Once, We Were

When friendship is all we have, what happens when we refuse it?
Disclaimer: No soy el dueno de South Park... y estoy triste porque no soy. Pero un dia, espero que ser. And I had a Spanish test today, and actually wrote this as an answer ^.^
Warnings: Language, boyxboy, violence, hate stuff, heavy/dark themes, death, etc., etc.

Chapter 1: The First Step

In seven years, things change, whether or not we want them to.

In seven years, people move on, move away, and sometimes... stay still.

In seven years, people change, whether or not we want them to.

In seven years... has it really been seven?

Where was I all those years?

Where were you?

Stan's POV

I had almost forgotten the way he made me smile when I was down, the way he could say such perfect words when I was at a loss for any to say. I had almost forgotten his scent, and the spritely green of his lively eyes. I had almost forgotten my super best friend.

But, unfortunately, I had not.

The whistle sounded with a blasting "Whir" and my stomach clenched as I realized I'd arrived. I pushed my way towards the metal door, which opened spitefully to the South Park Station. I dejectedly walked off the train, my luggage in hand and my feelings locked tight. I had practiced this, made it an art; my face betrayed nothing but what I wished it to.

I took a few steps away from the boarding arena and headed slowly towards a wooden bench. Sitting down and dropping my suitcase, I folded my arms, and looked around disinterestedly. I was early, so I had time, time to think and time to try and escape. I needed a plan, and I needed money. I needed release from this damn situation.

I looked at my watch, a nervous habit, and was shocked to see that ten minutes had already passed since my arrival. It was twenty to one, and they'd be here at one, if they were on time, which they normally were. So that gave me some twenty-odd minutes, if I was lucky and they didn't come early. I grabbed my bag and rose to my feet, still plan less, yet too grief-stricken to care.

But then, of course, I heard him, and my hopes dissolved into ash.

I saw him run towards me, smiling brightly, as he enthusiastically shouted, "STAN!" I braced myself for his massive hug, which threw me off balance and nearly over. "Stan," he said again, his voice more kindred, as if he were remembering. He lifted his head and looked into my eyes. I snarled. "Get off me, Kyle."

His face fell as his arms broke apart. He stared at me oddly, like he didn't know me. His eyes widened at my new appearance, as he gave me a once-over which felt slightly invasive; I was honestly surprised he had recognized me to begin with; seven years can change a person, and I had changed greatly.

"Wow, Stan," he finally said, his tone contemplative, if not slightly confused. "I heard you had changed... but wow, Stan, I - "

I scowled at him. "Stop saying that damn name!"

A look of shock came over his face, most likely from my voice's fury. For a moment, I felt relieved, thinking I'd succeeded in making him forget. But no; his eyes slowly softened, the red of his brows relaxing as he smiled sadly. "I understand, Stan." he stated somberly. Oh, how wrong he was.

"...Whatever," I replied numbly, pushing him aside as I walked towards the tunnel. He stood a moment, unmoving, uncertain, but was brought back to motion as the train whistle blew. "Stan - wait up!" he yelled, running to catch me as I moved on. "Do you need help carrying your bags?"

"...No."

He stuttered. "All right then."

We walked down the grey walled prism in silence, a silence I was overly grateful for. I'd heard enough words to last me forever, all of them meaningless, but some dauntingly painful.

You're fault.

I shuddered violently at the unwanted thought; Kyle saw me, but didn't comment. Instead, we continued to walk, our steps the loudest sound, until we reached a dirty, grey steel door. In bold, gruesome red letters, it declared itself the "Exit." Kyle's head snapped towards me in worry as I carelessly mumbled, "If only." A look crossed his face filled with such pure pity, that it made me nauseous and livid simultaneously.

"Don't," I ordered simply. He smiled sadly once more, but nodded.

"Just remember, Stan," he began, "That they're not as ready for this as I am... try not to change their minds, because if you do, then in the end... you'll regret it."

I held back my retort, knowing deep down that he was probably right. The Brofloskis were my last chance, and if I lost them... where would I go?

In the back of my mind, I knew the answer - Back to the foster home.

But I refused to ever return there, regardless of my alternative.

I reached towards the heavy blockade and opened it slowly to the snowy outdoors. Before me was white, white, and more white; the years had taught me to love that color. But in the midst of the watery wonder, three ugly dots blurred my sense of peace. Two Jews and their Canadian son, smiling warmly at me through the cold.

I stepped towards them, and Kyle followed, but from the corner of my eye, I saw him suddenly tense. Rapidly, he unzipped his jacket, pulling it off and sprinting towards me. Before I could even ask why, he threw the jacket around my bare shoulders. He stared at me darkly, and I understood -

he was hiding the swatstika on my arm.

Ha bet no one saw that coming. For this story, Stan is sort of in his goth stage for awhile. But he has a good reason, which I'm guessing you can guess (at least part of).
Anyway, quick sum up - it's been seven years since Kyle and Stan last saw each other, and in the midst of their reunion lurks a horrible past event. Memories surface, and memories die, while Stan longs desperately for the ladder - death. I probably should have made that the summary, but oh well. Here it is instead XD

So, reviews, comments, etc., plz? It's my first SP fic, so I'm scared lol