Brace Yourself

Chapter One: Don't Believe Everything You Breathe

A/N: I feel like I should have a better title for this. Actually, I feel like the titles for all my fics suck. Oh well. It's mostly because I'm listening to the song (by Ellis) while I'm writing this. It seemed appropriately emo and lovesong-ish. So yeah. This is probably going to be the shortest of my SP fics. I'm not certain yet…

High school. It's like the seventh circle of hell, only all the violent offenders are pint sized and often wearing miniskirts. I remember the day I first walked into the brand spanking new establishment that was Park County High School. The old one was ripped down by a freak tornado caused by…well, it's a long story. Let's just say it wasn't completely my fault, and that if Kenny died that day, he sort of deserved it. It's not like the bastard didn't come back to life afterwards anyway. So, that very first day of high school should have been an exciting moment for me, right? Fourteen, ready to face the world and all the upperclassmen. Ready to show everyone what Stanley Randall Marsh could do.

That's not exactly how it happened.

The summer before freshman year…the summer the new school with all its shiny lockers and brightly patterned tiled floors was being built…that was the summer I lost my best friend.

It was kind of my own fault.

We fought over the stupidest thing in the world.

We fought over me.

So in eighth grade, I was dating this girl. You've probably heard of her. Wendy Testaburger. She's the smartest girl in all of Park County. She's not just book smart, but street smart. She's got connections all over the world from the various academic conferences she visits. And she's got this way about her. Guys love it. Wendy's the kind of girl who's equally at home in earth mother peasant blouses and cleavage bearing shirts. She can pull off metallic eye shadow like those girls in posters at the mall, or she can go without makeup. She can hold an intelligent conversation, but she can also act like a total vacant whore.

I hate her.

I dated Wendy on and off from third grade until eighth. My friends called me a total chump. They said Wendy was using me. I was the star of elementary school football league. I was devastatingly handsome, according to my mother. Wendy's best friend Bebe had been known to call me a hunk of gorgeous man candy. I don't know which description I preferred. Neither, I think. The point is, I had a lot of potential. All my friends said that Wendy was using me for it, but that she didn't love me. That's why she was always so hot and cold.

Anyway, my best friend in the whole world confronted me about it, about a week after the freak tornado incident.

"Stan, why do you let her do this to you?"

This was Wendy breaking up with me. For the fifteenth time in my life. I was upset. I may have been mister big man on campus, but I guess I was always a bit of a pussy too.

"I don't know, Kyle. If you had a girlfriend, you'd probably know how it feels."

"Maybe," Kyle bit his lip doubtfully. He didn't buy my bullcrap for a second. There was a reason why he was my best friend.

"Let's talk about something different," I suggested.

"You always want to change the subject," he complained, "I think we should really just talk about this."

"I don't want to have a conversation about Wendy, dude."

"Okay. Not Wendy," he straightened up off my couch, where he'd been munching on my stash of cookies. His mother was pretty much a health food freak, so my house was kind of like his one stop shop for all things sugary, "How about we talk about football?"

God no. We'd had this talk millions of times too.

Warningly, I'd said, "Kyle."

"No, Stan. You let Wendy push you around, and ask me to leave it be. You hate football, but you're on the team anyway. You want me to leave that be too. What about the fact that too scared to talk to your parents about anything? When are you going to stop being such a pushover?"

"The only thing I don't talk to my parents about is football," I replied pointedly.

"That's a lie, Stan. I asked you about five times whether or not you could come to Florida this summer. My parents have that big huge beach house, and so far the only person who can make it is Cartman. You're going to leave me to rot in the sun for a month with that fat fuck?"

"Kenny might come," I tried.

"Kenny can't afford the plane ticket," Kyle rolled his eyes, "Which was pretty much my parents' only stipulation about you guys coming."

"I want to go."

"So ask your mom and dad!"

I frowned. It wasn't that simple, and Kyle knew it. Because…I had to go to football camp. I was supposed to start on the JV squad at Park County High School in the fall. I kept my mouth shut. No matter what I said, it wouldn't be what Kyle wanted to hear. It was true. I hated football. I only did it because my dad was so invested in it. And yeah, Wendy was a domineering, oft-times cheating ho. But…it was better having a girlfriend than not having one, right? That's what I thought at the time.

"I'll try, dude."

"No, you won't."

He was right. I wasn't going to try. I already knew my dad's answer.

"Okay. I won't," I shrugged, "It's not that big a deal."

"It is a big deal, Stan. You won't even ask, you won't even try. It's like you don't even care about me!"

"You sound like such a fag."

"Great, so now I'm a fag for wanting to spend time with my best friend. You are such an asshole."

"I'm an asshole? At least I'm not acting like a whiny little bitch for no reason."

"You always act like a whiny little bitch for no reason," he pointed out, cheeks heated.

"Aw, fuck you, Kyle."

"Well fuck you too."

He got up. He left.

It shouldn't have been enough to end a friendship. We both need some time to calm down, sure. He headed off to the timeshare beach house in Florida, with only Cartman to keep him company. I went to football camp, which was like torture. He called me once or twice, I think, but I was so busy trying to toss around pigskin that I didn't have the time to return any of his calls. I figured he'd get over it.

A month before school was about to start, I ran over to Kyle's house. His family was getting back that day. I watched him and Cartman climb out of his mom's car. I watched them smiling, laughing. Things I'd never seen them do in each other's proximity. And okay, I was jealous.

Really jealous.

I tried to go up and talk to them, but they kept talking in what sounded like code. Apparently it was part of their many new inside jokes. Not a single insult of 'jewfag' was dropped.

Cue even more jealousy.

I guess after that, I sort of dicked out. Every time I went to hang out with Kyle, I ended up hanging out with Cartman by proxy. I felt left out. I felt…I don't know. Miserable. So while Kyle kept calling, I stopped picking up. My fault, to be sure.

I ended up wearing more black. It fit my mood, I guess. I went to this coffee house on the edge of town. I started listening to poetry readings and acoustic guitar. I didn't start wearing eyeliner or talking about razor blades, but try telling Kyle that. He caught me wearing this old shirt I had when I went through my Goth phase in fourth grade.

"What the fuck is this Stan? What's happening to you?"

I tried to tell him that it was the only clean shirt I could find on the mess-that-was-my-floor. He didn't believe me. The bastard didn't believe me. What the fuck?

"If you're going to go be that mopey ass Raven again, maybe you should find a new best friend."

I couldn't believe he'd said it. I mean, we hadn't been quite right since the fight or his new found friendship with the fatass, but to threaten to end our friendship?

Rightfully, I got pissed. Now, looking back on it, I think he was looking out for me. I think I overreacted, because I was sensitive about the fact that I felt like a third wheel, and that I missed Wendy. But at the time, all I could think was that he was a total dickhead. If he didn't want to be my friend, fuck him.

I told one of my new friends at the coffeehouse about our fight, and he said, "Raven, man. That's a sweet name."

So somehow, I lost my identity as Stan Marsh. I became a faggy little Goth again, but without the Goth part. I became this kid known as Raven. I wore even more black. I got my lip pierced, but that was a short phase. Now I have this tiny little scar where the piercing used to be. I run my lip over that now. I'm supposed to be talking about the first day of high school, right?

Here it is. I walked in with my new friends, wearing all black. Wendy walked up to me, and said, "I was going to try to get back together with a freak like you. What the fuck was I on?"

If I go by the name Raven, and I wear my oh-so-ironic Nevermore tee shirt, I guess that makes me a freak. Well, that's what she said, anyway. Fuck her. She's a conformist bitch. That's what I should say, anyway. Really it just hurt that the girl I spent the better part of my life in love with turned out to be some…hussy.

The rest of my day kind of went like that. Old friends turned their back on me. Everybody decided that I was some kind of outcast. I got kicked off the football team for getting in a fight two weeks into the marking period. My parents ended up disappointed in me.

Yeah, school really sucked back then. The worst part was, I hadn't even done much to deserve it, except for getting in a fight with the only person who would have defended me.

Kyle. He's like the golden boy of Park County High. Okay, so he's not exactly valedictorian material any longer, which I'm sure eternally plagues his mother. But he's got…charisma. He dresses in tight converses, ripped jeans, and band t-shirts. He has his eyebrow pierced. He cut his curly red hair super short. He's got a gorgeous girlfriend. Cartman is his best friend. It's the beginning of senior year, and he's got what everyone thought I would have. And the funny thing is, I don't hate him for it. We're not mortal enemies, or anything. We're just two people who drifted apart.

The only problem being, I want him back. And I'll do anything to get him.

"Stan, have you finished your essay?" my teacher snaps, and I glance down at the notebook page full of illegible scrawl before me. I've been daydreaming. Busted.

"Miss Teacher!" Cartman yells from the back of the class, and I inwardly groan. He seems to think it's his life's work to fuck me over now that he's barred from making as many Jew jokes as he used to. It helps that he's on the hockey team and thinks that he's the hottest shit since sliced bread.

"Yes, Eric?"

Cartman sneers in my general direction, "He doesn't answer to Stan, Miss Teacher. He likes to be called Raven."

I turn towards him, my grin slow. I stand up from my chair, despite the teacher yelling at me to sit my ass back down. I walk towards him, my gaze so hot that it's smoldering. Cartman's shifting uncomfortably now, muttering the word 'fag' under his breath. Whatever. Like I could care less what this best-friend-stealing-lardass has to say.

Just to prove my point, I put my fingertip right under the fold of his second chin, smirk and say, "Yeah. That's right fatass. My name is Raven."

Then I punch him.

It's the first day of senior year, and I end up in detention.

A/N: Ummmmmm….yeah. Shorter than I would have liked, and less descriptive. I could have done a better job on this, and hopefully will in the future. I was going to make Stan full out goth, but then I re-watched the Raisins episode and decided he wouldn't do that. I decided the only way to make him back into Raven would be if it all happened through some lame misunderstanding- shit like that happens in high school. Plus I'm really bad at slipping into the Goth mindframe, so I figured it's easier to make him emo. The next chapter will have actual dialogue! Yay. As always, reviews are appreciated. (And I swear to god, I'm working on my other fics too. I just was in a posting mood today.)