Cartman didn't wake up until they had hit land. Stan couldn't help but feel both jealous and annoyed with him for it. He basically got to sleep through the whole ordeal, which left Stan and Kenny to help calm down their passengers and assure them that everything would be alright. There was no reasoning with some of them, specifically the twitching blonde that was deathly afraid of air travel in the first place.

"This is your fault!" His dark haired friend, boyfriend, whatever accused him, and Stan resisted the temptation to let his frustration out with a nice punch. Instead, he pinched at the bridge of his nose, eyes closed as he inhaled deeply to keep himself calm. He was still the commanding officer of the craft, even if that was now sinking to the bottom of the ocean and all they were left with was the international yellow life raft.

Stan asked, "What's your name, sir," before looking over to the corner of the raft where Kenny sat with Cartman, occasionally prodding at his face. Still wasn't awake. Stan had half a mind to think he was faking. He wouldn't put it past his lazy first officer. "Craig. Craig Tucker," the young man spat from his cross legged position. "What kind of fuckhead crashes the plane? It's your one fucking job!" Stan noted the bruises on his bare arms, shirt removed long ago, wrapped around the head of the blonde. Kenny had called him Tweak, earlier, upon distribution water rations. That couldn't possibly be his real name...

"My primary job is to assure the safety of the aircraft," Stan said, voice rehearsed after having said it nearly every day of his life since he was fourteen, the first day he sat as a student in a DV20 Katana. "And I failed. I'm aware of that, you don't need to remind me. No doubt you will be compensated by the company for time and grievances." The young man stood up, pointing down at the other boy curled up in a fetal position. Craig wobbled precariously, the inflated surface of the raft offering little support. He was taller than Stan was, he noted. All legs, really. He stared Stan down, and he couldn't help but puff his chest out and stand taller. Stan was the commanding officer, and he wasn't about to let some punk grad student make him feel inferior. Not now, not while he had a dozen people to care for.

Craig's voice broke, looking down at Tweek. "I don't give a fuck about grievances! Look at him!" He hadn't stopped the panic attack since the flight attendant had told them to prepare for an emergency landing. Well, he did stop, for the brief moment he'd hyperventilated so hard that he'd passed out, sending Craig into his own panic. The only saving grace about it was that it was just before impact, allowing Tweek to be out for it, and Craig himself to be so concerned about him that he didn't have the ability to care about his own self perseverance. "Listen," the pilot said, eyebrows furrowing together. "I've got a life raft of panicked people, my first officer is out of commission, and I'm going to try my hardest to make this right, okay?"

Before Craig could say anything further, Stan turned around and wobbled over to his flight crew. Kenny needed all the help he could get in hauling Cartman out of the raft now that they hit land. Nearly everyone else was happy to hop out, thankful for being on dry land. There was a clear power dynamic in the group, Stan noticed as he watched them all congregate on the sand. Sighing, Stan left them too it. They were all adults, and at the end of the day, his control was limited. Even his crew weren't obligated to listen to him.

"Alright, you take his legs and I'll take his arms," Stan told Kenny, only to have the other shake his head. "Can't, we're just gonna have to grab him. Your redhead over there needs to pop his shoulder back into place once he's up." Stan pursed his lips, shaking his head. "He's not mine, and why not? Cartman'd be better off not being awake for it." But Stan moved to grab one of Cartman's legs, both he and Kenny struggling to pull him out of the raft and onto the wet sand, head getting submerged under the water as a small wave rolled in. He couldn't help but laugh, digging his feet into the sand to get traction to pull Eric further onto land.

"Christ, he's fucking huge," Kenny complained, falling to his ass once they were far enough away from the water. "How'd he pass his fucking medical?" Stan shrugged, falling back himself to groan in pain. Fuck, his ribs were killing. He didn't think any were broken, perhaps just bruised. It would have been hard for Kyle to tell unless one was actually protruding from his body, which clearly wasn't the case. But they hurt, and now that Stan was seated and on land, the crushing reality falling slowly into place... Well, he could really feel them now. Stan pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, groaning. "Fuck, Ken... What are we gonna do?" He felt Kenny move in the sand, rubbing small circles on his back and shoulders. "We'll figure it out, Skip," Kenny said, before resting his chin on Stan's shoulder.

They stayed silent for a few moments, before Kenny spoke again. "What happened, anyway?"

The young pilot was about to explain, only to be interrupted by a shadow over top of them. Both Kenny and Stan looked up, Stan's cheeks turning redder. "Kyle," he greeted with a small nod.

Fuck.

"How're you doing?" Kyle asked, looking at the three of them in one fluid movement. Already, Stan could see the sun burn forming on his cheeks. Kyle had never done well against the sun. "Alright, you?" Stan asked, and Kenny scooted back, focusing his attention on trying to smack Cartman awake. Stan internally swore at him for leaving. Kyle shrugged his answer, mouth opening as if he wanted to say something. He didn't, and for that Stan was grateful. What could they say to each other? That Kyle was apparently right, or that Stan was wrong to say the things he did? That they were sorry they both ended up here and not somewhere better?

Kyle finally spoke. "So... Captain, huh?" Stan nodded, before his face fell into a look of pure misery. "Not anymore, but yeah. Doubt I'll ever get hired again. Crashed a fucking plane in under a year of being the officer in command. Fucking stupid of me." Stupid of his employer. Stan took the pay cut to fill the position, his boss saying that the compensation was in the experience. And how could Stan disagree? To apply to a future airline with his resume stating he was Captain at twenty eight? He'd look like a fucking Sky God. "What about you? Made it to grad school, apparently. Stan says most of you are students."

Kyle took a seat beside him, shaking his head. "No, not quite. Some of them are, really. Like Wendy, she's in her last year. I took up residency this year," Kyle explained. So he made it further than Stan had said he could. "Congratulations," Stan said. It had been nearly ten years since they had spoken a word to each other, and it made him uneasy. This small talk was stupid, exhausting Stan even more than he already was. "How's Ike?" Stan asked, even though he wanted nothing more than to sleep. But he did like Ike, genuinely cared for Kyle's little brother.

"He's okay, a bit shaken up. Already complaining about the heat. Some nonsense about his Canadian body not being made for the humidity." Kyle rolled his eyes. Ever the drama queen, Ike. He'd taken up shelter under the shade of palm leaves, bickering with Firkle and Filmore about something that Kyle hadn't heard. "Wendy and Bebe, the girls, went off to see if they could find anyone," Kyle continued. "With any luck, we'll be on a populated island. Surely there's gotta be someone..." Stan wasn't really listening, eyes drifting shut.

"Hey, guys!" Stan jolted at the sound of Kenny's voice, and he turned to look at him. Cartman was stirring, and Kyle hopped to his feet. Not yet a doctor, but ready to be a hero, apparently. "Screw off, Kinny," Cartman whined, and Stan dragged himself on the sand with his legs.

Kenny stayed kneeling beside Eric, smile bright and blinding. Who could be so pleasant, when he was in fucking agony. "Fuck," Eric moaned, trying to move his arm. "The fuck is wrong with me?" Kenny was about to explain, only to have some ginger beat him to the punch. "You've got a dislocated shoulder, and I'm going to put it back into place," he explained, and Cartman tried to push himself backwards. "The fuck you are, like I'm gonna let some strange ginger kid touch me," he hissed, only to receive a pinch from Kenny. "Be nice to Mr. Broflovski, Eric, fuck. You wanna walk around like an idiot?"

Broflovski?

"Yeah, fuck no, it's bad enough he's a ginger, and now he's a Jew?"

Stan buried his head in his hands. "I'm sorry," he grumbled to Kyle, the redhead looking like he was about to explode. "He's a racist asshole when he's tired. And hungry. And apparently hurt, too." Kyle didn't acknowledge Stan's apology for his coworker. Instead, Stan watched with his mouth agape as Kyle sat on Eric's chest, ignoring the yelling protests as he grabbed a hold of the larger man's arm. Eric yelled, having his own little tantrum and cursing Kyle with every slur in the book, some Stan hadn't even heard of before.

"You're such a fucking child, how'd you even pass your fucking exams," Kyle yelled back, the temper Stan had known a decade ago flaring out. With a quick motion, Kyle had forced the shoulder back into place, Eric screaming bloody murder as they all heard a pop.

"Fuck you you fucking kike!" Eric pushed Kyle off, the ginger landing on the sand. He stood, brushing himself off before bending over and staring Eric down. "You're fucking welcome, you fat fuck. You can thank me when you're not acting like a little bitch," Kyle hissed, turning on his heels and stomping up the sand to explain to the others what had just happened. Or so Stan figured, judging by the stares they all gave at the scene.