You Can Never Go Back

Chapter 9: You Provide the Lighter Fluid, the Fuel, My Fire

By: Jondy Macmillan

A/N: Yay reviews. The truth of the matter is I have ADD, so while reviews encourage me when I'm in a slump, I'm currently not and would post either way. But, to crazyrockstar- I totally considered not updating, and that's why you should care about my birthday. ;) Then I thought you might murder me in my sleep. Eek! Haha, anyway, on to the chapter. This fic is pretty much my vacation from original fiction, and I think I'm having entirely too much fun with it. I know most everyone's sad that Stan's a bastard, but you know, he's twenty two/twenty three in this, and I don't know about the rest of you, but ever since going to college I've made more jackass choices than anyone. And these are the South Park boys, who are pretty much known for being idiots extraordinaire. I doubt they've grown up THAT much. Not that anyone's complained, so…Eh. It doesn't make him any less of a sex bomb. Oh, and to Anne…I just have no idea what you mean! Who am I not being sympathetic to? I is confuzzled. Ahem. I'm ranting. I'm going to stop now. Thanks to all my reviewers, and special thanks to everyone who wished me Happy Birthday. I'm twenty three, squee! Why the HELL am I spending time writing fanfics and not trying to graduate and get a job??? AGH!

I tell Wendy to go on ahead. She obviously hasn't noticed her irate boyfriend outside. After a moment's hesitation she does leave; she has to shower, make Staney-poo's dinner, and get ready for work. I watch her retreating back, clothed in a cloying shade of fuchsia. Then I decide to attempt my own exit.

Like everything else in my life, it doesn't work. Stan scowls at me, his hand blocking my way at the door, "What the hell did you tell her?"

"What?"

"Don't fuck with me Kyle. I saw you with Wendy. What did you fucking tell her?"

"You're getting ridiculous, shithead. I didn't tell her anything," I emphasize the anything, "We ran into each other at the supermarket, and decided to catch up."

"What could you possibly have to say to my girlfriend?"

"Maybe, hi, how are you, what have you been doing since I last saw you?" I reply sarcastically, "It's not like she's a complete stranger, Stan."

"That's bullshit. You were talking to her about me."

"Okay, Marsh. Everything in the world does not revolve around your massive head," which is a total lie with the way my train of thought has been permanently on him in the past two months, but he doesn't have to know that.

Stan's other hand slams into the restaurant wall beside my ear, "Tell me the truth."

I deflate. This is getting boring. The old Stan would have trusted me. The old Stan wouldn't be fucking random bitches at parties or sharing quickies with Craig Tucker.

Flatly, I tell him, "You know what? Why don't you just ask Wendy? I'm sick of this."

"Sick of what?" Stan asks, startled. His anger is still there, raging behind his eyes, but I've obviously disconcerted him. He expected me to yell, and instead I did nothing.

"Of you," I clarify, "I felt like shit for what I did to you. When you said that everything was okay, I was ecstatic. But you're acting paranoid. I can forgive you being a douchebag to Wendy, because that's none of my business, but Stan, I was your best friend for eighteen years. Even if we haven't talked for however long, it's not like I can just break that kind of trust. I know I haven't acted much like a friend, and I know I have a lot to make up for. But you do too. Not talking to each other was a two way street. But either way, I doubt you went and blabbed all the secrets you knew about me all over South Park."

Here I check, just in case he had and his emotions betray him. Nothing. He's staring at me blankly.

"So you shouldn't expect that I would do that either."

His temper cools so quickly that it's like I dumped him in a bucket of ice.

"Being back here…" he says slowly, "…it's been rough?"

I nod, not trusting myself to speak.

His eyes clench closed as he breathes, "I made it worse, didn't I?"

I nod again.

"Shit," Stan curses softly, "I didn't mean…things have been…I don't know."

I don't know what Stan's trying to say, but I understand the sentiment.

"We shouldn't try to be friends if it's going to be forced," I say finally. He's looking at me in shock, blue eyes wide.

Clearly, he announces, "That's not what I want."

I know this is completely cliché. I say it anyway, "You can't always get what you want, Stan."

"Look," Stan's arms are still blocking me from running away. He has all the muscle of a high school jock, and even though I could probably break his hold, I wait, "I've been an asshole."

"Pretty much."

"I…I guess I was more upset about your lack of communication than I let on. I mean…you know what this place is like. Finding a best friend in South Park is like looking for a needle in a haystack. We've always been special, Kyle."

Faggy, but true.

"So…when all these good things started happening to me…finding Wendy again, my job, everything, I just didn't know how to deal. I mean…with Wendy especially. You know that none of us have ever had good role models in love. I mean, even my parents…"

He trails off, but I'm thinking of what Kenny had said. I guess it's hard to believe in love when things end so easily and then begin again the same way.

"You know that I've always had trouble…with girls, I mean. With not puking on them," he scratches the back of his head in this cute, nervous way, "Wendy's amazing. I mean, she's funny and smart, and completely sassy. Any guy would be lucky to have her, but I…I just can't fucking figure out if I'm actually in love with her. I think I am. Or I thought I was. The first time I…you know, I was drunk and I wasn't thinking. We'd only been dating like a month at that point. The second time was to test a theory."

"What theory?" I ask softly, kind of disgusted by what he's saying, but understanding to a degree.

"Having sex with a complete stranger was the same as having sex with Wendy," Stan's eyes flicker with hurt, "I felt like a complete pig, but it was exactly the same. I got off, and the only difference with Wendy was that I sort of wanted to cuddle after. But only sort of. Damnit, Kye, I wanted to ask somebody what was wrong with me. Anybody. You weren't there, and Kenny had just gotten his new job and come out. It was hard to talk to him when he was looking at the world in a whole new way. Hell, I would've even settled for talking to Cartman, but he was in lock up."

The raven haired boy groaned in frustration. I don't think he'd gotten a chance to ever discuss it until now. Jesus. How long had he been this way with no one to confide in? Stan continued, "Everyone abandoned me. Including you. And what felt 'right' with Wendy felt 'right' with everyone else. It became addicting after awhile. I couldn't stop. I hooked up with Craig somewhere along the way. At first to talk, although we never actually talked about my life, just his, and then…well, he's head over heels for Token. The asshole fled to California the minute he found out, and hasn't picked up any of Craig's calls since. So if everyone I love can leave, and if someone like Craig, who is so hopelessly devoted to one guy gets nothing in return…I just started thinking that maybe…"

I feel my stomach clench.

I guess it's hard to believe in friendship when things end so easily and begin again the same way as well. It's not like friendship has anything to do with love though.

I'm a fucking artard.

Friendship has everything to do with love. There was a point in my life where I would have bled for Stan if he asked. Great.

I made Stan stop believing in love.

No, that can't be true. He has Wendy. I mean, they look like they're carrying on a functioning relationship. If you ignore the fact that Stan cheats on her with anything that has legs.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Kenny said that he hadn't really kept in touch; he would hang out, but only every so often. Calls from him became rarer every day. It was part of why Kenny was always so reluctant to help me. He didn't want to fuck up his own dwindling relationship with Stan. From what I can tell, the dark haired boy doesn't have any steady friends. His parents are airheads. I'd left before he found Wendy. He hadn't taken up with Craig and the girls until after her. It was obvious what he was doing, to Kenny and Wendy. He was trying to make them leave him on his own terms, before they could do it on their own.

"…maybe love doesn't exist," Stan breathes finally.

I wonder how long Stan spent completely and utterly alone.

Okay, I need to stop this immediately. The world does not revolve around Kyle Broflovski, no matter how hard my mother always tried to tell me that the very sun would rotate about Ike and I if we so desired. My mom spoils us, don't ask. Anyway, the world is spinning, and I'm just a passenger, and as a passenger I don't have the ability to just make someone else's life implode.

Do I?

Because Stan Marsh's words are making my heart squeeze painfully, and I'm thinking that if my world can rotate around him the way it did for those eighteen years before college, the way it has ever since I got back and couldn't keep my mind off his problems, then maybe his world could have been centered on me. Maybe my rejection brought out the abandonment issues that have just been waiting for an impetus.

"Say something, Kyle."

"I…uh…dude," I splutter articulately. He's shaking his head sadly in my direction, thinking I don't understand.

Hastily I manage, "So you've never managed to be with anyone…erm, in bed I mean, that made you feel special?"

"I guess not," he's frustrated, "Wendy is so great. She's nice, and she makes me feel like a king when we're doing anything other than kissing and fucking. But when we do that stuff…there's no spark."

"Is there a spark with Craig?"

A distorted laugh breaks from his lips, "No."

"So why don't you just break it off with Wendy? Craig too," I add, although I don't think it would take much to get him and Craig to dissolve their little relationship.

"Then I'll be alone," he says stubbornly. I sigh. Abandonment issues or not, Stan's being a bit of a pussy. It shouldn't really surprise me. I remember Raven.

"Stan, did you ever think that maybe love does exist, you're just looking for it to be…bigger, somehow? Like a fairytale?"

He always was a hopeless romantic. That was probably why all his dreams were ending up shot.

"So? Why can't love be like a fairytale? Why can't there be fireworks and all that shit?" I give him a 'you-know-how-gay-you-sound-right-now' look, but he ignores it and continues, "I shouldn't have to lower my expectations because nothing's working for me yet."

"Yet," I smirk a little, "So that means you haven't completely given up. It's not just an addiction. You're out there looking for something."

He reddens, and for the first time I think maybe he's leaving something very specific out of this conversation. I think about it. What has he said that doesn't add up?

"That's why you only have sex with each girl once," I murmur, then pause, "Right?"

He nods, shakily. I'm on to something. Wait.

"But Stan, how long has this thing with Craig been going on?"

"That's not part of the addiction thing," he rushes to say, "It's more like a comfort thing. For Craig. Because he misses Token."

Bingo. It's definitely been going on for quite a while. I'd thought so, but it hadn't really hit my moronic mind at that point. So what's different about Craig than all the other girls? Why would he keep it up with him, and only him, when Wendy was supposedly the one he loved? I think of Stan's protests of "I'm not gay" the day prior.

He so is. God, sometimes I hate being observant. Stan, the hopeless romantic, the boy who believes in magic and innocence, can't seem to process the fact that he's gay. Gay, and losing faith in love.

If he hasn't figured it out himself, I'm certainly not telling. In fact, I'm going to do my best to forget now. The last thing I need my mind playing tricks on me and making me think he likes me too. I'm still not even sure about the Kenny and Cartman gay-for-me thing. Kenny's got to be teasing. Cartman's got to be fucking with me. Ugh! Why am I even thinking about this?

Plus there's always the option that I've gone completely bonkers and Stan is in fact still a part of the heterosexual home team and apparently I'm just seeing gay men in the carpet. There is that.

I take hold of Stan's elbow, "You know how you can make it up to me?"

"How?" he asks, his eyes gleeful. I really have missed him. And I guess this means he actually forgives me for having a chat with his lover. Hmm.

"Let's spend the day together."

"Sounds good," my friend laughs, "That's all?"

That's all for now.

But…I grin, "You're saying that a date with me isn't a big deal?"

He squeaks out, "A date?"

"Oh yeah, baby."

He catches on. It took a minute. "You're such a bastard."

"What? You don't want to go on a date with me?" I wheedle, grinning all the while.

Stan squints, his eyes narrowed to slits against the too bright sun, but he's still smiling, "That doesn't sparkle with me, dude."

I can't help it. I burst out laughing, "Doesn't-" insert laugh "sparkle?" insert great hacking cough of a laugh.

He scowls. I'm not looking at him, and I doubt he can see me since his eyes have gone all tilted and Asian, but I can feel the heat of his expression. Plus, y'know, I'd be mock-scowling if my friend was hysterically laughing over something I said. Even if I'd said something really gay like that, which I wouldn't.

"Shut up."

"No, no, really," I insist through chuckles, "It doesn't sparkle with you?"

"Wendy-" he begins to protest, but I really don't care. I'm just amused that he used those words.

"Uh hunh."

"List committee," he continues to try to interject words, but it's really hard when I'm laughing so hard that tears are forming in my eyes.

We spend the day together. And the one after that. And then the day two days after that. In fact, the next few weeks find me seeing a whole lot of Stan Marsh. Frankly, I wouldn't have it any other way. All our inside jokes have been revived. All our old hangouts are suddenly being re-frequented. In fact, Kenny's gotten to complaining because he sees less of me now that Stan and I have rekindled our friendship. I've heard Wendy's giving Stan quite the earful about it too, but I imagine that she does it with a sort of exasperated smile. She's not the type of girl to hold grudges against friends. This is funny, because she's the kind of girl to hold grudges over everything else.

Every once in a while we have conversations that border on awkward, but I always manage to diffuse them before anything gets out of hand. Like this one time, we were on the couch in his apartment and he turned to me.

"I heard you've spent a lot of time with Kenny. He's your new best friend," he's joking, but his eyes and his voice are both dull. I feel kind of…something.

"Stan, you're my best friend," I say, before I can even think about it, "You always have been, and you always will be. Even if we were to go the rest of our lives without talking."

Great, now I sound like a crappy, sentimental song. But…it's true. I fucking missed him like crazy. I told him so before. And it's not like I have any luck making other best friends, as Kenny so helpfully pointed out.

Stan half smiles, "Yeah, four and half years isn't that long, is it. I still know all about you."

"Yup."

"Like that you snore while you're sleeping."

"I do not!" I protest, and we launch into a familiar old argument.

So anyway, things sort of get good, for a little while.

Then the incident happens.

"I want to go to the party," I whine in Stan's ear for the umpteenth time, hoping that if I reach a loud enough pitch he might just give in.

"Dude," he laughs, not getting annoyed like I'd hoped, "If I already told Wendy no, what makes you think I'm going to give in when you ask?"

"Because you loooooooooooooooove me," I sing song back.

He rolls his eyes, "But you don't give me sex."

"Well, you've never asked."

Stan reddens, "Sick, dude."

"Oh, so sleeping with Craig is okay, but not with me? I'll have you know I am a fine specimen of a man."

"Yeah, if scrawny Jewish guys are your type. Have your balls even dropped yet?" he teases. I elbow him in the stomach, but he just keeps laughing. I'm not particularly worried about what Stan's going to think about our mock-flirting. I'd had so much practice doing it with Kenny that I don't think I remembered how I was supposed to talk to a heterosexual guy, and Stan was at the very least bisexual, so whatever. I wasn't worried about him liking me. That would be incest, and despite what they say, incest is totally not best.

"Please, Stan? Pretty pretty please?" I plead, "Let's go to the party. It will be fun!"

The party in question is this pseudo-high school reunion that's not actually sanctioned by the school. Someone had the idea to break into the school near midnight with a few well-placed bribes to the janitors and the night guards, and set up a bar and a DJ, and fuck if I wasn't going to be there to see it. Standing up to authority was in my blood, although I'm pretty sure this wasn't what my mom meant when she told me, "In life you have to make your own rules, Bubhie."

Still, an illegal party was totally on my to-do list. Ever since the thrill of under-age drinking no longer applied to me, I'd had to find my kicks somewhere else. This sounded killer.

Stan was so not into it. Wendy and I had both been nagging him for ages, even though Wendy hadn't even technically been in our graduating class. The more the merrier, right?

"You're making the queerest face right now," he tells me. I let the insult to my puppy dog pout roll, mostly because I know if I get mad I won't win. I have to win. I have to go to that party. Kenny can't make it, because he's got to work an all-nighter, and supposedly Cartman chose this night to give soup to the homeless or some crock that I don't entirely buy. Everyone else seems to believe his born-again homo bull, but I find I'm still skeptical. He definitely got a boner trying to ravish me against Mein Kampf, even if he hasn't made a move since. There's something lurking behind those chocolate eyes, but I refuse to make it my business to find out what. That sicko probably eats all the soup he's supposed to be handing out.

"Fine," Stan sighs.

"Really?" I demand happily.

He grins, "Really."

"Yay!" I sound so not-masculine right now, but whatever. It's not like I'm giggling.

I'm not nearly so into it when we end up late to the party. Mostly because Wendy neglected to tell us that she changed her mind and couldn't come, and then my mom's car is a piece of crap and decides to junk out on me, again. About a mile from the school, we end up walking. I don't know if you've ever been to South Park, but a mile of our town pretty much consists of cow fields and fucking trees. So we're making our way towards the high school, my party shoes smudged with I-don't-even-want-to-know-but-Stan-insists-is-cow-patty, when we reach the fence bordering Old Mister Williams's property. Like most ranch owners, he's got a big ass fence surrounding his pastures, ensuring that cows don't wander out and get hit by trucks, or more probably that punk-ass kids like the high-school-aged-me don't decide cow tipping is an acceptable form of amusement. Anyway, I hop the fence with relative ease, careful not to rip my designer jeans. Hell, they're Armani, and it's not like my mom's willing to dish out two hundred for a pair every day. I then proceed to examine the sign post that I'd previously ignored, which reads 'No trespassing. Violators will be shot on sight."

Stan has more trouble.

"Dude. That's fucking twisted," Stan mutters, catching sight of the sign. He follows me up and over the fence, a little more quickly than I did. He probably doesn't want to be shot.

I hear a sudden cry, and turn back to see the dark haired boy trying to get his shoelaces unwound from the wire at the top of the fence. It was funny watching him flail about with his foot entrapped, leg stretched impossibly like some ballerina performing an awkward modern dance. The composure he seems to have perfected has vanished in moments, his arms flapping and grasping air. I guess it would hurt if he falls. He might even twist his ankle. But the fence is only waist height, and this situation is too priceless to just go help him out of it, even if he is crying out my name in these cute little squeaks.

"Kyle! Kyle! Kyle, help!"

I finally do, after I've gotten my fix of watching him nearly fall at least three times. I might be a sadist.

We finally reach the party, which has swung into high gear. Bud the Janitor lets us in, and we tip him a few bucks just in case he's thinking about reporting us despite the bribe. Maybe if he thinks money will keep coming in, he'll leave things be.

It takes place in the old gym, just like any high school dance, but our DJ is playing songs that would make my old teachers blush, and I'm fairly sure I never saw a few games of flip cup and beer pong going on beneath the basketball hoop before. There's a full bar set up, courtesy of Craig, who is too busy to give us more than a smile and a drink. His gaze doesn't linger on Stan or anything when he does it either. I guess he really is in love with Token, who I notice is conspicuously absent.

So we hang out for a while, running into old schoolmates I barely remember. I dance with a pretty brunette girl, and Stan's dragged onto the floor by a girl who used to have this giant crush on him. We both escape from their grasps pretty quickly.

Then it begins.

I'm approached by a kid who I don't quite recognize.

"Kyle, hey."

"Uh, hey…"

He wears a baggy hooded sweatshirt lined with watermark emblems, dark shades, and looks eerily familiar. Flinging his hands out in some sort of weird finger gestures, he also succeeds in showing off the rather large golden rings he sports on both hands.

It's not until a pretty girl with bleach blonde hair and too-large boobs runs at me with a flying tackle-hug and the boy emits a, "Well, gosh," that I realize who he is.

"Like my bling-bling?" Butter grins, as I try to disentangle myself from the girl, "Bebe pays for all my ice."

Gee, that's nice. Do I get paid for having Bebe cling to me screaming, "Kylie! Kylie! I's SO good to see you, Kylie! I's that ass the same?"

She paws my ass, but since she's pretty much straddling me, she can't really get to it.

"I'm SO drunk, Kylie," she giggles a tee-hee type of giggle. Fabulous. Butters finally takes pity on me and helps Bebe climb to her feet. I then watch disgustedly as Bebe croons and fawns all over Butters. Apparently Paris Hilton wasn't the only one who wasn't immune to his…erm, charm.

I vaguely recall something about her getting a record deal, and ask Butters about it, who then tries to convince me that she's the Next Big Thing, like Britney, but not as slutty. Bebe emphasizes that statement by plunging her hand deep into Butter's baggy jeans. The blonde boy blushes and sort of shrugs like, 'what-can-you-do?'

When Bebe finally grows bored of fondling Butters, which happens about one point six seconds later, she burps loudly and says, "Oops! I need another drink. I'll be right back pookie."

Then she flounces away.

I turn to Butters, "Dude. You and Bebe, hunh? Never saw that coming."

"She's a nice girl," Butters says defensively, "She can just be a little absent minded when she's drunk. But her producers say she's going to go all the way."

"Good for her," I say honestly. I never had a problem with Bebe, aside from the occasional groping, and I think Butters sort of always needed someone to need him. I'm sure they treat each other great.

That's what it happens. Stan stumbles over to me, three sheets to the wind and it's not even midnight yet, and says, "Dude! Thanks for convincing me to come to this party! I've had a great time!"

"Stan!" Butters exclaims, delighted.

"Hey, man!" Stan exclaims right back, beaming at the smaller boy.

Butters is smiling. He opens his mouth. And he says, "Stan, it's great to see you! So I guess you an' Kyle are dating, finally."

Stan sobers up so quickly that I swear the process was visible.

"We're not dating, Butters," I insert, trying to sound soothing. I basically felt my friend stiffen, since he threw his arm around me and all, and it's sort of obvious that he's now glaring daggers at the little ghetto-fied blonde.

"You're not?" Butters muses, obviously confused. I don't get it. Okay, so Stan's arm is around me, and we did come to the dance together, but other than that in what way do we look like a couple?

And what the hell does finally mean?

"I would never date Kyle," Stan tells Butters in a low growl, which I find rather insulting. What's wrong with me?

"Yeah," I say, falsely cheerful, "What the heck, Butters?"

"Sorry fellows," Butters scratches his head all innocent like, "I just…you know…oh, look Bebe's throwing up in the punch bowl. Bye!"

Spinning towards my friend I bat my eyes, "So is it really cause I'm a scrawny Jewish boy?"

"What?" Stan's blue eyes widen.

"You won't date me because I'm a scrawny Jewish boy?" I prod again.

"Shut the fuck up," Stan cocks an eyebrow, and even though I can see he's trying to let the joke roll off of him, I can also tell he's shaken. He's my best friend, after all.

It was after this that things changed.

A/N: I'm sorry. This was supposed to have all the cutesy romantic bits- or the beginnings of them, but my boyfriend is breaking up with me like, as I write this (this is therapy) so, yeah. I figured you lot wouldn't appreciate if Kyle was experiencing mushy style feelings while thinking emo thoughts. So, the beginnings of the actual style next chapter. And give poor Stan a break. He's a sensitive dude.