Title: Dedication To The Ruin Of The Light Within You
Author: Keith
Fandom: South Park
Setting: Theresa's Diner, South Park
Pairing: Stan Marsh/Pete Thelman, Michael/Pete Thelman
Characters: Stan Marsh, Pete Thelman, Michael
Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Romance
Rating: T
Chapters: 1/1
Word Count: 1346
Type Of Work: One-Shot
Status: Complete
Warnings: Gay, Slash, Yaoi, MLM, Cheating, Mentioned Emotional Abuse, Implied Physical Abuse, Implied Michael/Firkle Smith
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Summary: Pete didn't deserve all the hell he put up with, and Stan thought it prudent to remind him of that.
AN: Hey guys, it's me again! Just thought I ought to say, if you want vague updates and to talk to me more, I have a writing Tumblr, too! Twitter is Sunshinecackle, and Tumblr is Writteninsunshine! I also have a writing Discord that is currently pretty dead. xD If you want it, please contact me on Twitter!
So, I wanted to write a few certain characters and put them into Wheelofnames. Got Pete, then put in my ships for Pete, and got Stan. Went prompt hunting and this is what I ended up coming up with. I hope you enjoy it!
Dedication To The Ruin Of The Light Within You
"How long have you been dealing with this?" Stan asked, flabbergasted as he stared at Pete from over the counter. The goth considered the question thoughtfully, doing the math in his head, figuring out everything that he could count as 'dealing with this'. The beginning hadn't been so bad. In fact, he counted the whole first and second years as wins.
When they graduated eighth grade and headed into high school, Michael became moody. He talked more shit, he wanted to throw rocks at cars and dumpsters more, he was angry and belligerent and loud about it. Pete didn't like what he saw, but Michael was careful enough to always apologize, to make sure Pete didn't see his anger quite as much.
It wasn't until Pete's mom fell ill that Michael started on a tirade against her. His stepmom was riding his ass, sure, and he came to school with heavier eyeliner sometimes, but that didn't mean it was okay to say all that bullshit about an innocent woman. It was around that time that Michael and Firkle had gotten closer and had started to hang out more on their own. Pete had his suspicions, but there was no proof.
Not at first.
The twenty-four year old finally sighed, closing his eyes and tenting his hands over his mouth and nose. It really had been far too long.
"We dated for twelve years… So about half of my life." Pete informed with a little sigh, finally opening his brown eyes and looking back into Stan's pale blue ones, "It was only bad the last ten or so."
Saying it out loud, though, he realized just how long that was, and how stupid that sounded.
"How did you stay with him so long? Didn't you get sick of it?" Stan's concern worked into his brows, and Pete held his breath as the police officer leaned forward over his breakfast.
"Oh, I'm so sick of it I could just laugh." Pete's disjointed, breathless chuckle was mirthless, more miserable than anything Stan had ever heard. There were tears in his eyes, but there was no doubt that his pride wouldn't let them fall. If Michael hurt Pete enough to have him cry in public, Stan wanted to do something about it. Still, he remained seated, his fork still in his hand.
He'd been poking his eggs around his plate for half an hour now, talking with little diner Pete was working at was running slow at three in the morning, so he was allowed to talk with the other man as long as he wanted to. At least, until traffic started to pick up.
"You deserve better than him."
Pete paused when he heard Stan's voice pipe up again, sony and definitive, which was such a difference to how Stan usually spoke to him. Looking over his shoulder from where he'd started refilling the little metal baskets for each table, he tilted his head. Seconds later, he flipped his head back out of habit. Recently, he had started cutting his hair differently, and it took some getting used to.
"Do I, though? I feel like I'm half the reason he's so monstrous." Pete huffed, walking back to the counter and resting his elbows on it. Looking up at Stan with those pretty doe eyes left the taller man looking away. Pete was sure it was something he said.
"I doubt that," Stan still couldn't look at him, but he sounded sincere enough for Pete, "If he showed you his true colors, believe them." That's what Kyle told him countless times when he fell back into making excuses for his dad.
"...He's not like this with Firkle." Pete's suspicions brought him to the conclusion that Michael was already gone. "It's always a good time with those two. I'm afraid Michael and I just aren't compatible. He treats me like I'm trying to parent him."
"Maybe he doesn't want someone to care about him, but I'd kill to have someone like you." It came out before he could stop it, and Stan's eyes went wide, terror struck through him as his head snapped to turn his gaze on Pete. The pair of them stared at each other, Stan trying to blink away what he'd said and Pete unblinking.
"Are you se-" Pete's voice had started calm, but he was quickly cut off by the ringing of the bell above the door as someone entered the diner.
"Welcome to Theresa's!" Pete turned his tired eyes on them, walking away from behind the bar and taking a menu in hand. "Just one of you?"
That was all that Stan could hear, his heart pounding so hard in his ears that he couldn't think. What was he going to do, now? This diner was the only place he came to after his night shifts, and he was used to seeing Pete every night. It kept him out of the bars, at least. But he'd gone and broken the only rule he'd set for himself; Don't tell Pete you like him.
When the brunet returned to him, Stan had picked at his eggs enough to mash them into goo on the plate, and his bacon had found its way to his mouth, and his shirt. The goth rose a brow at him, and Stan held up his hands in a placating gesture.
"I didn't mean it-"
"You didn't, did you?"
"We-well, uh, I mean… Look, I just… I mean… I meant it, but I-"
"Didn't mean to tell me?" Pete finally guessed, his eyes sliding closed, "So you think you like me, do you?" He asked, starting on the single trucker's drink order. Stan would hazard a guess that it was a cherry limeade, considering what all Pete was working with.
"I… Y-yeah. To both." Stan stammered, watching the other turn with all the grace of a jungle cat, walking the man his drink. While Pete took his order, Stan sat there, staring dumbly at the waffles he usually would have scarfed down by now. But Pete had needed to talk, and apparently Stan had needed to put his own foot in his mouth.
Pulling out his phone, he tried to seem busy, like he had something he had to take care of, like he wasn't just going to go to his lonely, empty apartment and drink the rest of the morning away. After a moment of playing a match three game he was playing on his breaks at work, he found a shadow looming over his shoulder. Slowly, he pulled his eyes up, nearly leaping to the ceiling with a yelp.
"Wow, Galahad," Pete rolled his eyes, but his eyes were warm and there was a soft, scant smile on his face, "What a way to impress a guy."
"I- Shit, sorry." Stan sighed, shaking his head, "I'm just making a mess of-"
"Shut up." Pete snapped, Stan starting at the sharp tone, "I'm not telling you 'no'." At that, the taller male blinked again, twice, then twice more, before his head fell to the side.
"Wait, really?"
"Yes, really." Pete replied with a slight shrug, stepping a little closer until he was pressed between Stan and the next stool, "But I can't do to Michael what he has been doing to me. It's truly a new layer of Hell. Damien would be impressed, I'm sure." Rolling his eyes, Pete took Stan's hand, writing on it with the pen he used to take orders.
Once his number was neatly scrawled on the other's lightly tanned flesh, he offered a fleeting smile as he added a little cartoon skull beside his name.
"There."
"I… You could have just put your number in my phone?" Stan stammered, though he was enamoured just the same.
'I know." Winking, Pete gestured to the other's food, "Your breakfast is getting cold, Raven, you should eat it instead of letting that food go to waste." With that, Pete disappeared around the counter and into the kitchen, leaving Stan to sit there dumbly with a stomach full of bile.
AN: Oddly enough, I really needed to write some more Stan/Pete. I'm glad that I did, it was actually a lot of fun. I hope you guys enjoyed it!
Prompt: "Oh, I'm so sick of it I could just laugh."