Girl Trouble
Thanks to all readers and reviewers, I'm glad you're all enjoying this fic, even if I don't really know where I'm going with it!
I don't own South Park. Not one single bit of it.
Chapter 2
Wendy Testaburger stood stock still as she took in the scene before her, a look of shock, horror, surprise, or perhaps a mixture of the three, frozen on her carefully made up face. Stan watched, speechless, as his girlfriend's eyes drifted downwards to the unsightly bulge in his jeans.
"This is so not what it looks like!" he protested weakly.
Wendy stared at them in a dreamlike way, and let out a little gasp as the full horror of what was playing out before her finally hit her. Tears welled in her hazel eyes.
"I fucking hate you, Stan Marsh!" she screamed.
She turned and ran back into the house, sobbing loudly.
"Wendy, wait!" Stan yelled after her.
He tipped the girl unceremoniously off his lap and she landed in a heap on the ground, still giggling in spite of her situation. One of her boobs escaped the confines of her dress as she tried to sit up.
Stan ran into the house after Wendy, shoving Kenny out of the way as he appeared in the doorway.
"Dude, what's up?" Kenny asked, hurrying after him. "What happened?"
Stan ignored him. He called after Wendy as he ran back through the house, simultaneously dodging and tripping over people. He burst out of the front door, stumbling over the front step in his haste. Wendy was standing in the front garden, sobbing on her best friend Bebe Stephen's shoulder. Bebe glared at him as he approached.
Stan swallowed hard. This should be easy enough to sort out, right? Wendy had seen how drunk that girl was – all he had to do was give his version of events, and it'd all be fine. They'd be laughing about it in the morning. Maybe.
"Wendy, I know it looks bad – "
"Looks bad?" she interrupted, her voice getting louder and more hysterical. "Looks bad? She had her hand down your pants!"
"Really?" Kenny asked, impressed. "Damn, Stan!"
"Shut up!" Stan muttered. Turning back to Wendy, he continued: "She wasn't feeling well. I took her outside because I thought it might help her feel better…" His voice trailed off. Wendy clearly wasn't buying this – the look on her face was now somewhere between angry and furious.
"So your way of making her feel better is getting her to give you a handjob?" Bebe asked sarcastically.
"No, it wasn't like that!" Stan cried, flustered.
He looked around, suddenly painfully aware that they had an audience. It seemed that everybody who was still sober enough to care had come outside to watch him single-handedly destroy his relationship.
"Dude, I'm sorry," Kenny muttered. "I didn't realise you were trying to get off. I'd never have told her where you were if I'd known."
"You were trying to get off?" Stan's other best friend, Kyle Broflovski asked as he joined them in the garden.
"No! No, look," Stan said in desperation, turning between his girlfriend and his best friends. "I was not trying to get off, okay? This is all a misunderstanding!"
"She had her hand down your pants, dude," Kenny said. "That's a pretty big misunderstanding!"
"Jesus Christ, Stan!" Kyle said, rubbing his eyes wearily.
Stan stared at them, shocked. If his two best friends thought he was guilty, what hope did he have of convincing Wendy?
"Wendy, please!" he pleaded. "Let's go somewhere we can talk about this!"
Wendy pulled away from Bebe and walked away from him, wiping her mascara stained cheeks with her hands. "There's nothing to talk about. Just leave me alone, Stan!"
"Honey, just give me a chance to explain – "
"I said leave me alone, Stan!" Wendy shouted. She picked up a small stone plant pot and hurled it at him as hard as she could. Stan and Kyle managed to duck in time, but unfortunately Kenny, who hadn't been paying attention, turned at the wrong moment and got hit full in the face.
He cried out and put a hand to his head. Blood flowed freely from the wound, pouring over his face and down his neck. He staggered away, dazed.
"Jesus Christ, Wendy!" Stan shouted, horrified.
Wendy stared first at Kenny, and then at her hand, as though accusing it of acting entirely alone.
"I didn't mean too…" she murmured.
"Uh, guys, what's Kenny doing?" Kyle asked suddenly.
They all turned. Kenny, unnoticed by everyone, had staggered into the road. He reached the middle and collapsed. An air of inevitability settled over the watching teens as they waited for something else to happen. What was it going to be this time? A bolt of lightning, perhaps? A tank full of pissed off soldiers, maybe? Or a satellite falling from space? They all looked around wonderingly, some of them with mobile phones at the ready. Kenny's varied deaths had had more hits on YouTube than Susan Boyle.
A couple of minutes went by and still nothing happened. Eventually Kyle turned to Stan, who looked bemused.
"Maybe he's not gonna die tonight. We'd better move him."
"Yeah, okay."
They had barely stepped into the road when a police car shot around the corner, sirens blaring. They jumped back in alarm as it sped past them and ran straight over Kenny, before skidding to a halt further down the road. Kenny let out a low moan.
"Jesus, he's still alive!" Stan said in amazement.
Not for long, though. The police car reversed back towards them, adding insult to Kenny's many injuries by squishing him again. The car stopped in front of the shocked kids, with Kenny caught under the front wheels. This time, there was no moan.
"Oh my god, he killed Kenny!"
"You bastard!"
The driver's door opened and Officer Barbrady got out, putting on his sunglasses even though it was nearly midnight. He peered under the front of the car, clearly puzzled.
"Hmm, didn't know they had speed bumps round here!" he muttered to himself. Turning his attention to the kids, he said: "Alright people, nothing to see here! Time to go home."
He moved towards them in an attempt to disperse them.
Stan and Kyle gazed under the car, where Kenny's mangled body was beginning to ooze blood and other bodily fluids.
"Whose turn is it to call the morgue this time?" Kyle asked matter-of-factly.
"You do it," Stan replied. "I've got to talk to…" His voice trailed off as he looked for Wendy, but there was no sign of her. "Dammit!"
"It's probably for the best anyway," Kyle said as he dialled a number on his phone. "It'll give her a chance to cool off."
"Yeah, maybe." Stan mumbled. "Look, I'm gonna split, okay? See ya tomorrow."
"Yeah."
Stan walked up the street, tucking his hands into his pockets. He could hear Kyle talking to South Park's coroner on the phone, like they had both done many times before. Hell, they were on first name terms with him now.
He was halfway home before he realised he'd left his coat at Clyde's. Perhaps Clyde would find it and return it. But then again, perhaps not, judging by the state he'd been in at the party.
Stan ambled on, the events of the night playing over and over in his head like a bad snuff movie. It was just his luck – it would have to be Wendy that caught him with a strange girl who just happened to have her hand down his pants. No, caught wasn't the right word. It wasn't like he asked the stupid bitch to jump on him. Stan snorted. She hadn't even been that hot, either. He knew one thing for sure, though – Wendy wasn't going to forgive him easily. She could hold onto anger like a pitbull with a bone. Nope, he had a lot of making up to do, starting from now.
*
Darkness swirled all around him as he fell. He felt like he was falling through time and space. He tried to reach out and grab something, but he had no arms. Kenny McCormick was nothing, just a shapeless entity drifting through the blackness.
Then all of a sudden the feeling stopped and Kenny began to feel more solid again. Finally, it was over. He breathed in and out a few times, just to make sure he had fully returned and then he reached out, expecting to touch the cold metal of the mortuary slab. Instead, he got something soft and cottony in his grasp. In fact the whole slab felt springy and well, comfortable, as though he was lying on a mattress. He frowned. The mortuary staff had never been that considerate before.
He reached up and ran a hand through his hair – his curly hair. Curly hair? Kenny sat up, suddenly aware that something was very wrong. Had the staff been screwing around with his body again? He remembered all too clearly the time they had, as a joke, put makeup on his corpse. He'd walked home looking like a teenage drag queen, wondering why people were staring at him.
As his eyes adjusted to the early morning gloom, he became aware of something else: he wasn't even in the mortuary. He seemed to be in a bedroom. Not just any bedroom either…a girl's bedroom. Everywhere he looked it was a sea of pink – from the curtains to the bedsheets, the lamp shade to his vest top. Kenny let out a little yelp, leapt out of the strange bed and ran to a nearby mirror that had pretty, girly fairy lights wound around the edge. He stared at his reflection, not quite believing what he was seeing.
Staring back at him was the face – and body – of one of his classmates, Annie.
"The fuck?" he or rather, she, muttered.
He moved away from the mirror and sat down on the end of the bed, while his mind, still groggy from his trip back from the afterlife, struggled to process what was happening. He was a girl. Or, rather, he was inside a girl – just not in the way he would've liked.
How had this happened, and why? As his mind struggled with these important questions, his eyes were drawn towards something else altogether. Well, two things, really. It took his new female brain a couple of moments to catch up with the rest of him.
He had boobs.
Kenny knew he should get up and alert someone to his situation, but he remained glued to the bed, one thought dominating his entire brain: I've got boobs. Kenny tried desperately to focus on the situation at hand. Right now, his own body was on ice in the local morgue. If he didn't get back into it soon, they'd incinerate it. On the other hand, however, he had boobs.
"Annie, come on! You're gonna be late for school!" a man's voice called from just outside the room.
Kenny jumped and looked around guiltily, as if he'd been caught with a dirty magazine. He got up and walked over to the mirror again. There was no way he could go to school – neither he nor Annie would live it down if anyone found out about what had happened.
But what had happened? Kenny stared hard into the mirror, frowning as he tried to remember the past week that he'd spent in the lovely surroundings of Hell. It took five minutes before he'd fully recollected everything… and one event in particular. His new pouty mouth dropped open.
"You bastard!" he said angrily, although Annie's voice made him sound like he was on helium.
As he turned away from the mirror, he heard a deep mocking laugh. The bastard was laughing at him! He clenched his small fists and shook with anger.
And, deep down in the depths of Hell, Satan laughed until his sides ached.
Ah, poor Kenneth! I have plans for him, very unpleasant plans! As I have for all four of the boys, actually...
Chapter 3 up soon.
