Just as a brief explanation, I got the idea to write this after seeing a submission someone had sent to a South Park confessions Tumblr. They basically said they'd always thought Randy had fathered Craig as well as Stan because he was the only adult with black hair. And I can never resist any form of incest. So, here we are. Every chapter title will be the song title of a Modest Mouse song. Just because I feel they all fit really nicely with what I have planned. The second song will be one also based on the chapter at hand, but not by Modest Mouse. If you look up the lyrics, they should always at least make a little bit of sense, hopefully.
Modest Mouse track of the chapter (based on chapter title): "I Came As A Rat"
Otherwise: "Colours" by Grouplove
"Stan, wake up. For fuck's sake, Mom and Dad are at it again." Stan felt someone prodding his shoulder, hard and persistently.
"I'm sleeping - get out." Stan ducked his head under his pillow and groaned, gritting his teeth. As he began to wake up, his hearing came back full force. He could still tell, from under his pillow, that his Mom was flinging more dishes around and his Dad was swearing up a storm.
"I'm serious, dicklicker. This is worse than usual." Shelley punched him in his forearm, emphasizing her frustrations.
From downstairs, something smashed audibly, probably flung into a wall. Stan rolled out of bed, trying to fix his socks, while Shelley stared down at him angrily. He ignored her presence in order to massage his pounding temples. Fucking hangovers.
"Well, do something, you pussy."
"Why can't you?" Stan let his foot pull his sheets down across the floor, knocking over a bowl of old cereal in the process. Another plate hit the wall and Stan cursed. "Fucking hell, it's too early for this."
"It's noon."
"It is?" Stan squinted past his open windows, breeze coming in strongly for only September. Well, that was Colorado, what else could you expect?
Ever since he was ten, he made sure to drink at least enough on the weekends so that school days didn't feel how he felt like now. But he shouldn't complain, he choose to drink, so he choose to get hungover. Although he knew his mom was aware, they both still pretended Randy was the only one who came home drunk at night, tripping over his own feet.
"I assume you were sober enough last night to bring cereal upstairs and leave dirt all of the downstairs carpet, but not sober enough to set an alarm."
"An alarm for what?"
Shelley sighed, turning around so her back faced Stan, crossing her arms. "Church, dipshit."
"Oh, fuck."
"Dad came home this morning drunk, though, so Mom didn't even remember she forgot to set an alarm."
"I'm sorry, Shelley." Stan stood up, lunging for his jeans. He pulled them hastily on over his briefs, tripping over the legs.
"Don't apologize for their stupidity."
He turned to face her, eyes closed. It was finally quiet downstairs and that was what made him the most nervous. "We should probably go down now."
"Put a shirt on first, Fabio."
Stan rolled his eyes, trying not to make it obvious that the spit lunged out from Shelley's braces had caught his nose. After her headgear had come off in middle school, she'd opted out of braces. By the time she was a freshmen in college, she decided to get braces after all, and now wore the almost invisible kind you could barely see.
He grabbed a tee shirt from his bed post on the way out the door and followed Shelley down the stairs.
"So, it's settled then," Sharon muttered. "You should pack your things."
Stan stopped short on the landing, fingers going up to the bridge of his nose to pinch it in frustration. Sharon had said similar things before without meaning them, but this tone was different. She made it all sound final, like there was no room for interpretation.
Shelley peered over Stan's shoulder from the step above him to get a look at Randy slumped over the kitchen table, arms resting close to pieces of broken glass. There was a pile of glass by one wall and another decorating the sink and it's surrounding counter. Sharon still held one coffee mug, soap running from it's edge to the floor because she held it by the handle, tipping down.
"Sharon-"
"Listen, we've been doing this for too long. I'm tired, Randy. Being in this house has felt like a job for years. I miss feeling like I have control over my own life."
"Sharon, for God's sake, the kids aren't going to-"
"Shelley's in college, Randy! And Stan's been more mature than you since he was in middle school! The kids aren't children anymore, they don't need protecting like they used to!"
Randy didn't say a word, just stared at Sharon until she backed away from him, moving towards Stan and Shelley. When she came up to them, she froze, mouth dropping in disappointment. "I need to get upstairs," She murmured, chin tipping towards the ground and voice cracking.
Shelley backed off right away, letting Sharon through, but Stan wasn't going to let her go that easily. "Mom," he called after her, "You can't just leave!"
He jogged up after her, coming to a skid at his parents' bedroom door frame, out of breath. "Don't leave us alone with him just because we're old enough to know what's going on."
Sharon had a suitcase out and was quickly pulling things off racks in the closet and tossing them onto the bed, only half of what she was throwing landing in the suitcase.
"I'm not leaving, sweetie. Your dad is." She sniffed loudly and continued trying to pack up the entire contents of Randy's side of the closet.
Stan's eyebrows knitted. "Then what's he supposed to do? He can't just live by himself, he'll never stop drinking! He'll end up homeless or something!"
"Honey, you and sister can stay here with me while your father looks for an apartment out of town."
"Out of town? How are we supposed to see him?" Stan walked up to the suitcase, trying to decide if he should help his mother pack up his father's plaid shirts and work pants or undo how far she'd gotten.
"Your father isn't fit to be a caretaker, no matter how old his children are. You and your sister shouldn't feel obligated to see him." Sharon pressed her hands on top of the clothes, unfolded and improperly stacked. Most of them wouldn't flatten, so she burst out in tears, hands reaching for the zipper anyway.
"Well, if I don't feel obligated, who will?"
"Stanley- sweetheart- he needs to get some professional help."
"Yeah, I heard there are some really well-trained psychiatrists living out in the streets with the other hobos."
"I can't be responsible for your father anymore, Stan."
"Then I'll go with him," Stan said. He pressed his lips together, waiting for his mother to forbid him. When she stared in silence, he got agitated.
He reached over, going for the zipper of the suitcase, but Sharon jumped away from him so quickly Stan could have sworn she thought he was going to hit her.
"Are you serious?" His voice sounded awful as the tears built up in the corners of his eyes. "I'm not Dad."
"Stan, I'm sorry, I just-"
"Don't." He zipped the suitcase, pulled it off of the bed, and dragged it down the stairs. Pulling his father out of the house with his hands carrying everything his father owned, Shelley watching from the living room window, Stan finally understood what his mother had been talking about. Control.
On the side of the street, trying to avoid Shelley's eyes in the window, Stan thought of who he could call to help that wouldn't make it awkward for his father. Not Kyle and his family, never Kenny and his, probably not Cartman and his mother.
He tapped his foot in worry on the concrete and dialed Mr. Mackey.
"Stan, it's nice to see you. I can take that suitcase into the guest room, mm'kay?" Stan sighed, pushing his hands into his pockets. Luckily he'd stopped crying before he'd gotten to Mr. Mackey's house, but he guessed his eyes were still red and he could feel his nose still running. Randy stood uncomfortably by the sofa, looking around the room and then flashing his eyes to the suitcase and back again.
"Yeah," Stan replied.
"Don't be such a Negative Nancy, Stan. We can get your father back on his feet in no time, mm'kay?"
Stan sat himself down on the sofa, running the side of his thumb under his nose to wipe away the snot. "Do you have anything to eat?"
"Well, sure. Go grab yourself something from the fridge, but make sure you get something for your father too, mm'kay?" Mr. Mackey hauled the suitcase down the hall, the wheels catching the carpeting and squeaking all the way.
Stan got up and found the kitchen, the fridge neatly positioned between the counter holding the microwave and the counter holding the coffee maker. He dug around some of the cabinets for some booze, but only found cigarettes hidden with some extra light bulbs and household tools in a draw by the coffee maker. Taking two out from the half used up pack, he shoved them down into his briefs and brought back a banana from the fridge for his dad.
He called his mother the next morning, waking up in bed with his dad next to him in Mr. Mackey's guest bedroom. He took his phone out from the bedside table and made his way down the hall before peering into Mr. Mackey's bedroom. Realizing that since school was starting soon and the teachers of the middle school were probably getting ready all this week on normal weekday times, he ambled down to the front door.
He lit up outside the house, in the backyard, sitting himself down by the garden his old guidance counselor must have grown. As he toyed with some of the plants, he puffed on one of the stolen cigarettes, wondering how he was going to find someplace for himself and his father to stay. He would at least have to call his mother soon to figure out if he could stop by his house- couldn't bare to consider calling it his "old house"- to pick up some clothes and hopefully pack up some of his hidden booze.
Shelley answered by the third ring. "Can you get Mom?" He asked, exhaling smoke into the receiving end. Sharon must have been close, because it only took a second for the phone to make it's way to her.
"Hey, I need to pack up some clothes."
"Stanley, listen. You should come home. Your father can-"
"I'm going to come and pick up some clothes and then I'm coming back here and I'm going to help dad find an apartment for us."
Sharon left the door unlocked, so he got in and wasn't bombarded by his mother's pleads to stay and leave his father unattended at Mr. Mackey's house. It would've been a terrible idea, regardless of the fact that there was no liquor in the house for Randy to get into. He hated to add fuel to his motherr's fire, but Stan was treating his father like a dog that couldn't be trusted alone at home.
Stan packed up his favorite shirts- all the sweaters and long-sleeved shirts he could find, because it'd be winter soon. Winter always started early in South Park. He dug out his clean jeans from his closet floor and packed up his boots. Then, shampoo and conditioner. Then, he pulled out his vodka from under piles of his socks and underwear from his draw and stuffed it inside the bottom of his bag. He fished under his mattress for his cigarettes and stealthily shoved them into a pair of socks also at the bottom of his bag.
"Honey," Sharon asked, only her face visible in between the door and door frame. She opened it fully and came into the room just in time for Stan to finish packing. "Can we talk for a minute?"
"That depends. Are you going to clarify why this happened or just tell me that I should leave Dad alone to become homeless?"
Sharon sighed deeply, sitting down on Stan's bed. "Your father has a past that I used to be able to forget about, but has recently...sprung back up. I can't lie to you; I loved your father for a long time, but I just don't anymore. He cheated on me years ago when I was able to look past it, but also recently, which I just can't look past now."
Stan kept his eyes fixed on the wall behind his mother's head. "He was probably drunk." He couldn't see why he was defending his father exactly, but he couldn't seem to help it.
Sharon just nodded, resting her hands on his duffle bag and pursing her lips. "I don't mean to tell you this to coerce you to live at home with your sister and I, but you're old enough and you should know anyway." She paused for a minute, holding her breath in before finally letting herself exhale loudly. "There's a boy in your grade who's your half-brother, Stanley. Thomas Tucker's wife, who I used to be friends with, slept with your father before your father and I were dating years ago."
Dumbfounded, Stan sat on the edge of his bed, tightly holding it with both hands. "Wait, you're saying- you mean that-"
"Stanley, Craig Tucker is your half-brother."
"You can't be serious." Stan almost collapsed onto his bed as he tried to process everything. The room began to spin, his bedroom walls running together to form one large mass of clouds.
"Honey, I wouldn't lie about this." She moved to put her hand on Stan's, but he was already standing up, pacing.
"Holy shit."
"Stan, just-"
"Holy shit!" He shook his head, feet banging into his closet door every time he turned. "This isn't happening."
Sharon stood up, walking over to her son to place her hands firmly on his shoulders. "The family doesn't know, not even her husband, so you can't say anything. Not to any of them, not to anyone else, not even to Kyle."
Stan's eyes widened. "You're serious."
"I know this is probably difficult to process, but-"
"I need a smoke." He rushed past his mother to his bag, where he proceeded to grab his pack of cigarettes and fish out one, along with his lighter.
"Stanley!"
"Oh, relax! Like you haven't seen Dad do any worse."
Sharon pursed her lips again, sitting back down on the bed.
"Christ, was nobody ever going to tell me this? Did you think it wasn't important?" He puffed expertly, smoke coming out in waves and hitting Sharon in the face. She squinted through the smoke, exasperated.
He couldn't believe Craig fucking Tucker was related to him, closely related to him even. He couldn't wrap his head around it. Fuck, Randy had fathered three kids, not two. How fucked up was that? And his mother and father had been hiding this from the rest of Craig's family for years, just sweeping it under the rug?
"Stanley, we both agreed it was for the best if no one knew."
"That's nice of you. I'm glad you two could stop going at each other's throats for long enough to agree that it wasn't any of my business that I had a brother."
"Half-brother."
"Nobody knows? Not Craig, not his dad, not his sister?" Stan asked, flicking his cigarette so the ashes hit the carpet. Sharon looked on in disapproval, but said nothing.
"No. And you cannot, Stanley, cannot tell them or anyone else. I don't care how much you trust them, they will tell somebody because people talk in this town."
"Don't act like you know my friends! You barely even know anything about me for Christ's sake!" Stan stopped pacing and shook his head angrily, heaving his duffle bag over his shoulder.
"Don't leave like this, Stan!" Sharon called, but Stan was already running down the stairs to the door.
When he got back to Mr. Mackey's house it was only early afternoon and the house was still empty apart from his father who was still out cold. The blankets were now only up to Randy's knees, his grimy pants getting the blue comforter speckled with dirt. His father's hair was matted across his forehead and his eyelashes didn't even flutter when Stan threw his bag on top of the blankets, taking a drag off of yet another cigarette that'd he chain-smoked all the way home. He was upset enough to not care if Mr. Mackey smelt the smoke in the house, but not upset enough to forget to replace the two of the cigarettes he'd stolen from the kitchen draw. Dropping himself on the sofa with a tuna sandwich he'd made with Mr. Mackey's food supply, he flipped open his phone and speed-dialed Kyle. Kyle answered on the second ring.
"Are you really telling me that Craig Tucker is your half-brother right now?" Kyle asked on the other end, obviously not taking matters seriously. "I mean, the same Craig Tucker who we dragged to Peru in the fourth grade? With the stupid little hamster and the need to flip everyone off every five seconds?"
"I think it was a guinea pig, actually."
"Stan, be serious. What are you going to do?"
"I can't do anything! Just because my family's gotten all fucked over by this doesn't mean Craig's should too. I mean, I don't hate the guy!" Stan took a huge bite from his sandwich and reconsidered the statement.
"Yes, you do!" Kyle exclaimed loudly. Stan winced, pulling the phone away from his ear a little. "He's in your Music class and he flips you off all the time!"
"How do you know that?" Stan didn't know why he even bothered to question Kyle on these kind of matters. He didn't remember telling Kyle, but then again, he knew loads of unimportant things about Kyle that he just seemed to remember after so many years of friendship. He didn't study Kyle, but he knew little things, like what side of the bed Kyle had to take on vacations and what condiments Kyle would utterly refuse when they ate out.
"You tell me everything, Stan."
"Jesus, alright. I don't like Craig, but so what?"
"So, either way you should tell him. Either you tell him because you hate him and want to see his family get screwed over or you tell him because you like him and want him to know the truth about his own...well, existence. I mean, his father isn't even his real father, that's serious."
"Why do you always have to be right, Kyle?"
"You've met my mother, it just runs in the genes."
"Your mother isn't always right; she's usually wrong," Stan argued.
"Yes, but she thinks she's always right and that's the key."
"Kyle, what the fuck am I supposed to do?"
"I dunno, man. What do you think you should do?"
"What do you think I should do?"
"I think he should know. I mean, he's been in the same position as you've been in for years. He's known that something deeper is at hand, but he's never been able to figure it out because everyone is lying to him, right?"
"Goddamnit, Kyle."
"Sorry."
Stan was feeling better by the weekend, more relaxed crawling out of bed on an early Sunday afternoon. It was noon when he got up, surprised to find himself alone in bed. The birds were chirping and he was warm in his sweatpants and long-sleeved shirt. Mr. Mackey's house was usually a lot colder than he was used to, never really noticing how hot his own house had been kept until he was living somewhere else.
He found his father sitting with Mr. Mackey at the kitchen table, both eating pancakes covered in a shiton of syrup and whipped cream, Randy with both on his chin. Stan felt awkward walking over to them, but didn't know where else to go after coming out of the guest bedroom.
"Good morning, sleepyhead," Mr. Mackey said cheerfully, dropping his fork in his plate to smooth over some of the stray hairs he had left that drooped into his line of vision. He had no under eye circles in his fifties, probably because he'd never taken a drink in his life and barely ever smoked. The pack of cigarettes had looked really old when Stan had taken them out, the carten more of a faded pink and gray than the usual firetruck red and bright white of Marlboros. Still, he had barely any hair and had been sporting a Donald Trump-like comb-over ever since Stan could remember. He supposed some people just aged more quickly than others.
"Hi," Stan replied, wincing into the ray of light spurting down from the windows. Randy looked up at him with a sorry attempt at a smile, mouth shiny with syrup. Stan grimaced and choose to lean against the fridge instead of joining them at the table, although his bare feet were getting cold on the tile floor.
"So, Dad-" He started to say, avoiding eye contact by staring down the oven.
"Stan, your Dad is gonnna go out today and find himself a place to stay-" Randy declared, voice low and serious, "A place hopefully where he doesn't have to depend on other people." It was probably the closest to a thanks Mr. Mackey would get from Stan's father, who would probably be drunk again by that evening. Stan knew this, but wouldn't dare voice it for fear of Randy getting an earlier start at the bar and neglecting to actually trying to find an apartment.
"Really?" Stan asked. "Cool. Um, I'm probably going to go to Kyle's or something, you know, figure out if we have the same classes for tomorrow." He knew his letter from the school, detailing his schedhule, would have already been delivered a few days ago. Although he hated the chance of speaking to his mom again so soon, especially after the last bombshell she'd dropped on him, he'd have to go past his old house to get to Kyle's anyway.
Wow, he'd actually said it. His old house.
"Shit." Stan was staring off into the distance, not paying attention to his surroundings.
"What was that, Stan?" Randy asked innocently.
"You shouldn't swear, Stan, mm'kay? Only bad kids swear."
Stan nodded with a forced smile and turned around so he could go back to the guest room and find something clean to wear before he barged into Kyle's house.
Stan and Kyle were lounging on Kyle's bed comparing classes when he came up with the idea. Kyle was on his laptop, sitting cross-legged across from Stan, who was leaning against the headboard. They'd been avoiding discussing the recent news because Stan knew even Kyle had no idea how to fix it, which was new for Kyle. After all, Stan wasn't known for being the problem-solver within his group of friends.
"Shit," Stan said suddenly. He was chewing on his thumb nail, deep in thought.
"What?" Kyle glanced up from the computer screen and bit his lip.
"Does he look like me?"
Kyle's forehead wrinkled. "What, Craig?"
"Yes, Craig. For fuck's sake, Kyle, why didn't anyone ever notice we were like...twins or something?" Hs eyes widened and he sat up straighter in bed, beginning to freak out.
"You're only half brothers!" Kyle exclaimed.
"No, I know that! I meant that we look exactly alike!" Stan grabbed at Kyle's laptop in frustration, but Kyle tugged it back in surprise.
"What are you doing?"
"Give me your laptop for a minute."
"Why?"
"Because I need to go on Facebook, Kyle."
"You hate Facebook. Now what the fuck do you mean you and Craig look exactly the same?"
Stan ignored him, frantically typing on the keyboard until he was logged in. He put the computer flat on the bed and then craned his neck down to squint his eyes at something.
"What are you doing?" Kyle asked, trying to peer over Stan's shoulder.
"C'mon, Kyle. Look at that! Shit, we could be twins!"
"Are you on Craig's Facebook profile?"
"...No."
"But that's Craig."
"...Yeah."
"With his hamster."
"...It's a guinea pig."
Kyle sighed in frustration and placed the laptop back on his lap, leaning in to study the picture. He sat staring for a full minute before glancing back at Stan and repeating the whole process again.
"Well?" Stan asked, chin resting in his palm.
"I mean, you guys don't look that similar, really."
"Kyle."
"So, yeah, you both have black hair, but so what?"
"I'm like the only other kid in South Park who have black hair."
"Yeah, but Stan, that's only because your Dad has black-"
"..."
"I'm sorry."
"Is that the only similarity you see?" Stan asked seriously, choosing to ignore the last comment.
"Basically, yeah."
"Basically?" Stan's eyebrows rose.
"Well, you both sort of have thick eyebrows. But that's not, like, a major thing."
"What the fuck, Kyle?" Stan asked quietly, dropping his head into Kyle's bedspread.
"Look- you guys look totally different. I mean, you have a smaller nose than him. Plus, Craig never shaves so he always has stubble." Kyle thought for a moment. "Although, your eye colors do look a little alike."
"Is that all?"
"Your eyes are blue and his are more green, I meant!"
Stan raised his hand up in the air so he could flip him off, not wanting to keep his head up after realizing it felt so much more comfortable down.
"Well, now you really look like Criag," Kyle said, clearly bemused. "From here I can only see the back of your head and with you flipping me off like-"
"Shut up, Kyle."
"Alright, alright. Do you want anything to drink? I'm going down for some soda."
"Yeah, you got any Arsenic?"
"That's hilarious."
"I try."
A week later Randy had called before coming home - reassuring Stan he had good news and hadn't been out all day drinking. Stan had been awkwardly sitting on Mr. Mackey's couch with him watching Jeopardy. The past few nights this had been Stan's normal routine - trying to sit far enough from Mr. Mackey on the couch so that he wouldn't feel uncomfortable, but close enough to reach the Chex Mix in between them. Mr. Mackey would guess wrong answers more often than correct ones - and would proceed to swear under his breath almost every time. It frustrated Stan, like so many other things that adults did, how Mr. Mackey would tell Stan not to swear regardless of how he himself spoke. And he didn't want to hear that 'do as I say, not as I do' bullshit.
When Randy's truck had pulled in, a far cry from the pristine Hybrid he'd once owned, Stan had hoped Randy had found a nice apartment for them. He hadn't been paying attention to Jeopardy, wondering whether or not it'd be a long drive from school and how many rooms there'd be. If it was far, would Kyle mind driving over? What if Kenny didn't have gas money?
Randy swung open Mr. Mackey's front door, walking in with a smile. "Good news, Stan. Let's go to the kitchen." He took off his jacket and whipped it over the back of one of the kitchen chairs, resting his hands over the back of it for stability. "So, I know what you're thinking."
"I'm thinking you found an apartment - something small, not anything too expensive." Stan walked over to the other side of the kitchen, originally set on finding something to eat from the fridge.
"Well," Randy began, "No. But I have better news." He paused, pursing his lips.
Stan immediately became concerned, because with Randy this could be something awful. He was probably going to say he had invested everything he had with a new company that some asshole had scammed him into joining. Or worse, had gone to see Sharon and convinced her to let them move back - Stan pleaded silently that that wouldn't be the case.
"What kind of news?" Stan asked tentatively, letting his arm rest on the kitchen counter beside the fridge.
"I finally called Elizabeth Tucker to let her know that your mother knows about our previous, um, dating-"
"Affair," Stan corrected.
Randy lowered his eyes. "Yes, well. I told her to be careful of letting her husband know because I figured Sharon would tell him just to mess with me."
Stan couldn't necessarily believe that wasn't in his mother's nature, because it kind of was. He nodded tensely, trying to calm himself down. It couldn't be anything that bad. After all, with everything he'd gone through just to keep his dad off the streets, what could get worse?
"But she told me he already knew and was kicking her out of the house!" Randy was grinning ear to ear and seemed to be expecting a congratulations.
Stan stared. "Why would that ever be a good thing?"
"Stan, now we have someone we can move in with to get us on our feet! And the best news is, that kid from your grade-"
"Oh, you mean your other son?" Stan asked with a blank expression.
Randy wisely choose to ignore this. "He'll be staying with us as well, so you'll have a friend your own age in the place we'll get!" He seemed genuinely excited about this, but this wasn't the kind of little thing Stan could just pass off to make Randy happy.
"You want to move in with the woman you secretely impregnated before you and her were both married to other people? Not to mention drag me and your other son - who you know nothing about - into this? And force the two of us to live together? And who do you expect to tell Mom that this is your plan?"
Randy froze. "Don't look at it like that, Stan. Listen, this could be good for us-"
"How, Dad?" Stan stood waiting. "What's the real reason you want to move somewhere with them?"
Randy didn't speak for a moment, staring off into the distance with a frown. "I - Stan, I understand if this means you want to move back in with your mother and sister-"
"What does?"
"Stan, I'm sorry to tell you this, but I never really lost contact with Elizabeth after all these years. I loved your mother so much when we were just married - I hadn't dated Elizabeth for very long before then. But I knew her boy was mine and I-" Randy stopped, turning his eyes to the kitchen table as his right hand made a loose fist on the back of the chair. "A few years back I couldn't take it anymore. I asked to see her and talk about him."
Stan waited patiently, leaning against the fridge for support.
"I didn't mean for it to happen-" Randy broke off, eyes glassing over. He looked ready to cry, but Stan was too afraid of what was coming next to say anything comforting. "We started seeing each other again. Things were so bad with your mother and Elizabeth wouldn't leave her husband, so I kept drinking and drinking." His voice quivered and he had to clear his throat. "I never meant to let you and Shelley see me like that, I didn't know what I was doing."
Stan nodded, too confused to speak at first. "That's - I mean, I'm sorry I just assumed you were drinking just to drink. But - you can't just expect me to not care that you cheated on Mom this year. Jesus, just last month-"
"Stan, this is more serious than I'm stressing." Randy looked back up to Stan finally. "I completely understand if you'd rather be back with your mother and sister, but I hope you'll try and support me." He paused, hands slipping off the chair's back and one reaching up to wipe his eyes. "I asked Elizabeth to marry me, that's why I want us to live with her and her son."
Stan felt his whole world spin on it's axis, vision slipping from straight across to a total right angle as he felt his body warm. He braced himself pathetically against the fridge and tried to stay upright. He never imagined that his situation could get any more complicated or frightening. It was as if everything he'd ever been told was something to placate him and to keep him docile.
"Stanley?" Randy asked, stepping closer to Stan and leaving behind the kitchen table at last.
Stan had to hold up a hand to signal his father to stay back a minute, regaining complete balance as he felt the blood drain out of his head.
"I'm gonna start going to AA meetings next week if that's what you're-"
"I think I need a minute. I'll be in the shower." Stan blew out a large breath and slowly walked out of the room, trying to ignore Mr. Mackey's obvious stares. How many times could his whole life change before he just stopped moving along with it?
The next few days that followed were spent pushing his Dad out of the house and into looking for apartments every morning before school - every morning feeling a little more optimistic because he hadn't seen Randy drink thus far. Still, he couldn't help but feel helpless during school. He and Kyle had talked about the situation concerning Craig's family at least ten times and Stan felt like he was getting nowhere. Kyle knew the new information as well. Stan had told him that same night, walking out into Mr. Mackey's backyard for his second emotional crisis out by the garden to call Kyle. Now, when Kyle would clear his throat at lunch and jerk his head in Craig's direction, Stan would just ignore him and pretend to be utterly consumed with eating his tuna sandwiches.
"You have to tell him soon before he finds out from some random idiot."
"Kyle, I don't want to talk about this again. It's too fucking-"
"What are we arguing about?" Kenny asked, interested - as he always was - in prying into other people's business.
"Nothing," Stan sighed. He carefully took out his wallet and pulled out a dollar for Kenny. "Here, go buy fries or something."
"Are you seriously buying me off so you can keep a secret from me?" Kenny asked, slamming his hand down onto the table with an expression of mock anger and disappointment. "Because in that case, one dollar is not nearly sufficient." Kyle tossed him another one dollar bill, shoulders squared and lips pressed firmly together. Kenny shrugged. "Yeah, that's about right." He strode away in that way that made all the girls in the cafeteria, and probably a third of the guys, stop whatever they'd been doing to stare. By now, Stan had gotten used to entering a room with Kenny only to notice that all prior conversations stopped and all eyes flew up to them. By association, Stan and Kyle had good street cred. People assumed that Kenny McCormick and all his infinite wisdom on the lifestyle choices of drugs and sex must only befriend those who are just as rebellious. Not that Stan didn't drink and smoke too, because he did. It was just weird for people to expect it. He assumed Kenny's clothes didn't help the matter either - he wasn't still dirt poor because he worked at the local hardware store every day after school and on most weekends - but he didn't shop and therefore had to wear the same skin tight and dirty wife beaters and loose-fitting jeans with the knees always slashed open every day.
Once he'd left, Stan angrily pushed his sandwich away from him. "I can't do it. I know I should, before he hears it from Cartman or something, but I can't. I don't care how huge of an asshole Craig is, I still don't wanna fuck up his life."
"It's gonna fuck up his life regardless." Kyle was trying to guilt trip Stan, using his signature puppy dog eyes to make Stan reconsider. However, Kyle's puppy dog eyes hadn't much worked for Stan since middle school, although Kenny still groaned when Kyle pulled out all the stops.
"What do you want me to do, Kyle? Just stroll right up to him at his lunch table and say - 'Hey, Craig. Look, I know you've hated me ever since elementary school, but we're actually related. You wanna talk out how my alcoholic dad is also your's and maybe hug afterwards'?" Kyle rolled his eyes and sighed while Stan picked his sandwich back up to throw away.
"You have to being fucking kidding me." Kenny was back at the table, standing at the other end with an open mouth, a carton of soggy school fries in his hand. "No fucking way. No fucking way!"
"Shut up, you fucking idiot!" Stan shouted, frustrated. Nobody was supposed to know, not Stan himself, and certainly not Kyle. And Kenny knowing could never be good - he gossiped almost more than Bebe, who was head cheerleader.
"How are you related to Tucker?" Kenny sat back down across from Stan and Kyle, mouth still agape and was neglecting his fries completely. "Shit, tell me it's by marriage."
Stan could only stare back at Kenny, not blinking and not moving. From beside him, Kyle just shook his head no for Kenny's sake. Kenny had to let his chest fall out on the table to take that information in, covering his mouth with one tight fist. "Third cousins twice removed?"
"Half brothers," Kyle supplied for Stan, who obviously still was in no mood to discuss it.
"Holy fuck." Kenny's eyes widened extensively. "That can't be true."
"Look at their hair," Kyle suggested, pointing over to where Craig sat. As per usual, Craig sat between Clyde and Tweek, with Token and Red just across from them. Craig's hair was as it always was, which was to say tangled at the roots so it always fell over one eye and looked slightly dirty. He was wearing a green jacket made of some kind of soft fabric. Tugging at the strings, he effectively pulled his hood up around the back of his neck until it bunched up there completely.
"Don't fucking point!" Stan yanked Kyle's arm down quickly. "Jesus, nobody can know about this or the engagement."
"Well, you better tell him soon. We all know how Kenny is with secrets." Kyle muttered this with some kind of dark undertone, looking at their table top and not at either of his friends.
"Hey, fuck you." Kenny dropped his hand back onto the table, away from his mouth. "There's plenty I know about you that I don't tell people. And what the fuck did you just say about an engagement?"
"Eat your fries." Kyle ordered sharply, giving him a look of pure menace, which led Stan to question whether or not these supposed things were things Stan knew too or not. They had to be, right?
"Stan, when did you even find out? I don't fucking get it - your dad slept with your mom and Craig's mom in the same year? I mean, all the seniors are the same age give or take a few months." Kenny looks completely miffed and slightly disgusted, probably thinking about Randy having sex with both women. Stan wishes to never have picured those mental images either, but he can't say he hasn't.
"I never even thought about it like that," Stan said to his hands on the table, blowing air heavily out of his mouth. He glanced back over to Craig's table, where Tweek had apparently spilled a milk carton. Craig was watching Tweek mop up the spill with jittery fingers while Token cheerfully assisted, not at all bothered by the incident. Stan figured with Tweek's perpetual state of shaking he must do a lot of clumsy things that require attending to.
Kenny clapped Stan heartily on his arm, not being able to reach his back from across the table. "Sorry, bro. Maybe you should just give it some time. You know, wait it out."
"If he waits much longer, someone else will find out and they'll get to Craig first." Kyle shook his head angrily, trying to stare Stan down without much affect.
"How long have you known?"
"About two weeks," Kyle supplied.
"But we're the only ones who know, right?" Kenny bit at his lip, eyebrows narrowing. "You didn't tell anyone before me, did you?"
"We didn't even tell you, dumbass." Stan stood up once more, not having the chance to throw away his lunch beforehand. On the way to the trash can, dividing the cafeteria into two halves - people like Stan versus people like Craig - he caught Craig's eye. He supposed the cafeteria was sort of structured out in a very articulate way. He'd never given much thought to the layout before, but it was almost laughably funny now. On his own side, there were the athletes - all football, basketball, soccer, hockey players, and swim team members. Plus the cheerleaders. They didn't all sit by sport, but they were all there nonetheless. Some of the more political students sat on the same side, but the more hipster-y and environmentalist-y ones didn't. For instance, the table behind Craig housed a mixture of art students - whether photography, drawing, or painting - plus the student journalists and the other half of the political kids. The table beside that one held the Goth kids and some of the more well-known druggies. Every school had them. The really pro gay kids sat together with some of the artsy types and extreme liberals to discuss the state of the union or whatever the fuck was big news lately. The Catholics and extreme Conservatives sat in the corner of Stan's side of the cafeteria, the only teenagers in South Park who purposefully tried to adopt the slow country drawl that Kenny had been gifted with upon birth. It was ironic since Kenny was so opposite from their morals - he openly flirted with both genders and exhibited a total lack of regard for religion of any nature.
Standing still by the trash can to let himself linger on Craig's table for longer than necessary, Stan didn't really understand why he'd concluded that Craig was responsible for all actions of the other half of the room and himself for his own half. Craig didn't care for many people over there. Sure, he'd been tight with Clyde, Token, and Tweek for years. But that didn't mean he needed them. They say no man is an island, but Stan bet Craig could be if he wanted to. Nevertheless, every kid on that half for the most part could relate to Craig. They were the kids with the same messed up family types as Stan's half - except that they were also the ones who didn't care to hide that fact from anybody else. They got piercings as a memento to broken homes and tattoos to let everyone know just how much they didn't care. Stan knew he wasn't one to want everyone to know his business like that. He couldn't speak for all of the people from his half, but he knew that they didn't wear their emotions on a sleeve. Apart from maybe Kenny, that is.
Craig's gray-green eyes flicked up to Stan, but he didn't bother to keep them there. The next second Clyde was clapping Craig on the back and laughing. Stan couldn't bother to wonder what had happened - he'd probably never understand the dynamics of any group but his own. All his life he'd only known how to interact properly with Kyle, Kenny, and Cartman. For Kyle, everything is to be said and done gingerly. For Kenny, you have to pretend to not care to make him feel like he's not being smothered. For Cartman, you have to tell him off at every chance you get because he takes everyone for granted and believes that they'd never quit being his friends. They probably wouldn't Senior year anyway, but he doesn't need to know that.
He had no idea how to be friends with anybody else. Even with Wendy, who he'd stopped dating late Sophomore year, things hadn't ever been easy. Wendy was so much smoother than he was - nothing phased her anymore and Stan couldn't keep up with that level of relaxation. She didn't want to do anything, even talk, and never wanted to leave the house. Stan loved her, but he couldn't do that anymore. It was making him too much of a hobbit and he missed being outside - even if that meant having snowball fights with Kyle, Kenny, and Cartman in the thirty degree weather, pants sopping wet up to his knees because of the snow. Now Wendy sat with Butters and Red - at Craig's table - her sloppy braids with only the ends tightly coiled and flowing black tank tops saying all she had to say for her. He wondered if they'd never broken up whether or not he would be friends with Craig now too.
Sitting back down at his table, Stan jumped in on the conversation Kyle and Kenny were having.
"You can't fucking tell anyone until Stan mans up."
"Not even Bebe?" Kenny asked, palm covering one complete side of his face so his open mouth was only partly visibly.
"Especially not Bebe! Fuck, Ken, she'll tell the entire Senior class." Kyle opened up his hands while they rested on the table to suggest that Kenny was a dumbass.
"Piss off, Kyle. I can keep a secret."
"Like when for example?"
"I never told anyone about last Friday, did I? Not Bebe, not Butters, not even Stan." He smirked lightly, eyes turning up at the corners. Kyle swallowed heavily and looked at his hands.
"Tell me what?" Stan asked, falling down into place beside Kyle.
Kenny spoke for Kyle - shrugging. "That I agree. This engagement Kyle just told me about makes things messier. Don't pussyfoot around this, Marsh."
"Christ, you guys. This is hard, okay?"
"That's what she-" Kenny started, smiling a toothy grin.
"Creative," Stan mocked.
"Not really," Cartman corrected, joining them just as the bell rang. As they fell in step together, Stan went to crane his neck to see if he could spot Craig. Cartman's huge chest blocked out a fair bit of the room, but Stan wasn't sure if that actually angered him or not.
Last period was Music Tech, which Stan had with Craig, was the class he'd been dreading all day. Every period he had after lunch was spent being harassed about the Craig situation from not only Kyle, but Kenny as well. Walking into the computer lab, which was arranged in a large circle with the teacher's desk in the middle, Stan winced when he saw Craig take his normal seat farthest from the door. Craig's seat was right in front of the window, overlooking the parking lot, which was currently being shoveled. The sun was melting the small amount of snow still left from the previous night, so Stan assumed the rest of the week wouldn't be too cold either. But you never knew with South Park.
He should just get it over with this period. Even if things went really badly, it was last period. That meant, if worse came to worse, Stan could race outside and go home before having to deal with Craig's probable fit. He'd seen Craig in a fight before - all elbows and knees - and he didn't want to know what that felt like firsthand. Stan was too much of a passive aggressive person to want to punch anyone most days, though he would admit to violent daydreams on occasion.
He sat down beside Craig and grimaced when Craig whipped his head around to give him a death glare. "You lost, Marsh?"
"Just thought a change of scenery might be good." He dropped his backpack on the floor between his rolling chair and Craig's, pretending to feel comfortable.
"Haven't seen you up this close since Peru."
"You like to hold grudges, don't you?" Stan turned his body around so the chair accidentally went with him, the legs bumping into the legs of Craig's chair. Craig glared more.
"It's my natural reaction to being ripped off." Craig rolled his chair as far as he could away from Stan while still being able to use the keyboard to login.
"Is the money all you care about? I'll buy you coffee after school."
"Funny, Marsh." Craig didn't like to use many syllables if he didn't have to. Stan resented that, it made getting inside his head a hell of a lot more difficult. He flipped Stan off, but that was his typical behavior.
"You like Harbucks, don't you?" Stan asked, still staring at Craig, although Craig seemed to be enthralled with his desktop. Their were only five or so icons and the wallpaper was the blank one computers came with. Fascinating.
"You're fucking serious?" Craig rolled his chair back around, hair falling back over his left eye in thick strands. His black hair looked thick, but not shiny. It looked like he didn't wash it much.
"Yeah."
"Look, no offense, but I'd rather not."
"It's important," Stan pleaded. His hands were clasped in his lap, lips pursed while he waited.
"You're kind of frightening me, Marsh."
The rest of the period was uneventful. Maybe tomorrow he'd try again. Meanwhile, Stan tried not to stare at Carig from the corner of his eye. Craig spent the period with his huge black headphones plugged into the computer, hand stuck into the roots of his hair, fingernails black with dirt. Stan didn't succeed.
The next day in History with Kenny - not Kyle, because he was stuck in some hardcore AP class with Wendy and the other kids who might someday make it somewhere in life - shit went down. His teacher droned on for the first half of the period with the same listlessness as per usual. Until, that is, the whispers of the kids from the back of the room slowly moved up the rows to the front of the room. Some phones buzzed and some beeped innocently quietly, but all the same, everyone was being fed something important via cell phones. With about twenty minutes left until lunch period, the small murmurs from the kids in the back started, and it only excelled from there.
The back two rows were filled up by the druggie kids who slept through half the period and texted through the second half, or vice versa. Sometimes they scratched genitals or drug references into the desks with pens, but still did little to applaud. As the rows progressed, including Stan and Kenny's middling point, the class' average rose. The front row kids were the ones who did all of their work, but they weren't Honors students. They still texted and swore, just not openly or with pride.
When the halfway point of the period hit, the kids in the back had buzzing phones. Then, murmuring. Then, phones were craned to hold out for the kids in the next row to confirm some sort of suspicion. Next, some of the people in the middle whipped around to ask what had happened. Stan hadn't noticed at first - it was faster than most gossip spread, but not drastically. Then, Kenny's phone vibrated in the pocket of his ragged acid wash jeans. He checked to make sure the teacher had his back turned, then peered at the screen.
"Shit." His hand flew up went to cover his mouth, elbow almost missing the desk's edge and knocking his arm out of balance.
"What?" Stan asked.
"Stan, you're not - fuck." He just shoved the phone into Stan's lap from under his desk. Shaking his head, he kept his focus on the board. While his hand lifted up to read the message, he could feel eyes on him. Whispers were just starting to reach the front row kids. His hands shook.
FWD: marsh and tucker are gonna be step brothers. don't tell anybody, they're not even supposed to know.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck." Stan shoved the phone back into Kenny's lap, chest tightening. "How'd they know? I can't believe this is happening."
Kenny turned to give Stan a sympathetic expression. "I'm sorry, man."
"I should have told him yesterday."
"Why didn't you?" Kenny asked, confused. "I thought you were going-"
"I tried! The asshole wouldn't talk to me."
By now, most everyone in the room was staring, unblinking and fascinated. Stan pinched at the bridge of his nose, a bad habit he'd taken to in elementary school that had never worn off.
"He has to know by now."
"Stan-"
"You didn't, right?"
"No! I swear I fucking didn't."
"And it wouldn't be Kyle. Do you think someone overheard us?" Stan sighed, trying to cover his face the best he could from the class without having to shout out for them to stop fucking staring. Clyde and Tweek were just a couple seats down from them, but Stan couldn't bear to uncover his face to look for a reaction.
"Ken, are they - are Clyde and Tweek-"
"Yeah."
"Shit."
When the bell rang, Stan saw Clyde and Tweek coming up to him, so he ducked out of the room as quickly as he could without losing Kenny. It'd be one thing to run into Craig in the hallway with Kenny and have to risk being beaten up with no chance for recovery. It'd be another to go in alone without Kenny there to save him if need be. Stan liked to think he was reasonably strong - he had a good build and played football - but he'd never been in a fight before and didn't want to start now.
Especially when he'd tried, he'd really tried to tell Craig yesterday.
He made sure Kenny was solidly at his side as he walked down the hallway, already feeling defeated. He saw a lot of his classmates staring - even the ones not in his grade - but nobody at this point even seemed to bother to hide the fact. Stan assumed it was too crazy to even care about being embarrassed by staring. If it were any two other guys maybe Stan would feel the same. He probably would.
He tried to remember if, on their way to lunch from the History wing, he usually passed by Craig or not. He couldn't. Regardless, Craig would be at lunch. Stan shuffled into the cafeteria with heavy feet, dread seeping through his body with each step. Kyle was waiting with a tapping foot at their usual table, eyes darting to the left and right repeatedly. He looked how Stan felt.
"Should you, you think, try to find him?" Kenny asked.
"He'll kill me." Stan couldn't sit down, his legs felt like jello. If he tried to throw them over the bench to sit they'd probably land him backwards on the disgusting tile floor, used napkins and all.
"You're on the fucking football team, Stan." Kyle voiced. "You shouldn't be worried about that. You should be worried about him being overwhelmed by everyone suddenly knowing something about him that he didn't even know until today."
Kenny sat down across from Kyle, sinking down and peering over to the right to check on Craig's table. "You can take that loser, bro. He can take a joint better than a fist any day. I say go for the nose."
"You gonna punch me now, Marsh?" Craig teased, annoyingly blase voice - even now - getting on Stan's nerve. He turned around on his heel, holding in a breath.
"We should talk." Craig's eyes were dark, giving away the anxiety Stan knew Craig had, although his voice didn't seem tense yet.
"Yeah." Suddenly, Stan was the one with short answers.
"And don't think I didn't hear that insult, McCormick." Kenny raised a brow, but said nothing, kicking Kyle gently under the table to stop his tapping foot.
Stan followed Craig out of the cafeteria to the back of the school, the spot of the parking lot where most teachers who'd worked there for ten years or so got the closest spots. Stan didn't look at Craig for a minute, still feeling like he was going to fall over any second. He couldn't help playing over their exit in his head, all the looks, even from the most chill kids on either side.
The voices had muffled as they'd passed, then they'd started back up again.
Craig sighed and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, digging them out of his back pocket. He was one of those kids who wore their cigs obviously in their skinny jean pockets like something to be proud of. Not that Stan was ashamed he smoked - just afraid his Mom, at least before now, would have found out. He offered Stan one, but Stan couldn't keep his hands from shaking. He played it off like he was cold without a jacket on, folding his arms over his chest and sticking his hands under his armpits.
Lighting up, Craig just kept staring at Stan without saying anything. Eventually he flicked the cigarette and glanced to the tar under their feet before looking back up to Stan.
"If you're wondering how they know - that's my fault." Stan cleared his throat tightly, looking at the bricks to the back of the building.
"Wait, you knew?" Craig's hand dropped back down to his side and burnt a spot onto his jeans. He seemed unaffected by this, teeth snarled. "You already knew? For how fucking long?"
"I tried to tell you yesterday. About two weeks. I meant to-"
"You really knew." Craig shook his head, chin down to his chest and started pacing back and forth with the length of maybe three feet. Stan stopped being worried Craig would deck him when Craig stopped pacing after a minute, taking slow drags from his cigarette.
"I'm thinking someone heard me talking to Kyle and Kenny at lunch and had a field day with it."
"No," Craig said. "I told Token to text it to Clyde, but he hit 'Contacts' instead. Said he was really sorry, if that helps."
Stan stood mystified until he could process it. "Who told you?"
Craig snorted, his face going dark and blank. He backed up into the wall and slid himself down it until he was on his ass, knees pressed up into his chest. "Me and my sister heard your Dad talking to my Mom on the phone last night."
Stan nodded slowly, still processing. He sat down against the wall a foot away from Craig, holding back a breath.
"I meant to tell you yesterday last period."
Craig's chin pointed out at Stan as his head whipped around. "That's why you asked me to go get coffee."
Stan nodded, feeling guilty.
"That's nice, Marsh. Thought you just wanted in my pants, but now I see that you were trying to save me from this shit."
Stan tried to stop a grin from spreading across his face, but failed. "What can I say? I'm a gentleman." Then, he realized that they were actually related and banter that even resembled something sexual in the slightest wasn't acceptable. Stan was so thankful that only Kyle and Kenny knew the whole story.
"Wait, do Clyde and Token and Tweek know that-"
"No. Do Kyle and Kenny and Cartman-"
"Not Cartman."
Craig breathed out a sigh of relief. "Good fucking thing. The last thing we need is Cartman to spread that around."
"He'll never hear it from me."
"I can't believe they're getting married. That's so fucked up," Craig said, trailing off. "What does that even mean for us?"
"We'll end up living together." Stan pressed his heels into the tar until it hurt. Everything kept getting progressively more insane and he wasn't sure exactly what to do to help the situation.
Craig nodded solemnly, face blank. "They already all know about our parents, but they don't have to know about-"
Stan stuck out his right hand so fast it almost blew out the flame on Craig's cigarette. "Deal?"
Craig snorted again, bringing the cigarette up to his mouth and pursing his lips around it so he could use his right hand to shake and his left to stick his lighter in his front pocket. He squinted in the sun - the snow was there in small portions, but the sky was open and bright. Stan shook Craig's hand tightly, fingers getting colder by the minute.
Craig was right regardless - if it wasn't anybody's business that they were going to become step-brothers, then it sure as hell wasn't their business to know that they were technically already half-brothers. Thank fuck he'd only told Kyle and Kenny - and that Craig's friends didn't know. He knew he couldn't trust Cartman with something so huge and he definitely didn't know Tweek, Token, and Clyde enough to trust them with it. Stan dropped his hand back to his side, feeling glad that Craig at least had already known before it had started spreading like wild fire.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you as soon as I knew - I just thought it'd fuck up your life."
Craig cocked an eyebrow in a way that made Stan's body tense. "It's gonna fuck up my life regardless."
"That was Kyle's point." Stan laughed quietly.
"That must be why he's in all those AP classes."
"So, we should probably go in before we miss the bell," Stan considered. He really didn't want to go back in to face all the eyes again, but he realized he didn't have much choice. Craig just nodded with his cigarette perched between his lips again, pushing off going back inside. If Stan could be more relaxed, he'd love to let himself procrastinate some.
Craig stood, not bothering to dust off all the grass and dirt on the back of his jeans. Stan would mention it, but he doubted Craig would care. Stan made a move for the door, but Craig held up one finger. Dropping his cigarette butt and stamping on it until it looked to be lodged into the tar, Craig remained silent. Stan opened the door and went in first, leaving one hand on it to hold it open for Craig. Thankfully, not everyone looked. A large majority of the cafeteria seemed to be enjoying their food or quietly pretending to in order to look as though they weren't paying attention. Stan hoped it was dying down.