Misery Business

Written by: Spirit-the-Titan

Fandom: South Park

Pairings: Stan/Wendy, eventual Stan/Kyle

September 1

(Cartman's POV)

There's… so many of them! How can I possibly take them all? Oh god, they're coming right for me! I have to find cover! So… So many JEWS!

"Vrrrb! Vrrrb!"

"Aye, shut up, stupid Control Center! They'll hear me!"

"Vrrrb! Vrrrb! Vrrrb!"

"Shut up shut up!"

Vrrrb- vrrb- vrrrb—

I finally come to and realize it was all a dream… Only to wake up to the horrible vibrating of my phone on my nightstand at god damn 5:30 am. Jesus Christ, and it's the fucking Jew, no less.

"What the fuck do you want!" I scream into the phone.

"You asshole, we're outside! Did you forget about our trip today?" Shit. I had forgotten.

"Oh god damn it… I'll be down in a sec!"

I hang up before he can reply, as I quickly throw on some clothes and stuff more into a bag. I run down the stairs and into the kitchen to stuff some extra snacks into my bag as well, in case they don't bring enough. I run out the front door and see them all piled in Stan's truck, with the truck bed full of various camping gear. Kyle scoots to the middle seat just in time for me to open the door and jump inside.

"Did you pack the spare batteries like we asked?" Kyle asks before Stan starts driving.

"Fuck!" Another thing I had forgotten. Christ… I throw the car door open and run back inside, grab the forgotten pack of batteries on the kitchen table, and run back outside.

"Damn, you must've lost like five pounds on that little jog," Kenny pipes from the back seat. I make a lunge for this throat.

"Shut your poor fucking mouth you bastard!" I hear him snickering, as Kyle pushes me back to my side of the seat.

"Just shut up and stay out of my personal space, Fat Ass! It is way too early for your bullshit!"

"Keep your Jew hands off of me—"

"CARTMAN I WILL KILL YOU." Stan yells, and we all shut up. "I need all of you to shut up and not act like five-year-olds while I drive, because I did not sleep well last night. So unless you want to DIE, I suggest you all SHUT IT."

"Sorry, Stan…" Kyle apologizes. What a fag.

"Stupid hippies…" I mutter, and plug in my iPod. It's going to be a long, cramped drive to Stark's Lake. I'm beginning to question why I am even going with these assholes.

(POV: Stan)

By 6:30 everyone has fallen back to sleep. Which is nice, because I prefer to drive when it's peaceful; especially driving through the mountains. I'm glad we picked our campout spot to be Stark's Lake, since it's a good two hour drive up the mountain. My goal for this trip is to clear my head enough to get through the school year unscathed.

I go over a small bump in the road, which causes Kyle's head to roll from the back of the seat onto my shoulder. He looks so peaceful and cozy… It's making me a little weary. We should probably stop at the next pit stop up ahead, so I can grab some coffee. It would be a shame if I dozed off at the wheel and killed us all in a horrible car crash.

Kyle readjusts himself on my shoulder a little, subconsciously getting more comfortable. I look down at him briefly, catching a glimpse of his sleeping face. I think back to the conversation we had on the phone last night, with a pang in my chest.

"So just to go down the list one more time, Kenny's bringing the tent, you're in charge of the food, I'm in charge of the cooking supplies and the lantern, and Cartman is bringing spare batteries?"

"For the last time, yes," Kyle said with an exasperated sigh. It was the third time I've asked him to finalize the check-list.

"Why is Cartman only bringing batteries?"

"Because he isn't responsible enough to handle bringing anything else. I will probably have to call and remind him to bring just those," he explained. I chuckled.

"Good point." We're both silent for a moment, but I hear him rustling around in the background.

"Dude I am so stoked for this trip. It hasn't been just the four of us for an entire weekend in ages! It'll be like the good old days…"

"Yeah, totally," I agreed lamely. It wasn't that I wasn't excited, because I was very excited. I was just a little preoccupied with my thoughts…

"Are you sure Wendy's okay with you going?" he teased. I frowned at him over the phone.

"Of course she is, but I won't say she's too happy about it."

"How come?"

"She wanted me to go with her to some big party on Labor Day, but I had to tell her no. So now she's all pissy that she doesn't get to spend the first real holiday of our relationship together." I heard him scoff on the other end of the line.

"'Real holiday'? Dude, that's the dumbest thing I've ever heard."

"Yeah I know, it's a horrible excuse. But… I feel bad about it… She is my girlfriend, after all."

"Well, yeah, I guess I could see how you would feel bad," he replied, and I could tell it was fake. I was silent for a moment after that, pondering.

"Um… would you guys be upset if I maybe left for a little bit tomorrow night to go see her, and then come back?" I asked meekly, my voice trailing off more and more towards the end of the question. I already knew his reply.

"Dude, what the hell! You can't ditch us for a girl on our bro-camp out! Come on, Stan, Christ!" I could tell he was really upset about it.

"You're right, I'm sorry I asked…"

"I'm serious, Stan. Don't go planning anything stupid, I know how you are. You can't please everyone."

"Yeah yeah, I know dude. I won't…"

"Well we better get to bed, if we're leaving at 5:00 in the morning. Are you sure you'll be able to drive that early?"

"Yeah, I should be fine. I'll just have some coffee."

"Kay. I'll see you in the morning, dude."

"See you…"

I feel horrible for not keeping my promise to Kyle, because in the end I did do something stupid. At least, by his terms I did. But I don't have much time to ponder about it now, because I pull into view of the rest stop. I signal and pull off the road, park and turn off the car. Kenny is the first to stir.

"Are we there already?" he asks, with a big yawn to follow.

"Not yet, we're at a rest stop," I inform him, and gently shake Kyle from my shoulder. He slumps from me onto Cartman, who is now stirring, and is suddenly alarmed to find a sleeping Jew on his arm.

"Aye! Get your faggy Jew ass off of me!" he overreacts, and shoves Kyle hard back onto me. On impact, Kyle wakes up.

"What the fuck Cartman!" he retaliates, only half knowing what's going on. After his anger is gone, he realizes we are stopped. He turns to me as I get out of the car.

"Where are we?" he asks, following me out.

"I had to stop for coffee or something, I'm falling asleep. We're at a rest stop about 30 minutes away from the lake," I tell him as I head towards the single vending machine.

"Oh thank god, because I have to take the biggest piss," I hear Cartman say as he climbs out of the truck, and follows Kenny into the men's room. Kyle catches up to me at the vending machine, and leans up against it as I make my selection.

"Did I fall asleep?" he asks, watching me as I curse about their lack of iced coffee.

"Yeah, you fell asleep on my shoulder," I tell him, and I catch a glimpse of the blush that forms on his cheeks.

"Oh… Sorry, dude."

"It's cool. I'm sorry I rolled you onto Cartman," I admit as I insert the one dollar bill into the machine. The light 'thud' of the Coke can masks the remorseful grumble that Kyle emits when he remembers his unfortunate wake-up call. I pop open the can and take a large gulp, in order to get the caffeine coursing through my veins before I get back behind the wheel. We start to head back to the truck before Kyle realizes that he has to pee, and runs back to the bathroom.

"Shotgun!" I hear Kenny yell as he races Cartman back to the truck.

"God damn it Kenny, I am not sitting in the middle!" he argues, pulling on the now locked passenger door that Kenny had slammed in his face.

"You don't have to, because the middle is Kyle's seat," I explain to him, and this pisses him off more.

"You assholes! I hate the back seat! You always push your seats back as far as they can go just to make me cramped!"

"We don't move our seats at all. You're just too fat!" Kenny teases him, and suddenly Cartman is back at his door, pulling on the handle.

"Fuck you, Kenny!"

"Oh Jesus, don't tell me you're starting this shit again, Cartman," Kyle groans as he walks back to the truck. I open the door for him to get inside, and pop the driver's seat up in order for Cartman to crawl in the back seat. He mutters obscenities as he does so. After putting my seat back properly, I take one last swig of my Coke and put it in the cup holder between Kyle's legs, and start the engine.

It's not long after we're back on the road that the complaining begins.

"Stan you asshole, push your seat forward! My legs are cramped!" Cartman whines in my ear. I have to hold back from punching him in the nose.

"It's adjusted to the right setting for me to reach the pedals, dumb-ass! If your legs are cramped, move behind Kenny and shut your fucking mouth!" He whines a little more.

"But Kenny will push his seat back on purpose just to piss me off!"

"Then just shut your fucking mouth!" I yell, and I hear a few more grumbles from behind me before he shuts up. Kyle gives me his fist to bump in victory.

The remainder of the drive to Stark's Lake was relatively quiet; the three of us up front played an incredibly lame game of "I Spy", before we arrived at the campgrounds. Since we were too cheap to pay for an actual campsite, we decided to drive on past the grounds to the other side of the lake, where we plan to rough it until Sunday.

There is little incident between arrival and setting up camp, save the usual bickering of Cartman and everyone else, but we had everything set up by 10 am. Now it's creeping up on evening time, and all we have to do is relax for the next few days.

"Who wants to go shooting for a bit?" Kyle asks from behind me. He had brought along a few hunting rifles, for leisurely shooting and maybe to score a rabbit or something to cook.

"Hell no, not me," Kenny quickly says. "I don't want to die this weekend."

"I figured as much," Kyle rolls his eyes. "What about you, Stan?" I look up at him from my lawn chair, in-progress text to Wendy on my phone.

"Uh, not right now… Maybe in a little bit…?" I say, trying to remain cool. I honestly don't see any shooting happening this weekend, considering that Kyle will take the opportunity to kill me when he finds out…

"Well, okay," he sighs, and puts the guns back in the bed of the truck. Great, now I feel worse…

"Damnit!" we hear Cartman yell from the road we drove up. "There's a car coming! Probably some other group of douchebags who are going to crowd our spot!" My heart sinks.

As the car drives up closer to our camp spot, we all stare at it. When it parks right next to my truck, Cartman heads to the back of the truck to retrieve a rifle with the plan of scaring them off or killing them. But when the engine turns off and a familiar head of silky black hair appears from the cab, I break into a cold sweat.

"Wendy?" Cartman exclaims in an octave I've never heard before.

And then, the voice I've been dreading.

"STAN!"

(Kyle's POV)

I cannot believe it. That ASSHOLE!

"Hey boys!" Wendy chimes happily as she walks up to the campsite. She heads straight for Stan, plops down in his lap and kisses him full on the mouth. I wonder if anyone will care if I lunged for that rifle right now…

"Wendy, what the hell are you doing here? This is a boy's campout!" Kenny scolds. I can tell he's doing it in my favor, since I am too angry for words at the moment. I can hear Wendy giggle at her "mistake".

"Don't blame me! My sweet Stanley here invited me for the day!" Stan swallows audibly at being called out. All I can do is stare holes into the back of his head.

"Stan what the hell! Bro's before ho's, you butt-licker!" Cartman yells at him. I can't take it anymore; I need some answers.

"Stan, side-bar!" I yell at him, and he flinches at the sound of my voice. Like a kicked dog, he slowly lifts Wendy from his lap, stands himself up and walks shamefully over to me. When his eyes meet mine, I glare at him and motion for him to follow me into the woods.

We've done a good five minutes of walking—power walking, on my part—through the woods before Stan has the balls to say anything.

"Kyle, can we stop and talk please?" he asks quietly, almost as if he was ashamed to say anything. Which he should be, in my opinion. But finally, with a heavy sigh, I stop. I hear him stop abruptly behind me, being careful not to bump into me. I continue to face away from him.

"What the fuck, dude!" I turn to face him, and he flinches when he sees the look of anger and hurt on my face. "This trip was supposed to be for us!"

"Kyle, I'm sorry, I—"

"You are such an asshole, Stan! You don't go plan a fucking outing for guys, and secretly have your girlfriend tag along! That is the biggest dick move I've ever seen you pull!"

"I know, I know—"

"What the fuck were you thinking, huh? It's bad enough she fucking steals you away from me at school, but this is crossing the fucking line!" He stares blankly at me when I don't continue my ramble. "Well?" I ask again, and he bit his lip.

"It's just for tonight, Kyle… She said she really wanted to be with me this weekend… She needed to be with me…" he trails off, and I wait for him to explain further.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" He bit his lip again, and a blush formed on his cheeks as he prepared his next words.

"You know, maybe… I might get to score…?" he mumbles the last part, and I reach my breaking point.

"You son of a BITCH!" I shove him for emphasis, and he loses his footing a little on some loose gravel. "You were going to try and bang her? In the same tent as the rest of us? You shouldn't even bewith her, Stan! She's a whore!"

Right as the words leave my mouth, I see a change in emotion on Stan's face. In the blink of an eye he goes from ashamed to furious, and before I know what's happening, there's a fist in my face. I fall to the ground and put a hand to my throbbing jaw, completely in shock. He… he hit me.

I look up at him in disbelief, and watch him shake off his hand. He's still staring at me with that hateful look, and all I can do is stare at him, shocked. I slowly push myself to my feet and dust myself off.

"Don't call Wendy a whore, asshole! You have no right!"

"You're the asshole here! You've ruined the whole weekend!"

"Her being here shouldn't change anything, Kyle! She's just one more person!"

"You idiot, it changes everything! She's your girlfriend, not just another friend! It's not the same!"

"What are you, jealous?"

And just like that, I'm seeing red. I clench my fist, but… I can't do it. I can't hit him. All I can do is glare at him, as he returns the glare and waits for my arm to swing.

"Go home, Stan," I growl, trying to hide the hurt from my voice. His anger breaks, and he looks confused.

"What?"

"Leave! Take Wendy and go home! I don't want you here anymore!" My heart is beating so fast, my chest feels like it might explode. He has that hurt look on his face again.

"Fine! I'll go! I don't want to spend the weekend with an asshole who thinks my girlfriend is a whore anyway!" he screams at me, his voice cracking a little under his emotions.

"And I don't want to spend my weekend with someone who doesn't know how to make time for his friends!" I retaliate, and with one last glare, he turns and starts his angry trek back to camp.

I wait for him to be out of sight before I let myself crumble to the ground in a mess of emotions.

(Kenny's POV)

There's an awkward air between these two. I've never noticed it until now.

Wendy has been sitting in the lawn chair Stan abandoned since he left, and Cartman sitting on the truck bed, staring at her every once in a while. Geez, this is just weird. I have to break this silence.

"So… who wants to play some Poker?" I ask, pulling a deck of cards out of my bag.

"Sure," Wendy replies, and walks over to the table where I'm sitting. Cartman sighs and follows.

"Poker is gay, but whatever. There's nothing else to do out here," he complains. I roll my eyes and start shuffling. Wendy starts to deal out the chips.

"Should I deal any for Stan and Kyle?" she asks, and I shrug.

"Nah, they could take a while out there. I think Kyle's pretty pissed." I catch her sneak a grin at this. Wow, what a bitch.

"Did you guys know that Poker was invented by the Chinese mafia to determine who will live or die in the royal family?" Cartman says, and we both stare at him. "It's really called 'pok-cho'."

"…Cartman, that's not right at all," Wendy says after a moment.

"It is so, I read it in my World History class."

"No, you're lying. Poker's origins are unknown. It's assumed that the earliest form was invented in China in around 900 A.D., but that's not what it was used for," she explains matter-of-factly. I continue to shuffle in silence.

"I'm not lying, you bitch! How do you know that my history teacher didn't get the most recent historical facts, and told them to our class!"

"Because our teachers are paid a horrible salary, and probably don't give two shits about the exact origins of Poker!"

"You want to call me on my bluff?"

"I don't have to because I know I'm right!"

"Well you can suck mah balls!"

"Okay just SHUT UP and let's play!" I cut in, and begin to deal everyone a hand. They've stopped arguing, but they continue to stare daggers at each other.

We are near the end of the hand, which I am ironically winning, when Stan comes crashing through the bushes in a blind rage. Wendy and I stand up and rush over to him to see what's going on, while Cartman remains at the table, sneaking chips from our piles to his.

"Stan, what happened?" Wendy asks in a frightened tone. I notice his knuckles are cut up. Oh crap…

"Come on, Wendy, we're leaving," he says angrily, and I'm taken aback.

"What? Why the hell would you leave?" I ask in a panic. He clenches and unclenches his fists uneasily, and his face is a muddle of emotion.

"Kyle told me to leave. He doesn't want me around this weekend," he explains, trying hard (and failing) to hide the hurt in his voice. Wendy grabs his hands sympathetically. He takes them back gingerly and begins rushing around camp to gather his things.

"Why would he do that, Stan?" Wendy asks, watching him. I already know the reason.

"Things got pretty heated out there… We both said some things, and I punched him." My heart sinks.

"You punched him?" I yell, and Stan furrows his eyebrows.

"You don't know what went on out there, Kenny!"

Quite frankly, I don't care what went on in the woods between the two that would have caused Stan to punch Kyle, but I do care that he punched him. Considering the current mental state of Kyle regarding the whole being-in-love-with-Stan thing, all I know is he's out there in a worse condition than Stan is. And with that thought in mind, I rush into the forest the way Stan had come from.

It takes me a little while to find him, but I do. He's on the ground, sitting with his head tucked between his knees, and crying—or hyperventilating, I'm not sure. I rush to his side, slide down next to him and put a comforting arm around his shoulders. We sit there for a few minutes, and I notice his breathing has slowed. He lifts his head to look at me finally—eyes completely dry—and I get a good look at the bruise forming on his jaw. I winced a little.

"Damn, he really laid it on you," I tell him. He frowns and looks away.

"I couldn't hit him back. I don't know why," he explains somewhat disappointedly.

"You can't hit the person you love most."

"Well I guess that says everything I need to know about his feelings towards me," he says, defeated. His shoulders slump a little under my arm.

"That's not true. Sometimes you have to hit the person you love most, to express your love better." He looks at me skeptically. "But I'm not reinforcing the thought that he has feelings for you."

"That doesn't make any sense, Kenny."

"It doesn't have to."

There's more silence for a bit, while Kyle thinks to himself. I wait patiently for him to speak, as I think about what might have gone down between them. It's rare that they get physical with each other.

"How am I going to face him again, Kenny…? I'm going to see him on Monday at school…"

"You guys will get over it, you have in the past. I bet the next time you see each other it will be like nothing ever happened."

"I don't think so, this got really personal…" Now I'm really curious.

"Well, tell me how it went down then. What did you do to make him hit you?" He scowls a bit at the memory, but slowly begins.

"I brought him out here to yell at him, I called him all kinds of names and told him how he ruined the trip, and he was fine and taking it until I called Wendy a whore. That's when he punched me." I made a face.

"That's not good, dude. If he got that mad over her? I think you should give it up. You know when a man's got it bad for a girl when he's willing to fight to defend her good name."

"I don't even care about that right now, I'm more concerned with the state of our friendship…"

"So what, are you saying that you don't have feelings for him anymore?" I ask cautiously.

"I don't know… I just don't see the point anymore. I'm already tired of fighting for his attention, and to know that he went behind my back to spend time with her over me… It's just not worth it. I have a feeling that these feelings for him are going to go away after this."

"If you say so," I agree, and push myself to my feet. "Now, how about we get back to camp and get on with our bro-weekend, Stan-free, eh?" I hold out my hand to help him up, and he takes it.

"Sounds good to me."

Stan and Wendy are gone by the time we get back to camp, but I notice that everything is still the same—all the supplies he brought, including his truck, are still here. I find Cartman for some answers.

"Dude, why did he leave everything?" I ask him as he plays a game of solitaire. He carefully ponders his next move.

"I don't know, he said something about us needing it for the rest of the weekend. They took Wendy's car," he explains as he places a card.

"Well, that was nice of him, I guess," I say as I look at Kyle for his reaction. He still seems a little blank. I watch him sigh as he heads for the tent.

"I'm going to bed," he says, and zips up behind himself. I have a feeling it's going to be a long weekend.

(Kyle's POV, pt. II)

I feel sore all over, and my jaw is still pounding. I didn't think to pack any pain killers… I guess I will just have to deal with it. All I can think about is the look in Stan's eye as he stood over me, like he hated me… I can't get it out of my head. I don't know how I will sleep at all, if that keeps replaying…

I take off my coat and jeans, leaving a white shirt and boxers, and crawl into my sleeping bag. It feels amazing to be lying down in bed. Then I realize… this pillow smells like Stan. I sit up quickly and examine the bedding that I'm in, and it's all Stan's. Then I notice my phone lying at the foot of the sleeping bag, and it all makes sense. In Stan's hurry to get out of here, he must have grabbed my bedding thinking it was his, since my phone was on this one. Which means he's going to be sleeping on my pillow all weekend… I can't help but blush at the thought.

On that note, I grab my phone and lie back down, breathing deeply to fill my senses with Stan's smell. It's a musky smell, with that pop of something else that usually attracts the ladies. It makes my head spin, until I start replaying those thoughts in my head again, which makes it all more real. Like it's happening again…

My trance is broken when I feel my phone buzz next to my head. I reach for it and flip it open; it's a text from Wendy. My heart sinks immediately… What the hell would she want? I open it:

Wendy T.: Hey kyle… jst wantd 2 let U no tht stan is rly rly sry… he dsnt want me 2 let U no how sad he is, but he is sad about wut hapnd. and he is so sry that he hit U, he feels super bad about it. he wants U 2 4give him…

(Funny, I would have pinned Wendy for the type to spell out her texts…) My heart is beating out of control. Why would she send me this? I thought we had a silent hatred for one another… But if that's the case, maybe this is fake? Could it be possible that she sent me this to get my hopes up, when in reality Stan never wants to see me again? That might be going a little overboard… I'll just reply and see where it goes from there.

Ask him to meet me before school on Mon, or on Sun evening if he wants to talk sooner…

I can't get my heart to calm down. I look at my phone every few seconds, impatiently awaiting a reply. I wonder what it will say… She better not just reply with "kay" and leave it at that. I need to know how he's doing…

"bzzzt."

I open my phone as quickly as possible and open the text.

Wendy T.: he sez sunday, so he can get his truck back 4 skool

("Sez"? Really, Wendy?) Shit, now I have to face him sooner than later… I need to think about what I will say this weekend, so I don't screw this up. I need this to work…

Okay, Sunday it is. So… How is he doing?

I'm not sure if I should have tried to make conversation, it might be pushing it. I want to act as unhurt as possible right now, and if having said that makes me seem weak, it might backfire on me.

It takes several minutes before I get the next reply, and I nearly jump out of my skin when I feel my phone vibrate. I flip it open.

Wendy T.: hes sleepin

Damn it. That's the most unhelpful reply I could have gotten. But whatever, I should probably give it a rest and put this whole thing behind me for the remainder of the weekend. Sunday's going to be a long, nerve-wracking day…

I'm sleeping too. Good-night…