Misery Business

Written by: Spirit-the-Titan and Jupiter52987

Fandom: South Park

Pairings: Stan/Wendy, eventual Stan/Kyle

August 24

(POV: Kyle)

Finally, it's Friday. Thank god. I can't help but sit here in my econ class and think about what a hectic week it's been. Long, too. It probably wouldn't have been as bad if Stan and Wendy hadn't gotten back together. In fact, it probably would have been amazing. But because they've gotten back together, I don't even get to spend a whole lot of time with him. Instead, I am forced to spend my lunches hanging out with Kenny and Cartman, since he ditches us for her. Not that I mind hanging out with my other friends, it's just… not the same without Stan.

And it certainly doesn't help matters much by having to witness all of their PDA. Ever since that little stunt Wendy pulled on the first day of school, they've made a habit of hugging and kissing in the open. Though, it doesn't seem like Stan is very comfortable about it… Maybe I should say something to hi—

"Mr. Broflovski?"

"Huh? What?" That prick of a teacher, he always picks on me when I'm having a very important train of thought.

"Would you like to provide us with the answer?" he asks me. Great, now the whole class is looking at me. I scowl at them, and turn my attention to Mr. Daniels.

"Could you repeat the question please?" He gives me a look, and then looks up at the clock.

"Nevermind, we're out of time. I'll see you all next week. Do your homework! The chapter test is next Wednesday."

Sweet, no question for me. I look up at the clock as well to find the time, and I see that I have less than a minute to pack up my stuff. I dump it all carelessly into my bag, and stand up just as the bell rings. I crowd behind everyone filing out the door, and almost run into Stan as I walk into the hall.

"Do you get out of class like, a minute early just so you can come and lurk out here or something?" I ask him, and he laughs.

Stan has made it a routine to meet me right outside the door of our econ class (I say "our" because he has the class the period before me) and walk with me to the lunch room. It's five minutes of my day I look forward to the most, because it's almost the only time I get to hang out with him at school without anyone else. And then he's off to Wendy, leaving me with Kenny and Fatass.

"No, I don't lurk. My class is just right there, and I happen to sit by the door," he explains as we walk down the hall.

"Excuses, excuses," I tell him, smiling. "Admit it, you just get so eager to see me because you can't stand to be away from me for so long."

"Moron, I can stand to be away from you for a very long time. Anyway, I'm gonna need your help on the econ homework. I was too busy spacing out the entire time to pay attention to the lecture." I ignore his previous comment and laugh.

"I'm afraid you're coming to the wrong guy," I say, and he looks at me with a puzzled expression.

"What are you talking about? You always help me with my homework."

"True, but I was also too busy spacing out all period to listen to the lecture." I glance at him from the corner of my eye, and the shocked expression on his face is absolutely priceless.

"Dude, you're kidding! You never space out in class! That would like, go against your moral code of maintaining a perfect GPA!" We both grin at this, and I nod.

"Yes, but I'm sorry to admit, I was. So it looks like we're both pretty fucked." By this point, we're walking through the doors of the lunch room, and I'm surprised to see him still by my side. "Dude, aren't you meeting up with Wendy?"

"Not today. She went to sign up for the debate team."

"Oh yeah. I forgot, you told me that this morning. Well, let's go find a place to sit." I was about to suggest we look for Kenny and Cartman, but I held my tongue; I'd much rather take advantage of this situation and be with Stan alone.

Right as Stan and I find a place to sit, we hear our names being shouted across the room. We both look over to find Craig heading our direction. God damnit, he had better not be joining us! But knowing Stan, he's going to invite him. Damn Stan's manners…

"Hey Craig, what's up?" Stan greets him when he's in non-shouting earshot.

"Hey guys. Kenny wanted me to tell you to meet up with him in the band room," he explains, and I sigh. Great, now I still have to sacrifice my time with Stan to go find Kenny. Wait a minute…

"We have a band room? …We have a band?" I ask skeptically, and he shrugs.

"I guess so. But that's what he wanted me to tell you guys." Stan and I exchanged puzzled glances, and brush past Craig to find our way to the one wing of the school neither of us have ever been to.

"He better not be over there doing pot with the goth kids again," Stan says as we exit the lunch room.

-

About three minutes later, Stan and I are standing in the middle of a relatively large classroom with a high ceiling and walls covered in lockers. Several kids are in here too, kids I don't recognize. Some of them are playing instruments, and some of them are just hanging out. Christ, I feel out of place.

"Why the hell would Kenny even be in here? He would never socialize with these people," I hear Stan comment, and I shrug.

"I have no idea. I don't even see him." And, almost as if on cue, we see Kenny pop his head through a door in the back of the class. He spots us, and waves us over. Still a little confused, Stan and I walk over. This had better be worth having to give up my precious alone time with Stan.

"Dude, what the hell?" Stan asks Kenny as soon as we're outside the doors. I examine my surroundings and notice we're now behind the east wing of the school building. I also notice Kenny's out here with a few other guys, and that none of them are doing drugs. Good boy Kenny.

"Remember over the summer when I said I was going to try to sleep with as many girls as I could before graduation?" Kenny asks us with a big, mischievous grin on his face.

The four of us had been sitting around in Stan's living room, just finishing up a game of Halo. Stan's parents weren't home, so Kenny had been raiding his pantry, and came into the room munching on a bag of chips.

"So, I decided, just for kicks really, that I'm going to try to sleep with as many girls as I can before graduation," he had said proudly, following up his statement by shoving a handful of chips in his mouth.

"Good for you," I had commented. "Just don't contract any STDs."

Stan and I nod our heads at the memory, and Kenny proceeds.

"I've decided to join the marching band to help me accomplish my goal!" he tells us happily, and I cock my head in confusion.

"Wouldn't that do exactly the opposite?" He shakes his head in disagreement.

"Nope. You see, the girls in the colorguard are to the drumline as cheerleaders are to the football team," he explains.

"I see you've been studying your math ratios," I comment.

"I've been studying my high school cliques," he corrects.

"But I still don't get it… Why not just join the football team? That way you could still get girls to sleep with you without damaging your reputation by becoming a band geek," Stan points out.

"Because," Kenny begins, "the girls in the colorguard are way hotter and way sluttier. And besides, we all know that I'm way too scrawny to ever make the football team." He has a point there, Stan and I both know.

"Alright then. So you're in the drumline now?" Stan asks, and Kenny nods his head.

"Yep. I talked to my counselor yesterday about switching in." He suddenly turns to me. "Unfortunately Kyle, this means that I have to switch out of photo with you." I frown in protest.

"That's so lame!" I complain, and he holds up his hands before I can continue.

"Calm down and let me finish. I switched out of photo, but I'm switching into your 5th period history class." At this, Stan and I both snort in disbelief.

"You willingly signed up for a history class?" Stan asks, and Kenny grins casually.

"Sure, why not? I figure since I'll be in the class with Brainiac here, I'll get to sleep and pass the class! An easy A."

"You douche, I'm not going to let you take advantage of my answers!" I protest as I shove him. He catches his footing and laughs lightly. He stops soon after, and the three of us stand there in silence for a moment.

"So, can you really play this thing?" Stan asks to break the silence, eyeing the snare drum on the stand next to Kenny. We all turn our attention to the drum, and Kenny grins again.

"It's not that hard. All you do is hit it in different patterns. But you have to hold the sticks a certain way, too," he explains as he situates himself on the other side of the drum. He takes the drumsticks out of a pocket on the side, and places them in his hands what I assume to be the proper way.

"Play something," I request.

"Not yet," he says, pointing a drumstick in my face. "I'll play something for you when I get better."

"But I thought you said you could play it?" I inquire, challenging his confident grin with my own.

"Anyone can pound on a drum, but it takes a real musician to play a beat," he tells us with a wink.

"Since when did you get so deep?" Stan asks him as Kenny places the drumsticks back in their pocket.

"Since I learned that's how girls like it."

(POV: Cartman)

I am so seriously pissed off right now.

It's lunch time. Fucking lunch time, and I don't even get to spend it eating. Mom made me sign up for the debate team. The fucking debate team, which meets at lunch. God damn it.

The reason Mom made me sign up for the debate team, of all things, is because she and that fucking Jew-principal thought it would be a good way to channel some pent up energy. Energy that, apparently, has been spent mostly on bullying other kids for the last few years. Bullshit I was bullying; those kids needed to know that if they tried to take my spot in the lunch line, I would kick them square in the nuts. It's not my fault they didn't listen, which forced me to show them just how serious I was by demonstrating on Butters.

As I walk down the hall, I pull a crumpled up piece of paper out of my pocket and check the number on it—105. I immediately look up at the classroom door I'm approaching, and find that I'm in the right place. Well, if I'm being forced to do this, I might as well make the most of it. Who knows, maybe I can get a rise out of some of these douche-bags?

I clutch the handle of the door, and happen to look up into the little door-window into the classroom. I stop dead in my tracks upon looking in. No! No no no! This can't be fucking happening! Through said window I see the one person I hoped I would never have to socialize with again. The one person who can reduce me to a bumbling moron without saying a word. The one person who has managed to wrap me around their little finger.

Wendy Testaburger.

Shit! Before she can spot me at the door, I bolt to the wall and out of view. Great, now my heart is racing. God damnit, why now? I thought I would never have to talk to her again, if I could help it! But now I'm forced to be on the debate team with her? Fucking balls!

My crush on Wendy is the one secret I've been able to successfully hide from everyone. That is, until two years ago I made the stupid, stupid decision of telling her how I feel, in hopes that she would return them. I don't even know what the hell I was thinking.

Of course, the stupid bitch wasn't even considerate about it. She made a face, one that I will never forget, called me a fat bastard and said she wouldn't date me if her life depended on it. I will never, ever admit it to anyone, but it was the one time in my life that I've ever felt unloved and unimportant. Like all the years of everyone calling me names and saying that they hated me finally mattered… Like they were all being said by her.

I never told anyone about what I did, but I was certain that Wendy would tell every fag in the tri-state area as soon as she got the chance. I was shocked the next day when nothing was different; she never told. Which is why I haven't thrown away my feelings for her. Even though she hurt me more than anyone ever could, that one act of not telling anyone made me believe that I might still have a chance.

Even if I've avoided any and all confrontation with her since then.

It's not that I'm afraid of her; I'll be damned if I ever think of myself as a coward. I just wouldn't know what to say. Man, that bitch has got me seriously screwed up. I hate my feelings for her, so damn much. But what the hell, I might as well get over myself and walk in there like I own the place. And if she says anything to me, I'll just have to try to act like I hate her. Which shouldn't be too hard, since I do.

So I make up my mind, turn around, throw open the door, and walk in. Of course, now the entire class is staring at me, including Wendy. Crap, there goes my heart again. But I just have to ignore it and find a seat. Back of the class should be good. That way I don't have to think she's staring at me.

As I sit down, I realize that the advisor of the club, some asshole teacher who has nothing to do but supervise a dumbfuck club on campus, isn't here. I hope they got in a brutal ten car pile-up. Or eaten alive by a pack of seriously pissed off wolverines. Anything to buy me a ticket out of this hellhole. A moment later, I notice Wendy get out of her seat in the front of the class and start walking my way. What the hell?

"Hey Cartman," she says kindly, which is very odd. She sounds bored, though. God damnit, if she's bored in here, then I'm going to lose my fucking mind. Twice.

"What the hell do you want, ho?" Well, that was easier than I thought it would be. She gives me an annoyed glare, but sits next to me anyway.

"Nothing. I just didn't expect to see you here, is all. I'm only in here because Millie said she would sign up with me, but it's looking like she bailed," she explains. "So now you're the only person in here that I know. Why are you in here, anyway?"

"The dumb-shit principal and my mom made me sign up. Something about venting some pent up anger or something retarded like that," I tell her, and she nods dismissively.

The remainder of the time is spent in an awkward silence, and it's frustrating as balls. Right as I think about getting up and leaving, the advisor walks in. Fuck.

"Hello everybody!" she says. Too happily. She's a relatively short woman, with curly blonde hair and a big smile on her face. What is she, the fucking pep squad coach? …Now that I think about it, I think she is. Jesus Christ.

In fact, as I look around at the other kids in the room, I realize that I'm surrounded by every faggy popular kid. And I know instantly that they're all going to drive me insane. I have no choice—I'll have to kill them all.

"Wow, we have quite a turnout this year!" the pep squad bitch says, looking at the sign up sheet. "My name is Mrs. Mead, and those of you who have been a member of this club in the past know that Mr. Sampson is usually the advisor, but since he's retired you get me!"

The only question is, how to do it… If I kill them swiftly, I can get out of here faster. But if I do it slowly, I won't have wasted my lunch on a bunch of dicks.

As the blonde ho-bag rambles on about what all we'll be doing in this club, I turn to Wendy to get her opinion. I stop, however, when I notice she looks like she's actually enjoying this. Shit, she's been brainwashed! Oh well, I'll have to kill her too.

(POV: Stan)

When school finally lets out, I complete my daily routine of walking Wendy to her car, do our usual round of hugging and kissing, then make my way to my truck. I fish my keys out of my pocket when I'm in eye-shot, and as I approach I notice Kyle sitting on the truck bed. That's right, I'm not going straight home—Kyle and I are getting together with Kenny and Cartman at Cartman's house to discuss our plans for Labor Day. Damn it, I wanted to go home and sleep; it's been such a long day. Well, whatever. I'll just suck it up and hope this doesn't take forever.

"Hey dude," I greet him as I walk around to the back of my truck. He looks up and smiles.

"Hey. You ready to go?"

"Sure thing." He jumps off of the truck bed, grabs his bag, and closes the back. We both get in the car, and as I turn on the engine and back out, I decide I need coffee.

"Do you mind if we stop by Harbucks or something? I'm about to fucking fall asleep at the wheel," I ask him, and he shrugs.

"Sure, I don't care. You look like you're about to fall asleep anyway. And if we crash and die, my mom will never let you drive me around again." I smile at his lame joke, and pull out of the parking lot in the direction of the nearest Harbucks.

-

As soon as caffeine is in my system, I feel better. We make our way to Cartman's house next, and I park on the other side of the street, and the two of us get out and make our way to the door. The moment we approach, we hear loud moaning and screaming coming from inside. Kyle and I exchange disturbed glances, and he mutters a "Jesus Christ!" under his breath. I snicker and reach for the doorbell, but before I can even reach it Cartman storms out, looking pissed off and surprised to see us standing there.

"We aren't staying here, you gahs," he tells us as he brushes past us in a huff. We turn to follow him down the walkway, Kyle grinning mischievously.

"So, I hear your mom's –"

"Screwing about five different guys at once? Yeah. I know." Cartman interrupts him as he pulls out the keys to his Mustang. (Stock Mustang, at that. He thinks it's badass, but he isn't fooling anyone.) I glance over at Kyle, and from the look on his face, it doesn't seem like he's going to stop pushing Cartman's buttons.

"Wow. That must be a new record for her."

"No, it's not. She was with seven guys once. At the same time."

Well, there's something neither of us expected—Cartman didn't get all offended and pissy. He must've had a rough day or something. …Nah. He would have exploded if that were the case. But it is suspicious that he's so calm…

"Cartman, are you feeling okay?" I ask, standing at his car window as he starts the engine.

"I'm fine, Stan. Now you and Jew-boy get in your hick-ass truck and meet me at Whistlin' Willie's. Kenny's already there." I don't even get the chance to ask him if he's sure before he peels out of the driveway and speeds down the street.

"It freaks me out every time you act concerned towards Cartman," Kyle tells me, and heads for the car.

-

It's about five o'clock, and the four of us are still at this shitty excuse for a pizza place. I'm really glad I decided to get that coffee, or I'd be asleep on my slice of pizza right now. I am surprised that it's not crowded here tonight, though. It is a Friday, after all, and we're practically the only ones here. Save a few families with kids, that is.

Kyle and Cartman are arguing over some stupid detail in our plans as I zone out, straw hanging loosely in my mouth as I blow bubbles in my soda. I only vaguely listen to their "conversation", if you could call it that. I have my mind on other things at the moment. I do notice Kenny reach for my pizza; he's eaten everyone else's share. Except for Cartman's. He slapped him away from his.

"Cartman, you dumb fat fuck, we are not bringing a trailer! The whole point of outdoor camping is to be outdoors!" I hear Kyle shout.

"That's bullcrap! I will bring a trailer, and a TV! If I miss SNL on Saturday because of you Kahl, I swear I will rip every limb from your Jew body!"

"There aren't even any hookups where we're going! You wouldn't be able!"

"EVERY LIMB, KAHL!"

It's amazing we haven't been kicked out yet.

"Cartman, he's right," I say, deciding to step in when I see some of the parents eyeing us. "We'll be out in the middle of nowhere. There's not even going to be any electricity. Can't you just record it or something? I thought you have Tivo."

"Not anymore," he growls, glaring at me for siding with Kyle. "It broke when my mom overloaded on too much porn. I guess she just can't get enough on her own these days." He says that last comment with fake sympathy.

"That wasn't your mom Tivoing porn," Kenny admits with a mouthful of pizza. Cartman's head suddenly whips around like a bull spotting a read flag.

"Kenny, you horny sonofabitch!"

"I'm sorry! I don't have cable, how am I supposed to resist when you live right there?" He starts to scramble out of the booth when Cartman lunges at him from across the table. Kyle and I have to restrain him before he kills the poor blond bastard.

"You know you don't have to come with us, Cartman," I offer when we get him back on his side of the table.

"I will go, Stan," he replies forcefully. "Because if I don't, Jew-boy will have more time to plot against me." I honestly can't tell if he's being serious.

"Fuck you, Cartman," Kyle spats. "You're such a paranoid, self-centered bastard to think that I would spend my spare time plotting against you."

"Whatever. I know you are." This time I have to hold Kyle's arm back before he punches Cartman out. Not that the fat asshole doesn't deserve it, but these two sure are getting under each other's skin tonight.

"Jesus Christ, you guys. Can we just finalize these plans? I have to tell my parents what they are by tonight if I want to be able to go," I plea, and Kyle settles down.

"Fine, whatever."

-

Fortunately, the rest of the planning continued without much more incident, and we were out of there by five forty-five. Thank God. If I had to sit in there a minute longer, I would have lost my mind. The coffee sure didn't last very long… Kyle told Cartman to drive Kenny home, so he doesn't blow what little money he has on something stupid rather than food for our trip. With protest from both, we finally make it to the parking lot and into our separate cars.

The entire drive to Kyle's house is silent, until I park in front of his place. We sit there for a moment, resting in a comfortable silence. Then I realize…why is he still sitting here? Shouldn't he be leaving? Unless he has something to say…? A few more moments pass, and Kyle finally opens his mouth.

"This campout is going to be so kick-ass," he says. I turn my head to look at him; he's looking out his window at his house, and I wait for him to turn to face me.

"Yeah."

"We haven't done something like this, just the four of us, in a really long time. It's an awesome way to kick off our senior year."

"…Yeah," I repeat lamely. I roll my eyes; why couldn't I have said something more interesting?

Finally, Kyle faces me. I notice his eyes are full of… I'm not quite sure. Sympathy, I think. But sympathy for what? Maybe I'm wrong, but it looks like something meaningful. And it looks like he wants to say something important. Something that I want to hear. I feel my heart kick into overdrive at the thought. I wish I could read his mind…

But rather than saying anything, he turns his head and gathers his things to get out of the car. Just like that, something that could have been a moment is gone. I let out a deep sigh amongst the commotion of his departure. Was I really holding my breath?

"Thanks for the ride, Stan," he says, and shuts the door.