Move Along
Summary: Another Style Songfic. The song is "Move Along," by The All-American Rejects. Stan/Kyle.
Disclaimer: I own neither the song nor the characters.
-.-
Go ahead as you waste your days with thinking
He'd always hated hospitals. Even more so when he wasn't the patient, when he was the one playing the waiting game. It sucked. He blamed Kenny for that one. Then again, seeing the chest of one of your best friends explode is enough to turn anybody off of anything. For him, it was hospitals. After that, he'd still spent a good deal of time in them, visiting one friend or another, or the victim of a stupid accident of either his own or Cartman's making. He hated this. Hospitals smelled funny and didn't know what food was.
When you fall everyone sins
He'd gone in that day to visit. Kenny AND Kyle were in the hospital. Kenny had gotten into another accident, and Kyle was under the effect of a rare strain of malaria that Cartman had brought back from a trip to India to try and convert the "pagan hippies" to Christianity…and give him ten million dollars. Kyle, under the delirium induced by the disease and the meds, had broken down in tears. He had another "I'm going to die" feeling, and told me he had something to get off his chest. I, of course, assumed it was that he actually DID have feelings for Wendy. What other secret could Kyle possibly have?
The kiss, of course, came as an utter shock. God, not Kyle! The last person in the world you would expect to be gay. Perfectionist neat freak, yes, but not quite on the other side of the fence. At least I'd gotten over the vomiting issue. The tests I'd volunteered for after leaving his room thankfully proved that the virus wasn't contagious anymore.
Another day and you've had your fill of sinking
I'd gone back to the hospital every day near the end of visiting hours, secretly relishing in the unrequited love my best friend had for me. I left just before the nurses would come in to administer his meds, always with a deep kiss from my Kyle. What the hell was wrong with me? I was taking advantage of him. I knew it, but I couldn't stay away.
With the life held in your
This went on for a couple weeks, until he was finally discharged from the hospital. I'd volunteered to drive him home, had helped him get his clothes back on (he was still pretty weak), and escorted him out of Hell's Pass to my car.
Hands are shaking cold
Kyle, of course, had grown accustomed to the nice, warm hospital, and shivered when I got him out into the cold Colorado air. We made tracks to my car, where the heat was cranked on full, but Kyle still huddled close to me on the front bench seat. For warmth!
These hands are meant to hold
He was undeniably closer to me in the weeks that followed. Perhaps it was the fact that I was the only one who'd visited him consistently in the hospital. Kenny…well he couldn't for obvious reasons. Cartman had actually been banned from the hospital after ripping on Kyle for being a "sick little Jew," and then questioning the competence of pretty much the entire medical staff. My mind suppressed all thought that it might be that Kyle's affections were not side effects of the disease, but genuine. So I continue to play along, string Kyle along, but try to maintain my reputation.
Speak to me, when all you got to keep is strong
I became Kyle's confidant. A sort of living diary, who would listen and not pass judgment. Paper diaries, in contrast (unless kosher diaries do odd things like this), usually won't make out with the person writing in them afterwards.
Move along, move along like I know you do
After a few more weeks of this, I noticed a series of small changes in me. Beyond the whole "Kyle-centricity" deal, I had even less interactions with girls. I had less of an interest in "mind-fucking" anyone Kenny called a seven or higher. Hell, I was pressed to even "mind-fuck" the nines and tens.
And even when your hope is gone
Maybe Kyle had a hidden effect on me after all. Was it possible that I was falling for my best friend? No. No chance in hell. Then I remembered what Kenny was always saying about Satan and his revolving relationship door. Okay, bad metaphor. Where homosexuality was concerned, any metaphor involving Hell was automatically doomed. Thus…yes.
Move along, move along just to make it through
Kyle, luckily, didn't seem to notice my increased attraction. There was no pressure on me to make it official, no pleas to take our relationship to the next level, nothing but the same hot make-out sessions after a Kyle venting session. Every Friday night, after he did all his homework for Monday (Big, fat bitch's rules).
Move along
No hurries. No rush. Just…Kyle. And me. Together.
Move along
Taking a break from all our worries, and enjoying each other.
So a day when you've lost yourself completely
Kyle accidentally took the relationship public. Rebecca Cutswald pressured him for a reason as to why he wouldn't go out with her. Instead of coming up with an inapplicable-but-still-true reason, like "you're a stupid bitch," or the ever-popular "you're not my type," my pressure-abhorring Jewboy blurts out "I love Stan." In the middle of the Cafeteria. To borrow a phrase from him, "Ay, Gevault"
Could be a night when your life ends
The venting session that night was quite intense. Especially for an "emergency" session, meaning it happened during the school week. It was so intense; I ended up giving myself up completely. I turned my back to what I thought I'd wanted in my future and committed to my Kyle. Reflecting on it the next morning, I was sore, but it was the best decision I'd ever made.
Such a heart that will lead you to deceiving
Luckily, word managed to stay contained within the school community that Stan "the straight guy" was now an item with Kyle "the hot ass." Even Cartman was quiet, though more for sinister motives than for actual generosity. Kenny just shrugged it off and asked if we'd be interested in sharing. I'd never seen a person drown in mashed potatoes before.
All the pain held in your
It was Bebe that did the blabbing. She told her mother, who told a few others, who told Mrs. Cartman, who told my mom and the BFB at Bridge night. Kyle's Mom had stormed up to his room and caught us working on Anatomy homework. We were scared shitless.
Hands are shaking cold
Sheila spent the better part of a half an hour trying to get past the word "Kyle," my Mom couldn't find anything to say even after a flip through the Bible and a Google search. When Kyle's Mom finally managed to speak, I instantly swore to myself that the next time I heard anybody call her a bitch, if they didn't have a damn good reason, they would lose at least three teeth. She made a wry joke about how nice it was that some people had the decency to "keep kosher," and congratulated Kyle for winning her a bet with the Stotches. Butters, apparently, hadn't told his parents about the time we caught him with Kenny. Who would have thought her to be the accepting type?
Your hands are mine to hold
Having officially received parental permission, we were far more open with our relationship. Not full-page ad-in-the-school-newspaper-stating-exactly-why-we-were-unavailable-to-take-people-to-prom open (it was half a page), but we did start doing more "couple-ly" things in between diary sessions.
Speak to me, when all you got to keep is strong
We beat out Wendy and Fatass for prom royalty. We secretly worked out a deal with our new college to let us live in couple's housing, for only a few hundred extra a year. In an oddly appropriate move, Kyle decided to study biology. I studied Accountancy and Economics, because science geeks always needed another genius to fill out tax forms.
Move along, move along like I know you do
I joined a small accounting firm, while Kyle went through graduate school. He confided in me that his secret hope was a way to genetically manipulate haploid cells to change types, so that we could have a child with both of our genetic information.
And even when your hope is gone
His research got him through his doctoral dissertation, and a research professorship at the same university. It was quite frustrating, however, because of the technological limitations. Waiting was always hard for Kyle.
Move along, move along just to make it through
Eventually, he'd been struck with an idea in the middle of the night and run off to the lab, leaving me the briefest of explanatory notes. It was way over my head, but made perfect sense to Kyle and his research assistants. It worked, too. We would have a child.
Move along
Ten months later, Randy Gerald Broflovski-Marsh was born (the extra month was to find the surrogate). We balanced out the fact that his last name came first by letting me pick the first name. We'd settled the argument over "Who Jr." the child would be by agreeing to name him (we checked) after our fathers.
When everything is wrong we move along
Of course, Mr(s). Garrison was incensed. (S)he figured we would've learned our lesson back in Fourth Grade when (s)he got so pissy about Mr. Slave and Big Gay Al getting married. Although…that egg experiment had been pretty retarded. We fended off these attacks for weeks, and once again our (slightly) insane old teacher had been beaten back.
When everything is wrong, we move along
Then Kyle's sickness came back. Attacking his kidneys, which had always been a weak organ for him. Cartman, unfortunately, would be unable to provide another kidney. Our only option was getting to the Fatass again and cloning a kidney for Kyle. He agreed, only on the condition that we allow him to film us for a campaign ad series (Fatass was running for Governor…) because he thought that such a famous and distinguished couple as the two of us could help him exponentially. I agreed, and six months later, thanks to some brilliant work by one of Kyle's old research assistants, Kyle received his second kidney transplant. They even kept the sample on hand in case of future need.
When all you got to keep is strong
We decided to throw in the towel and get married after this. It was, of course, a Jewish wedding. Kyle's mom insisted, despite Kyle's assertions that we'd broken plenty of glasses at home. That had gotten a laugh from Gerald and my family, but Kyle's mom would have none of it. It did make for a pretty funny DVD segment though. Especially with "Hava Nagila" playing as the soundtrack.
Move along, move along like I know you do
We were as happy as could be. Our son had inherited both of our best aspects (my athleticism, Kyle's brains), and would make a hell of a car dealer when he got out of the NFL. Kyle, for some reason, always mock-smacked me whenever I mentioned this.
And even when your hope is gone
There was only one thing that could separate us. Death attacked our household at 8:13 A.M., November 11, 2042. Cerebral hemorrhage. He was 52. Randy was 18, had just started college, and was even in one of Kyle's freshman lecture classes.
Cartman (by now a U.S. Senator with Presidential aspirations), Kenny (a successful car shop owner), our parents, Wendy, Bebe, most of the faculty at the university and even a few students came to the funeral. The next day, I was offered a professorship in economics and announced the creation of the endowed Kyle Broflovski Chair of Biology, providing research funds for a genetics professor, as that was Kyle's specialty.
Move along, move along just to make it through
Cartman managed to convince the Senate to recognize Kyle's achievements, and he was even posthumously awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom. Sometimes, it appeared, being friends with the manipulative Fatass was a good thing. It almost made me regret never voting for him.
Right back what is wrong
I still feel him over me every day, eyes shining brightly as he reads up on the new discoveries in the scientific world and laughing at me for reading the Financial Times. True to my predictions, Randy is the starting quarterback for the Denver Broncos, and I have a luxury suite at Mile High. I go to every game, with food and drink orders for two. Even though Kyle can't enjoy it, I know he's there with me.
We move along
Tomorrow will be ten years since he died. I've got to fly to Washington tomorrow to talk with President-elect Eric Cartman. No doubt he'll want me in his Cabinet, what with the piss-poor way the economy has been behaving lately. It's been a while since I looked at the economy in anything other than an academic sense. It should be…interesting…to say the least.
-.-
Notes: This is likely going to go down as one of my least favorite fics. As far as progression goes, I don't think it's that bad. It's another early morning fic, so it's got that depressive bit in it again. I really think I just picked a bad song for this one. It's supposed to be Stan reflecting on Kyle, but if you can pick that out…
Yeah, alt rock doesn't lend itself well to songfics. Karaoke within an otherwise-decently-plotted story, yes. As a stand alone Songfic, not so much. Perhaps I can write a better one to "Dirty Little Secret," but if it starts coming out like this, I'm scrapping it and going to something else.
Songs I listened to while writing this:
"Move Along" by The All-American Rejects
"Dirty Little Secret" by The All-American Rejects
"I Write Sins Not Tragedies" by Panic! At the Disco
"We Belong" by Pat Benatar (and for this, I blame that scene at the end of Talladega Nights)
"When You Were Young" by The Killers
"Chasing Cars" by Snow Patrol
"Welcome to the Black Parade" by My Chemical Romance
"The South Park Ninja Song (Let's Fighting Love)"
"Kyle's Mom is a Big Fat Bitch" from South Park: Bigger, Longer, and Uncut
"What Would Brian Boitano Do?" from South Park: Bigger, Longer, and Uncut
"La Resistance (medley)" from South Park: Bigger, Longer, and Uncut
"White and Nerdy" by Weird Al Yankovic
Oh yeah...I don't remember my biology that well. So if the reproductive cells aren't the haploids, let me know.
Leave a review; I'll get back to you sometime tomorrow afternoon. I need to go to bed desperately.
El autor