This fic was originally supposed to only be two chapters, but as I continued to write this I found I couldn't wrap everything up in just part 2, so the chapter after this one, will definitely be the end.
Oh, and also, I've thought about writing a little backstory/prequel revolving around Craig in his middle school days from this verse. Would anyone actually be interested in that?
He laid in bed with his mind wandering a million thoughts per second, waiting for the effect to work. The moment Stan swallowed the rest of the combination pills in hand, he automatically hung up on Kyle, with the redhead still yelling through the speaker.
He thought about calling him back, thought about apologizing to Kyle in attempt to fix their friendship. Stan couldn't even remember when the falling out began... the memory of the other day came to mind. Stan trying to just hold Kyle's hand. His friend was easily on the edge of an anxiety attack - just from their small contact. It hurt Stan. Even if he didn't want to admit it.
He thought about calling Craig - calling and helplessly crying on the phone. The two grew close in the time span of a couple months. Through their many nights of getting high and Stan's various attempts on getting in Craig's pants.
Stan used to despise Craig, back when Craig decided to come out. He couldn't wrap his mind around the whole transgender thing, so he chose to not even try and that basically caused him to ignore Craig majority of the time. They didn't start truly conversing until one night when Kenny decided to invite the both of them over without the other knowing. Stan discovered Craig liked to get as high as he could possibly manage. It entranced him. He wanted to understand why and exactly how it felt to get high.
That night Stan fished out a handful of the Adderall Kenny told him to bring beforehand. Staring at the pills, he split half with Craig... and that turned out to be his first night truly feeling alive.
They laid on Kenny's dirty and disgusting carpet - Stan on his stomach and Craig on his back staring ahead at the ceiling covered in various posters of naked girls. Within seconds, Stan was spilling out his emotions to the other. He went into detail about how he felt he couldn't talk to anyone about this. How he dreamt of killing himself to end the suffering he's endured for months now. That he couldn't imagine continuing on drowning in his depression with no way getting out. And throughout everything, surprisingly enough, Craig didn't say a word. Not to object nor to make any sort of comment.
They forgot Kenny was even in the room. To them, the blonde didn't mean a thing. In their eyes, it was like Kenny completely disappeared from his own bedroom.
With Craig still laying on his back, his eyes now closed because he was just enjoying his high, Stan took the chance to push himself up on his elbows then lower his face until it hovered just a few inches above Craig's. He thought about kissing him. He thought about it until he forgot all together why he wanted to do so in the first place, but eventually Stan did kiss Craig and it resulted in Craig violently pushing the other off. Stan tumbled backwards, losing whatever grip he held to hold himself up and a laugh erupted from behind - Kenny reaffirming his presence.
Stan continued to think about calling Craig. It sounded a hell of a lot better than calling Kyle. So he quickly went to grab his cellphone, punching in Craig's number and held the phone to his ear to wait for Craig to answer.
There was a groan the moment he picked up. "Why the fuck are you calling so late Stan?"
Stan took notice of how much more feminine Craig's voice sounded over the phone. Very rarely did they call each other, so this revelation sort of flipped Stan out.
When he took the courage to actually respond back, Stan's voice was no louder than a whisper. "I don't know what I'm doing anymore..."
"What're you talking about?"
Then the tears came and they couldn't be stopped.
He doesn't know why, but something told Stan, as he cried on the phone to Craig, to vomit up whatever mixture of pills he swallowed. So he dropped the device on his bed then ran over to the small trashcan residing next to his nightstand. With two fingers stuck as far as they could go down his throat, Stan gagged a couple time until eventually the bile rose. He continued the process so that he threw up at least three times and his throat was sore from the acid and his eyes were sore from crying so much.
By the time Stan picked up his phone again, Craig was heard yelling his name numerous times into the speaker.
"Can you come over?" Stan's voice was scratchy and raw and he regretted even speaking.
"Now?"
"...Yeah."
"All right. I'll be right over."
He heard a click on the other end. Stan dropped the phone onto the ground , sinking along with it and leaning against his bed, setting his head upon the mattress to wait for Craig to arrive.
Twenty Minutes. That's around how long ago Stan fell asleep on Craig's chest. The moment Craig broke into the Marsh residence with a key Stan had given him a while ago, and he entered Stan's bedroom, Craig was pulled down to sit next to him on the floor. On instinct, he wrapped his arms around the crying boy, taking in every sort of emotion that radiated off of him. He's never seen Stan this way - so fallen apart and emotional - that something within Craig made him want to be there for Stan. So he pulled the two of them onto the bed, with Stan resting his head on Craig's chest. Craig can recall Stan muttering something under his breath, but what exactly, he wasn't too sure on.
It worried him how easily Stan was knocked out, but also the fact that he was laying on him and his binder wasn't on. They never got too close when Craig wasn't wearing the garment.
He seemed to be on edge during majority of the night, trying to wrap his mind around whatever it was that was going on with Stan. It wasn't until he closed his eyes and fell asleep himself, that Craig became calm again.
By the time Stan woke up, school had ended hours ago, Craig was so longer in his bedroom and he had about seven calls from Kyle. It took him forever to finally call his friend back, and Kyle answered after the first ring.
"Omigod Stan, what the hell happened to you last night?!"
Ignoring Kyle's question all together, Stan asked his own. "Was Craig at school today?"
"What? Craig has nothing to do with this."
"Just answer the question."
Kyle sighed. "Yeah, and he was actually on something during sixth period. Seemed really off all together." Pause. "But that's besides the point. I want to know what happened last night! You just hung up after telling me to fuck off. You really don't get how much I care about you, Stan."
"I'm going through a lot." It was a simple statement in which Stan's voice dropped when he said it. He messed around with a stray string on the bottom of his shirt, wrapping and unwrapping it around his finger.
"I know you are." A knock three times sounded in the distance on Kyle's end. "...Why won't you just let me in?"
Biting his lip, he sighed. "I..."
"You what?"
"I don't want you getting dragged in because none of this is essentially your fault Kyle, and I don't believe you deserve to be brought into whatever I'm going through."
"Stan... no it's not like th-"
Before Kyle could finish his sentence, Stan hung up. Then he threw his phone across the room and watched as it crashed into the wall, shattering the screen.
Thursday happened to be the day Stan went back to school. Wearing a plain red t-shirt, and sweatpants that didn't own any pockets, it was harder for him to carry any sort of medication on his person. Stan hasn't taken anything since Monday night. He's been too afraid to do so. Withdrawal was the hardest part of it all and on top of that, his disorders were acting up.
Now, Stan was sitting in a class he actually shared with Kyle. From the back of the room the noirette tried his hardest to pay attention to the discussion the class engaged in over the book they were reading. But quickly, his vision started to blotch, spots of black surfacing throughout the room. It didn't take long before he slumped forward onto the desk, causing just about the entire class to look back at Stan with hushed whispers and a few small screams from shock. He kept falling asleep more frequently and it didn't matter where Stan was at the time.
In the front of the room, the English teacher tried to get the class's attention back on her, she clapped her hands announcing the words, 'Up here.' And majority of the students turned back to her. All except Kyle.
Surprisingly enough, Stan didn't sit alone during lunch. At his usual table in the back of the cafeteria, he sat with a certain redhead directly across of him. Neither of the boys ate anything the school served that day, other than the bottled water Stan purchased from a vending machine. He couldn't stop shaking, and he set his head on the tabletop roughly, groaning as he did so.
"You look really rough today, Stan..."
Another groan sounded.
"And you fell asleep like twice in fourth period. Are you doing okay?"
Slowly raising his head, Stan squinted at Kyle trying to grasp an understanding as to why Kyle was still being fairly decent towards him.
"I stopped taking my meds."
"What! Why?"
"Because I fucked up the other night Kyle, and I need to get off them."
Kyle ran a hand through his mass of curls and sighed. "You can't function without them, Stanley."
There it was again - that feeling he got whenever Kyle used his full name. He dropped his eyes to stare at his hands, which were clenched in fists in his lap, and Stan tried his best not to breakdown at that moment. The shaking got worse and the nausea set in and before Stan could even register what was about to happen, he vomited straight into his lap.
A blanket was wrapped around his torso as he strided around Stan's room in nothing but a pair of black jeans and his usual soft, tan binder. Slowly Craig was beginning to grow more comfortable around Stan, and he thought it had to do with the fact that Stan was at such a vulnerable point right now. Ever since Monday night when Craig walked into the bedroom to find a crying Stan curled up on the ground, something within him churned...and to be completely honest, it scared Craig.
He paced back and forth, Stan's eyes never leaving Craig's figure as he did so. He imagined running his fingertips along Craig's sides, he had such a perfect hourglass shape and Stan rarely saw it. He wanted to very lightly, touch the skin on Craig's torso, just to touch it and state that he did. But Stan knew Craig still battled with dysphoria, which bothered Stan to know he was struggling with such.
"Do you mind getting in my coat pocket and grabbing me a lighter and a cigarette?"
Craig hadn't been smoking marijuana as much, in fact, he's hardly asked Stan for any Adderall or Xyrem. Lately, he's been spending all his money on a pack of menthol cigarettes, which he may as well go through in a day.
Reaching across his bed, Stan grabbed the leather jacket Craig came in and pulled out what the other asked from the front pocket, throwing the items to the boy still pacing around the room.
"Thanks." Bringing a death stick to his lips, Craig lit it up, breathing in the toxins. "... Do you maybe want to... I don't know. Talk about the other night?"
In a nonchalant manner, Stan leaned back on his mattress, arms behind his head. "Not really."
"Okay..."
One thing Stan avoided for the past few days were mirrors. Whenever he entered the restroom, he made a full attempt not to stare into a looking-glass. To him, they showed just how bad Stan appeared to the rest of the world... how broken down and miserable he's been. On one occurrence, right after waking up from a nap that was longer than the usual, Stan snuck a quick glance in the direction of the mirror that also served as the cabinet door. He immediately regretted it.
Stan didn't look the same. If anything, sick and depression definitely showed on his face, the way the bags under his eyes were so dark and sunken and the strands of his raven hair so greasy because Stan was too lazy to wash his hair whenever he took a shower. He regretted looking into the mirror but if anything - he regretted a lot from just the past few months.
Surprisingly enough, Wendy Testaburger called on a day when Stan hadn't attended school. When he answered, it was obvious two girls were on the other end, and even though the contact name stated 'Testaburger', it was Bebe Stevens' voice who spoke first.
"I need something from you, Stan."
Simple, straight to the point, and obnoxious in Stan's opinion. He pulled the phone away from his face so he could sigh without the girls being able to hear it. "Yeah? And what's that?"
"Adderall."
"How many times do I have to tell Wendy, because I know she's the one who wants it, that I'm not handing them out."
"We know you're not using."
"How so?
This time it was Wendy to speak. "You keep falling asleep in all your classes. Isn't Adderall supposed to help you with that?"
"I don't need this Wendy."
"Then lend some out to me tomorrow at school... I'll repay you."
"So will I!" Bebe chimed in. There was a light laugh afterwards, and it made Stan roll his eyes.
"No."
"Look." Bebe started. "I know Craig isn't giving you the needs you desire, Stan. He's obviously too scared because he doesn't have the proper body. How long has it been since you had a nice fuck? Hmm, I know it's been quite so-"
"Shut up Bebe! You two are pissing me off. If you want the pills so fucking bad, take them. I'll give them to Craig and you can take them from him. Just shut the fuck up!"
And he hung up, setting his phone down next to him on the bed. Stan admired the many cracks that resembled a spider web winding throughout the screen. A headache was beginning to form, but just the idea of taking simple aspirin scared Stan.
Saturday night happened to be the one night Sharon Marsh was able to cook dinner for her family. She worked a lot of the time during the week, normally whenever she came home she would go straight to bed, the rest of her family having to survive however they could.
Stan sat at the kitchen table, trying as hard as he could to not doze off. Sharon didn't know a thing about what her son had been doing, she hardly even blinked an eye when she saw her son in the condition he's in, Sharon simply kissed the noirette on his cheek then asked him to help wash the dishes.
As the mother walked back and forth throughout the kitchen getting the supplies she needed for dinner, Stan stood in front of the sink still struggling to stay awake. Sharon didn't pay any attention to him - not until a porcelain plate crashed into the sink and her son harshly fell onto the floor.
By the time Stan woke up, he found he couldn't move and his sight blurred in his left eye. His muscles ached all around, but more importantly his head hurt the most from when it banged against the tile on the floor.
Sharon was seated right beside him, cross-legged and her head set in her hands.
"Mm."
Sharon shot up the moment she heard her son make a sound, hovering over him. Tears were visible in her eyes the same shade as her son's. "I couldn't find any of your medications, Stan. Why couldn't I find anything? What happened?" The more she spoke, the more tears she produced. It hurt Stan to see his mother cry the way she was. Very slowly, he rose to a sitting position, then set a hand on her shoulder.
"I..." He started. "I ran out of Xyrem awhile ago, and I gave the rest of my Adderall to a girl at school, Melatonin, I don't remember what happened to that one..."
"Why." Sharon whispered, the words hitting Stan harshly in the chest like blades.
"I almost overdosed the other night."
"Overdosed?!"
Taking his hand away from Sharon's shoulder, Stan shot up from the floor and began to exit the kitchen.
"I don't want to talk about this. I can't do this, Mom! I can't do it any longer!"
"What are you talking about Stanley?!" She called out, getting up to follow. "What the hell has been going on?"
"Just leave me alone! I don't want to talk about it."
Running up the staircase, he tripped on a step closer to the top, falling instantly. The moment he hit the steps, Stan collapsed on himself, tears forming and beginning to stroll down his cheeks. Everything around him was falling apart - including himself.