Okay, so seems like I last updated in 2009..? That's still like… 6 years ago. Holy crap.
Disclaimer: South Park is the creation of Matt Stone and Trey Parker. Beware of girls in pleated mini-skirts; you could have an accident. This fan fiction was inspired by a ferocious wedgie—to which the author hopes no one will endure—and suffers "AU" slaughter… or what-if futurism. It should not be read by anyone who does not understand the term "AU" or "what-if". Boxer-briefs are comfortable. Except when they give you a wedgie.
Smog rose from underneath the bus's hood, billowing into a thick trail to the skies. The axel had snapped in two, each side ignited, a small flair of flames. Hanging from the low branch of a tree was the front bumper; it was dangling precariously as if daring someone to walk underneath. The most prominent feature was the after-affect—the dark carnation of blood smeared from a thick circle in the center of a road, paint-streaked with the thick residue of diced meat. It would have been indistinguishable were it not for the ripped green fabric painted for Christmas with the adorning red colors stuck to the left front wheel, and not far to its side the remains of a severed head coated with the crimson paste.
Absolute carnage—it was the only way Stan could describe the scene; absolute power would be the way Cartman would recount it. The pudgy boy's teeth glinted in the reflecting glow of the fire, face lit in wonder at its majestic destruction. The fire beckoned him, opening a gateway with its sacred gift. It was a force not many could combat, and the answer to domination. "Shweeeeeet," he murmured, lips curling up to engulf his cheeks.
"Great, this is just great!" the bus driver complained, drawing two hands to his head. "New route, new job. Thanks a lot, South Park, Colorado." His nose wrinkled in the place of a snort. "Since there seems to be no cell phone reception, looks like I'll have walk to the nearest gas station. You'll have to fend for yourselves until then."
"I'll man the place," Cartman offered, the same sickening grin never leaving his face. "I am filled with authorit-ay."
God. Nothing had changed through the years, not from accents to temperaments as the driver grunted walking away.
"…hey guys, I don't think it's a gnome," Clyde said, squatted near the ground as he prodded at it with a twig. "Its head is pretty big."
"Yeah, and there's all this blood," Token added, wrinkling his nose. "Smells really bad, too."
"Maybe it's a midget or something," Clyde continued, poking the head. A section of the skin peeled off and he dropped the stick as he scrambled backward. "Sick."
"It does seem kind of big for a gnome," Kyle added, finally stepping close to observe the damage.
"It better not be a midget; I hate midgets," Cartman grunted. "Midgets are so creepy, especially when they do porn and like show up on Jerry Springer and have midget porn on the show and they screw up a censor bar."
"You're so full of shit, Cartman," Kyle groaned.
"Yeah—Midget porn is hot!"
The heads of everyone in the vicinity turned, eyes locking on Kenny's face. Shoulders rising along with his hands in defense, Kenny added, "What? It is. At least the ones with Cartman's Mom."
"God damn it, Kenny! Would you shut the hell up? It's a gnome! I've seen them before."
"The ones in Tweek's room were a lot smaller," Stan stepped in, speaking for the first time since he exited the bus. "Can't we just ask him?"
"And deal with him for another hour? Real smart, Stan." Kyle sighed and rubbed his hand over his forehead. "Look, it's not even that big of a deal. I mean, we're not even betting on what it is or anything. We should be figuring out where to set up camp for the night incase the bus catches on fire or we'd die from the fumes."
"Nay-nay, Jew. I have been put in charge of this adventure and I vote that we bring Tweek out here and find out whether it's a gnome or a midget. Ten bucks on a gnome."
"Ten on midget," Token replied immediately.
"Guys, are you even listening to what I'm saying? We could die. I think distinguishing what the mess is under the wheel would be a great vocational hobby is we WEREN'T stranded in the middle of nowhere!" Kyle argued.
"…can I put ten on a troll?" Clyde asked shortly followed by Kyle's furious scream.
"Fine. Fine, get Tweek and see if I care when we all DIE."
Stan smirked at Kyle, lips faintly curling at the edges. "Dude, it's cool…" He had to admit, it was better with the attention was off of him. Throwing slams at one's sexual orientation was certainly secondary to a bet, especially when Cartman was involved. Shaking his head with accepted defeat, Kyle sighed.
"You're right, Stan. It's just that this is ridiculous. Just because they couldn't care less about sleeping on the grass doesn't mean we have to follow suit."
"It'll be like camping by Stark's Pond," Stan chimed in.
Kyle blinked before his eyes widened, a smile gracing his face. "You're right. It's been forever since we've done that. We had so many good times there."
"Yeah, like remember when Kenny got all those bottle rockets and set them off over the pond and we nearly got arrested?" Stan said, hand rubbing the back of his neck.
"Or us roasting potato chips over the fire and nearly wiped out the forest?" Kyle added, walking toward the bus.
Stan stayed by his side as they moved to the base, pulling the hinge to release the storage bin. Having been disturbed in the crash, the team's duffle bags and supply kits lay in disarray. Stan gripped onto the floor base and pulled himself in, kneeling as he pulled bag after bag toward the edge and passed them unto Kyle.
"Dude," Kyle chirped, a laugh already escaping. "Remember when we had to tell Cartman that he wasn't allowed to use the bathroom and he used poison ivy to wipe? That was sick!"
Stan couldn't hold back his full-bellied laugh. He rest his palms on the floor, cheeks flushed a dark shade of red.
"That was almost as funny as when he didn't cover his shit and you stepped in it!"
"Dude! That so was not funny!" Kyle replied, unable to keep a straight face. He reached into the storage hold and pulled out another bag, smiling as it held his initials on it. "Say, Stan?"
"Yeah?" He rocked forward so his knuckles were against the metal base, stance much resembling a primate. Confidence—an exerted sense of self.
"I haven't heard you laugh in a really long time."
The smile died, corners of his lips falling along with his shoulders. He rocked back until he was sitting, legs outstretched in front of him. Kyle's forehead creased, three lines forming. Kyle pulled himself up into the luggage compartment. Shifting his weight, he sat next to Stan, scooting backward so they were parallel.
"I miss you," Kyle said. Stan's shoulders tensed.
Kyle continued, "A lot. I mean… hell, I don't know." He stalled, pulling his lower lip into his mouth. His front teeth held his lip in place refraining from grating his molars together. It was a nervous habit he picked up along the years, becoming so natural that often Stan didn't notice it. "It's like you're holding back from me. Like you don't even want to be friends with me."
"Kyle, you know that's not true-"
"Is it?"
"Dude, Kyle, you're my best friend. Always. You just don't understand-"
"Then teach me."
Warmth.
Stan's head turned, lowering to where Kyle placed a bare hand over his gloved one. It was difficult to refrain from touch sometimes, and sometimes it was difficult to tolerate it. Stan sighed reluctantly and pulled his knee toward his chest.
"Try to think of it this way. Your whole life you grow up puking on anything that grossed you out—your girlfriend, perfume, hospitals, blood wounds, old people, lesbians, gay cowboys eating pudding—hey, maybe that was the prerequisite to Brokeback Mountain. Well, whatever. I mean, you live in irrational fear and get harassed constantly for it. You end up liking cock. It's fucking weird."
"You don't like being gay?"
"Not if the guys keep treating me like I'm so different than everyone." Stan rubbed his free hand over the top of his knee. "I mean… it was cool when I told you. You know, before this whole mess happened."
"You said I was the first you told. That was about two years ago, wasn't it?" Kyle asked, turning his body. He sat cross-legged, hands moving to knit together and rest just over the sides of his hiking boots.
"I guess. Then Kenny found out but he doesn't rat so it was cool." Stan frowned and drew his arms around his other knee, pulling both to his chest. "I made a mistake when I hit on Butters."
"Butters?" Kyle snorted as he tried to refrain from laughing. "Why the hell would you hit on him of all people?"
"Shut up, dude. I mean…" Stan paused. "Honestly, I don't know. Maybe just to see how far I could push it, or to try and see if a guy might actually be like me. I guess I thought he'd be easy—probably I deserved what I got." As Kyle's brow quirked, he quickly added, "Rejection."
Kyle nodded. No questions would be asked—nothing would be inquired about anyone else. The incident with Craig would be left in the dark; it would be taken to both of their graves.
"Did you try with any of the others?" Kyle tested, hedging. Stan's lips moved, circulating in an awkward motion. His tongue rubbed the roof of his mouth.
"…no."
Kyle sighed but said nothing. The answer was obvious.
"Did you… you know?"
"I told you I'd kill you if you told anyone." Stan's eyes squeezed shut. The hold on his knees tightened, head ducking to hide."Roll over." His breath caught, body stiffening.
"Stan?" Kyle asked, extending a hand to grip his shoulder.
Stan's eyes closed and he obeyed, fingers gripping the bed as his boxers were yanked off. The corner of a pillow was shoved into his mouth. Craig's right hand pressed hard in between the quarterback's shoulder blades holding him flat against the mattress; his left hand tore a wrapper open. After a moment, Craig leg go, hands gripping onto Stan's hips, slamming an endowed length inside without so much a simple preparation. Stan screamed, muted by the thickness of the pillow as the slams came harder and faster, skin slapping against skin. He felt something tear, a wet heat, and slammed back hard against Craig before Craig groaned and pulled out.
"Stan!"
"Get a shower and sleep on the floor."
"What's it to you, Kyle?!" His chest rose and fell quickly, eyes squeezing shut. His body stiffened, feeling the surrounding warmth and pressure of arms wrapping around his shoulders. He turned his body, allowing a hand to lift and grip Kyle's coat, head resting against his shoulder.
"Shh… it's okay. I'm sorry. Look, you don't have to tell me. Okay, Stan? I just want to hear you laugh again," Kyle murmured, a hand lifting to sift through the few black hairs that poked out from beneath his hat.
"Hey guys?" Both boys lifted their heads, turning to face the soft-spoken Kenny. Stan's body stiffened but Kyle remained, arms wrapped protectively around the boy.
"What's up, Kenny?"
"Craig's bringing Tweek out of the bus and we're going to see if he can identify what we killed then make a bonfire and see if the mess is edible, but if you two want to keep making out that's cool by me." He offered a friendly smile.
Kyle snorted, laughing as he kicked a leg out at Kenny. "Sure, we'll be out once we finish with the bags." He clapped Stan on the back then pulled from him, crawling on his hands and knees to pull the few remaining duffle bags from the back of the compartment. With Kenny lifting each bag down and both Kyle and Stan tugging the bags, the bin was emptied quickly.
"OH JESUS, THIS IS TOO MUCH PRESSURE!"
"Come on," Kenny urged, putting an arm around both Kyle and Stan's shoulders as they hopped down from the bus. "The entertainment is just about to begin."