Every Small Town Has Secrets
Chapter One: You Give Up Your Soul 'Til You Breakdown
By: Jondy Macmillan
A/N: To my knowledge, there isn't a slash story about the parental units of the SP boys on this site. If there is, my bad. I'm still writing this. This is going to center mostly around Gerald/Stuart, with undertones of Gerald/Randy. Of course, it's not AU, so we all know how it's going to end- Gerald/Sheila, Stuart/Carol, and Randy/Sharon. I'm making up a few of the first names of other parents in later chapters, but most of them I got off Wikipedia. If you don't like it, don't read it.
Disclaimer: I don't own South Park. I think that's rather obvious. If you don't, you probably shouldn't be on this site.
"My life is shit," the man at the bar groaned, slamming his fist hard into the glossy counter in front of him.
The bartender frowned at him. Any damages incurred on his watch were likely to be taken out of his paycheck.
"I'm sure that's not true," he murmured sympathetically, debating whether or not to give the very drunk man another drink. Would it make the violence worse, or act as a magical cure all?
"It is," the dark haired man retorted, staring belligerently up at him through red rimmed, bloodshot eyes.
Another man sat at the end of the bar. He was about to walk over and ask the first what was wrong. They were friends now, despite everything that had happened between them. He shifted his tie and stood, ready to offer drunken commiseration.
He didn't get that chance. The dark haired man lifted his head at the sound of a bell meant to alert the bartender to new customers. In walked a guy the bartender knew well.
"Stuart," he droned, "Didn't I tell you not to come back in here until you could cover your tab?"
Stuart McCormick slammed forty bucks down on the counter, "I paid. Do me up."
Rolling his eyes, the bartender went about the task of trying to find the most notorious drunk in South Park a beer.
"You!" the dark haired man roared, making Stuart jump.
"Me! Randy, what'd I do?" he yelped.
"Your son," the dark haired man, Randy Marsh, slurred, "Your son's such a douchebag."
Stuart snorted, "Speak for yerself, Marsh. Kenny's got more to offer than yer boy any day."
The man at the end of the bar listened, interested. He had to stay put. He and Stuart didn't get along.
Randy just moaned something incomprehensible. Stuart waited patiently for his beer to get delivered from the all too wary bartender. He waited for the hiss of the bottle being opened. He waited to take a long swig of the brew. Then he asked, "What'd my son do, anyway?"
"Your son. Your son kissed-"
"Please don't tell me Kenny kissed yer boy's girlfriend," Stuart exclaimed, horrified, "I told 'im not to mark his territory that way."
"N-no," Randy muttered, too drunk to handle talking without stumbling over the words a little, "K-K-Ken- your kid, he kissed my son's best friend."
That made the man at the end of the bar perk up. What?
Randy Marsh's son was Stan. Stan's best friend was common knowledge. Everyone knew he was attached at the hip to…
Stuart caught sight of him. And he laughed. This dry, humorless laugh that he'd developed somewhere while the man at the end of the bar was in college. It made his heart thud dully in his chest. He was guilty. He'd given Stuart that laugh.
"You hear that, Broflovski? Yer boy's a faggot, just like you."
Randy turned, stared, "Gerald?"
The man at the end of the bar blinked and said, "Kyle kissed Kenny?"
Randy nodded, slowly, not able to process the new face, "And Stan said…Stan said that he loves him. Your son's a slut."
Gerald bristled, finally leaving his dark corner to join the two other men, "My son is nothing of the sort. It's not my fault Stan has a thing for him."
"Stan does not have a thing for him," Randy announced, "He's straight! H-he's just in love with him. He'll get over it."
Stuart and Gerald exchanged a look. Love wasn't something you just got over. They knew that for sure.
"I'll talk to Kenny. It's probably just a game to 'im anyway," Stuart said, breaking their long, hard staring match. Nowadays he was always the one who broke eye contact first. If he saw Gerald coming in the street, he crossed over. If he saw him in the grocery store, which was rare, because Stuart didn't have the money for groceries, he'd ditch and run.
That was the kind of thing that love did to a man.
"Youuuu do that," Randy slurred, "And you talk to yoursh, Gerald."
"Yeah. I'll talk to Kyle," the Jewish man said, although he wouldn't do any such thing. He wasn't getting involved in his kid's problems. Not when he'd made such a mess of his own life.
"Looks like things come full circle, now don't they?" Stuart hissed as he downed the rest of his drink. He got to his feet, gathering his empty wallet and a stick of gum. Randy was collapsed on the bartop; he hadn't heard a thing.
Gerald looked away this time. He waited till the bell at the front door jingled, and then he set about the hard task of getting Randy home.
All the while his mind was somewhere else completely.
A/N: And yet another short chapter from me. I'm becoming an expert on these things. Ahem. The next chapter will not only be longer, it'll be first person. I was going to do this one in first, but I decided not to at the last second. However the rest of this story, except maybe the last chapter, will be in Gerald's POV. So…uh, tell me what you think, and review?