This fic will contain spoilers for the game if you haven't played it.
It was posted first on Archiveofourown by CiceroProFacto (my account). I am reposting it, hoping for more readership and feedback.
The idea is based around an RP between black-puffball-hat and kyle-broski on Tumblr. They also have great fanart. Go check them out.
A tip for reading: ellipse marks a time shift in the same universe. Divider lines mark a flashback. The delta symbol marks a switch to the other universe.
All that said. Enjoy.
~Cicero
"Fuck! Fuck fuckity fuckfuckfuck!" Kyle huffed, hugging his arms around his chest and shivering as he came up from the freezing water.
Cartman cackled at him and continued his work, dunking Kenny. It was tradition for the boys to hang out at Stark's Pond the first night of Spring Break. Stan had begun it in middle school when they started taking different classes. It had just sort of stuck through the years- even though they'd all gone their separate ways. Now that they were in college or working, it was a reunion of sorts.
"Hey, guys," Kyle shouted over the splashing, "Bet I can still hold my breath longest?"
"Nuh- uh, Jew," said Cartman, "My money's on Kenny- I heard he's never gotta come up for air," he said grinning lewdly.
Kenny flipped Cartman off, but accepted the challenge anyway and he and Kyle took a few shallow breaths then a deep gulp and disappeared under the water. Once all the bubbles had risen and popped, Kyle was submerged in cold, dark silence and pressure. Lungs filled like balloons, he had to work a little to stay under, and it was a waste of oxygen to move around, so he dove down to find something to anchor himself. The pond was deep enough that he sank a few feet before his hands reached the bottom, releasing more bubbles. It was colder down there, but as Kyle searched for a log or branch to hold onto, he found a strange warm patch and he swam towards it.
His lungs were screaming for air as he reached it, but he could ignore that, instead focusing on the pull of a strong tide out of nowhere and the sound of splashing- perhaps Kenny going up for air, but he wouldn't chance it. Pinching his eyes open he could see Stan swimming away, hauling Kenny in tow, and Cartman's fat silhouette scrambling out of the water. Confused, Kyle reached down and grabbed a branch in the warm patch to steady himself.
It came loose in his hand and suddenly something bright flashed through the water, shocking him like a power outlet, shaking energy in his bones. He let out a mouthful of air and his feet had lost the bottom of the pond.
Air- needed air.
Choking, he kicked and thrashed, trying to find which way was up, but the bubbles he'd released were just swirling around him and the pressure of the water felt like he'd dived a hundred feet rather than ten. He clutched to the stick as if it would help, but it still felt like hours he was stuck in the dark, pressed in on all sides to the size of a pinpoint, losing control of his limbs without air, but after a moment, the bubbles rose and he was lifting, feet-first in the direction he could've sworn was down.
He flipped and pulled toward it fast, bursting up for just a second into blinding daylight and a canopy of green before his muscles gave out in shock and he was sinking again, drowning, blacking out.
δ
And suddenly the sunlight was back. Green sunlight. Blue eyes. The kind of clear blue that Hallmark card photographers would cream themselves over.
...Stan? Stan...was very close to his face, Kyle registered.
Then wracked into coughs, shoving Stan back to heave water up from his throat, vision blinking in and out as he gasped for air. And it was salvation- holy fuck, Kyle would never take oxygen for granted again. The pressure on his chest eased off after a long moment and Kyle could feel himself moving- well...being moved, muscles too weak with shock to actually do anything about it. Noises were muffled by the water in his ears, but he could make out Stan's voice in the haze, speaking as he lifted him up onto something softer than stones and mud.
Since when could Stan lift him?
"...M' Lord..." he was saying, shaking Kyle's shoulders until the water leaked from his ears. "Please wake up..." and he patted Kyle's cheek gently, and sat him up, making it impossible for him to slip into unconsciousness.
But, the air was delicious anyway, filling out Kyle's chest then his head, bringing his vision back in speckling colors. And he squinted with knit brows. What the fuck was up with the...cape and armor? And M'lord? And how long was he out? It was daylight now- it had been night at Stark's pond...and the tail end of winter...and there hadn't been these tall trees. "What're y'wearing..." he slurred.
"...I should ask you the same," Stan said, voice sounding gritty like he'd just smoked a pack of cigarettes. And, abruptly, his hand was on Kyle's thigh, sliding up his hip over the boxers he'd gone swimming in. "I've never seen these undergarments before," he mused, smiling.
Kyle slapped the hand away. Why would Stan be leaning over him looking all concerned and...touching him? Last Kyle could remember, Stan hated his guts...
But Stan just laughed at Kyle's reaction, a little awkward and giddy. "Never mind, my Lord. Did you get to the Stick?" he said, and he studied Kyle's face for a short moment before deciding he had his answer. He then leaned over Kyle and began wrapping his half-naked body up in some red robes, guiding his arms into sleeves. And, Kyle's limbs stayed limp and pliant as he watched incredulously, too weak and confused to fight him off- or ask what the hell was happening. "Nevermind, I saw the flash and look at you, you obviously got to it." He smiled with something like pride, "Let's get you dressed and we can head back..." Stan was talking mostly to himself, but he drifted off as he pulled the robes up over Kyle's chest. He dragged his fingertips up Kyle's neck to trace the round curve of his ears. A strange look came over his face; a sad smile.
And was that a...scar...across Stan's face?
"Wh's happening?" Kyle said finally, pushing himself back up onto his elbows more slowly, arms now sleeved in soft red fabric. "Stan?"
"You're okay m'Lord," Stan said, nodding at him with this freaky intense look as he finished fastening the front of the robes. "You did it," and he cupped Kyle's jaw tenderly, and all Kyle could think was thefuckthefuckthefuck on an endless stream. "You used the stick..." Then, before Kyle could stop him, Stan kissed his head and protectively pulled his face into his chest in a way that conveyed that Stan had been so fucking scared. And, Kyle was starting to see straight and get his bearings, and he noticed...Stan was soaking wet.
He had jumped in and pulled him out of the water.
That was pretty cool of him- Kyle figured he should probably thank him for that. But seriously, what the fuck? What was up with head-kissing? Where was the town? The church and the elementary school and Skeeter's Bar? M'Lord? How had it become daylight all of a sudden? And why was Stan talking about a goddamn stick?! None of this made sense...
Well...actually...
"I'm imagining this..." Kyle concluded, dragging in a shaky breath, staring over Stan's shoulder where his face was pressed into it. The forest was too surreal, too magical, and Stan- too affectionate. "That's why everyone was running, there was a flash storm and I got struck by lightening and now I'm in a coma," he said quickly, "...Underwater...ah, fuck."
Stan pulled back, holding Kyle at arm's length to study him- and really, since when was he so tan and square-jawed and scruffy? Since when did he have that big ugly scar? "...My Lord-"
"Stop calling me that!" Kyle snapped, slapping Stan's arm off again. What kinda fucked-up hallucination was this? "Why do you keep calling me that?"
Stan raised both brows. "It is your birthright."
They hadn't played Dungeons and Dragons in years, much less LARPed their games with costumes...particularly well-crafted- real battered metal and embroidered silk-costumes... This had to be in his imagination. Or a joke. Kyle held back the urge to punch Stan in the leg where he was kneeling beside him. "This isn't funny, Stan. Where the fuck are we?"
Stan's brows drew together, but he didn't try to touch Kyle again- thank fuck, "Stark's Pond..." he said slowly. "We came to use the Stick," he explained. "We needed it back so you could erase magic from our world..." And there he was, touching Kyle's ears again.
Kyle slapped the hand away a third time. "Stop!" he snapped. "Like fuck this is Stark's Pond! Where are we? Where're Cartman and Kenny?"
The bewilderment on Stan's face deepened and he backed up on his knees. "...This is Stark's Pond, m'Lord..." he implored, "...why would they be here? He betrayed us and...she's been dead for years." Stan got that strange expression again and said, "Whatever happened with the Stick in that water...please just tell me you remember..."
"Remember wh-?"
"The war...unleashing the ghosts in the mountain, the humans summoning the necromancer, your kingdom burning..."
Kyle just stared long and hard, jaw set. Stan was serious. He was using every tool in his acting arsenal to be a complete dick. It wasn't funny. "Fuck you."
Stan jolted in shock. "M'Lord-"
And then Kyle did punch him.
"Hey!"
"Fuck you!" Kyle repeated, stumbling up to his feet, still a little dizzy but recovering fast. "I could've died! I thought I was fucking drowning, Stan! This isn't funny!"
Stan followed him up to stand. "I do not mean to jest, m'Lord!"
Kyle punched him again, fist making a solid impact and Stan cursed in surprise. When Kyle went to throw another, he grabbed Kyle's wrists tightly and twisted them behind his back, arms wrapped around Kyle's middle now to hold them, faces brought way too close for comfort. "M'Lord, please..." he pleaded. And, normally, Kyle would've been able to tug free easily, but Stan's grip was too tight. And, how had he gotten so strong in the six months they'd been away at college? When had his hands gotten so rough? And his arms so big?
Kyle went to knee Stan in the groin, but he quickly side-stepped, anticipating the kick and turning Kyle around, bending him forward and jabbing the backs of his knees so he fell back to the ground. He went down easy with a gasp for breath, head spinning.
How had Stan done that? So quick...
Stan kept holding him, grip gentle but firm, "Please, Kyle, slow down," he whispered, pleading. His tone was way too gentle and...caring. It made Kyle uncomfortable. "What happened with the Stick? Tell me?"
No way this was Stan.
"Let me go," Kyle grit out, tugging his hands.
But not-Stan didn't. He just knelt behind him. "Kyle," he muttered, breath brushing against the shell of Kyle's ear.
Kyle thrashed.
"Tell me what's happened, love..."
Kyle froze.
For a long moment, they sat there in silence on their knees in the tall forest grass, surrounded by the sounds of the trees rustling and bugs chirping, not-Stan pressing some crazy fucking engraved armor to Kyle's back- wearing chainmail and a ridiculous green cloak and Kyle put in some embroidered red robe. Kyle's heart was pumping erratically, adrenaline spiking in his confusion. They waited for his mind to reboot and give him something intelligent to say, but it wasn't every day he got called 'love' by some doppleganger of his ex-best friend. His ex-best friend who hated his guts.
Kyle gave up. "Let me go," he repeated.
Not-Stan still didn't. "Please, my Lord," he said again, back to formalities. "Forgive me for using force, but...you are so changed." His voice was tight now, openly frightened. "When I saw you rise from the waves gasping for air, I knew something was wrong," the doppleganger said, "Now, you cannot seem to trust me and you respond with confusion and anger when I speak of your kingdom..." He turned Kyle around, locking both his wrists behind his back. "And your ears...if you have turnt mortal, do I not deserve to know?" he said, genuinely asking, unsure of himself. His blue eyes were hurt, heartbroken and scared.
It was a strange look on him and Kyle felt his anger receding against his better judgment. He resisted the urge to pull back so their faces wouldn't be so close. Not-Stan didn't seem to notice how he kept breaking the personal-space bubble. If anything, it just proved this wasn't reality. Stan wouldn't be getting so close to him. Not even for some fucked up joke. "If this is a prank, I swear to God..." Kyle muttered.
"It's no prank."
And, Kyle believed him. Fuck. He believed him because this was Stan. At least in some form. And, maybe Stan had become a bit of a dick- no an absolute bag of dicks- last year, but it was more likely that this was all in Kyle's head than that Stan was lying. Stan was still an honest bag of dicks- even in Kyle's imagination.
"Then, I have no idea what's going on," Kyle admitted. "I was in the water, there was a flash of light, now I'm here and I've got no fucking clue what's happening." It was probably something stupid.
"Perhaps if I show you, you will remember?"
Yes- that would help. A tour.
Kyle nodded and not-Stan loosened his grip on his hands trustingly, pulling him back up to his feet. He then kneeled and took Kyle's feet in hand to put a pair of boots on him, and Kyle allowed it, still pissed, but it would be smarter to roll with it until he could figure out what the hell was going on. If Stan wanted to play manservant in some fucked up coma dream, fine. Dream-Stan tied up his boots for him and led him to a tall horse that was tied to a tree a little ways into the forest.
And, Kyle had limited experience with riding horses...never this fast, and never in his goddamn underwear. He'd figured that once he'd realized he was in a dream, he'd be able to control what was happening, but this was...not fun. Between the pain in the crotch of riding a horse in his boxers and hugging his chest up against Stan Marsh's armored back, he was pretty sure he'd lost control of this fantasy.
As they rode, dream-Stan babbled about the mountain of 'howlers' that had stormed free and raided the seven human kingdoms, about how the elves had attempted to control them and lock them back in the mountain, but there just wasn't enough magic left at their disposal and they'd failed. He talked about the humans' desperate alliance with a Necromancer, having him reign in the howling ghosts to save the kingdoms of man, and how the Necromancer's risen dead had, in turn, destroyed the kingdom of the elves. Dream-Stan spoke of how he and Kyle had ridden out to retrieve the Stick to erase all magic from the realm- good and evil- a final measure to end the necromancer's spell...it was a sacrifice that had to be made to destroy all the undead beasts in one fell swoop. Dream-Stan explained this to Kyle like he should've known- like he had forgotten.
"Whoa!" not-Stan said abruptly, pulling on the reigns and Kyle quickly realized why.
In the distance, deeper in the forest, a full-blown battle was going down. Heavily-armored warriors, long blond hair flowing behind them as they flipped through the trees and shot arrows, were fighting two giant giant wolves. But...the wolves were missing huge chunks of flesh, rotting away as they attacked. The pointy-eared warriors seemed to have the situation under control, shooting their arrows with ropes attached, tangling up the beasts into submission.
But, "No..." dream-Stan said breathlessly. "...I thought..."
Kyle watched the ordeal in growing horror as full understanding washed over him. He'd sort of known- somewhere in the periphery of his memory, but it was too obvious now to deny. The golden designs on his red robes, the archers... The marking's on dream-Stan's helmet...they were a little different from what Kyle remembered, but similar enough to recognize. "...Marshwalker?" he tried, voice quiet and hands clenching over Stan's chest.
The Stick of Truth game? Seriously?! This was what he hallucinated of in his death-coma?
But, the Ranger was shaking his head, too caught up in his own epiphanies to notice Kyle's growing panic. "No...no, I thought you'd..." Marshwalker turned at the waist to glance at Kyle. "You said you were taking all magic from Zaron, not just your own! Why are we still fighting undead Dire wolves?"
"I didn't take away my magic, I never had any," Kyle said, voice cracking in frustration, "I didn't touch the Stick of Truth!"
The Ranger seemed to believe him, but it just deepened his confusion, blue eyes darting between rounded ears- human ears. "If you didn't touch it, how are you-" human?
Kyle shook his head, eyes locking on Stan's. "Because I'm not your King!"