Prologue
It certainly wasn't baffling for a mid-afternoon game of basketball to be suddenly interrupted by something out of the ordinary. Where most kids had to deal with worrisome mothers calling for their return home or playground bullies, the boys of South Park dealt with much more peculiar obstructions.
The ball had barely slipped past Cartman and into Kyle's hands before the deafening shriek of a thousand tortured souls pierced the cold air. The three boys looked over to see their dark haired friend spiraling up, scorching flames with arms from the spawns of Hell circling around before being cut off.
Normally, the sight of Stan coming from the depths of Hell should raise even the slightest alarm, but for the four boys, it was a mundane experience. Stan had been dealing with his own personal demons and the visual representation presenting itself along with the shit they'd already seen in their "quiet" mountain town, left little to be surprised by.
"Hey dude," Kyle cautiously greeted, unsure of his super best friend's state. For all he knew, Stan was consumed by some unearthly being, ready to tear his head off.
"Hey."
"Y-you alright?" the redhead asked.
"Yeah. Yeah, I think I'm gonna be okay," Stan answered calmly and with that acknowledgement, he departed the small court. The dribbling of the ball resumed and Stan sighed, ready to embrace the welcoming freedom Satan had given him.
Beneath Stan's retreating footsteps, Satan returned to his small, cramped office in Hell. Plopping down in the old chair and looking at the stacks of paper in front of him with a weary eye, a new set of exhaustion hit him. Dealing with the Canadian devil had backlogged the mortals that were due for torture and the several meetings with demons in section seven he had to attend to.
Sliding the papers towards him, he steadily began the grueling and boring task of catching up a day's worth of missed work. There were documents he needed to read regarding new torture methods and a few demon workers had been advocating to be moved to new sections of Hell.
After only a few minutes, he set his pen down and let out a long sigh. He couldn't focus on the words laid out in front of him. Something felt off. Despite what many above believed, possession wasn't a common occurrence for the underworld ruler. Humans had a knack for solving their own problems and much to his delight, it usually involved dramatic and violent methods.
However, using Stan Marsh to battle the Canadian devil, had left an unsettling feeling. It was as if he had forgotten something but it was something he couldn't explain. Satan bit his lip, trying to recall the last time he had taken over someone. It had been quite some time ago. The victim had been a 12 year old girl living in Georgetown. Her possession had merely been for his own pure enjoyment, back when he could afford to take pointless wonderings up on earth. He fondly remembered battling with her own soul and the priests before giving up and leaving. Tapping his claw on the desk, no recollection of a method for removal came to mind. He just remembered leaving as he did with Stan Marsh.
He shook his head, snatching the pen and returning back to work. Perhaps it wasn't the possession that was leaving him uneasy, but the very likely possibility he would be facing his son's wrath over not being selected to fight.
3 years later
Work was slow as usual for Randy. It had been that way for quite some time. His boss had insisted on getting the younger interns out in the field and get hands-on experience with geology. This left nothing but answering pointless emails and plenty of time to browse their poorly connected wireless internet.
He glanced at the clock across from where he sat. Only twenty minutes left before he would make the short journey home. Time, today, had gone by a little faster. He had spent most of the day browsing cooking websites, pondering new song lyrics, and the last hour had been an exciting game of minesweeper.
The game wasn't particularly great at keeping his mind from wandering. He barely noticed when the screen flashed as he hit a hidden bomb. He barely gave it any thought as he started up another round.
Sitting alone in the office away from home left him alone with his thoughts for too long. He wasn't crazy or depressed by any means. For the most part, life was fine. However, while many come across an irking in their lives they can't figure out, Randy knew his. The problem was admitting it and if he ever did, solving it.
He dreaded admitting what he dreaded the most was being home. There was a tension in their home that continued to build and grow. It came because neither him nor Sharon wanted to expose it. They'd beat around the bush, avoid the subject and argue about trivial things, when they both knew what it was, but if they spoke out, they'd be awful human beings.
He got up from his desk and walked towards the window. The Colorado snow was falling slowly as people made their home. Nearby, he could see a group of kids sledding and he smiled sadly.
How can a parent openly say their own flesh and blood is weird as fuck? Even the thought sent a shiver down his spine. He was supposed to believe both his kids were perfect, wasn't he? Shelly had her temper and over the top dramatics, but he never left room for concern. Stan, though, it was the honest to god truth that something was off about their son.
He was a mild-mannered, kind, and smart kid. He cared a great deal for animals and the environment, and seemed to care a whole lot for Gerald and Sheila's kid. When Stan entered puberty, Randy quickly accepted the fact his son was likely not going to bring home girls. That never bothered him. Kyle appeared to be a nice kid and stuck with Stan even through his depression.
Randy looked back up at the clock and fought back the involuntary groan. Hitting the light to his office, he grabbed his coat and briefcase and made his way towards the snowy parking lot.
Tossing his case into the passenger seat, he hopped into the car. The ride home was less than ten minutes. It was only Tuesday, which meant no one had any after school activities going on. He wondered if he could arrive home and sneak upstairs to play Minecraft without being noticed. No, he would have to be a good father and spend time with Stan and Shelly.
Everything on paper about Stan was fine, a perfectly normal thirteen-year-old boy. It was the odd sensation the whole family felt around Stan. It was the way sudden and unexpected disasters came when he was near. It was the frigid Colorado air becoming warm when he walked past or the cold temperature he'd bring on the infrequent summer days.
He recalled one time when Stan was eleven and Shelly had been picking on him. He could hear the two of them going at it in Shelly's room from downstairs. He hadn't given it much thought. Siblings fight and bicker, it was common practice. However, he never felt his heart plummet and blood freeze faster than when a high pitched shriek followed soon. He had raced upstairs to see Shelly cowering in the corner as one of the hand-me-down white dressers was caught ablaze. As he frantically looked around for something to put the fire out, he noticed Stan standing in the corner, watching the scene with a vacant and removed stare.
He told Sharon of the events later that evening and they both decided the dresser was old and the heat from the vent must've caused the fire. It was an explained occurrence. Stan was merely in shock when it happened. That was all. That was it.
Arriving home and seeing the lights in the living room on, he wished he could still say that was how he felt. He took in a deep breath, hand on the brass knob, maybe tonight he'd finally face the issue. They could work on a resolution that would work best for their son. He let out a calming breath and pushed the door open.
"There he is," a booming voice rang and Randy felt his briefcase slip from his grasp. Seated on either ends of their couch, looking extremely fearful, was Sharon and Shelly. They barely looked over when Randy had entered. On the small chair, Stan sat. He didn't look frightened like his mother and sister, but more interested at the sight in front of him.
Randy was sure his face was that of someone in complete shock. Towering in front of their TV, smiling crookedly at him as he carefully made his way towards his wife, was Satan.
"Sorry to frighten you," Satan chuckled, sending a slight vibration through the room. Randy felt Sharon's fingers quickly tug at the fabric of his sleeve and he grabbed her hand.
Satan's red eyes surrounded by pools of piss yellow watched the family for a moment before clearing his throat. "I can tell my presences here is a bit unexpected," he began and the family kept silent. "I've come to hopefully offer some insight on a little problem you've been having."
He paused, waiting to see if this would make the family speak up. Surely they had to have seen it by now? However, their eyes remained wide and jaws slightly agape except for Stan, who merely quirked a brow.
"I'm not sure if you know this," he said looking at the three on the couch, and then turning to Stan, "or if you remember this, but a few years ago I used you in battle."
"Yeah, I remember," Stan muttered, nodding his head as the other three looked over at him in surprise.
"What-what are you talking about?" Sharon trembled, looking between the monster and her son. "What battle? What did you do to my baby?"
Stan rolled his eyes, waving a hand at his mother's worries. "It was something with the Canadian devil," he explained in a dull tone. "Satan needed a body to fight him and I let him use mine."
"YOU DID WHAT?!"
"Oh, you are such a turd," Shelly mumbled, shaking her head at the stupidity of her brother.
"It wasn't a big deal, mom," Stan promised. "I don't even remember the actual battle just that we-I mean he," he pointed to the large beast in front of them, "defeated the other devil and I got home safe. Honestly, it was fine."
"Stanley Marsh, I don't care if he asked you to deliver flowers for him. Never, ever allow anyone to—"
Satan cleared his throat and Sharon whipped her head back towards him. He recoiled back a bit at the glare and pure hatred radiating off her. It was true what they say, women can be terrifying.
"I don't know how else to say this, so I'll just come out and say it," Satan took a deep breath, sending the room temperature to plummet into coldness briefly. "I made a mistake when I possessed you. I didn't notice it at the time. I didn't go through the proper method when exorcising myself out and I left some….residue."
Satan stood there, digging his hoof further into the plush carpet as he waited for their reaction. Even Stan appeared to be taken back by the news, blue eyes widened at the new information.
"Is that why he's such a freak?" Randy asked abruptly, before slamming his hand over his mouth at what he had just said.
Stan's heart dropped. He couldn't say he was too surprised by the news or the fact his own father found him a freak. That didn't mean hearing it didn't hurt. He knew, watching his friends and just from something deep inside him, he wasn't a normal kid. The counselor told him he was just suffering through typical puberty awkwardness and his parents told him it was teenage angst. Now, he had the real answer.
"What does this mean?" he asked quietly. He began to wonder if he'd start to form horns or if his skin would turn red like the beast in front of him?
"You'll look the same. You won't turn full demon," Satan spoke gently, answering his unanswered concern. "You'll just have some "advantages" that demons have."
"What kind of advantages?" Stan asked.
"I don't actually know yet, but most likely levitation, possible mind control, powers of Lilith could be another, additional strength" he began to rattle off possibilities, as the small family sat there absorbing it all.
"Setting fires," Shelly inputted.
"Yep, yeah, that too," Satan nodded, pointing at the teenager.
For a moment the room became still, perhaps the Dark Lord had rendered everything completely mute. The outside couldn't be heard and the gentle chimes of their home had turned silent. Each one of them sat in the room surrounded by quietness as they tried to gather their thoughts. Some were worrisome ones for their son, others selfish, and a few filled with fear.
"Can't you just remove it? Get it out of him?" Sharon tearfully asked, looking over at her only son.
Satan's shoulders slumped. Sharon's pained face was something he wish he could reap and use as a torture against newcomers in his domain, because it cut to the core. Everyone on this grassy sphere praised that creature above. The same one who cast him out. Yet where was God when he made a mistake? He didn't make house calls to explain his error. He was here, admitting fault and yet he knew the family would go to bed tonight and pray to God. Thank God.
Sharon watched Satan, hoping him not answering right away meant that he was mulling over a possibility. Truth was, there could have been, back when he first returned to Hell. Sitting at his desk, three years back, and inwardly groaning about his own poor luck, he could have noticed the small slip of paper explaining his mistake. He could have quickly corrected it but the time limit had long surpassed and the note untouched.
"No," Satan finally answered and Sharon let out a quiet whimper.
Stan frowned, standing up from the chair and moving over to give his mother a reassuring hug. It sucked, he wasn't going to lie, but his life wasn't over. In fact, he saw this as a new beginning. Something he could take by the horns and a challenge he could face head on. He'd learn from the obstacles and grow from the mistakes he would most certainly make.
Even if he was some Satan spawn, there was one conviction ringing loud and penetrating the muted living room; He was Stan motherfucking Marsh.
A/N: This story is a result of plenty of whiskey and late nights with my super best friends. This story will get ridiculous so if you are looking for a serious story this probably isn't it. If you enjoy stupid humor, demon powers, and Stan being a dumb ass (toolshed, come on) stick around.
