The commotion that came hand-in-hand with the bonfire was quick to die down, leaving the team with an abnormal, awkward silence save for the sounds of the night and crackling fire. Butters, the ever optimistic one, was the first to break it.
"Well, say fellows," he began, rubbing his hands together for warmth. "Why don't we play a game or somethin'?"
"Like what, Butters?" Cartman grunted, voice thickened with feign interest. "There aren't any girls here to play stupid kissing games with, oh, except for Stan."
"Fuck you, fat ass!" Stan retorted, folding his arms in front of his stomach.
"No thanks, fag," Cartman said.
"Aw jeez, fellas," Jimmy stuttered, trying to bring Butters' idea back to life. "I would have though that a g-game would be f-f-fuuuuu… f-f-fuuuu… f-f-"
"But what kind of game could be fun?" Token interrupted. "I mean, sleepovers are for chicks, right?"
"Not necessarily, Token. You s-s-see, I play Truth or Dare all the time with Craig and Clyde," Jimmy supplied. "And it doesn't seem so ef-ef-ef-effemin—eff—effeminate to me."
"To you? You weren't the one dared to take off all your clothes save for a sombrero and do the Mexican Hat Dance on webcam with Red!" Clyde whined, hands rising above his head in protest though they lowered to retie his scarf. Craig didn't refrain from snickering, only spurring Clyde's neuroticism. "It wasn't funny!"
"Sure it wasn't, Pedro," Craig said, teeth glinting in a smile as Clyde drew an elbow out in a weak attempt to shove Craig off of the large tree trunk they were sitting upon.
"I'm game for it," Craig continued. "You have to be a real man to play Truth or Dare."
"Gah! No way!" Tweek interjected. "That is way too much pressure! You have to decide which you choose then GAH! No way!"
"Simmer down, Tweek," Craig replied, voice calmer and quieter. "You can always choose truth. Then all you have to do is answer a question."
"GAH! ARE YOU KIDDING ME? WHAT IF I GET THE WRONG ANSWER?"
Silence.
More silence.
"Um, Tweek, dear chap," Pip said, laughing anxiously. "There aren't wrong answers when you choose Truth. You just have to reply. It's awfully fun."
"Now, I'm not sure about this, fellows-" Butters started, shaking his head slightly. "The last time I played Truth or Dare, my parents found out that I was dared to touch Wendy's hooters and I got grounded.".
Stan.'s jaw dropped. "Dude! You groped my ex-girlfriend?"
"Well, not exactly. I mean, you two were still together 'n all-" before Butters could even finish his sentence, the group broke into hard laughter.
"Wendy cheated on me with you?" Disbelief was plastered to Stan's face before it morphed to anger. His cheeks flushed. Kenny gripped onto his sides, body rocking sideways to rest against Cartman's shoulder as he spouted milk from his nose.
"Oh God, buhahahaha! Stan, you fucking homo! Wendy chose Butters over you! HAHAHA!"
"Hey, knock it off, fat ass," Kyle defended. "Truth or Dare is the lamest game ever made, anyway."
"Oh yeah?" Cartman retorted. "I didn't realize that Jews were also chickens."
"Shut up, fat ass! We are not!"
"It's true-" Cartman jided. "You're afraid of getting dared. You're afraid of what could happen to you, isn't that right?"
"Knock it off, Cartman," Kyle growled.
"Why?" he replied simply. "It's because I'm right. You Jews are all the same—able to dish it out but can't take the pressure. What are you gonna do, Kyle? You gonna prove Mel Gibson wrong?"
The red-haired boy's eyes narrowed into small darts, inner fire blazing. "Fine. I chose 'dare,' fat ass." The growl remained in his throat, bordering on a snarl. "Give it your best shot."
"All right, Kyle," Cartman started slowly, enunciating each syllable.
"Kyle, you sure you want to go through with this?" Stan asked. "You don't need to."
"Yeah, it'll shut him up for a bit."
"Kyle!" Cartman snapped, trying to draw his attention again. Once Kyle's face turned toward his, he continued. "I dare you to go down on-"
"NO!" Kyle glanced at Stan, eyes wide.
"-on Clyde," Cartman finished.
"Wait—what?" Stan blinked then shook his head. He was hearing things. He had to. Clyde? Clyde Donovan? Not himself, the outed queer on the football team? Not him, when he and Kyle had been best friends since always? Cartman always ripped on him and Kyle, unless…
"DUDE! SICK!" Kyle squealed, gripping onto his stomach.
Stan's eyes shifted to Clyde.
"YOU WANT ME TO BLOW CLYDE?"
Not even an hour before…
"I'D RATHER EAT ROAD KILL THAN SUCK DICK!"
Cartman knew. He fucking knew.
"Bastard-" Stan hissed, ignoring the perplexed look Kenny gave him.
"Y-you can't do that to me!" Clyde protested shrilly, balling his fists. "I don't consent!"
"Whatever Clyde. It has to be you."
"I'm STRAIGHT!" Kyle protested louder.
"I won't do this!" Clyde shrieked.
"It's a fucking dare—get over it," Cartman said, rolling his eyes. "Stop being such a goddamn pussy, Clyde."
"I don't want to do it! You can't make me!" Clyde's eyes glistened, a prerequisite to tears.
"What are you going to do, Clyde? Cry for your mommy like you always do? Your mommy isn't here, is she?" Cartman drawled.
"That's enough, Cartman-" Craig interrupted, placing a hand on Clyde's shoulder. "Just get it over with quickly, okay bud?"
Stan quirked a brow. No raised middle fingers. No death threats. Don't fuck with my friends. It didn't make sense. Why did Craig hate Stan so much? It didn't make sense, not when Craig seemed cool with everyone else.
Stan's heart rate quickened as Kyle grudgingly stood up. "I hate you so much, Cartman. I hope you burn in hell."
"Yeah, yeah. Stupid Jew. I'm going to Heaven," he snorted. "Get to it."
Kyle trudged to the other side of the bonfire. Clyde, reluctantly, unbuckled his belt and slid his fly down before he slid a hand inside. Stan's eyes moved to Clyde's face then to the scarf wrapped so tightly around his neck, hiding his hickeys. He glared at Cartman.
A cruel smile played on Cartman's lips. "You fags were gone for a long time. I want to see you miserable, Stan. I hate you so much. Almost as much as I hate Kyle."
"Why are you doing this to me?" he whispered back.
"Because I want to see you cry."
The answer was so simple, so plain. And yet, it was so typical of Cartman. A simple act that meant so much. And like hell would Stan give in and break down. Not if he could help it.
"Dude, that's pretty harsh," Kenny mumbled, startling Stan for a brief moment. He knew. He knew as well. How many of them knew? Not Kyle, but could Craig? Was his encouragement payback?
Stan watched Kyle's back as he sank to his knees.
"Do I look like I care?" Cartman replied, arms folding over his chest.
Clyde's hands rested on Kyle's shoulders.
When Stan's eyes opened, he discovered that he was lying on his back. Kyle, Pip, Tweek and Token loomed over him, eyes beaded in worried concentration.
"Nhn, what happened?" Stan asked groggily.
"You just started to puke or something. Then you fainted," Token said. "I've never seen anything like it. You okay?"
"GAH! You freaked us out, man!" Tweek jittered, eyes shifting toward Pip. The blond, British boy nodded his head.
"Indeed. We were awfully worried about you. You were unconscious for quite a few minutes-"
"Did you do it?"
Stan's interruption was abrupt, and three of the four surrounding boys took their cue to leave. Kyle shoved his hands in the back pockets of his slacks.
"Did you?" Stan repeated.
Another silence.
"…you did." Stan rose to his feet, shoulders rounded over. "I hate that."
"Stan?" Kyle asked gently.
"Forget it," Stan said, walking toward the fallen tree trunk Kenny sat on. He allowed his body to fall on it, arms folding over his stomach as he gazed into the fire.
"You okay?" Kenny asked.
"Leave me alone," Stan mumbled. He stared at the fire, the red emblems glittering in the corners of his eyes while he rocked back and forth. The sensation of someone sitting next to him became present but he wasn't aware of the gesture. His shoulders flinched as the heavy weight rested on them.
"It's not like you, Stan," Kyle said softly, a sadness tinting his voice. "It's not like you at all. I don't get it."
"Could you love me?" Stan asked, rocking his weight forward. Silence. Kyle released Stan's shoulders. Stan rubbed his eyes. "That's why you don't get it," Stan said softly, resigned. "That's why you can't."