After breakfast, it's another five hours to their next stop, which is the Fishlake National Forest. Stan wants to camp by the lake and rent fishing poles, catch their dinner and show Kyle how to gut a fish. Kyle really wants a shower, and dreams about taking one while he naps in the backseat. When he wakes up his head is more firmly in Stan's lap than he realized, and he allows himself to enjoy it for a few groggy seconds before he sits up. Kenny is driving while Cartman fools with the radio.
"Turn that down," Stan says. "Kyle is trying to sleep."
"It's okay, I'm up," Kyle says. He's still closer to Stan than he should be, in the middle seat. Cartman's seat is pushed back as far as possible, eliminating all leg room.
"Why the hell are you so tired?" Cartman asks, turning to look at Kyle. "Did Stan ride you too hard before I broke up your little tent party?"
"Shut up," Kyle says. He rubs the sleep from his eyes and yawns. "Where are we?"
"Creepy compound country," Kenny says. "I need to stop for gas soon, so that should be interesting."
"Compounds?" Kyle says. "What, like those fringe Mormon cults?"
"Polygamists," Cartman says. "So get your cameras ready."
"What do you think you're gonna see?" Stan asks. "Orgies? Don't take any pictures, I don't want these people, like, retaliating."
"Good call," Cartman says. "We could end up strapped to their dinner tables, eaten alive."
"Sick." Kyle kicks the back of his seat. "Shut up. They're not cannibals."
"And you know that how, Kyle? There are no recorded interactions with some of these, shall we say, tribes and decent humanity. There's no telling what sort of strange customs go on in their underground bunkers."
Kyle scoffs and looks out Stan's window, settling his shoulder against Stan's. Empty highway terrain like the kind they're driving through makes him a little nervous. Cartman inventing bullshit about roadside cannibals doesn't help.
"You hungry?" Stan asks, nudging Kyle. He nods.
"We don't have to stop, though," he says. "Not that there's anyplace out here to stop."
"Here," Stan says. He reaches over Kyle, for a bag that's tumbled to the floorboard behind Cartman's seat, and digs out a packet of pretzels. They split it, watching the blank desert scenery pass by outside the car, and by the time the pretzels are gone Kyle's mouth is dry and dusty. He wants to put his head on Stan's shoulder and sleep again.
"Gas station in five miles," Kenny says as they pass a banged up sign that informs them of this. "I'll have to stop there."
"I'll cover you while you're filling up," Cartman says.
"Cover me? What, with the gun? I don't think the crazy cultists are going to come out of the convenience store shooting."
"You never know with these people."
"Oh, great," Kyle says. "We're all gonna end up in some backwoods jail after Cartman opens fire on innocent hillbillies."
"No such thing as an innocent hillbilly," Cartman says. "Those people are born deranged."
"You'd know," Stan says. Kyle laughs and leans against him, partly just to see how he'll respond. He's been so physical for the past few days. Stan rests his elbow on Kyle's leg, and stale hope flares up through Kyle's chest.
"Heard from Wendy again?" he asks.
"Yeah, weirdly," Stan says. "She asked me how I was doing."
"Whoa. I'll alert the media."
"It's weird for Wendy, trust me. She usually only gets in contact with me if she actually has something to say. Like, she got her grades in, or she needs to know if I'm free on Friday. That sort of stuff."
"Maybe it's just hitting her hard that you've left town," Kyle says. "It's not like you're just going on vacation or something. She's still there, and you're gone."
"Dude, fine, but she's moving to California, too."
"Yeah, about six hours north of you. It's not gonna be the same."
Kenny's music is too quiet, and Kyle feels awkward, is letting himself get worked up. When Stan's sighs, Kyle can feel it, Stan's shoulder lifting and settling against his.
"Well," he says. "Wendy will just, um. She'll get used to it. It's not like we won't talk."
"Right, but she's your girlfriend." Kyle can't seem to get himself to shut up. "She's used to having you, like. Near to her. It's not the same to just talk. I mean, aren't you worried about this? Don't you think about this shit?"
Kenny starts fucking with the radio, turning up the volume and scrolling through static-filled stations. Stan is looking at Kyle, and Kyle is staring straight ahead, at the windshield. The exit that leads to the gas station is approaching.
"Of course I think about it," Stan says, softly.
"Let me break it down for you, Kyle," Cartman says. "Wendy is what you call a 'high maintenance bitch.'"
"She's not a bitch," Stan says. "Shut up."
"I mean in the sense of show dogs here," Cartman says. "Wendy's well bred, I'll give her that. She'd probably produce some serious champions. But in the meantime, she's a lot of work. Like, one of those dogs that has to have its fur brushed eighty-five times a day or it gets tangled up in its own hair and can't walk."
"What the fuck are you talking about?" Kyle asks, agitated. He was having something close to a real conversation with Stan, and while it was kind of a relief when Kenny broke the silence by messing with the radio, this is taking everything totally off the rails.
"Stay with me here, Kyle," Cartman says. "What Stan is looking for, in terms of college poon, are the more common but easier to maintain breeds. He's looking to fuck like, beagles for awhile. Hot beagles, but beagles all the same. Maybe he'll come back and marry Wendy, who would be, like, a bichon frise in this scenario, I guess -"
"Okay, stop talking," Kyle says. "Or talk about shooting cannibal hillbillies. Just stop trying to make sense out of this goddamn metaphor, because it's not going to happen."
"Oh, sorry, I didn't realize you had dibs on awkward metaphors about Wendy," Cartman says. It's like a knife directly to the chest, the kind of attack that only Cartman has ever been able to launch on him.
"So here's the gas station," Kenny says needlessly, practically shouting. He squeals into a parking space, the car's tires kicking up clouds of dirt.
"Let's get out and get a drink," Stan says. Kyle is still frozen in a kind of white hot rage combined with icy mortification. So even Cartman knew that he was being metaphorical before. He wasn't asking about Wendy, he was asking about himself.
"C'mon," Stan says, tugging Kyle out of the car. "I want to take some pictures, too."
The landscape is bleak, windy and hot, and there's really nothing to take pictures of, but Kyle humors Stan, following him around back of the gas station's small convenience store. He feels hollowed out, like he just made a confession in front of all four of them. There have been moments, like now, when he's wondered if he ever really fooled anyone.
"Smile," Stan says. Kyle is standing with his hands on his elbows, in front of a dim backdrop of some far away mountains.
"I'm thirsty," Kyle says. "I thought we were getting drinks."
"We are, just one second." Stan takes a picture, though Kyle isn't smiling. "I want to remember this."
"Why?"
"I don't know." Stan looks down at the camera, and Kyle feels guilty. Kyle wants to remember it all, every second. He walks over to Stan and laughs when he sees the preview screen on the camera. He looks miserable in the picture, on the verge of throwing a tantrum.
"We'd better go in there," he says. "Cartman might be waving his gun around."
Stan nods. Kyle wants a picture of him just like this, sunlit and sort of sad, looking at Kyle like he wants him to play along, to carry out the rest of the trip like it will never end, like the pictures will be enough when it's over. Kyle wants to hug him, but he can't, because he'll end up kissing him if he gets any closer. He's had so many nightmares about accidentally kissing Stan. Good dreams about Stan kissing him are far more rare, and he cherishes the few he can remember. In one he was sitting on a kitchen counter at some house party when Stan walked up, parted his legs and settled between them. He didn't even pause to blink, just leaned in and kissed Kyle like it was his right, like he'd done it a million times. Kyle had always wanted it to happen that way, back when he thought it might actually happen.
Inside the shop there's no commotion, just Cartman buying an armload of snack foods. Kenny has already paid for the gas, and seems pleased with himself. Kyle buys a bottle of water for later and a Mountain Dew for now. He needs some caffeine, or he'll end up sleeping through the majority of this trip.
"Check it out," Cartman says, whispering loudly as they stand in line to pay. He nods to a girl in a long dress who is perusing the magazine stand. "She's one of them," he says.
"One of who?" Stan asks.
"The hill people, dumb ass!"
The cashier is giving them an unfriendly stare. Kyle turns red and thinks about trying to apologize for Cartman, but just the idea of trying to is exhausting. He pays for his drinks and hurries back to the car, Stan trailing behind him.
"So how do you think I should respond?" Stan says.
"Huh?"
"To Wendy. What should I text back? To make her feel better or whatever."
Kyle throws the water into the backseat and twists the cap off the Mountain Dew. He kind of wants to punch Stan for asking him this, but Kyle invited the question, and Stan might really be asking something else.
"There's really nothing you can tell her that will make her feel better," Kyle says. "But I'm sure she'd be happy just to hear from you."
Stan stares at him like he's waiting for more. Kyle doesn't have any further wisdom on the subject. He climbs into the back and brushes pretzel crumbs from the seat.
"I'm gonna drive," Stan says.
"Okay."
"Kyle!"
"What?"
"Sit up front!"
"Oh." Kyle grins, and rushes to claim the seat before Cartman can.
The Mountain Dew helps for a little while, and Kyle starts talking a lot, fast, about nothing in particular. Stan mostly listens, laughing when Kyle gets worked up about something their Biology teacher said to him years ago that still pisses him off. Cartman eats snacks and complains about their music choices, then about National Forests, the federal government, and Kyle's hair. Kyle turns the music up loud so he won't have to listen to him. Kenny sleeps and checks his phone obsessively. Kyle wonders who he's waiting to hear from, and makes a mental note to steal Stan away for an explanation about the Kenny Situation once they get to their campsite.
"Aren't you guys dying for a shower?" Kyle asks. He feels dirty again, and can smell a combination of everyone's sweat.
"They have facilities at the park we're gonna stay in," Stan says. "Outdoor showers."
"Outdoor!" Kyle gapes at him. Cartman will use this as an excuse to play some kind of prank on him.
"I'll guard you," Stan says. Cartman snorts.
"Yeah, I'll bet you will," he says. "Don't forget to bring your camera."
"Fuck off," Stan says. "I'll be guarding him from you."
"Me! I don't want to be within fifty yards of Kyle's naked ass."
"Yeah, right."
"Everyone stop talking about my ass," Kyle says. He hates it when Stan insinuates that Cartman's obsession with him is sexual in some fashion. Not only because it's a horrific thought, but because it's embarrassing when Stan acts like he's protecting Kyle's honor from Cartman's devious desires.
"I'm not taking a shower in some nasty outdoor stall," Cartman says. "That thing will be crawling with hippie germs."
"You can wear flip flops," Stan says. Kyle groans.
"Can't we just get a motel room?" he asks.
"Whoa, call the newspapers," Cartman says. "A Jew actually volunteered to spend money."
"Shut up, fat ass!"
"What? I agree with you! And congratulations on your progress as a human being."
"The outdoor showers aren't that bad!" Stan says. "Some scummy motel shower would probably be worse."
Kyle withholds a second groan. His idea of traveling is very different from Stan's. When Kyle's family goes on vacation, they stay in four or five star hotels. He feels like bragging about this as proof that Jews do spend money, but doesn't want to make Kenny feel bad.
The Fishlake National Forest campgrounds are more crowded than Grand Mesa, especially as they get closer to the lake. They stop at the visitor's center to rent fishing equipment, and Kenny and Cartman manage to refrain from attracting the attention of any park rangers. When they get to the campsite Kyle immediately inspects the outdoor showers. They're even slimier than he feared.
"Great plan, Stan," Cartman says. "We might as well just jump in the fucking lake."
"I think I will," Stan says. He pulls his shirt off, and Kyle has to force himself not to look. Sometime around middle school, Stan's shirtlessness began to affect him profoundly. Kyle can't witness it without imagining the heat of Stan's skin against his cheek, and how good it would feel to lie on top of him. Stan's skin smells like heaven even through his t-shirts, and he's especially fragrant right now, in a way that shouldn't make Kyle want to lick him everywhere.
"C'mon," Stan says, rattling Kyle when he grabs his arm. "Come with me."
"It'll be cold as a witch's tit," Cartman says.
"So?" Stan says. "Don't be such a pussy. Me and Kyle aren't scared. Right?" He gives Kyle's arm a shake.
"Um," Kyle says. "Right." It does sound kind of nice, clean mountain water washing away his dried sweat, but he's a wimp about being cold. Stan is pulling him toward the lake.
"Look," Stan says. "Some little kids are playing in the water. I guess they're braver than you, Cartman."
"Your reverse psychology bullshit is not going to work on me," Cartman says. "You two homos can have fun pretending to be mermaids together. I'm gonna find a working toilet somewhere in these godforsaken woods and put something down on paper, if you know what I'm saying."
"Quit talking about your plans to crap," Stan says. "Kenny?"
"No," Kenny says. "I don't need to crap. Thanks for asking, though."
"I meant are you coming swimming?"
"I don't think so. You guys have fun." He gives Kyle a look that makes Kyle's guilt about looking forward to talking about him behind his back evaporate.
"I'm gonna get my swim shorts from the car," Stan says. "You packed yours, right?"
"Yeah." Kyle was envisioning hotel pools when he did, and Stan stretched out on the lounge chair next to his, wet and glistening. Eventually, in California, they'll stay at a hotel, but that will be the last day of the trip, and Kyle's vision will have tunneled to Life Without Stan so completely that whatever Stan does as his present company won't reach him.
They change into their suits in the outdoor shower area, behind a flimsy curtain, and Stan keeps guard for Kyle as promised. He does the same for Stan, his face heating as he listens to the sound of Stan unzipping his jeans. He hasn't seen Stan without his clothes since they were kids. They used to change out of their bathing suits in front of each other without thinking about it. Kyle was the one who started changing in the bathroom instead, not because he thought Stan would look at him but because he'd started to want to look at Stan.
When they get to the edge of the lake, Stan runs into the water, stopping when it's up to his knees. He turns back to Kyle and smiles sheepishly, confirming Cartman's theory: cold as a witch's tit. Kyle winces as soon as he puts a toe in, but walks forward toward Stan anyway, because he doesn't want to be a pussy, and because Stan is magnetic when he's half-dressed, being a bitch about nature and smiling at Kyle from over his shoulder.
"Are we seriously going to swim?" Kyle asks when he's reached Stan, both of them already shivering.
"I think we have to," Stan says. "Or we'll never hear the end of it from Cartman."
"What have you gotten me into?" Kyle asks. Stan touches his hip. Kyle hopes Kenny isn't watching this from the shore.
"I bet once we start swimming we'll warm up," Stan says. "I'll race you out into the deep part?"
Kyle whines, despite himself. He doesn't like the idea of what could be lurking on the bottom of lakes like this. Garbage, corpses, undiscovered sea monsters.
"You still have to tell me about Kenny," Kyle says.
"Oh, God, that." Stan groans. "Okay, but race me first. Ready? Go!"
He takes off, and Kyle hesitates for only half a second before diving in to the water and tearing after him. He's never liked losing races to Stan; Kyle has always been the faster one. The chill of the water makes his lungs feel like they've been coated in ice, his breath coming in shallow stabs as he fights to catch up with Stan. He's making progress, powered by Mountain Dew and the sugary plate of carbs he ate for breakfast. Stan is still slightly ahead of him when he stops and turns back, panting.
"Warm yet?" Stan asks.
"Well." Kyle is out of breath, too, shot through with adrenaline. "I'm less freezing."
They look back toward the shore, which is farther than Kyle thought it would be after what felt like a short swim. There are still a few kids playing at the edge of the lake, laughing and splashing each other while their parents watch from folding chairs, drinking beers.
"Do you ever wish you were still that age?" Stan asks.
"Not really," Kyle says, remembering what it was like before he had his driver's license, having to ask permission for everything. Not that it was so different after he got his license. He's ready to be free of his parents.
"Everything was so easy, though," Stan says.
"You're remembering it wrong. Some things still sucked."
"I guess." Stan is pouting. Kyle splashes him, and Stan retaliates by dunking him.
"Fuck, dude!" Kyle shouts when Stan pulls him up, laughing. "My hair!"
"That's the gayest thing you've ever said," Stan says, laughing harder. Kyle growls and dunks him, getting the sense that Stan is only letting him do it. He can definitely out-wrestle Kyle now, even while treading water. When he comes up he spits a mouthful of it onto Kyle's head, the trajectory of it arching neatly.
"Sorry, did I mess up your hair?" he asks, still laughing. Kyle splashes him and swims toward the shore. Stan follows, and Kyle refuses to look at him when he tries to engage him in another play fight, splashing him weakly as they swim.
"Tell me about Kenny," Kyle says.
"You're so worried about him."
"Yeah? You were, too, when you ran after him last night without even taking a goddamn flashlight."
"Okay, fine. I'll tell you, but we should wait until we can stand."
"How come?"
"'Cause you might faint."
"Oh, Jesus. What do you mean?"
"It's pretty fucking shocking, dude."
"More shocking than - that time?" Kyle asks. He stops to tread water while he waits for the answer. Stan does, too, and tests his feet against the lake bottom to see if he can stand. He can, just barely, but Kyle can't even manage it on his tip-toes.
"No," Stan says. "It's not as bad as that time."
Neither of them needs to clarify: the time Kenny showed up at the bus stop battered, the time they spent the whole week huddled around him in Stan's bed while he recovered. Kyle nods.
"Good," he says.
"It's just weird," Stan says. "Really weird."
They swim to the shore and sit on the grass, both of them shivering until the sun begins to suck the water from their skin. Kyle doesn't feel any cleaner; he imagines lake germs taking up residence in his hair.
"So?" he says. He bumps his shoulder against Stan's, wishing for a fluffy towel, something big enough for both of them. "Tell me."
Stan sighs. He looks at Kyle, then checks back over his shoulder to make sure no one will overhear. Kyle's imagination is reeling. Kenny used to joke about hooking in North Park on weekends. If that's what Stan is about to tell him, he'll never stop flipping out.
"It's Butters," Stan says. He makes a queasy face. "Kenny is, like. With him."
"Huh?"
"We had this big talk, or whatever." Stan rolls his eyes. "That night when Kenny ran off. I found him, and he was all pissed off at me. Well, he was drunk. But he was saying that at some point he got really sick of me and you looking out for him, blah blah. I guess because of that one time. I mean, we did kind of treat him like a wounded bird. But he was a wounded bird, dude. Anyway, he said at some point, when things were shitty at home, he started going to Butters instead of us, just because Butters will put up with anything and Kenny didn't give a crap about Butters' opinion of him."
"Wait," Kyle says, something huge beginning to dawn on him, like a giant blimp slowly sliding across the sun. "Wait."
"Just - let me finish, dude. So he started doing this at the beginning of high school, I guess. He'd climb in Butters' window at night, Butters would give him cookies and milk, then they'd go to sleep together. He says he got addicted to sleeping with someone else there 'cause of how we let him sleep in my bed after, you know. So he'd just sleep there, or if he was drunk he'd start blubbering about whatever problems he was having, and Butters would pet him and stuff. I mean, you know how Butters is."
"Hang on," Kyle says. He looks over his shoulder. Kenny and Cartman aren't in sight. "Are you telling me - are you saying -?"
"Yes, dude, but let me finish! Okay, so Kenny is kind of using Butters at this point, at least that's how he described it, and sometime around sophomore year he starts feeling shitty about it. So he starts asking Butters what his problems are, and Butters is all reluctant to tell him at first, but then he starts confiding in Kenny, too. And they become friends for real. Kenny starts kicking the asses of people who make fun of Butters at school, Butters starts doing Kenny's homework for him. And then at some point, this year apparently, they start having, like. Mad gay sex with each other, too."
"Jesus Christ!"
"I know, dude," Stan says. "It's like, of all people - Kenny? I mean, Butters is no big surprise, he basically came out in elementary school, but Kenny? Anyway, I just feel bad for him, because Butters' parents found out about the whole thing, barred the window, took away Butters' cell phone, and grounded him from the trip. That's the real reason he couldn't come, not the stupid valedictorian thing. And they're sending him to some Catholic school in Cincinnati. And encouraging him to enter the priesthood, apparently."
"Fuck."
"So that's the big Kenny drama," Stan says. "Obviously, you can't tell him I told you, and you can't tell anyone else."
"Why did he tell you and not me?"
"I don't know, dude, because he was drunk and I was the one who ran after him. I can't even tell if he remembers that he told me. I think he does, though. He seems kind of happier, like there was a weight taken off his shoulders."
"Yeah." Kyle pulls his knees to his chest and stares at the lake. Kenny is gay. Right. Of course. Kyle always assumed that Kenny gave him pointed looks because he knows him so well, and has seen him around Stan for so long, but it's not just that. He's been pissed at Kyle because he's pissed at himself. They've both been lying to everyone. Kenny has a better reason, though; he was keeping someone else's secret, too.
"Dude, what are you thinking?" Stan asks, elbowing him. "Don't be mad at Kenny."
"I'm not mad."
"You look sort of freaked out, though."
"Well, yeah! Weren't you, when you heard this?"
"Sure, of course, but mostly about the Butters thing. The gay thing threw me just because, you know - boobs and Kenny, it's like milk and cereal, they go together. But he was like, 'oh, sometimes Butters likes to dress up like a girl, that was one of the things he confessed to me -'"
"Okay, stop." Kyle closes his eyes and puts his hands over his face. "This is, like, too much to take in."
"Alright." Stan pats his back. "You asked, though."
"Yeah, I did. And this is pretty much the last thing I expected you to tell me. God, I was afraid he was prostituting himself or something."
"Jesus, Kyle! Well, you should be relieved, then. Except that I think he's in love with Butters, and he's afraid Butters will never go against his parents, that he'll end up a priest who lives in Cincinnati and is miserable."
"That sounds kind of likely, actually," Kyle says, muttering. He feels almost cheered for a moment: someone else from South Park will be living in miserable denial. Then it just makes him feel worse. They hear footsteps behind them and turn to see Cartman coming toward them.
"Well, I hope you're happy, Stan," he says, bellowing. "I had to crap in the woods and wipe with leaves."
"Jesus, sick!" Kyle says. Stan just laughs.
"You'd better swim in the lake, then," he says. "And take some soap with you, dude."
"I already used the hippie shower," Cartman says, glowering. "It was horrible. Will you listen to your Jew boyfriend and get us a goddamn motel room already?"
"No," Stan says. "We're just about to start fishing. You want to help?"
"Ha! Yeah, right. And I'm not eating any bottom-feeding goddamn hippie fish, either."
"Suit yourself," Stan says. He elbows Kyle. "Want to get the poles?"
"Put your shirts back on and quit talking about your poles in mixed company!" Cartman shouts as he walks off. Kyle rolls his eyes.
"Thank God he doesn't know about this Butters thing," he says when Cartman is gone. "He'd have a goddamn field day."
"Cartman thinks everyone but him is gay, anyway," Stan says. He stands and offers Kyle his hand, grinning as he pulls him up. "You know what I've always thought would be really funny?"
"What?" Kyle asks, warily.
"If me and you pretended to be gay together, just to like, deflate all of his stupid jokes."
"Ha." Kyle lets go of Stan's hand, heat spreading through his chest like a fever. "Yeah. But no. He'd love that. He'd just gloat, 'cause that would mean he was right all along."
Stan shrugs. "I don't know. I still think it'd be pretty funny."
The heat leaves Kyle's chest as they walk back to the campsite, and he feels colder than he did in the lake, his hands shaking. It would be a joke to Stan, the two of them. He would ham it up, keeping his arm around Kyle, taunting Cartman with made up stories about what they do during their sleepovers. Just thinking about it makes Kyle's stomach pitch, and when he crawls into the tent that Kenny has set up for them, dry clothes clutched to his chest, he has to sit on his knees and concentrate on breathing steadily for awhile, afraid he'll throw up.
"You okay?" Kenny asks when Kyle emerges, dressed and still shaky. He nods and sits down beside Kenny on a flat stone beside the fire pit area.
"Um," Kyle says. He rubs his hand over his face. "Do you have any more alcohol?"
"What a question," Kenny says, grinning. He digs out his flask and passes it to Kyle. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"No," Kyle says. He drinks from the flask, winces, and drinks again. Kenny slides his arm around Kyle's shoulders.
"I know you're not okay," Kenny says. Kyle could scoff, refute this, tell Kenny that he knows he's not okay, too. He just nods, staring at the ground and hoping Kenny won't make him talk about it. Kenny squeezes Kyle's shoulder and takes a deep drink from the flask when he passes it back.
"What the hell, man," Kenny says. "Everything ends."
"Yeah." Kyle can't imagine how he'll ever accept that, but he doesn't really think that Kenny has, either. Stan unzips the tent and crawls out, dressed in jeans and a clean t-shirt. He gathers up the fishing stuff and walks over to them, raising his eyebrows when he sees Kenny's arm around Kyle's shoulders.
"Are you guys having a moment?" he asks.
"Would that be okay with you?" Kenny asks. Stan makes a face at him. Kenny drinks from the flask and offers it to Kyle, who shakes his head.
"I don't want to get drunk," Kyle says, embarrassed. He stands, his legs still wobbly. "Come fish with us," he says to Kenny.
"Oh, fine," Kenny says. "But only if I can keep drinking."
He does, and Stan joins him, Kyle taking the occasional sip as well. They're sitting at the edge of what apparently is a good fishing area, their legs hanging over the side of a mossy outcropping, lures bobbing in the water. Stan thinks using real worms is cruel, so they've opted for the plastic, glittery kind.
"Why aren't the fish biting?" Stan asks, sounding kind of drunk. Kyle considers the fact that they had only a small bag of pretzels for lunch. He leans against Kenny's shoulder, feeling sleepy. Kenny is sitting between him and Stan, his hood pulled up though it's still hot outside.
"I don't know, but I'm fucking hungry," Kenny says. "And the sun's starting to go down."
"We could go to a Denny's, and then stay at one of those motels that's always near a Denny's," Kyle says. He laughs at himself when he hears the slur in his voice.
"But I want to sleep under the stars," Stan says. Kenny snorts.
"You're such a fag, dude," he says.
"You are," Stan says, shouldering him. Kyle swallows down a yelp of protest. They can't say that to Kenny anymore. Kenny's still grinning, only his mouth and the tip of his nose visible, his hood pulled down over his eyes.
"Fair enough," he says.
"You know what I mean," Stan says, groaning. "And it's not faggy to appreciate the stars, okay? Kyle, don't you want to sleep out here? It's not creepy like the last place. There's lots of people around."
"Kyle just said he wants a motel," Kenny says.
"Since when are you the boss of Kyle?" Stan asks.
"Since when are you?"
"It's fine," Kyle says. "We can stay here. We'll save money, and it's kind of nice."
"Oh, wait, I forgot," Kenny says. "Stan is the boss of Kyle."
"Fuck you," Kyle says, unenthusiastically.
"Everybody shut up," Stan says. "You're scaring the fish."
"You started it," Kenny says.
"I did not!"
They don't catch anything. The sun disappears and they reel in their lines, stumbling back to camp in the dark. Cartman is there, elbow-deep in a bag of Cheesy Poofs, the fire pit still dark and cold.
"Where's the fish?" he asks.
"What do you care?" Stan says. "You weren't gonna eat them anyway."
"Well, you dumb asses aren't having any of my snacks."
"Good," Kenny says. "We don't want them."
Kyle actually does want them. Even Cheesy Poofs sound amazing right now, his stomach groaning and his head swimming. He gets Stan's sleeping bag from the car and spreads it out near the tent, then goes back for the blanket and pillows.
"You're going to sleep?" Stan says.
"I guess," Kyle says. "There's nothing else to do."
"We could look at constellations," Stan says. He flops down onto the sleeping bag and pulls the blanket up over his legs. Kyle can hear his stomach growling, too. They both stare up at the stars for awhile, saying nothing, listening to Cartman crunch Cheesy Poofs between his teeth. Kyle feels too disoriented to recognize any constellations. He keeps thinking about what Stan said earlier. Wouldn't it be funny? Hilarious, the punch line for Kyle's life.
"There's the crow," Stan says, pointing. "And the seven sisters."
"Are you gonna take Astronomy for one of your electives?" Kyle asks.
"Probably. You?"
"I don't know. Maybe." Kyle pulls the blanket up to his chin and rolls onto his side, toward Stan. He closes his eyes and listens to the noises from other campsites. Someone is singing campfire songs in the far distance, maybe from the other side of the lake. It sounds kind of eerie. Kyle keeps his eyes closed when Stan shifts under the blanket, rolling toward him.
"Kenny's sleeping in the car again," he says, whispering. "He'd better not be jerking off in there."
"Gross."
"Yeah. Especially now that we know what he's probably jerking to."
"Dude!"
"Sorry." Stan goes quiet, and Kyle can feel him studying his face. He tries to keep his features as still as possible, but his eyebrows keep creasing without his permission.
"So did you ever text Wendy?" Kyle asks.
"Oh, fuck. I forgot. I'll do it in the morning."
"What are you going to say?"
"I don't know. That I miss her?"
"You're asking me?" Kyle cracks his eyes open.
"Yeah, I guess I'm asking you." Stan sounds annoyed, but he moves closer, like he doesn't want Cartman to hear this.
"Asking me if you miss her? Or if that's what you should tell her?"
"Why are you being a jerk?"
"I'm not!" Kyle rolls away from Stan, mad at him for bringing this up. Though, actually, wait. Kyle brought it up. Stan sighs.
"I wonder what Butters is doing right now," he says.
"Masturbating to Kenny?" Kyle says. Stan snickers.
"While wearing a dress?"
"Probably."
Under the blanket, Stan finds the hem of Kyle's t-shirt and tugs on it until he rolls onto his back. Stan smiles at him, then looks up at the stars again.
"I wish we could do this all summer," he says.
"Lie in the dark, starving to death, listening to Cartman gorge himself?"
"Yeah, Kyle." Stan pulls on one of his curls. "You know what I mean."
"Well, we can't do it all summer. And we can't go back in time and be kids again. And you can't come to my school, and I can't come to yours."
"Why are you trying to pick a fight?" Stan asks.
"I'm not. I'm just sick of all your hypotheticals, okay? You're making me feel worse."
He rolls away again. He's had too much to drink and too little to eat, and Cartman has gone conspicuously silent, probably eavesdropping and enjoying this. Kyle tries to get comfortable, to go to sleep so that morning and breakfast will arrive faster, but he's hollowed out and hurting, and he can feel Stan's wakefulness like the sun against his back, full strength.
"I'm sorry," Stan says. He sounds sincere. Kyle pretends not to hear him, and listens to him roll over, away from him.
Again, Kyle has terrible dreams. These are less violent than last night's, more anxiety-riddled. He accidentally shows up for school in a dress, thereby announcing his feelings for Stan to everyone. Even Butters makes fun of him, though he's also wearing a dress, and crying. He has other dreams, all of them basically along these lines, and wakes up intermittently to make sure Stan is still beside him. This comforts him for about half a second, then enrages him, because Stan has some nerve sharing a sleeping bag with him when he probably, basically knows how Kyle feels about him. Kyle lies awake, irrational with hunger and exhaustion, asking God to keep Stan from ever touching him again, because fuck hope, and longing, and the past seven or eight years of his life that he's wasted on them. Fuck how important every thoughtless brush of Stan's fingers has been. Fuck how he radiates warmth under the blanket, how Kyle can feel it even without putting his hand against Stan's back, and how he wants to put his hand there anyway.
As dawn breaks his sleep because less restless and rage-filled, and he dreams about food instead of rank humiliation. Stan wakes up first, and Kyle hears him punching the buttons on his phone. Texting Wendy. He hears Cartman beginning to rouse, grumbling about mosquitoes, and hears a car door opening from across the clearing, Kenny tumbling out with a yawn. He thinks about pretending to be asleep for a little while longer, at least until Stan finishes texting Wendy, but he's too hungry. He sits up, feeling like a rusted doorjamb, his head aching.
"Can we get the fuck out of here?" Cartman asks. He's rifling through his supply of snacks, finding only empty wrappers. "It's Vegas next, right?"
"Yep," Stan says. "Well, the Lake Mead National Recreation Area, then we can do a day trip into Vegas -"
"No," Kyle says. He moans and puts his head in his hands, elbows on his knees. "No. I don't even care if it has to be my treat. I want a real shower. We can get one of those cheap ass Vegas hotels."
"But," Stan says. He looks up from his phone. "The Hoover Dam -"
"We can drive over the fucking Dam!" Cartman says. "I'm with Jew Boy. Kenny, you obviously won't be contributing financially, so you don't get a vote. That makes it 2-1 in favor of a hotel."
"Fuck you, I'll contribute," Kenny says. "And yeah, hotel room, fine. I'm gonna be in the casinos the whole time either way."
"Oh, God," Cartman says. "You poor people and your desperate love of gambling. It's almost cute."
"Shut up!" Kyle roars, realizing only after he's shouted that he's still in a terrible mood. "Cartman, I swear to fucking God, if you don't lay off of him -"
"Goddamn, are you getting porked by Kenny now, too?" Cartman stands up and stretches, one arm over his head while he scratches at his stomach with the other. "Sorry I insulted your new boyfriend, Kyle."
"Everybody shut up and let's pack up our stuff," Stan says. "I'm fucking starving." He slips his phone into his pocket. Message sent, apparently. Kyle won't ask about what brilliant Stan Marsh eloquence he came up with to reassure her. Not now, not ever.
The mood in the car is not a good one. Cartman is driving, Stan up front because neither Kenny nor Kyle is willing to sit next to him without committing acts of physical violence. Cartman makes sure the music is the most obnoxious shit possible: the Peanut Butter Jelly Time song, blasting. When Kenny's phone beeps with a new text message, the sound is almost lost in the noise from the stereo. Kyle watches him read it out of the corner of his eye.
"Pull over," Kenny says, his eyes still on his phone.
"No bathroom breaks until I find some real food," Cartman says.
"Pull over," Kenny says again. His jaw is tight, and his voice sounds like it did when he told Stan and Kyle to stop treating him like a goddamn charity case during school lunches. Stan turns to frown at him.
"What's wrong?" he asks.
"We need to figure out how to go south from here," Kenny says. "To Phoenix."
"What for?" Kyle asks. It's got to be a prank he's playing on Cartman. Kyle would have appreciated being kept in the loop. Maybe Stan knows all about it.
"We have to go to the airport in Phoenix," Kenny says. "Now. Pull the fuck over, Cartman, did you not hear me?"
"Dude, what the hell?" Stan says. "What's at the airport in Phoenix?"
"Butters," Kenny says. "He's there. Get him to pull over, Stan, I don't care if you have knock him out."
"That's probably not a good idea, considering we're going eighty," Kyle says. "Look - calm down - Butters texted you just now? What the fuck is he doing in Phoenix?"
"He left home - Cartman, fucking pull over you son of a bitch!" Kenny is screaming now. Stan looks at Kyle with alarm. Cartman just laughs.
"Well, well," he said. "Butters finally grew some balls and left those freaks, huh? I never thought I'd see the day. Regardless, that is his fucking problem, not ours."
"Pull the fuck over!" Kenny looks like he's ready to do murder, his hands in fists.
"Kenny, dude -" Stan tries to say.
"I'll pull over when I find a fucking Waffle House, bitch!" Cartman says. "Then you can catch a bus to Phoenix and cash in your free blow job ticket from Butters, goddamn."
Kenny lunges at Cartman, and Kyle and Stan both shout with surprise, trying to restrain him. Cartman curses, eyes wide as the car swerves across the highway. Kenny is out of his mind, trying to get the wheel out of Cartman's hand, and the car is fishtailing, headed toward the railing that looks down over a steep ravine.
"Kenny are you fucking insane!" Kyle screams, panic making his voice so shrill that he barely recognizes it.
"Cartman, just fucking brake!" Stan shouts. Kenny is trying his damnedest to punch Cartman in the head, and Kyle is barely succeeding in holding his fist back. Cartman slams on the brakes and the car starts to spin, all of them screaming as dirt and sand cloud up around the windows, the tires squealing. They hit the railing hard, and Kyle closes his eyes, waiting to hear the sound of metal crunching as they tumble over the railing, down into the ravine. Nothing comes. All he can hear is everyone in the car breathing heavily.
Kyle gets out of the car first, after checking to make sure that his side is the one adjoining the road, not the cliff. His legs aren't quite working, so he drops down onto his knees and dry heaves a few times, choking on the dust the car kicked up while it was spinning. There's nobody else on Highway 14 this early in the morning, and the quiet seems obscene after what just happened. Inside the car, Stan is screaming at Kenny, calling him a lunatic, but it seems very far away and unimportant. Cartman throws himself out of the car and lands beside Kyle, puking so furiously that some splashes onto Kyle's hand. Kyle doesn't care. He wants to bow down and kiss the ground, Cartman's puke and all.
"Jesus, we could have died," Kyle says. He may have already said this ten or twenty times; his sense of reality is just beginning to return to him. "We could have died, we could have died."
"Yeah," Cartman says. He stands shakily, wiping his mouth. "And now I'm gonna kill motherfucking Kenny."
At the moment it actually sounds like a pretty good idea. Kenny is shouting back at Stan, saying he's sorry, but Cartman can't just do whatever he wants, and he always has, and fuck him. Kyle puts his elbows on the ground, tucking his head in between them. He hears Cartman trying to get into the car as Stan tries to get out.
"Move!" Stan shouts, and then he's all around Kyle, pulling him up onto his knees. "Are you okay?" he asks. "Are you hurt?" He's kneeling in some of Cartman's puke.
"I'm okay," Kyle says. Stan doesn't seem to hear this or believe it. He's checking Kyle for injuries, his hands moving up along his ribs, across the back of his neck, through his hair. He nods to himself when he finds no blood or cracked bones, then checks again. They're both shaking, eyes locked, and Kyle feels like he's in the very last moments of a dream that he won't remember. Behind them, Cartman has managed to yank Kenny out of the car, but Kenny lands the first punch, directly to Cartman's stomach.
"You can only push people so far, okay?" Kenny shouts. His voice is pinched, shaky, and Kyle knows Kenny must feel terrible in hindsight, but he's kind of hoping that Cartman gets in a few blows. Cartman rights himself with a growl and runs at Kenny, slamming him against the side of the car.
"Stop, you fucking morons!" Stan shouts. "You're gonna knock the car over the railing!" He grabs Cartman and holds him, and Kyle does the same with Kenny, dragging him away from the car. Kenny allows himself to be restrained much more readily than Cartman, who is still snarling, trying to buck Stan off of him.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Cartman shouts. "You think you're invincible? Were you going to walk to Phoenix by yourself after you crashed the fucking car and killed the rest of us?"
"I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking!" Kenny says. He jerks against Kyle's grip halfheartedly, and Kyle keeps hold of him, though he still wants to hit him himself. "It was stupid, but you're so - you don't fucking care about anyone! You care more about getting waffles than Butters having a breakdown, alone, fucking scared? He would help you if you needed it, Eric. I don't care how stupid and delusional you are, you know he's a good person. And you don't even care about him, you wouldn't even care if he fucking died."
"He's not dying, you dumb shit!" Cartman shouts. He manages to throw Stan off of him, but just stands there wiping dirt from his face, glaring at Kenny. "And what the fuck is this? You're still obsessed with saving people? We're not playing super heroes anymore, retard. Butters is an adult, he can take care of himself."
"Cartman, you don't understand," Stan says. He's still out of breath; there's dirt in his hair. Kyle feels like he's caked in the stuff, and the fact that he touched Cartman's puke is beginning to bother him. "Everybody get out of the way," Stan says. "I'm gonna move the car before we get back in."
"No, I'll do it," Kenny says. "I'm the one who - ah, shit. I'm really fucking sorry. I'm serious." Kyle lets go of him, and Kenny turns to look at him. "I'm sorry," he says again. Kyle shakes his head.
"Whatever," he says, not ready to accept that. "Move the car."
They stand aside while Kenny pulls the car away from the railing, all of them wincing as metal scrapes against metal. Stan curses when he sees the damage. It's mostly cosmetic, paint scraped away.
"I promise I'll pay for it," Kenny says when Stan pulls open the driver's side door.
"Fine," Stan says. "Just - get out. I'm gonna drive for awhile."
"Stan." Kenny still has his hands around the steering wheel. He looks broken, worse than he did at fourteen, with his black eye and cracked rib. "Please -"
"We can go get Butters," Stan says sharply. "Look up how to get to Phoenix from here. But I'm gonna drive. Alright?"
"Alright," Kenny says, nodding. He climbs out of the car clumsily, like he's still not sure he's on solid ground, and hugs Stan, burying his face against Stan's shoulder. Stan scoffs but doesn't push him away. He pats Kenny's back, squeezes his arm.
"You better not put your fucking hands on me," Cartman says when Kenny lets go of Stan. Kenny glares at him.
"Yeah, no thanks," he says. He walks around to the passenger seat. "Sorry, Kyle," he says. "But I don't think you want me back there with him right now."
"Uh, you could let me have shotgun, considering you almost killed me and all," Cartman says. "But, no, that's cool, brah, do whatever you want, fine, great."
"Get in the goddamn car," Stan says. Cartman scoffs and does so, trekking through the puddle of puke one last time for good measure. Kyle climbs into the back with him, still rattled, and trying to figure out what a detour in Phoenix will mean for their overall trip plan. He can't really think about geography right now, barely knows which way is up.
"So, let me get this straight," Cartman says as they pull back onto the highway, going in the opposite direction after consulting Google Maps on Kenny's phone. "We're rewarding Kenny for almost killing all of us. That's good. That's great."
"How about nobody talks for several hours?" Stan says.
"Dude, I still need food," Kyle says. "Kenny, are you going to try to strangle Stan if he pulls over so we can eat for the first time in like, twenty-four hours?"
"Kyle," Kenny says. He doesn't turn to look at him. He's picking at his fingernails, which are dirt caked.
"And I'm really psyched that we have to wait until Phoenix now, I guess, to take showers," Kyle says. "That's, what? Like ten hours from here."
"Nine," Stan says, gravely.
"You guys don't understand," Kenny says. "I'm sorry, I didn't want to fuck up anybody's plans, and I'm not gonna flip out if we stop to buy something to eat. But we have to eat in the car, okay? He sounded – bad. In his text. And you guys don't know what defying his parents means to him. He can never go back, and he – he's really –" Kenny trails off there, and for a moment Kyle is afraid he's actually going to cry. Stan sighs hugely.
"We'll pull off the highway as soon as we see a fast food place," Stan says. "And yeah, we can eat in the car. Kyle, you can have the shower first when we get to Phoenix. We can get a hotel room there. It'll be, like. Shit - seven o'clock at night by the time we get there."
Kyle rests his head against the window and folds his arms over his stomach. He doesn't feel hungry anymore, though his stomach is aching with emptiness. He thinks of Butters, alone at the airport, wringing his hands, wondering if they'll show up to save him.
"Does Butters have any money?" Kyle asks.
"I don't know if he has money," Kenny says. "He must have some, 'cause he bought a plane ticket to Phoenix. Shit, I'm so proud of him. I never thought he'd break free from them. He's so brainwashed."
"Do you know anything about how he left things with them?" Stan asks. "Was there a fight?"
"I don't know the details," Kenny says. "He borrowed some stranger's phone at the airport to text me. All he said was where he was and to please come get him."
"Some stranger's phone?" Cartman kicks the back of Kenny's seat. "Are you kidding me? How do you know it's not just Craig playing a prank on you?"
"We have a kind of code word," Kenny says. "He used it in the text."
"Code word? Jesus Christ, since when are you friends with Butters?"
"Um, probably since the time when I wasn't friends with you anymore? And didn't have to tell you shit about my life?"
"Goddammit, can you both be quiet for awhile?" Stan says. "I have a headache."
"Sorry," Kenny says. "Get on US-89 up here, south."
"How long am I going to be on US-89?" Stan asks.
"Um," Kenny says. "'Bout, like. Two hundred miles."
Kyle and Cartman groan in unison. Kyle can't remember the last time he was this mad at Kenny. It's not just Kenny's momentary insanity and the near-death experience. It's the fact that he's able to turn the world on its fucking ear to be with the person he loves. Kenny is getting what he wants, and Kyle isn't going to. Kenny's secret person loves him back.
Stan's reflection is visible in the driver's side mirror, and Kyle lets himself stare. He thinks of how Stan checked him after the crash, how he felt every rib twice. Fine; Stan loves him. He's just never going to climb through a window for him.