Author's Note: Coming out at a fast clip is chapter 2. Going to try and do a once a week update here, maybe sooner depending on circumstances. So what do we have in this chapter? Naughty language. Violence. Wanton property damage. The usual South Park affair. Now, I have a question I got to ask you folks but I'll do so at the end of the chapter so do read that. Enjoy.
Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.
Warning: language, violence, implied death
Chapter 2
Stan was like a zombie throughout class. All he could do was sit there and wonder about what had happened this morning. As a consequence, he flunked a pop quiz about the latest celebrity gossip, got called a retard by Mr. Garrison several times because he was "being made an example of," had Cartman imply subtly and blatantly that he was gay, again, several times over, and all the while Kyle was just one seat over.
One. Seat. Over!
It was like he was being taunted. His best friend…correction, ex-super best friend was practically in the desk next to him…and one row in front but that was beside the point! When he wasn't lost in thought, he was staring right at the back of Kyle's head, wondering why his supposed best friend was not breaking up the same as he was.
Thus it alternated like that, from lost in thought to staring at Kyle to lost in thought to staring at Kyle to lost in thought…
Apparently he was lost in thought at the moment.
This zombie behavior continued up until lunch when everyone hurried out to fill their stomachs and Stan found himself all alone in the classroom. So very alone… What was this empty void inside of him? It felt so cold. So empty. So dark. What had been there before? What had once filled it up so well that he had never felt it before? What had—errrrrrrrrrr…
Oh, it was just his stomach. Lunch time!
He was in autopilot as he made his way to the cafeteria and moved through the lunch line. Because he had been one of the last to leave the classroom and all the others had had a few minutes head start on him, he had to wait alone and without anyone cool to talk to. So it was a dull time waiting and moving towards the Mexican cafeteria chef and snagging what would be his lunch for the day.
Eventually he made it out with a slice of pizza, an apple, and a can of Dr. Pepper. Eyes searched for a moment before finding the table where a few familiar faces resided but it was only after he had seated himself beside Kenny that he noticed one familiar face not there. With Jimmy to his right, arm braces taking up quite some room on the lunch bench, and on the opposite side, starting from his left, Cartman, Craig, and Butters, there was a certain usual suspect missing.
Where was Kyle? He always sat with them.
"What took you so long? Pining over the loss of your boyfriend?" Cartman taunted from over two lunches.
"Shut up Cartman," Stan retorted. Damn it, how many times had he said that today? "Anyone seen Kyle?" he asked, ignoring Cartman's following taunt. It wasn't important, really.
"He's over there," Craig said, not deigning to point with his finger. No, Stan had to take a cue from the direction the blue-wearing asshole was facing. Asshole. Nonetheless, Stan turned around in his seat, jaw falling open as he saw Kyle at another table with that Damien kid. What the hell was this shit?
It wasn't right! What was happening?
He was too engrossed in the sight before him that he didn't notice Wendy coming up to him with her school-bought lunch in hand. "Hey Stan, want to eat lunch together?" she asked.
Stan didn't answer. He was too busy watching his ex-best friend be best friends with some other douche.
"Stan?" Wendy tried again.
"Don't bother, Stan's being a faggy pussy and longing for the homoerotic touch of his boyfriend," Cartman said, taking a sip from his own can of Dr. Pepper.
"Stan's not gay," Wendy said, frowning at the fat boy.
Kenny spoke, but his voice was muffled so anyone passing couldn't quite understand him.
"Yeah, totally," Cartman agreed.
"They're just going through a t-t-t-t-tiff," Jimmy piped up, brown hair wisping in front of his eyes. "E-e-everyone goes through them."
"No way! Stan and Kyle are going through a tiff!" Butters exclaimed, slapping his hands down onto the lunch table in surprise.
"Just shut up and eat your lunch Butters," Craig said, making an example of himself and taking a bite out of his slice of pepperoni pizza.
"I'm afraid it's true," Cartman said dramatically. "You might need to find yourself a new boyfriend Wendy. Stan's finally coming out of the closet."
"No one's talking to you," Wendy said. "Stan, answer me."
Stan's eyes narrowed as he saw Kyle laugh at something the douchebag said. Oh hell to the naw, Kyle was not laughing because of that asswipe! Kyle should only laugh because of him! Why didn't that sound right?
"Stan?" Wendy asked, desperation beginning to color her voice yet Stan heard none of it, or even Wendy speaking.
"You know there's plenty of other guys out there who aren't gay," Cartman mentioned, folding his hands behind his head and leaning back a bit. "I might happen to know of a manly stud who you could try to flirt with. I'm sure he'd be, heh heh, interested."
"I'm not interested in Kenny," Wendy said.
"Who said I was talking about Kenny?" Cartman snapped, sitting up straight and glaring at Wendy.
"Then Craig. I'm not interested," Wendy said dismissively.
"Please don't drag me into this," Craig said.
"I'm not talking about Goddamn Craig either!" Cartman snarled.
"Then Jimmy."
"Did someone say my name?" Jimmy asked, look up from his lunch.
"Ay! Screw you ho!" Cartman yelled. At this point, he was being ignored and not just by Wendy. Stan had been ignoring him the entire time, grinding his teeth together as he watched Kyle be buddy-buddy with someone who was not him. What did Kyle even see in that Damien asshole?
Stan was completely unaware when Wendy left to find some place to eat but then again, he had been unaware that she had been standing only an arms' length away from him. Oh how he wanted to march over there and drag Kyle back over here so they could…eat lunch together. Like they always did.
He felt someone shake his shoulder and Stan reluctantly pulled his glaring eyes off of the sight that was pissing him off and facing them at Kenny who said something.
"No, you can't have my lunch Kenny," Stan answered.
Then he proceeded to glare holes into Damien's back.
Wendy had ultimately ended up sitting at the table that her best friend Bebe was occupying, along with several other girls from their class.
Because they were girls and so much more in tune with their emotions, Bebe automatically picked up that Wendy was somewhat depressed. "Is something wrong Wendy?" the curly, blonde-haired girl asked.
With her lunch tray on the table and her rear seated, Wendy sighed and lowered her head, raven-black hair falling over her hunched shoulders and dangling above the table. She didn't feel in the mood for much conversation.
"Wendy?" Bebe asked again, worry seeping into her voice. "What's up? Why do you look like you got a B on the last test?"
"Has Stan seemed different to you?" Wendy asked in reply, looking up and casting her gaze on all the girls around her.
"Different how so?" a girl with light brown hair asked.
"He hasn't spoken with me since Christmas," Wendy explained. "Today I see him and he's not paying any attention to me. I don't know what's going on."
"That sounds bad," Bebe said. "Really bad."
"How bad?" Wendy asked as if she was speaking to a doctor about some kind of fatal illness she may have.
"It sounds like Stan's losing interest," Bebe told her seriously. Placing a hand on Wendy's shoulder comfortingly, "I'm so sorry."
"Yeah, that's too bad," another curly, blonde-haired girl agreed.
"But what have I done? Things were going all right!" Wendy cried out, horrified at the diagnosis.
"I would say that he's cheating on you but this is Stan. The thought would never have crossed his mind," Bebe said. "The only other explanation is that he's losing interest. I mean, I've been hearing this rumor that Stan might be gay. Maybe he's finally coming out of the closet."
"That's impossible. There's no way Stan Marsh is gay," the brown-haired girl from before spoke up, defending the honor of Wendy's man. "He plays football!"
"I don't know," a girl with dark hair said. "Do you see the way he's always with Kyle? I kinda thought they might have something for one another."
"They're ten years old! How can they possibly have something for one another!" Wendy argued, not liking where this was going.
"Don't you know? Ten is the new eighteen," the dark-haired girl replied.
"I know!" Bebe agreed. "I need to start working hard to land me a boyfriend before I get ancient. That clock's a ticking!"
This was getting ridiculous here, as well as uncomfortable for anyone with a strong sense of morals and ethics.
"Got dibs on Clyde!" the other curly, blonde-haired girl at the tables declared. "That means no one else can claim him! You have to pick someone else."
"Aww," the other girls, minus Wendy, complained.
"But what about me and Stan?" Wendy cut in, hoping to redirect the conversation towards her and her problems. "How can I get his interest back? I don't want to lose him."
"Don't worry girl. We've got your back," Bebe said, dropping the previous topic. "Now listen carefully. If you want Stan to start paying more attention to you, this is what you gotta do. You need to drop the nice girl act you got going for you and start being more badass. Everyone likes a badass girl who can kick a lot of ass, has no problems telling others what's on her mind, but is still kind and sweet to those she considers her friends. So you need to start dressing all punk and coping an attitude more."
"That sounds like a generic stereotype," Wendy stated.
"You also need to drop the fancy smancy language. No guy likes a girl who's smarter than him," Bebe added.
"Okay, that's just getting sexist," Wendy complained.
"Well, you want Stan back, right?" Bebe asked.
"Right," Wendy admitted.
"And he's not paying any attention to you right now, right?" Bebe pressed.
"Right," Wendy agreed, lowering her head.
"So you need to do something new. Something that will shock him out of his apathy and nothing does that like a kickass girl," Bebe concluded. "Trust me. If this doesn't work, nothing will."
"But…how do I become a kickass girl?" Wendy asked, looking up at her best friend.
"Leave that to us," Bebe told her. "You're in the machine now."
With the final bell, students of South Park Elementary herded out from the nexus of homework, pop quizzes, and occasional center for paranormal activity. From the ebbing river of children who divided into smaller and smaller groups, each one heading for a predetermined destination, a pair of boys struck out on their own, heading for the residential area of the small mountain town.
"So when am I going to see where you live?" Kyle asked out of the blue to pale, dark-haired boy beside him.
"I…have to ask permission first before I can bring anyone home," Damien answered, facing straight ahead.
"Wow. Your parents must be stricter than mine," Kyle remarked.
"It's probably not for the reasons you would think," Damien said. "But I'll ask my father if it's okay."
"If it's too much trouble, you don't have to," Kyle said.
"But you take me over to your house all the time," Damien replied. "If you want to see my home, I'll take you there but I need permission first."
"Is your dad in the military or something?" Kyle wondered. "Is he one of those super-strict types?"
"We'll leave it at that," was all that Damien would say to that. "So what do you want to do today?"
"Want to throw rocks at cars?" Kyle suggested.
"Is that fun?" Damien asked.
"Totally. You can't tell me that you haven't done it," Kyle said. When Damien didn't reply, "You haven't? Dude, you have no idea what you're missing! Come on!" With that, Kyle heedlessly dragged his new friend off, heading for the usual hillside that he and the other boys used for this activity.
They had to head in the opposite direction of Kyle's house, cross a few busy streets but eventually they reached the rolling hill from which many a sled race started from and more than a truckload of rocks had been thrown.
"This is it," Kyle announced.
"So what do we do?" Damien asked.
"It's real easy. Just watch me," Kyle instructed as he searched around for a rock. It couldn't just be any rock. It needed to be the right size and shape so that it could be easily held and thrown when needed. Because of the snow, the young Jew had to swipe the white, powdery substance away on his quest for the perfect rock. From behind him, Damien watched raptly.
Here we go! This one was a good one. Man, they were going to need to start bringing some more rocks up here. This place was beginning to be tapped out.
"Now what?" Damien asked, looking at the rock with child-like wonder.
"Now we need to wait for a car," Kyle explained. "Look out that way and tell me if you see one coming. I'll look this way."
"Is there some specific car to look for?" Damien asked.
"Any car will do," Kyle answered. "First one you see."
Several minutes passed and it seemed like the busy streets they had to cross in South Park weren't going to be generous and send some of its traffic their way. But that wasn't important. It was the thrill of the hunt, the anticipation that came right before the kill…or the throwing of the rock where a little boy got pumped. Yes, it could be boring standing around out here and waiting but boredom was truly fleeting.
Especially when—
"I think I see one over there," Damien said, tugging on Kyle's jacket sleeve and pointing in the direction he was facing.
Turning Damien's way, Kyle let out a smirk. "All right, a Hummer. Nice job. Now watch me. This is the tricky part."
Tricky because it involved timing and the right amount of force. If you threw a rock not hard enough, it wouldn't make it to the road. Throw it too hard and it would pass the road altogether. Then there was the timing; throw too soon and the rock lands in front of the car, too late and you miss by a mile.
It had been a while since the last time he had been up here but Kyle was getting the hang of it. He was tensing his arm, gripping the rock in his hand, and eyeing the Hummer Damien had pointer out as it drew closer and closer and…
NOW!
Using those baseball moves he and most of the other boys his age had to learn, he sent his rock sailing through the air. Kyle watched in satisfaction as he got the Hummer right above the windshield, the rock bouncing off the Hummer's roof before continuing its journey to the pavement.
"Goddamn kids!"
"There, you see?" Kyle said, turning to Damien. "Now you find a rock. I'll keep lookout until you find one."
Damien must not have done this at all because it hadn't taken him long to find a rock but it was much too big and unwieldy for this. "You're gonna need one smaller than that," he advised. "Aerodynamics and shit."
They had to go through several rocks, one of which was almost as big as Kyle's head (how was Damien holding it like it weighed nothing?). Eventually, Kyle deemed one to be "just right" and thus the wait for the next car began. This time, their wait was a short one.
"Alright, get ready dude," Kyle said. "That Camry's coming in real fast. You need to time it just right and aim well. Okay, get ready, get ready, and…now dude!"
Hmm, a little bit too much force there. The rock missed the Camry completely as it sped along its merry way.
"I missed," Damien said and was it Kyle or did he sound sad about it?
"That's okay. You don't always hit on the first try," he told his new best friend. That actually sounded nice. New best friend. Anyway, "It takes timing and the right amount of force. Now go find another rock like that last one. You're going to hit one of these bitches, you mark my words."
The next couple tries were misses but Kyle noted how much closer Damien was getting. Each time he found he needed to reassure the other that it was all trial and error and he was getting better. This boy must be worried that he was making a fool of himself in front of him. Damien need not worry because Kyle could care less about that. They were friends after all and he would rip on him later about his poor aim when enough time had distanced him from this.
That's what friends were for.
"Alright, that Honda's coming in nice and tight," Kyle said. "Try to aim a little in front and above it. Alright, it's coming, it's coming, it's coming…now!"
He waited patiently, watching the rock shoot through the air, heading straight for where the Honda was going to be in two, one…
"Goddamn kids!"
"Bull's-eye!" Kyle cheered, slapping an arm around Damien's shoulders. "You did it!"
"I did!" Damien said, eyes wide, joy slowly filling them. "I did do it!"
"You're a natural!" Kyle boasted, not having the heart to tell him that it took someone like Butters three tries before he nailed one of those moving sons of bitches. Well, in Damien's case fourth time was the charm.
At about that time, an eighteen-wheeler was driving by and its movement caught Damien's attention. Watching it like a lion would an antelope, the pale boy's eyes began to glow an ominous red.
Rectus…
The large rock Damien had held earlier levitated up into the air.
Dominus…
"Do you hear something?" Kyle wondered out loud.
Cheesy Poofs…
BAM! The large rock impacted the driver's side of the eighteen wheeler's cab. The large vehicle jerked to a side and off the road, ramming straight into forest of evergreen trees where it came to a sudden halt. Seconds later, there was an explosion, the large truck catching on fire. Emerging from the wreckage was the truck driver who also was engulfed in flames and even from where the two boys stood, they could hear the man shout.
"Goddamn kids!"
There was another explosion and the truck driver was nowhere to be seen. Meanwhile, the two boys responsible were frozen in place. That lasted only a matter of seconds until Kyle grabbed Damien but his sleeve and began dragging him away from the scene of their crime.
"Cheese it dude!"
The whole day had been one huge bummer for Stan Marsh and that was certainly an understatement. When he had woken up this morning, Kyle had been his best friend. When he had reached the bus stop, Kyle had been his best friend. When he had gotten on the bus, Kyle had been his best friend. And when he finally met up with Kyle, Kyle had been his best friend.
After all that, now he wasn't.
He couldn't understand it. How could everything go so wrong in a few minutes? It didn't seem possible! This was, like, the worst thing that had ever happened to him. Ever! There was nothing he could remotely think of that was worse than this.
And what did Kyle see in that Damien douche anyway? Stan couldn't understand it. What did that douchebag have that Stan didn't? It baffled the mind!
Back and forth his thought processes went from depression to anger then back to depression. This lasted the whole rest of the day, further compounded by the fact that he didn't go home with Kyle to do homework or anything. Yeah, it was a cold day in Hell when Stan actually wanted to do his homework and someone had definitely turned up the thermostat.
He wasn't really aware of anything after he got home, black-out curtains hung over his windows so as to have his room better reflect his mood. He didn't remember eating dinner or anything. It was all a blur.
In fact, he didn't know how he was in the shower right now. He just looked up and found that he was sitting in the bathtub, arms wrapped around his legs as the shower head sprayed him from above. He hadn't even soaped up yet. How long had he been in here anyway? A look at his fingers revealed how pruny they were which meant he had been in here long enough.
So, reluctantly, he got out and reached for the nearest towel. With the large piece of cloth wrapped around his lower half, he stared into the bathroom mirror, gazing at his reflection and wondering how Kyle couldn't like any of this. This is what that Jew was best friends with. Jesus Christ, now he was sounding like a girl or something!
You're tearing him apart, Kyle!
"Staaaaaan…"
Stan blinked. That was the first thing to actually penetrate his mood. Had someone really called his name? He could find anyone and it didn't sound like his parents or Shelly.
"Staaaaaan…"
There it was again! Where was it coming from? Was he being punk'd? He swore to God, he was not in the mood for this shit!
"Staaaaaaaan…"
Okay that one was much louder. And closer. Closer that he expected for some reason. If he turned his head, he was looking at the toilet for some reason. Now why would somebody be calling his name from a toilet? It was ridiculous.
"Howdy ho!"
Stan let out a startled shriek as a small turd leapt out of the toilet, plopping right down on the seat. Somehow it was balancing on one end while the other bore a small…Santa hat? No way…
"Mr. Hanky?" Stan gasped.
"That's right Stan, it's me!" the piece of holiday poo answered.
"But…what are you doing here?" Stan exclaimed. "It's January!"
"Well I know that Stan," Mr. Hanky replied.
"So why are you here?" Stan asked.
"I was wondering if you had seen Kyle lately," Mr. Hanky said. "Why, I didn't get to see him last Christmas and he's always so happy to see me. This is the first time I didn't get to visit him in, by golly, the first time. Is he not getting enough fiber?"
Then it came to him. No really, while he was sitting on his ass in the bathroom, having a conversation with Christmas poo, it came to him. He didn't have to take this. He didn't have to let Kyle go off and be best friends with somebody else. He could fight this, he would fight this, and right in front of him might be the key to it all.
Nobody loved Mr. Hanky like Kyle did. Nobody. Sure, it wasn't saying much but still!
Mr. Hanky might be the solution to all his problems.
"Actually, he got himself a new friend," Stan said.
"Well that's just swell!" Mr. Hanky said. "It's great that Kyle found himself a new friend."
Stan had to restrain himself from saying something he would immediately regret. No, this was going to require something he rarely used: finesse. He needed to get Mr. Hanky seeing things his way or otherwise Mr. Hanky wouldn't be able to separate Kyle and Damien.
"Yeah, it is," he lied through his teeth, "but there's something about this kid he's friends with." Notice how he omitted the best friend part. "Something's off about it and it's making me worried."
"Why's that?" Mr. Hanky wondered.
"I don't know and that's just it," Stan said. "I don't want to tell Kyle because he might get defensive about it. But he listens to you! Why don't you go over and check on Kyle? That new friend might be at his house right now."
"Well gosh, when you put it that way…" Mr. Hanky looked worried now, just what Stan wanted him to be. "I might have to check it out, just to be sure that nothing's wrong. Thank you for telling me about this Stan."
"Pleasure's all mine," Stan said as Mr. Hanky jumped back into the toilet with a plop. Yes, soon, he would have his best friend back and all would be right with—
"Uh Stan? Do you mind giving me a courtesy flush?" Mr. Hanky asked from within the bowl.
Huh? Oh . Right. Sure. Wordlessly, he flushed Mr. Hanky down and as soon as he was sure the piece of Christmas poo was in the sewage system, he had the urge to laugh evilly. He resisted because that was not his department. Cartman's maybe but not his.
Things were starting to look up fast. Wait, since Mr. Hanky was all magical and everything, it would stand to reason that he would be showing up at Kyle's house tonight. Stan had to be over there, to win back his best friend once Mr. Hanky gave his unbiased opinion of Kyle's new douchebag friend.
And Stan knew what he needed to do. First was to get dressed and next was to find that old boom box they had lying around here somewhere. However, in-between him getting dressed and searching for the old ass music box, the doorbell rang. He proceeded to ignore it first, but after the second and third ring and no one answering it, Stan's decision on whether to answer it or not was made for him.
"Answer the door, turd!"
Whatever Shelly says is his command.
So down the stairs he went, a bit peeved that his big plan to win Kyle back was being hindered, though it was delayed a bit further when as he reached the last step on the stairs, he found his father sitting on the couch, bottle of beer in hand, and watching the television.
"Uh, Dad? Someone's at the door," Stan said.
"Game's on," Randy Marsh said, scratching at his balls as he made no other move to get up.
Sighing, Stan did what he needed to do and answered the door.
What he found on the other side was this person in a black leather jacket and…other stuff that Stan supposed made this person look like a punk. He didn't know half of those clothes labels anyway. Best he could describe it was black shoes, black pants, couldn't tell what the hell the shirt was, and was that jewelry? And what was up with the weird hairdo? It was all frizzy and stuck out at odd ends.
"Hey Stan," a husky feminine voice greeted. "Do you think you can ignore me?"
Stan opened his mouth and closed it, unable to find anything he could say to this.
"Do I need to kick your ass?" the person grabbed him by his shoulders, long fingernails biting into him. "Beat you up? You're not going to ignore me dipshit."
"Who the hell are you," Stan stated, finally finding some words he could say.
The girlish-sounding punk paused. "It's me, Wendy," the punk said in a normal voice.
"You can't be Wendy. You don't look anything like her," Stan said, pushing the fake Wendy's hands off of him.
"Who's at the door Stan?" his father called out.
"Some Kiss wannabe," Stan called back.
"Kick his ass. Tell him we don't want any," his father called back in reply.
"I think it's a girl," Stan shouted.
Silence. Then rapid footsteps. "Holy crap," his father said. "I didn't think when you said it was a girl that it actually was a girl."
"Hey Mr. Marsh," the Kiss girl pretending to be Wendy greeted.
"It knows my name," Randy Marsh gasped. "We don't want any!" he yelled as he slammed the door into the pretend Wendy's face. "There, that ought to do it," Randy nodded to himself.
"Wasn't that a little over the top?" Stan asked.
"You have to be strict with those people," his father said. "If you let them be, they'll multiply and annoy you with their angst. Now can you go get me a beer? Mine's almost empty."
Wendy stared at the door that was rudely slammed in her face.
Well that hadn't worked. Hell, she hadn't even gotten to really try. And what was worse, she looked freaking ridiculous! It was like she was dressed for Halloween but it wasn't Halloween.
And she didn't like Kiss!
Now, because she hadn't gotten to really be the tough girl that Bebe recommended, Wendy could try it one more time or she could say that it didn't work. A glance at herself confirmed what she was going to be doing.
"Now I have to wash all this makeup off," she moaned as she trudged away.
It was awesome. Really it was. Here he was in another person's house because he was invited! He had never been invited to someone else's house before! And better yet, it was a friend's house, no, his best friend's house!
Damien was quite giddy about his circumstances.
Once again he was spending the night over at Kyle's but that was due more to logistics than anything. It was late and his father wouldn't want to open the portal back home so it was more convenient if he stayed up here. A quick phone call to Kyle's mother helped seal the deal and not only was Damien going to spend the night, he was going to have dinner with them.
Sure, it was Jewish food, which gave him a bad case of gas every time, and this wasn't the first time he had dinner over at Kyle's but he was still reveling in it all.
His first real friend! Who'd have thought that all he needed to do was talk?
Right now he was busy in the bathroom flushing down something that needed to be flushed back to Hell. If it's yellow, let it mellow, if it's brown, flush it down, and if it's black, flush that bastard back to Hell where it came from.
If you were wondering, his was black.
As water began to refill the toilet bowl, Damien headed for door when he remembered just in time to wash his hands. Kyle had this thing about him washing his hands, something about piss being disgusting, he hadn't been paying attention at the time. But it made Kyle happy and when Kyle was happy, Damien was happy, so he figured that he might as well make Kyle happy so that he could be happy.
That sounded better in his own head. Oh well.
It didn't take long to complete the hygienic ritual but as he was drying his hands off, Damien paused as he heard something. What was that? It didn't sound like it came from outside the bathroom. More like inside it. But he was the only one in here. And why did it sound like Kyle's name? Must have been his imagination.
"Kyyylllleeee…"
There it was again. This time a little bit louder. Damien froze in place, eyes darting around, trying to find where that voice was coming from. Was this some kind of prank being done at his expense? If so, the perpetrator would feel the unholy wrath of…no, don't go there Damien. You don't to frighten Kyle away. No, you don't.
"Kyyyyyllleeeee…"
Damien jerked his head straight to the toilet just as a turd leapt out of it. Funny, Damien hadn't pooped out any shit that could move on its own in months. He thought that problem had cleared up.
"Howdy ho—ooooh! Damien! What are you doing here!" the turd exclaimed.
It was literally that second that Damien recognized the small Santa hat on the turd and knew that it could be only one person…thing. "Mr. Hanky," he hissed.
"Why are you in Kyle's house, Damien? By golly, you shouldn't be here!" Mr. Hanky declared.
"Kyle's my new best friend," Damien answered, allowing a smirk to cross his lips. "He's letting me stay over tonight."
"Best friends? But I thought that Kyle was best friends with Stan," Mr. Hanky wondered.
"There's been a change," Damien said. "Kyle's my best friend now. We actually talk and have conversations and I don't ditch him during Christmas."
"So you're the reason why I didn't see Kyle during Christmas," Mr. Hanky accused.
"We were having too much fun," Damien retorted.
"Fun?" Mr. Hanky seemed to lose some of his indignation.
"Yes, fun," Damien repeated. "It all passed in a blur. But why should you be concerned about Kyle when he doesn't celebrate Christmas? Aren't there other little boys and girls you can visit?"
"It doesn't matter that Kyle doesn't celebrate Christmas, only that he has the Christmas spirit and eats a lot of fiber during the holidays," Mr. Hanky answered. "He's a good kid, Damien, but you're a bad influence. I can't allow you to taint him."
"He's my first friend, my best friend," Damien said heatedly. "I won't let you take him from me."
"Well it's swell that you have a friend Damien but you're leaving me no choice," Mr. Hanky warned.
"Why don't you fuck that piece of shit you call a wife," Damien sneered.
And then Mr. Hanky attacked.
"Garrrrhhh!"
Kyle was walking by the bathroom when he heard the thumps and bangs. His brow creasing in worry, he approached the door and knocked on it.
"Damien? Is everything all right in there?"
Damien's back slammed into the wall as he awkwardly grappled with the Christmas poo. Snarling and cursing, he rolled against the tiled wall as he struggled. As his back came back into contact with the wall, he was decked by one of Mr. Hanky's small hands, his head whipping to a side as if it was hit with a sledge hammer.
Another punch from the Christmas poo snapped his head the other way then back when a third punch landed. Holding Mr. Hanky away with one hand, he punched the turd in its small, cartoonish face, sending a small tooth flying away. He pulled back for a second punch and threw it but somehow Mr. Hanky caught it.
Damien's torso leant to the left as he tried to force his fist further as Mr. Hanky pushed back. The growl that escaped Damien's mouth was inhuman, more in line with a growling lion or tiger, take your pick.
That growl soon turned into a shout as Mr. Hanky bit into his knuckle, little chompers biting into his flesh.
"Damien?" Kyle asked again, knocking on the door. "Are you all right in there?"
Damien fell back into the bathtub, ripping the shower curtain down with him. Free from his grip, Mr. Hanky was jumping all over the place, one jump torpedoing him down into Damien's gut. A quick exhale of air from his lungs escaped his mouth and Mr. Hanky carried on with the assault, punching Damien again and again.
Damien backhanded Mr. Hanky away but the turd rebounded off the wall, launching up onto the ceiling, then rushing back down. Damien rolled onto his side, Mr. Hanky landing right where his groin had been a second ago. Continuing to roll onto his stomach, Damien lashed out with a kick that sent Mr. Hanky into the wall.
There was a wet splat and Mr. Hanky slowly began to sink to the floor, leaving a shitty slime trail behind to mark his descent.
"Damien!" Kyle called out louder, knocking harder on the door. He tried the doorknob and much to his dismay found it still locked. Those sounds he was hearing were making him more and more worried for his friend.
What was going on in there? It sounded like a war.
They were back where they were before, Damien holding Mr. Hanky in a fist but now they were trading punch for punch. Damien would hit Mr. Hanky, send some shit spewing on the wall, and then Mr. Hanky would return the favor and send blood and spittle in the opposite direction.
Eventually, Damien didn't throw another punch but instead grasped his wrist as he tried to hold Mr. Hanky away from him. For a piece of Christmas shit, Mr. Hanky was one tough motherfucker.
The hand that was clutching Mr. Hanky was moving left to right, almost vibrating, as the turd tried to throw himself at him. Damien spun around on his heel, struggling against the force Mr. Hanky was exacting on his hand, both of them grunting and growling with exertion, neither willing to give up.
Then they heard the knocks. The two mighty combatants froze in place as Kyle's voice filtered into their hearing.
"Damien, open the door! What's going on in there?"
Damien eyed Mr. Hanky and Mr. Hanky reciprocated. Now they were in a stalemate, the bathroom looked like it was a warzone, and the first one to win would be the one who Kyle heard first. Damien, for some reason, found he couldn't be the one to speak because he feared that little distraction would give Mr. Hanky another opportunity to dish out some pain. Mr. Hanky, likewise, was going through a similar dilemma.
Something had to give and when it did, it was when Kyle made another demand for the door to open.
Damien's eyes widened as Mr. Hanky began to open his mouth to call out to Kyle. So, he did the only thing he could think of at that moment.
"Ky—"
Nom.
Kyle banged on the bathroom door, becoming more and more frustrated when Damien continued not to answer him. It was quiet in there now so he had to have heard him. This was starting to tick him—
Red light poured out from the cracks around the door and Kyle could have sworn he felt a wave of heat roll over him. It lasted for only an instant but Kyle remained standing where he was for a moment, trying to figure out what had happened.
Finally, he raised a hand up and knocked on the door again.
"Damien?" he asked, his voice nearly a whisper.
The doorknob turned, unlocking as it was pulled open and there stood his new friend, a pristine bathroom in the background.
"I was washing my hands," Damien excused himself.
"But…what was all that noise about?" Kyle asked.
"Just a turd that I needed to show who was boss," Damien shrugged. "Gave me some problems. But that's over now. What do you want to do?"
Kyle blinked dumbly at Damien but decided to let it go. There were some things that he really didn't need to know the details about. So Damien was having some problems on the pot. No biggie.
As he began to open his mouth to suggest something, he noticed that there was this brown stain near Damien's lips. What was it, chocolate?
"You got a little…" he gestured with a finger to his own mouth.
Understanding him, Damien slid a long, forked tongue out of his mouth and licked the brown stuff off. "Did I get it?" he asked.
"What was that?" Kyle found himself asking.
"I…was cleaning my face?" Damien answered, uncertain.
"No, your tongue…that was cool-looking. Can I see it?" Kyle asked, forgetting about the previous topic.
"Sure, I guess," Damien said, leading the way towards Kyle's room.
With the incident in the bathroom out of his mind, Kyle followed after the other boy, eager to learn more about the other's tongue.
Author's Note: What can I say, I had a spurt of inspiration for the Damien vs. Mr. Hanky fight. If Mr. Mackey could get his ass kicked by Mr. Hat and make it look hilarious, why not this? Anyway, as for that question I mentioned in the first author's note: what would you suggest that Wendy could do to get Stan's attention? What stereotypes would you suggest? What normal things would you suggest? Naturally, anything normal is going to be stretched to the extreme for comedic purposes.
By the way, was anyone disgusted when they learned Damien ate Mr. Hanky?