(A/n: Stan is in his mid-20's while Kenny is a high schooler in this two-shot. Also this a Hanahaki Disease AU (First time writing btw) and Kenny's Southern accent is back.

Summary: Stan was born cursed - cursed with never-ending bad luck. At least that's what he believed. Nothing good ever happened in his life, his parents died when he was at young age, and both his sister and friends wanted nothing to do with him. However bad things didn't stop there, Stan soon believed that a spirit haunted him. He's been alone, suffering through this curse long enough to be in his 20's. The hardships of being an adult on top of his constant bad luck made his life worse, even more so when he bumps into a very unusual stranger one day.

Please enjoy)

Chapter 11: The World's Unluckiest Man Meets A Peculiar Teenager (Pt.1)

Stan sighs, flopping back against his bed, just now coming home from another bad day at work. His last day at work actually. No wonder nothing strange happened today. But it was bound to happen sooner if not later, Stan was so certain that he was going to be fired during the first week, but instead was booted the second week. That's the longest he's ever kept a job. Ever since he started working there, he wasn't able to work peacefully without something unfortunate happening to either him or his 'coworkers'. His appearance didn't really sit well with them the moment they laid eyes on him, his good looks overshadowed by the bags underneath his lifeless sapphire eyes that were nearly hidden by his somewhat long dark bangs of hair, and his pale body being skinny to a point where they were thinking that he was taking weight loss too far. They called him names and talked negatively about him behind his back like they were back in high school. So whenever their coffee mug burst in their face the instant they raised it up to their lips or their computer monitor suddenly going up in flames, Stan couldn't help but think that the spirit that hung around him exacted revenge on his behalf. But that thought seemed ridiculous so he didn't ponder too much into it.

Those assholes will definitely rapture his permanent absence at the office.

Exhaling out a deep emotional sigh, Stan's tired gaze becomes transfixed on the slowly spinning brown wooden blades of the ceiling fan. It is quiet, too disturbingly quiet even with the fan on. But Stan is accustomed to this, he doesn't mind the numbing silence anymore. He prefers it this way than it being noisy anyway.

After a few minutes, Stan forces himself up on his feet, having a hot shower in mind. Taking one after work always provided him with a boost to last through the rest of the few hours of the day, though he sees no point today since he no longer has a job. Loosening his tie first as he steps into his bathroom, he flicks on the light switch with his other hand. He makes his way over towards his bathtub, readying the shower head as he strips off his tie. Dropping it to the floor carelessly.

He stands still for a few moments, eying the spraying water and relishing the sound it makes when the droplets beat down on the tub. It was practically music to his ears that overlapped the silence, and that alone relaxed his tense muscles.

Once steam starts emitting from within the tub, Stan removes his remaining clothes, making sure they were out of the way as to not step on them when he's done, then slowly steps underneath the heated showerfall. Angling his head down, he sighs out again, this time in content as the water finishes soothing away the rest of the stiffness in his body. He starts washing away the sweat once he feels the burn on his skin, but he doesn't rush. He's also accustomed to this, him ending up almost looking like a tomato wouldn't be the first.

He does nothing to his hair, which is in a desperate need of more than just a trimming. He would do it himself, but his job leaves him drained damn near all the time, on weekends he'd rather relax, and he refuses to go to a barber. Just the mere thought of some stranger cutting his hair or things going awry gives him the chills. He remembers a few of his female coworkers being nice enough to volunteer to cut his hair for him one day on his first week, but he flat-out declined. Knowing them- or women in general - they'd do more than just cut his hair, and he'd rather not look like some dude straight out of a model magazine. Perhaps one day this week he may cut it himself.

Sighing heavily, Stan shuts the shower head off, shuddering slightly at the shift in temperature. He carefully steps out, damp fringes of black hair practically clinging to his eyes. But he manages to locate and grab a hold of a towel on the nearby towel rack, partially drying himself off with it then wrapping it around his waist. He picks up his work clothes, walks out and dumps them into a basket that contained some more of his other worn clothes in the corner of his room. He groans, he's going to have to wash clothes soon. Thank the God that has not once cared about his wellbeing for washing and drying machines.

The noirette pushes his bangs back as he nears his dresser, revealing a faintly slanted horizontal scar across his forehead. He disregards the abnormal brightness in his vision now that he can see again, opening some drawers and pulling out a pair of underwear, a random shirt, and pants to sleep in when he gets ready to go to bed. He puts them on afterwards. Once he's fully dressed, he drops the towel into the basket. Shortly after his stomach grumbles.

He frowns, appearing reluctant. "Hope I still have some leftovers from yesterday's take-out." Thanks to his near-death experience with the stove at his previous house, he's scarred from ever touching one again, and was very hesitant to buy one for this house. So he didn't. He saw no point since he for one hates cooking, plus he has no one (Nor would he ever) invite (Anyone) over. And besides his meals are only but three things: take-out, pizza, and microwave dinners. Yeah, not very healthy at all. Makes you wonder how and why he's so skinny.

The lazy man exits his room, ambling down towards the kitchen. After turning on the light designated for the kitchen, Stan finally notices once he stops in front of the refrigerator that it is silent once again. That is until a car from outside drives by, but only for a short moment. He opens the fridge's door, feeling his frown deepen at what he sees. Not only does he not have anything left from the take-out he ordered yesterday, he also needs to restock on some necessities. What perfect timing...

"Gonna have to go grocery shopping. Fucking great..." His stomach protests at the lack of sufficient food.

Slamming the door shut with an irritated huff, Stan contemplates going to the store tonight or tomorrow morning. He honestly doesn't feel like leaving the comfort of his home a second time today, but he won't get a good nights sleep if he doesn't consume something to calm his gut. After a struggling internal debate, Stan ends up deciding to wait until tomorrow. Even though it happened merely two years ago, Stan has learned his lesson to NEVER drive at night.

The low rumble in his stomach disagrees with his decision, stopping him from reminiscing a painful memory. "Ugh shut up," Stan grouses with the shake of his head, clearing away the throb. Turning the light off, he trudges into the living room. "I'm not gonna die from skipping one day of dinner."

He plops down on the couch, grabs the remote that was laying on the cushion beside him, and turns on the television. It's on the news channel- from where he left off this morning- not really paying attention to what is being said until just when he's about to change to a different station something the female news reporter says catches his full attention.

Apparently there's been a bizarre threat in the form of a disease drifting about: one where the victim would die due to coughing up flower petals. Tonight's victim wasn't the first, and they most likely won't be the last either. As long as this disease continues to roam free, no one is safe.

It's origin and cause is a great mystery, even scientists are looking into it. However one thing has been attained from this disease: whenever the person dies, over a dozen of bloody petals and even some flowers in full bloom surround their body.

As the lady proceeds to inform the citizens watching about this 'Hanahaki disease', Stan begins to get increasingly worried. Just how long has this disease been going around for? What if...he's been infected?! Considering his void of luck, it wouldn't surprise him, but then again he hasn't been coughing enough to have a flower petal come out of his mouth.

Stan shakes his head again with a weary sigh. "I'd better get some sleep."

With a yawn, he presses a button on the remote to turn the t.v off, then gets up heading back to his room.

The following morning, Stan's car refuses to work. He knows this is the unlucky spirit's doing, because the vehicle is far from being old. He bought it just last year.

Stan tries one more time to rev up the engine, only roaring to life for like three seconds before giving up. He groans irritably, hitting the back of his head against his seat. He stops when his stomach grumbles, frowning deeply. He may be hungry, but he doesn't regret his choice last night. With whatever shroud of luck he had left at that time, he was immensely fortunate enough to have lived through the few broken bones and the deep gash along his forehead after the car crash two years ago. He'd rather his car be stuck in his driveway than in the parking lot of the store or worse, in the middle of the street.

Stan clenches his eyes shut, gripping the steering wheel with a shudder. "Guess..I gotta go by bus..." But then he gets a very perturbing thought.

The number of times his bad luck can occur in a single day is terrifyingly random, and also unlimited. Just because it happens once today doesn't mean it won't happen again later on. Stan doesn't even want to imagine the horrors that would befall the innocent passengers when he boards the bus; them suddenly getting into an accident with him being the only survivor (Probably), the bus suddenly igniting into flames...or...—

Stan slowly opens his eyes, lessening his hold on the steering wheel, his skin is as pale as snow. "I-I'll just walk instead." The nearest grocery store isn't that far away from his home anyway so it wouldn't hurt to go there by foot. He would be saving many lives by being this thoughtful.

After calming himself down with some deep breaths, Stan exits his car, feeling a tiny bit better. He locks the door - who knows, maybe this is temporary. At least Stan hopes so. He can't afford to buy another car, especially now that he's jobless.

A miserable aura engulfs him at the reminder as he begins his stroll to the grocery store, envying the drivers that zoom past him. And envying them more at the thought of them going to work. Once he returns home, he's going to have to do another job search. Sighing, he closes his eyes slouching forward slightly as he shoves his hands into his pants pockets, fiddling with his car keys in one of them and in the other his cell phone. His wallet is in his back pocket. He actually wants to enjoy being unemployed, even if it's for a little while. He's tired of working a job only to be fired on the first or next day, then having to look for another one right after. It's been nothing but a repeated routine, a very taxing one at that.

But he needs the money, otherwise he can kiss buying food, clothes, hell even paying bills, and his house goodbye! He has yet to have a vacation, he's heard of paid vacations and man he would love to try that. Sucks he can't keep a job long enough to experience it. He's been relying on his bank this whole time, and knows he can't keep doing it forever...He then wonders how much money is left in there. Certainly not much he's sure...

Being an adult is such a huge pain in the-BAM! then CLACK!

Stan's eyes fly open in shock, quickly catching himself from stumbling off of the sidewalk and into someone's yard. "E-excuse me," he stutters turning around to see whom he'd bumped into.

"Shit my phone," the person hisses, Stan identifying them as a male based off of their voice. The man is bending down to pick up said device. He's wearing an orange hoodie with the hood covering his head, out in this warm weather. When he straightens back up, Stan's breath gets lodged inside his throat, not because the guy surpasses his height by like two or three inches. It's a good thing the stranger isn't looking at him, giving Stan some time to marvel at his young handsome face, subdued blonde locks, and narrowed hazel eyes that are filled with deep disappointment at his smartphone's shattered screen. He looks to be in his early 20's or somewhere between 18 or 19 years old, but Stan doesn't fully trust his intuition; having mistook people's ages before in the past. This guy's face is so masculine though, he could probably be older than him for all he knows!

"Can't believe it cracked this badly from a fall," the blonde grumbles. The orange and black tiger striped case couldn't protect the phone's front from the impact with the hard concrete below.

Stan instantly snaps out of it upon hearing the disgruntled male's voice, his country dialect fitting stunningly well with his attractive appeal. "I-I'm really sorry," Stan apologizes meekly, his cheeks flushing a bright pink. "Should've been paying attention to where I was going." He glances off to the side, rubbing his left arm sheepishly.

The blonde heaves a sigh locking eyes with Stan, whose body visibly goes rigid. The movement doesn't go unnoticed, but doesn't get questioned either. "It's fine, don't worry about it." The look on the younger's face says otherwise though.

"B-but still..." Stan pushes before trailing off. As much as he wants to, he can't afford to replace this stranger's smartphone.

"Well I mean, I'd gotten this for my b-day last month," the presumed teenager says. "Oh man, my parents ain't gonna be too happy about this."

Stan winces at his nervous tone, making him feel all the more guilty. "I-is there any way..that I can..." He can't bring himself to finish his statement, praying that he doesn't have to buy a new phone as reimbursement. Anything else but that.

"Hmm weeeeell, you could buy me another one," the blonde suggests waving his smartphone teasingly. Stan pales at that, causing the hazel-eyed male's lips to quirk upward a bit in amusement. "But like I said it's fiiine. I feel that I'm at fault anyway, was too busy textin' hehe," he chuckles scratching the back of his head. He suddenly blinks his eyes briskly, getting a look of revelation across his face as he drops his arm back down to his side. "Shit, forgot to tell him to give the teach an excuse for me not comin' to class today," he mutters to himself. Stan looks to him with a dubious blink of his own eyes as he lowers his arm. The younger male glares at his phone one last time, then shoves it into one of his hoodie's pockets. "Meh whatevs," the teen shrugs losing his scowl. "And besides I have a two-year warranty for it, but I ain't gonna get another weak-ass phone like this one again." He makes a face of grimace and returning disappointment.

Stan blinks again. So this guy goes to school. Now the only thing left is to figure out is if he is a high schooler or a very bold college student to be skipping. Stan thinks it's the former, then later questions why does he care? This person is a total stranger, his life should be of no concern to him. "I see...w-well I need to get going. I apologize once again about your phone." Just as the noirette turns around and continues on his way, hurried footsteps near and match pace beside him on his right.

"Where ya goin'?"

Stan pauses right in his tracks, staring at the teen with a dumbfounded gaze. He's at a loss for words, just what does this boy think he's doing? Abruptly following someone he'd just met so nonchalantly, Stan can't begin to understand this.

The teen in the hoodie stops also, turning and giving the confused adult a grin. Seemingly holding back a bout of laughter. "Lemme tag along, ain't got nothin' else to do right now to kill time."

Stan is quiet a moment longer, composing himself to ask, "Are you outta your mind?" He tires not to let his rising anxiety show. "J-just go to school or you'll get in trouble. Weren't you taught not to trust strangers?"

"It was actually not to talk to strangers, but you..." Stan watches the shift in the blonde's expression, fighting to keep from shrinking back at the intense gaze trained on his face. "You're obviously sick, I mean just look at how pale you are! Why ain't you in a hospital?" Then a frown of uneasiness forms on his face. "You ain't got that flower disease, do you?"

Stan arches an eyebrow of momentary confusion, comprehending what the other was referring to. He shakes his head, distracting himself from the prickle of warmth that erupts within his chest. This guy isn't the first person to worry about his sickly appearance. "N-no, I've..just been through a lot lately." He breaks eye contact, feeling an imaginary dark cloud emerging over his head. He misses the look of relief from the teen after he reassured him. "I'm...the last person you want to concern yourself with."

There is a tense silence between them, Stan picturing himself being observed by skeptical hazel eyes. It's soon broken when the blonde haired teenager speaks. "Kenny." Uttering that lone name earns a combination of shock and confusion on the man's face to be directed at him. He gives Stan a soft, friendly smile. "Kenny McCormick, or you can call me Ken for short. We can get to know each other now, startin' with our names first."

Stan takes a few moments to grasp this change in conversation, but fails immediately. "D-did you not hear what I just said?! You shouldn't-"

"Oh I heard ya loud an' clear, but I don't get what you meant by that." Kenny stuffs his hands into his hoodie's pockets, maintaining his smile as he tilts his head back a little. "If that was your way of tryin' to scare me away, then sorry dude it didn't work. If you didn't want me to come with you, you could've just said so. Not like I'd taken no for an answer though." He shrugs once again.

Stan eyes him with a mixture of emotions on his pale face, his dull sapphire eyes wide and unblinking. This guy..is insane. He has to be. For starters, he was just about to walk with him, a total stranger, to the grocery store without even knowing! Did his parents, hell did the school not teach this kid about being wary of people they'd never met before? Regardless of whether they're harmless looking or not. How Kenny is so oblivious to the dangers ahead from doing this is something Stan cannot even begin to apprehend. Or rather, he doesn't want to.

No wait...what if this is another one of the unlucky spirit's shenanigans? It must not have been satisfied with tampering with Stan's car, having him come across a fearless (foolish) teenager would've given it the satisfaction it wanted. Since Stan has never met someone like Kenny before, he wouldn't know how to deal with him. The spirit also must've been the one to horribly crack the teen's phone. Yes that has to be it. There's no way it would've been that seriously damaged from a fall that's not even five meters away from the ground.

..Speaking of the ground, why does the bottom of one of his feet feel air?

"Dude watch out!"

'HONK' 'HOOOONK'

It all happened so fast, Stan feeling a hand latch onto his wrist and pull him back against a soft, sturdy body, half of his face being buried into their shoulder. Next comes somebody's angered shouts that's quickly becoming distant. Then the only sounds belonging to passing by cars, and a strong pulse fills Stan's ears.

He blinks in absolute shock, too terrified and perplexed to move. What the hell just happened...?

"Now that was dangerous. Why'd you space out like that all of a sudden?" The familiar Southern accented voice wonders, his voice so close and stern.

Realizing whose arms he's in, Stan jolts out of Kenny's secure hold, looking flustered. Without uttering a word of thanks to the blonde, he takes off down the sidewalk, going back to his house.

Kenny watches him go with a frown, seems they weren't too far from the man's home because he reaches it in no more than half a minute, opening and slamming the door closed like he was being chased by a madman. It amazes Kenny with how thin he was, he managed to run that fast. The teen faces away from the abode, looking down at his hands as he places them in front of his chest. He glances at the hand that seized Stan's skinny wrist, then the other that held the man close by his waist. One of them still feels the cold lingering on it's palm, while the other remains warm - almost hot even.

He blinks though, when something black on the ground near the edge of the pedestrian path catches his eyes. He bends down to pick it up.

"A wallet?"

He knows it's not his, he left his at home by mistake. Compressing his lips into a line, he glances left and right down the sidewalk he's on, but sees no one close in sight. Which means this belongs to...—

Just to be sure, he opens the wallet, searching for an ID card or any other source of identification. There's a few bucks in one fold, and some cards in another. The rest are empty. As tempting as it is, Kenny leaves the money be and takes out one of the cards. It's a credit card, on it has the owners name.

"Stanley Marsh," Kenny reads. Putting it back, he takes out another card- this one making his eyes expand in slight shock.

It's an ID card, on it has a blank faced noirette, his dreary sapphire orbs boring into Kenny's own as if he was the one taking his picture. Something he clearly didn't want, but was required to take. Kenny studies the man's unhealthy facial features a little while longer, thinking it's scary how the present Stan hasn't changed hardly much from his past-self. The only difference is that past Stan's hair reached almost past his shoulders, his bangs casting over his eyes eerily.

"He seriously needs to be in a hospital," Kenny thinks with a flinch at the picture's unnerving stare, returning the ID card back into it's original spot. "Didn't think I'd get his name through his wallet though," he chuckles dryly. "I'll give this to him tomorrow."

Smiling softly at the thought of seeing the interesting yet ailing man again, he slips the wallet into his pants pocket, then wanders around the neighborhood.

...

Catching his breath, Stan slides down onto his butt, his back resting against the front door. His eyes, wide in both pure shock and bewilderment, gape ahead, not staring at anything in particular. The unilluminated house is void of sound, save for the noirette's breathing that's gradually slowing down. His heart pounding as if he's still running. He doesn't think about what transpired between him and the blonde, he refuses to. Instead his brain decides to be oh so helpful and envisions the young man's face, hair, and eyes. His mind has to be exaggerating Kenny's looks, making him appear practically like an ethereal being.

A cough unexpectedly slips through Stan's mouth, startling him out of his forced daydreaming. He then goes into a coughing fit, sounding hoarse and dry, as well as painful the more it carries on. Bending his knees and hunching over, he grips at his chest covering his mouth, panic resurfacing in a powerful wave. Why is he coughing so harshly out of the blue? Was his body not used to running anymore?

Thankfully, the coughs start becoming less severe after a couple of seconds, allowing Stan a chance to breath. He's gasping for air, his knuckles white as a sheet. His throat feels like it's on fire. That had to have been the worse coughing fit he'd ever had. However he doesn't even know why he had it, it just snuck up on him!

"Ugh..." he groans, hoping he didn't come down with some serious cold. He lowers his hand away from his lips, eyes widening all over again at what he glimpses in his palm.

A flower petal.

"Wha-what the hell...?"

Due to no light sources being on, he can't make out it's color, but it's light enough not to blend in with the darkness. Perhaps it's colorless.

Stan stares at it for a minute, unable to fathom it's presence. He's very well aware that this - this single petal - is the start of that..delicate sounding but deadly disease. However since there's been no reliable information regarding it's origin, he has no clue as to how he became infected nor when.

Perhaps he really did contract the disease all along.

Stan's body begins to tremble. "N-no...T-this can't be! There's no way-"

A low, deep rumble penetrates the silence, and forces Stan out of his frightened state. He glowers weakly at the petal. "Tch," he tsk's, very troubled about his predicament. No thanks to his run in with Kenny, he's going to have to postpone his trip to the store for another time...

He's starving - ever since yesterday - his throat is parched, and he has a headache.

To put it simply, he feels awful.

"Ugggh..." Stan groans again. With help from the doorknob, he rises onto his feet, wobbling as he does so. Once his footing is stable enough to walk, he goes up to his bathroom to take some medicine. First throwing the flower petal in the trash bin when he enters his room.

(A/n: I hope you enjoyed and the next part will be ?)