No.”

“You know, our parents used to tell us not to associate with you. Since nobody could know if and when you’d do it again.”

“So why are you?”

She grinned at him and shrugged. It was like she got a thrill out of it, or something. Stan sucked in a breath of frigid air, suddenly way colder than it had felt before, and continued on past her. She didn’t bother to reach out to him again. He hurried his way along, deciding on just avoiding meeting anyone else’s eye in favor of trying to track down the gas station that Craig supposedly worked at now.

None too surprisingly, it wasn’t hard to spot. Also none too surprisingly, there wasn’t a single car in the lot. Stan wasted no time in stepping forward, pushing the door open. His eyes immediately scanned the store.

Craig sat at the cash register, looking more bored than ever. Which was saying something, because Craig always looked bored. At least, in Stan’s memories, he did. His expression didn’t change much, aside from his eyes going just a bit wider, but he pulled himself together and sat up straight. “Marsh?”

“Tucker,” Stan greeted, unable to stop the smile that pulled at his lips.

“You’re… blonde.”

“Thanks.”

They stared at each other for a moment that felt like a year, as if neither one of them knew what to say. Stan knew he didn’t. Maybe Craig didn’t, either. And then he did.

“Shame the bleach didn’t burn your face off.”

Stan stared. And then smiled. “Shame you didn’t chain-smoke yourself to lung cancer.”

“Shame nobody murdered you at college.”

“Shame you didn’t get caught up in a murder-cult.”

Craig cracked a small smile. Stan knew him well enough, even after two years of no contact, to know that was kind of a pretty big deal unless you were his boyfriend. “What are you doing here?”

Stan shrugged. “I’m back.”

“How long?”

“For good?”

“Shit,” Craig said, and it was a good ‘shit,’ not a bad one. Even though Craig’s good ‘shit’s and bad ‘shit’s mostly sounded the same. “I’m telling Tweek. Band practice.”

“Band practice?” Stan echoed. The band was even still a thing?

“Band practice,” Craig echoed right back, without an explanation. “Now.” 

And Craig was off. Stan had to turn on his heels and jog a few paces to catch up with him. 

Tweek was already at their little abandoned building that they called their rehearsal space, sitting atop a plastic milk box with a to-go coffee cup on hand. The place had come a long way since they first started the whole thing, years of ‘renovation’ (a bit of cleaning, hanging up lights and streamers and posters and stickers, buying cheap speakers) had paid off. It appeared that, since Stan had been gone, the speakers had been upgraded to something just a bit fancier. Apparently, though, their chairs were still just the same plastic milk boxes as before. Tweek looked up from his coffee and met eyes with Craig, his expression immediately brightening.

“It’s Stan,” Craig said monotonously, extending his arm to point in Stan’s general direction without taking his eyes off of Tweek. He sounded tired, or bored, or annoyed, but there was a small sparkle in his eyes that betrayed his excitement anyway. “He’s back.”

“It is Stan!” Tweek confirmed, eyes widened and darting back and forth between the two of them. He abandoned his coffee to hop up from his chair, greeting Stan with a quick hug and a bright smile. He seemed a lot less twitchy than Stan remembered him to be. Stan wondered if that was due to growth and maturing, or if it was just his overactive imagination making things up. “It’s good to see you! You look–… It’s good to see you. You’re back, like, back back?”

Stan pretended he didn’t hear Tweek attempt and give up on a compliment so quickly. Okay, yeah, he knew he looked tired and greasy. That’s what college and not showering and a long walk from the bus stop to your house because your parents forgot you did to a person. “Yep,” he responded, popping the ‘p.’

“I have your old bass,” Craig commented, and promptly breezed past the two of them, apparently off to retrieve it.

Though, honestly, Stan wasn’t even entirely sure he remembered how to play. He had two basses, the at-home one and the at-practice one, and neither one of them followed him to college. Two years. Shit. He didn’t have the chance to voice the concern before Craig was gone, and he didn’t have the chance to grumble about it to Tweek before the bell above the front door rang out again.

Despite Stan whirling around, Tweek caught sight of the intruder before he did. “Kyle! Stan’s back.”

“Oh,” Stan said, his eyes meeting the familiar piercing green ones from behind Kyle’s glasses. He didn’t remember them being quite so piercing. “Wow. Hey. You’re here for… band practice.”

Kyle stared at him. “I play the drums. You know this.”

“Yep. Yeah.”

“He also stepped in for your bass parts,” Tweek added. “Since, uh. Since you weren’t here.”

Stan glanced between them. “You played drums and bass?”

Wordlessly, Kyle held up his laptop. Oh. So Stan was replaced, not by Kyle, but by a program on Kyle’s computer.

Craig was back, shoving the bass guitar into Stan’s arms. “Stan’s back,” he announced, as if it were still news to any of the four of them. “We have to play a song.”

“I literally do not remember how to play,” Stan finally managed to say, shifting the bass in his arms. Admittedly, it was nice just to have an instrument in his hands again. It really had been too long. 

Nobody seemed to care. Tweek handed him a few pieces of sheet music with a smile that read as half apologetic and half excited to watch him fail. “We wrote this a few months ago. It’s easy! Mostly.”

Stan stared at the papers. Die Anywhere Else. Interesting. He wasn’t given much time to set up before Kyle was clicking his drumsticks together to start the song. 

Dust on this tired, old street

Mark corners where we used to play

Dust trace our tired, old feet

In circles as we pace our time away

I just wanna die anywhere else

If only I could die anywhere else

So come with me, let's die anywhere else

Anywhere, just not here

Stuck on this dead end street

Where all the new kids come to play

Stuck, where past and future meet

Watching all our autumns drift away

I just wanna die anywhere else

If only I could die anywhere else

So come with me, let's die anywhere else

Anywhere, just not here

And if they ever hear my name

Will they know I walked alone

Around these dusty streets

My tired old home

And will they ever stop to think

What was here before, no

They won't remember that I'm gone

I just wanna die anywhere else

If only I could die anywhere else 

So come with me, let's die anywhere else

Anywhere, just not here, oh no

“See? Easy! Mostly.”

Stan turned to give Tweek a playful glare. Mostly. Easy for Tweek to say, as someone who just had to look at lyrics and sing them right. Stan would be the first to admit that Tweek did have a decent set of pipes on him, though. Especially after all that coffee.

“It was fine,” Craig shrugged.

“Well, considering I don’t even know the song,” Stan huffed, “I think I did pretty well.”

Craig shrugged again, but Tweek gave him a thumbs up. Kyle didn’t entertain the topic, slipping his drumsticks back into the little container that was attached to one of the drums. “Are we still doing the diner thing?” he asked.

Stan did not know what the diner thing was, but he didn’t have anything else better going on.

It turned out that the diner thing was exactly what it sounded like – the four of them made their way out of their rehearsal space and to the old diner that they used to always congregate at. Tweek kept them entertained with conversation the whole walk there, something about aliens or North Korea or both. Stan couldn’t follow, but Craig seemed to be following it just fine. Which… he supposed made sense. They were dating. They had been dating for what felt like forever. Stan thought that if they ever broke up, the world would probably spontaneously combust.

All four of them sat around a big diner table and piled their money in for a large pizza. It was not the best, but it also was not the worst, and it was not too expensive, and it really was hard to go completely wrong with a greasy, cheesy pizza. And on top of it all, there was something comforting and charming about the little diner. It seemed to almost be stuck in the past, like if Stan looked hard enough, he could see the elementary and middle school versions of himself and his friends sitting around with their parents at a separate table to make them feel grown up and special.

“So,” Stan started, dropping the remainder of his crust onto his plate. He would not touch the crust. It wasn’t covered in gooey cheese like the rest of the piece. “When’s our first gig?”

Kyle looked at him like he’d asked the dumbest question in the world. “We don’t play gigs, Stan. We all have jobs. Responsibilities and shit. We don’t have time for that.”

Stan looked to Craig and Tweek. He half hoped that they’d be more on his side, that Kyle was just being a party pooper, but neither of them budged. Tweek was sitting halfway on top of Craig, busy picking flakes off of his leftover crusts. Craig watched him. “Oh,” Stan mumbled. 

“Selling VHSes is an easier way to make money than music is,” Tweek piped in, with a half shrug. “Surprisingly.”

Yeah. Surprisingly. Who even bought VHSes anymore? Why did Tweek willingly sign himself up to sell VHSes? Maybe because people didn’t buy VHS tapes much anymore. Actually, Stan decided to be a little impressed, because that was a smart strategy.

“I get paid to sell people gas station pizza,” Craig said.

“ Kum & Go,” Tweek mumbled after him, amused. Craig snorted. He’d definitely applied there on purpose.

Stan knew what both Craig and Tweek did for work. His eyes landed on Kyle again, curious. Kyle didn’t meet the glance, but seemed to catch on anyway, “I work under my dad at the city council. Secretary work and stuff.”

“Oh,” Stan said, again. “Wow. What, uh… What about Kenny?”

Silence. Silence so thick, that Stan felt a pit start to grow in his stomach. He almost wanted to ask it again. What about Kenny?

It was finally Craig who spoke up, who offered some sort of explanation. “Right. Guess you wouldn’t know,” he sighed. “Kenny’s gone. Assume he hopped a train, or something, like he used to talk about.”

The pit in his stomach still wouldn’t go away. “Wow. Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“… Good for him, I guess. I hope he found himself somewhere better.”

Tweek had successfully torn his pizza crusts up into shreds. His hands were still fidgeting, though, with something else. Stan couldn’t see what it was. “His siblings think something happened to him,” he said. His voice gave away that he might believe that, too. “Karen and Kevin. They’ve been putting up missing posters.”

Craig patted the top of Tweek’s head. “But Kenny has always talked about leaving. His parents sucked. His life kinda sucked. It makes sense that he’d just leave. Whatever he’s doing, he’s probably better off.”

Stan couldn’t utter much more other than another “wow.” It felt ironic. South Park had never been very wow worthy. Now that he’s been gone for two years, though, so much has happened. So many things have changed. So many people have changed. 

“What about you, Stan?” Kyle asked, an almost direct change of subject. His eyes were on Stan, now. Stan couldn’t tell if it was just curiosity or a bit of judgement, but the stare seemed to bore a hole right through the center of his skull. “What exactly do you do?”

“I was… in college.”

“Yeah. And you’re not still there.”

God damn it. Stan shrugged, “Didn’t work out.”

Kyle laughed. It was short, and not exactly filled with any humor. “Imagine that.”

… Silence. Even thicker than before. Stan almost felt like he couldn’t breathe. Stan almost felt like the world was darkening, closing in on him. Stan almost felt like—

Tweek was sitting upright again. “Well! We should go!” he announced, a bit louder than necessary. “Craig and I have a movie night planned tonight, and we actually agreed on a movie, so it’d suck to have to skip out on it.”

“Right. Yeah. Okay. Let’s dip,” Stan muttered.

After they all double checked to make sure they left the right amount of money on the table, the four of them stood up and made their way out of the tiny little diner. Stan let himself bring up the rear, the last one out the door. Which explained why the other three of them were already gawking at something on the sidewalk by the time he stepped outside, too.

“What?” Stan asked, trying to peek over Craig’s shoulder. Craig was too tall.

“There is an entire arm on the ground!?” Tweek half-announced, half-asked. Like he was in disbelief.

And yeah, Stan was in disbelief, too. An arm? He decided to stop being polite, pushing himself in between Tweek and Craig to get a look, too. Sure enough, an arm. Just lying there, in the middle of the sidewalk. There was still a sleeve attached, and a surprising minuscule amount of actual blood or gore. 

“… I’m gonna poke it,” he decided.

“Do not fucking poke it,” Kyle hissed, but Craig was already handing Stan a stick that he’d grabbed from the ground. Silent support. Stan nodded his thanks, taking the stick and crouching down right in front of the severed limb. “Stanley Marsh, oh my fucking god.”

“You’re tampering with evidence! Don’t do that! You could get germs and diseases! What if you, like, mess something up and then the police can’t figure out who’s arm it is and also who took the arm and how they took the arm and—”

“Honey,” Craig’s hand came to rest on Tweek’s shoulder, soothing, “it’s fine. It’s just a stick. And I think it’ll be pretty easy to figure out who’s arm it is, considering…”

He didn’t need to finish the statement. Tweek threw his hands up over his eyes. “Oh, god!”

“Shh! I’m gonna poke it,” Stan reminded them.

He could feel Kyle’s glare against the back of his head. “You don’t need your ears to poke something.”

Right. Yeah, that was true. So Stan shrugged it off, and pushed the stick forward. He poked it once, and nothing happened. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected. When he glanced back, Craig shrugged at him, so he continued prodding at it until Tweek spoke up again.

“Wait! Wait. What is that?”

Soon enough, Craig was crouched at Stan’s side, too. “A tattoo,” he observed. “See, Tweek? Poking it was a good idea. Maybe this is a clue.”

“Oh my fucking god, you guys,” Kyle groaned. “This isn’t– Get up, drop the stick, it’s the cops.”

Stan and Craig both immediately straightened. The cops turned out to just be Officer Barbrady, once again, which was both a relief and a hassle. They wouldn’t get in trouble, probably, but that also meant this probably wasn’t going to be handled properly, either.

Tweek outed the issue as soon as Barbrady opened his mouth to question them, “There’s an arm!”

They all watched as the officer’s head turned downwards, to follow where Tweek pointed. Barbrady seemed to reach the same conclusion that Stan had (yep, sure is an arm), before looking back up at them. “Alright. Step away from the arm. I’m–”

“We gotta go,” Craig interrupted, taking Tweek’s hand. “Movie night. Bye.” 

And they were off. Stan turned to watch them leave, Tweek still animatedly talking about the arm even as they made it far enough away that he couldn’t hear him anymore. He glanced at Kyle, then at the arm, then at Officer Barbrady. Kyle met his stare, and then followed his gaze.

“Well…” Barbrady started, seeming a bit frazzled. Stan thought it was a little bit funny. “Well. I’m going to implement a buddy system. Nobody walks home alone tonight, ‘cause.. clearly something bad is going on here.”

Kyle spoke up before Stan could complain. “I’ll give Stan a ride home, Officer Barbrady.”

“Oh. Thanks, Kyle,” Stan nodded, grabbing the sleeve of Kyle’s sweater to begin tugging him away. “See ya, Officer Barbrady!”

Already, Stan knew this was going to be awkward. Just making the walk from the diner to the parking lot was strange enough, filled with a strange silence that Stan was almost afraid to break. The first five minutes or so in the car were the same. He tried to talk himself into thinking what’s the worst that could happen? and finally forced himself into speaking up. “So…” he mumbled. Kyle’s eyes didn’t leave the road. “You work at the city council building.”

“Yep,” Kyle answered, plain and simple. 

“Are you planning to go into law, then? Like your dad?” Stan asked. 

“Nope.”

“Oh.” Stan realized that he’d been saying that quite a bit, too. Oh. When he didn’t know what to say, but was too stubborn to not just stay quiet. “Do you like it, though? What’s it like? What’s your family think?”

Kyle stopped the car abruptly. “We’re here.”

Stan glanced out the window. They were not, in fact, there. He looked back at Kyle. “But my house isn’t–”

“Get out.”

“…Thanks for the ride.”

“Go.”

He did. 

When Stan walked into the house, his father was sat on the couch. Just like the night prior, except this time, he actually expected his son to walk in at some point. “Hey, Stan,” he greeted. “Hey, listen. About last night? I seriously thought you were coming home today. You know. Bad memory and whatever.”

“Yeah,” Stan said, and considered turning to just go upstairs. But he didn’t. He couldn’t enjoy hanging out with his dad if he didn’t make an effort to talk to the guy. “Hey, so, we found an arm on the ground today. Me, Craig, Tweek, and Kyle. Right outside the old diner. Officer Barbrady was there. He made Kyle drive me home.”

“Oh.” Randy said. 

“I poked it with a stick.”

“… What did it feel like?”

“Uh. Like. Squishy, I guess, but kinda hard at the same time,” Stan shrugged. He made a face. “Okay. I’m gonna go to bed.”

“Oh. Alright. Night, Stan.”

“Night, Dad.” 

He turned on his heel and headed up the stairs, trying not to let them squeak so he wouldn’t wake his mother up. He figured he could consider that a successful-enough conversation, which meant that maybe he could go to bed feeling semi-positive about things. As long as he didn’t dream about the arm, or what he’d said to get kicked out of Kyle’s car, or whatever else.

Chapter Text

The first thing Stan did when he woke up was not check the time, not greet his parents, not even get out of bed, but pull his backpack up into bed with him and rifle through it until he could find his laptop. It was an easy task, but it took him exactly five seconds to remember why he’d waited thirty-six entire hours to get back online. As soon as he lifted the lid, he was met with a screen full of pop ups and strange visuals and even stranger audio cues on repeat. Face red, Stan slammed the laptop shut and vowed to not open it ever again until he could get it fixed.

He thought he’d rather bury himself six feet under than to physically take the computer in somewhere, himself. And he’d bury himself another six feet before asking either of his parents to take it somewhere for him. He sat there for a few long minutes, before remembering that Tweek was decent with technology. At least, used to be. He used to be able to bypass the safety features at school so that he could double check if they were about to get bombed, or something. Perhaps he’d have a solution that did not involve actually looking at the laptop. The chances were slim, but never zero. With the closest thing to a pep talk in mind, Stan finally forced himself away from the comfort and warmth of his bed and made his way downstairs.

“Hi, Stan!” his mother called from the kitchen. Stan wondered what it was about kitchens that moms enjoyed so much. 

“Morning, mom,” Stan greeted, making his way in. His mom was sitting at the dining table today, but he found himself up on the counter once again.

Sharon looked up from her book, raising an eyebrow at him. “It’s almost four, Stan.”

“Oh. Shit,” Stan mumbled, turning to glance at the clock on the wall just behind him. “Hey, uh, do you know if the VHS store is open right now?”

“It should be. You need a VHS?”

“I need to see Tweek. He just works there.”

“Oh, right! Craig’s boyfriend,” she smiled. “I forgot he started working there. I went in to say hi, once. I think I scared him. Didn’t look like many people visit there.”

Stan bit back a smile. Sounded about right. “Yeah. I remember he used to be pretty good with technology, so I just wanted to see if he could fix my laptop. Picked up a virus at school, or something.”

Or something.

Sharon smiled knowingly, anyway, “Here’s to hoping. New ones aren’t exactly affordable.” Stan didn’t know if that was supposed to be a dig at him, for being unemployed and living with his parents at twenty years old, or at the world, for continually raising the prices of quite literally everything every single year. “Oh, hey, before you go. I got a call from Officer Barbrady last night.”

“Oh. Did he tell you about the arm?”

“He told me about the arm,” she confirmed. “Please be careful out there, Stanley. Don’t be out late unless you have someone with you, at least until we figure out what’s going on.”

“Alright.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

She lowered her book, fixing him with a look. He thought she was about to call bullshit on his promise (which, fair enough), but instead… “What did it look like?”

Stan couldn’t help but to grin. “Gross. Cut off, like.. right above the elbow. Little bit of blood, but not as much as you’d expect for an entire severed arm. It had a tattoo. Wasn’t anything recognizable, though.”

“Huh,” she said. “Interesting.” 

And then she shooed him off, so out he went. Without his laptop, thank you, because he didn’t want to even give Tweek the opportunity to ask to see what was wrong with it. This laptop would either get fixed from afar, or forgotten about. He managed to make it an entire three steps out the door before there was an old man hollering at him. Stan didn’t recognize the guy. 

“Hey! You, kid!”

“I am an adult,” Stan corrected. But standing there, in a hat scarily similar to the one he’d worn as a child, dressed in a pair of ripped jeans and a t-shirt over a hoodie (that had not been washed in 36 hours), he supposed that maybe he did look a little bit like a kid. 

The man didn’t acknowledge his response. “You’re back, huh? Didn’t last long, did it? You got a job yet?”

“… I’ve only been here for, like, twenty-four hours.”

“Yeah, well, soon that’ll turn into its only been a week and then a month and then a year and then you’ll waste your whole life away,” the guy kept yapping. Stan wasn’t listening. “You know, boy, no one’s forgotten who you are and what you did.”

Suddenly, Stan was all ears.

“They might act like it, but that’s just small town polite right there.”

“Is that what this is about?” Stan asked, and his voice came out smaller than he’d intended it to.

“Hey. Small town polite’s all you got, boy. So you better watch it.” And then the old man was limping away, like nothing had happened at all.

For a moment, Stan almost considered turning around and going right back inside. That was enough socialization for a day. But… he’d slept the rest of his day away, and he really did want to see about getting his computer fixed. So once the old guy was mostly out of his line of sight, Stan shoved his hands into his pockets and made his way into town.

This time, he paid a bit more attention as he made the trek. It didn’t take him too long to find one of the missing posters that the McCormicks had put up. Kenny McCormick (19) of South Park. Last seen at dusk on June 27th. And now it was October. Stan tried to ignore the feeling in his gut. Kenny had always talked about leaving. Taking a bus, or hopping a train, or even just walking. It wasn’t out of character. Stan just hoped that, whatever he was doing, wherever he was, he was safe and happy.

It didn’t take long to track down the VHS store. Stan peeked in through the windows, though, and Tweek wasn’t there. So it either wasn’t the right one, or Tweek was off work today. And it couldn’t just not be the right one, because why would South Park have multiple VHS stores. So he waltzed right on by and found himself at the Kum & Go. Because if anyone would know where Tweek would be, it was Craig.

“Hi,” Stan greeted, immediately walking up to lean against the counter.

Craig gave him a look. “What do you want?”

“Your boyfriend, actually,” Stan answered. He could say jokes like this one to Craig. If he said it to Tweek, he’d probably get bit, or something. That guy was like a rabid dog.

“You literally just walked past the store he works at. He’s literally right there,” Craig sighed. “What do you need him for?”

“Computer stuff. He’s still good with computers, right? And, actually, he’s not right there. Some girl was right there.”

“Yeah. He’s good. Got into hacking and shit.” Craig sounded proud. Stan supposed that if he had a partner who knew how to hack computers, he’d be proud, too. “We live together now. In the apartment complex down past the diner. Maybe he’s there. I don’t stalk his every move, dude.”

“Yeah, okay. Thanks for the… help.”

“Thanks for Kum- ing and Go -ing.” It was said with a mostly straight face, but Stan caught the quirk of Craig’s lips. Stan wondered if he said it to everyone. He didn’t stay and wait to find out.

The apartment complex was old, broken, and probably haunted. Easy to find, though. Stan stood at the elevator for what felt like forever, staring at the call buttons and their labels. A bunch of names he didn’t know, or couldn’t read, next to working buttons. And then Craig and Tweek scribbled in Craig’s handwriting, next to no button. He thought about it for too long, before pressing a button at random. And then he immediately regretted it, because he was stuck listening to someone complaining about girl scouts taking their money. 

But, it did work in his favor, because he’d noticed the sparks that came from Craig and Tweek’s lack of button when he pressed the other one. Without thinking too hard about it, Stan pressed the same button again, at the same time as he put a finger where their button should have been.

And damn near electrocuted himself to death.

Tweek’s voice crackled through the speaker, giving away that Stan hadn’t died but was just very close to it. “Who is it, what do you want!?”

“It’s– fuck, it’s Stan. I just electrocuted myself on your thing.”

“… Oh. Hi, Stan. Yeah, uh, Craig broke it. It wasn’t working and so he kicked it and it broke.”

“Might want to get that fixed.”

“It stops people from calling us! …Usually. Uh, but. You can come up, I guess, since you already did.”

The elevator ride was slow and bumpy, and Stan almost thought he’d plummet to his death during the whole thing. When he died, he wanted it to be something cool. Not falling in an elevator because he needed his friend to help him get the porn pop ups off of his laptop. But alas, he survived, and was able to step out of the elevator all in one piece. 

Stan let himself into Craig and Tweek’s apartment, “Hey, dude.”

And maybe he should’ve knocked. Tweek should have been expecting him, given the whole elevator thing, but he swore the guy jumped a full foot into the air. “Agh! Hi! Jesus Christ! You know, people usually knock when they visit other people’s houses.”

“Yeah,” Stan shrugged, trying not to seem too amused. “Sorry. Noted. But, like, you left the door unlocked, so.”

“God. That’s Craig. He always forgets,” Tweek huffed, rushing past Stan to go lock the door. “If you’re looking for Craig, by the way, he’s at work. I’m sure he wouldn’t complain about the distraction, if you wanted to stop by.”

“I already did. But I was actually looking for you. Uh, my computer’s kinda fucked up, so I wanted to see if there was anything you could do?”

Tweek faced him again, intrigued. He looked Stan up and down, eyebrows furrowing. “You didn’t bring it?”

“… Forgot.”

“Ooookay. So. What’s wrong with it?”

“Like. Pop ups, and shit.”

“That’s why you don’t just download whatever you see and hope it’s fine! Or click on clickbait websites without looking closely first,” Tweek scolded him. And Stan couldn’t even complain, because he was guilty of both of those things. “You’re lucky, I’ve had to save Craig’s ass from that stuff, too. Hold on.”

He stood there and watched as Tweek walked off. He was gone for a moment, Stan could hear a bit of rustling, and then Tweek came back and held out a flash drive looking thingy. “What’s that?”

“Plug it in like a USB and press restart. If that doesn’t help, I don’t know what to do without seeing it,” Tweek shrugged. 

Stan prayed that whatever magic was in the flash drive thingy would help, both for the sake of his own sanity and Tweek’s. “Cool. Thanks. I’m gonna go… try that out, now. Test your magic, or whatever.”

Tweek looked at him very seriously. “It isn’t magic,” he said. “It’s just ones and zeroes. And we are just atoms. And our perception of reality is just chemical reactions. Take those away, and the universe is nothing. ”

“…Right. See ya, dude!”

And Stan booked it out of there before Tweek could send either one of them spiraling. 

Randy was on the couch when Stan got home. Again. What was it with fathers and couches? Maybe his parents had just become creatures of habit while he’d been away. Stan couldn’t help but to think that the repetitive schedule would’ve been nicer to grow up with, rather than to see in his twenties. Either way, he raised a hand in greeting as he stepped inside. 

“Hey, son. Your mom said you went out to see that Tweak kid,” Randy greeted. “You know, I heard his family’s business isn’t doing quite so well anymore. Wonder how they’re handling it.”

Stan’s eyebrows furrowed. Tweak Bros used to be the biggest coffee chain in South Park. Not that it was exactly hard to beat, given that it was in South Park of all places, but it was still an accomplishment. He wondered what led to its downfall. Now that he thought about it, he supposed it was weird that Tweek would rather work at a VHS store than with his parents’ business. Maybe something happened.

His dad was talking again. “Hey, you hear anything more about that arm?”

“No. Not yet, at least.”

“Huh. Well. Be careful and stuff. You don’t want to lose your arm.”

“Maybe I should start carrying weapons on me.”

“Well…” Randy started. Stan immediately cringed, before he could even finish the thought. “It would be a shame if you ran into trouble while you were, heh, unarmed.”

“…I’m going to bed.”

“Unarmed? Un-armed? You get it?” He sure cracked himself up.

“Night, dad.” 

As soon as Stan made it up to his room, he flopped into bed and grabbed his computer. He tested out Tweek’s not-magic-ones-and-zeroes flash drive thing, and winced in anticipation as he lifted the screen again… only for his computer to behave just like normal. Thank the lord and whatever else. He immediately received a message from Craig.

did you get all of that porn off your laptop

tweek said you broke it. with porn. 

i did not break my computer with porn

it just broke dude

you are a filthy liar

almost as filthy as all that porn

i plead the fifth!!!

whatever

are you coming to the party tomorrow

what party tomorrow ????

the one i’m telling you about dipshit

in the state forest

lots of ppl home from school and shit

snacks & alcohol

girl you know it

girl i’m sooooo happy

ask kyle if he can drive us

what no dude i think he hates me

he drives us all the time 

literally just ask him he’ll be at city hall tmrw

fine whatever 

k bye

Aaaaand user @Craigslist was offline. So Stan shut the lid, set his laptop aside, and laid down. Kyle definitely hated him. Stan figured he deserved a nice night of sleep before he’d have to try and figure out the best method of talking him into driving them to the party tomorrow.