I'd line to dedicate this to my asshole of a father, who won't let me be a self-conscious pubescent teenager. Psshaw. Enjoy!
Scars
"St-Stan, I'm fine! It's just a cut!"
Just a cut my ass, Stan thought viciously, sitting him down in Hell's Pass's waiting room. The raven shook his head, going back to obsessively cleaning the long cut oozing blood with tissues. Kyle sighed, blushing as he felt the weight of the other people in the room's amused stares. "C'mon, Stan. I don't even need to see the doctor. It's just luck that we were walking to my check-up when I got cut."
A lady nearby giggled. Kyle blushed harder, watching the gentle way Stan went about keeping the cut clean with an unconscious smile. The cut itself was maybe seven inches long, and not very deep. It stung, but Kyle wasn't that much of a wuss.
"Kyle, you're bleeding!" Stan cried helplessly, tightening his hold minutely and making Kyle wince. Stan murmured an apology, wiping away a little more blood. An elderly lady sitting across from the pair leaned it with a grin.
"If my first husband treated me half as good as your little boyfriend does you, Ginger, I would never have cheated on him."
Stan's cheeks colored, but he didn't cease his ministrations. Kyle flushed and denied, "We aren't boyfriends, we're Super-Best Friends!" The lady smiled, but didn't reply.
A moment later, a kindly nurse with a friendly smile poked her head out and called, "Hey, Kyle. Keith'll see you now."
Kyle smiled at the woman. "Thanks, Pen."
Stan looked confused, so the redhead filled him in. "You know I'm in here every other week. Penny, or Nurse Brice, took care of me last time I had pneumonia."
Still clutching the redhead's injured wrist in his much larger hand, Stan allowed his sickly best friend to lead him into the hall-of-offices. Kyle stepped obediently onto the old-fashioned scale, watching in fascination as Penny fiddled with the sliders. Deftly, the brunette woman smacked him across the back of the head, making Stan bristle, only for it to fade into a glare directed at the sheepish redhead at her words, "You've lost weight! No normal boy your age weights eighty-six point two pounds!"
For good measure, Stan slapped him as well. "Hey, hey!" Kyle whined, "Cranium-trauma won't help my weight!"
Stan smirked. "Technically, if you get too injured, I'll have an excuse to keep you home from track and stuff you full of food."
Kyle pouted. "Whatever."
"Five feet four inches!" Nurse Penny announced, patting him on the shoulder. "You'll hit that growth spurt soon."
Two weeks later.
Kyle was dressed in his usual attire, a short-sleeve shirt and loose jeans, a white bandage wrapped around his fore-arm. Slouched against the Marsh's living room couch, Kenny was absently toying with the elegant bow holding it together. He smiled up at the redhead watching him, asking quietly, "Isn't it healed up by this time, Ginger?"
Kyle's smile faded. He scratched his head with his other arm, glancing around anxiously for the return of his best friend. "Actually, it closed up a couple days ago. I'm just afraid of how Stan will react when he notices I got my first ever scar."
An almost pained gasp sounded from behind them. Kyle winced, tilting his head back to look at a clearly-upset Stan. "You scarred? Jesus, Kyle, I-I made you scar?"
He looked so guilty and sad, hand snaking out to tuck on the strings of the bow with a frown firmly in place. It came undone, and, hopping over the back of the couch to sit beside his friends, Stan carefully unwound the bandage, revealing a long pink line standing stark against otherwise-flawless pale skin. Kyle flinched at the heartbroken expression on the raven's face. Kenny, wisely, remained silent.
"It's not your fault, Stan. I caught it on a fence. It doesn't matter, I don't mind."
"Yeah, after I shoved you. And it matters to me! You've never had a scar! Heck, I can't remember the last time you bled!" Stan was positively distraught, his fingers tracing up and down the line, blinking rapidly. Kenny tensed, stammering, "You... You ain't gonna cry, now, are ya, buddy?"
Stan swallowed thickly, re-wrapping the bandage to hide the scar. "N-no."
Kyle stared at the innocent white bandage that Kenny was helping Stan tie. The raven's hands were shaking too bad, his eyes watering too much to handle delicate knot-tying. Suddenly, the redhead felt so self-conscious of the scar he yanked his arm back, standing quickly and muttering a goodbye. Stan's eyes, a guilt-clouded light blue, followed after him anxiously.
OoO
For the next two weeks, Kyle covered every inch he possibly could of his skin.
Long sleeve shirts, jeans, high socks... At no point in time was anything below his neck or anything above his wrists revealed.
That being said, Eric is an asshole.
"So, Jew." Eric simpered, slouching down onto said Jew's couch beside Kyle with a self-satisfied smirk, "Heard from poor boy that you got a scar."
Stan tensed impossibly, half glaring at Eric and half crumbling in on himself. Kyle winced, biting his lip. "No." he denied automatically, watching Stan flinch. "No scar. Kenny's lying." Eric shook his head, tsking, and grabbed the redhead's wrist. Kyle flinched, tugging at his captured limb with panic creeping across his features, and exclaiming with a worried glance to the frozen raven watching them, "Let go, fatass!"
Ignoring the insult with a smirk, Eric almost violent ripped the sleeve up, making Kyle whimper when the bandages were revealed. Eric tilted his head to the side like a curious, evil kitten, using the hand not holding the green-eyed fourteen year old's wrist to undo the bow holding it all together and pulling the bandage, making it slither across his skin and unwrap, revealing the fresh scar.
Ashamed of the blemish on his skin, Kyle buried his face in his other hand, not wanting to see the disgust on either of his companion's faces. He jumped and whimpered when chubby, surprisingly gentle pads ran down the full five-and-three-quarter inch scar, wanting to sink into the ground and disappear forever. "I-I'm sorry." he mumbled helplessly, standing and pulling away roughly.
OoO
Nobody talks about the scar anymore. Not while Kyle is around, anyway. But in a golden opportune moment, Kenny can't help but let Stan and Eric know amazingly moronic they really are.
"Y'all realize what you did to Kyle, now, don'tcha?" His glare was reprimanding, reminding Stan of a southern housewife. Scary shit, man.
"... No?" Stan guessed uncertainly, wincing when the blond's icy blue glare intensified. Kenny growled a bit, infuriated at his friends' stupidity, "Ya turned the poor thing into a mouse, lawd bless his soul..."
Stan gave him a funny look. "A mouse? What? Last time I saw him, he was humanoid." Suddenly, he rounded on a suspiciously quiet Eric. "What'd you do, Cartman?"
The chubby teen glared, lips parting in a cut-short shriek, "YOU WILL RESP-Ouch!"
Glaring at the offending blond, Eric rubbed the back of his head with a pout. Kenny groaned. "I mean, child, that you done did make him self-conscious about hisself. He never lets an inch of his skin see the Sun, and he don't talk in class anymore." Stan stared uncomprehendingly. Yes, he'd noticed Kyle was acting a bit more shy and withdrawn than usual, but... "What'd I do?"
The blond saw red.
Kenny slapped him. Stan's head snapped to the side painfully, and his mouth fell open in shock. Cautiously re-righting his neck, he snapped, "What the fuck, Kenny?"
Kenny pushed his hood back so that he'd be heard crystal clear. "You ain't fucking noticed, Stan? You ain't noticed how you treat him now? How you won't touch his hurt arm? How you grimace and look away when you see his scar? How you act like it's the most disturbing thing you ever did see? Huh, Stan? Ring a bell?"
Stan's stare was cold, his fists curled tightly and anger flashing in his blue irises. "It is, Kenny! It's the most horrible, disgusting thing I've ever seen! It has no place on Kyle, and I hate it!"
A choked sound was heard from the doorway to the abandoned Algebra classroom. All three boys slowly turned their heads to a certain redhead with hurt tears spilling over his cheeks, grasping desperately at his forearm. Stan blinked at him, shoulders relaxing, fists unfurling. Kyle blinked back, and twin crystal tears followed the wet trails down his devastated face, rolling down to his chin and plopping to the floor with an quiet dripping noise. After a pregnant pause, Kyle smiled a crooked sort of grimace, eyes falling, shoulders slumping, hands stuffing themselves into his pockets. Head bowed, Kyle turned and left, looking for all the world like a kicked kitten.
For the second time that day, Kenny's hand collided with Stan's face; this time, in the form of a fist.
While Stan was still reeling, Kenny ran after the crying redhead, leaving Eric to stare unpityingly at the jock. "And you call me an asshole." The brunette muttered, breaking eye contact and trailing after the other half of the infamous quartet.
Somehow, that hurt worse than the darkening bruise swelling his eye shut.
OoO
Magnolia trees. Big, tall, with lots of thick branches and beautiful, slick, lush green leaves. It's an evergreen. Pretty all through the winter, though it creeped the natives out. With the climate, it shouldn't actually able to grow, but there it was, proud, eighty-five feet tall. It blooms snow-white flowers with an approximate diameter of thirteen inches every summer.
In sixth grade, Kyle went on a field trip to Memphis. He was told on a heritage tour that Magnolias were a symbol of freedom on the underground railroad. The moment he got back from the trip, he fell in love with South Park's only Magnolia.
It is formally known as the KB Tree.
Only people who were close to Kyle would go near the damn thing. Even as Kenny approached, foreboding settled in his chest and made his smile somewhat forced. He knew he was in the right place, though; there was Kyle's infamously disorganized backpack, set at the foot of the tree. So he pushed on, walking right up to the smooth, virgin trunk amazingly unmarked by age. The blond immortal tilted his head back dramatically, searching the branches for a sign of his best friend.
Ah! There he was. Maybe twenty feet in the air, leaning against the trunk and straddling a sturdy-looking branch. His eyes were closed, though tears still escaped, and he had ear buds in, presumably blasting one of his rock'n'roll bands he goes on about. Personally, Kenny preferred techno and rap.
His lips moved flawlessly and silently with an ease that suggests he'd known the song for a long time.
Watching, Kenny thought he could make out the chorus, "The world I loved, the tears I dropped, to be part of the wave, can't stop, ever wonder if it's all for you? The world I loved, the trains I hopped, to be part of the wave, can't stop, come and tell me when it's time to..."
Nonsense to him, but maybe it meant something to Kyle.
Dutifully, Kenny braced himself on the lowest branch and clambered up, the branches forming crooked stairs that he had to bend and stretch to climb. Finally, seven feet down and three feet to the side of the redhead, Kenny got stuck. Contemplatively, he rested against the trunk and glanced up to the oblivious redhead who'd finally stopped crying and was rubbing his scar through the material of his sweater.
Glancing around in confusion, Kenny muttered to himself, "How the devil did he get up there?" and backtracked a bit. Trying another route, Kenny got stuck again, directly below the redhead but just barely unable to touch the branch. Fearful of falling and dying before talking to him, Kenny debated what to do. "Kyle!" he called loudly, knowing the redhead listened to his music on the quietest setting. One acid green eye cracked open, bloodshot with tears, and Kyle heaved a sigh, removing his head phones and stuffing his iPod in his pocket. He stood and gracefully began his descent, hopping fearlessly from branch to branch without flaw or stumble, as though walking down a perfectly even flight of stairs he'd been walking up and down his whole life.
With a groan, Kenny began scrambling down the tree, trying to follow the route Kyle took, which wrapped around the tree again and again, much to Kenny's chagrin.
When Kenny finally made it down, Kyle was propped against the tree trunk on the lowest branch, straddling the branch and swinging his legs slightly, eyes fixated on the smooth bark. Kenny smiled a little sadly, taking up residence facing him and straddling the branch himself, though it was slightly uncomfortable due to the size of it. With each swing, their toes bumped together lightly.
"You slapped Stan." Kyle observed after a pause. Kenny offered a crooked grin. "Punched 'em, too, right after you left."
They lapsed into silence once more. After a moment, Kenny murmured, "There's a song you listen to all the time. Scars, by Cockroach or something like that?"
Kyle giggled abruptly. "You mean Papa Roach?"
Kenny waved him off. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. It says 'The scars remind us that the past is real.' You know what that means?"
Kyle deflated, rubbing the scar through his clothes and joking brokenly, "Scars are a memo to your future self that shit went down."
Kenny smacked him playfully. "No, you idiot. It means that that scar on your arm-" Kyle flinched "-is just a reminder that you've lived, been there, done that, and got the T-shirt. It means you're human."
Kyle's eyes were disbelieving, but he nodded. Kenny sighed, "Isn't it you who wrote the poem that said 'Perfection exists within imperfection?'"
Kyle nodded slowly. "I suppose... That that could apply here."
Kenny leaned forward and patted him on the shoulder in comfort. "Stan isn't disgusted by your scar, Y'know. He's upset that it's his fault."
Kyle sniffled with a watery grin. "Stan's an asshole."
"Pretty much, Honey."
OoO
Kyle gulped uneasily. He set his heavy backpack down next to his usual chair at their usual table in English, Room 62. With an encouraging smile from Kenny and a cursory glance over Stan, who seemed to be passed out on the desk and snoring slightly, Kyle tugged off his jacket.
Kenny clapped silently. Eric grinned at him. Kyle stared down at his bare arm-no sleeves, no bandages-and smiled lopsidedly. The bell rang and everyone sat.
Kyle bit his lip when he looked at the still-unconscious teen at his side. He leaned back in his seat, snatching one of Pip's sharpie's with a quiet 'one sec' and began scribbling on his arm.
Tossing the pen back to Pip, Kyle slid his arm in front of Stan's face and shook him lightly with an encouraging, "Sta-an..."
OoO
"Sta-an..."
Said teen blinked groggily, rubbing his eyes and staring bemusedly at the words presented on the smooth pale skin he belatedly recognized as belonging to his Super-Best Friend.
Dear Stan,
I love you, though!
-Kyle's Scar
Stan blinked and re-read it, recognizing that the middle line was written across the most-hated scar. Slowly, his lips upturned into a smile.
Eyes trailing from the message up, Kyle's arm and to his face, Stan almost whispered, "I'm so sorry, Ky, you know I didn't mean it... Please forgive me?"
Kyle smiled, ruffling his best friend's hair, and replied sweetly, "Nothing needs forgiving."
Glancing around the room, Stan pulled his best friend down for a chaste kiss that could almost be perceived as merely friendly, the only witnesses being a disgusted Eric, a silently cheering Kenny, and a pretty-sure-he-was-hallucinating Tweek.
Friendly or not, the pair held hands under the table and blushed their way through English, passing notes and ignoring the teacher, Eric's Fag jibes, and, well, everything else that wasn't each other.
I'm seriously thinking about writing a sequel to this. Review with your opinion. And YES, Hoodie is on Haitus, but I'm working hard on a story that includes Cutters, iKenny (Ike/Kenny), Style (with Kyle in a dress), some Creek and fucked-upiness!
Edit:03/18/11
REVIEW!