"Why would Tolkien want to be a lifeguard?" Kenny asked. A firefly flew past his face, lighting his eyes up for a second. The bruise on his face had faded rather quickly, surprisingly so. Or maybe it simply was not visible, as the sun had long since dipped itself beneath the skin of Stark's Pond, and now only the glow from a few solemn streetlights illuminated their bodies. "He's got enough money already."
His dirty-blond hair fell around his face like a halo, and his usual parka was nowhere to be found. Stan could have sworn he had it on before they left. Whatever, Stan's head hurt too much to think about it.
"I don't think it's about the money," Stan responded, laying down on their blanket and looking at the stars. He would never be able to fathom how he had managed to go and pick Kenny up and still be the first to arrive once again. They had been on foot too.
"Then what's it about?" Kenny asked. There was a thin sheen of sweat coating his face. It was so unbearably hot out here, and the air was moist - the perfect combination for sweat. They should have brought water or something.
Stan would almost certainly hold this over Kyle and Cartman's heads: he had been the first one here, even though he had to detour to pick Kenny up. It was certainly far from the case with those two. At this rate, they would be late again.
"Maybe he's got a crush on someone and wants to take them on pool dates," Stan said. His eyes wandered over the pond. It was hard to believe that he had been here just yesterday. It felt like so much longer. The owl from yesterday was still there, making its tranquil sounds in the trees. "But I think it's because his parents got this new pool in their backyard, and he wants to make sure no one drowns in it."
Stan's eyes landed on a dragonfly, zooming past him as he admired the way its exoskeleton shone in the blue hue of the moonlight.
"They have a pool now?" Kenny said. They had often joked that Tolkien was the town's Great Gatsby with his myriads of parties and excessive wealth. "Well, someone's gonna get murdered in that."
Stan snickered a bit, then immediately regretted doing so. It made his head hurt. The warm summer air hung around him in blankets, and he could not seem to dim the pounding in his head. This day had been far too long, and he was so thirsty.
"He said it should be finished by Wednesday this week. Still, though, he doesn't need to actually be a lifeguard; he could just get the certifica—" Stan had started talking, but a rude notification on his phone interrupted him. Not just any notification. No, this was a specific sound. "Oh, Cartman's texted me."
He pulled his phone out, squinting his eyes as the much too bright phone screen shone into his retinas, effectively worsening the headache.
Slowly, he glanced at Kenny, who was looking expectantly at him. "It says, 'Me and Kyle can't come tonight. That idiot broke his arm. I'm sure you know how,' and then a fist emoji punching a clown emoji." Weirdly ominous. Stan did not, in fact, know how.
"Uhh… no, I don't know how," Kenny said, repeating Stan's thoughts and sitting back up. His eyebrows furrowed as he looked down at Stan, and for a small moment, he looked like he had had a big realization. "Wait… do you think he's saying that Trent did it?"
Stan sat up as well. Despite the warm, moist air around him and the sweat shining on his forehead, he felt cold. "Wha- why would he do that?" He asked, but He knew exactly why he would do that. Kyle, that idiot, had gone to Trent's apartment, looking for the Reginae Adiutor, and got caught.
"Maybe he-" Kenny began, but he stopped himself when his eyes landed on something behind Stan. "Hi Craig. Hi Clyde." He waved to them.
Stan turned around to look for himself. Craig and Clyde had indeed shown up, and they were approaching steadily. Neither of them waved, since their hands were full. Clyde was carrying a generous number of blankets, while Craig had a full tote bag in each hand.
"Hey guys," Craig said as they got closer. He carefully placed the two tote bags on the ground next to Kenny. They were filled with soda cans. "Where're Kyle and Cartman?"
Stan swallowed a lump in his throat - he had not even realized it was there. "They're, uh, not coming."
For a second, Clyde looked like he was about to question why, but it seemed Stan's face had said more than he meant for it to. "Oh, well. More blankets for the rest of us," he said with a shrug as he and Craig laid out a new blanket and took their seats.
All four of them had their backs turned to the woods and were looking at the pond. Clyde was sitting between Stan and Craig, and Kenny was sitting on Craig's other side.
Stan laid back down, accepting a cracked-open soda offered to him by Craig and taking sips. The sweet liquid did a great job of quenching his thirst, filling his mouth with its cool, fizzy embrace.
"Hey, Stan," Craig said, grabbing his attention. "How's your head?" Right, of course, Tweek had definitely told him about the concussion.
"Yes, I'm fine. I've stopped throwing up, so everything's good." As if to prove him wrong, his stomach growled loudly. He had starved himself all day. After all, if he ate, he would just puke it all back up. "Anyway, who else is coming?"
Stan shifted his position on the blanket, feeling a little more at ease now that the group was starting to assemble. The night air was gradually growing cooler, alleviating some of the discomfort caused by the earlier warmth.
"Wendy and Bebe are on their way; they're gonna be late. And I think that's it," Clyde replied, cracking open a can of soda. "Tolkien's not coming because that loser wants 'eight hours of sleep.' And Butters isn't coming either, 'cause his parents won't let him."
Craig nodded along, hugging his knees. "Tweek's gonna join too, but he'll be late because of work." He cracked open a soda for Kenny and then another for himself. "Oh, and I also invited Trent."
Whatever comfort Stan had gotten from having Craig and Clyde around was quickly shattered at the mention of Trent. He was coming here. After likely being the one to break Kyle's arm, Trent was going to come here and pretend that nothing happened. Suddenly, Stan found himself wishing that the temperature hadn't fallen.
"Ugh, you invited him?" Clyde said. He only rarely sounded so judgmental. "Why?"
"What's wrong with that?" Kenny interjected, sounding very unsure of his own words.
Clyde looked over at Kenny, with an almost offended look. "You know exactly what's wrong with that. He gives me bad vibes, like he's the kinda guy who kicks little girls and steals from old ladies."
Craig scoffed, turned his head to Clyde, and spoke. "Well, then you'll be real glad to know I also invited him to Tweek's birthday party." He took a sip from his soda and opened another, letting it wait for the arrival of whoever would show up next. "Besides, you're being really judgy."
Craig laid down fully, looking up at the star-freckled sky, probably waiting to see a meteor stroke across its canvas.
"Oh, for fuck's sake, Craig," Clyde said, letting out an exasperated sigh. "You know you can't just invite whoever you want."
Stan scoffed a bit internally. Those invites were entirely symbolic, a courtesy, everyone knew as much. Yet, for some reason, Clyde always started power-tripping as soon as he was put in charge of them.
"Watch your mouth, Clyde," Stan said. "Trent could show up at any moment. I don't think you wanna be caught talking shit because of 'vibes'."
Even if Trent had broken Kyle's arm - and possibly even worse things - he still could not let Clyde make Craig dislike him. That would be detrimental to the plan. Stan quickly found himself shivering. How had it become so uncomfortably cold after it had just been so hot a few minutes ago? Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Kenny shivering too.
"'s too late now," a deep voice said behind them, causing Stan to nearly jump out of his skin, as the four of them turned to identify the voice. Standing there, towering over them was Trent Boyett himself. In his right hand, he was holding a bottle of transparent liquid. And on his left arm, he was holding onto a little girl, no older than 4, maybe 3, who had her head laying on his shoulder, sleeping. Who was she? "And I'll have you know I only kick little boys."
Stan had never in his life been happier to not be in somebody else's shoes. He could see it on Clyde's face; pale as snow, eyes wide like dinner plates, mouth hanging open. Poor thing.
"I, uh…" Clyde began to stammer for an explanation or apology, but nothing of value came out.
"Such a shame," Trent simply stated, indifference dripping from his every word. "A guy who looks like you doesn't have much leeway to judge others. Oh, well. Whatever."
Without waiting for a response or cue of any kind, Trent moved to sit down on one of the blankets. He ended up between Kenny and Craig. Only once he sat down, Stan was able to see it: the big dark bruise spanning from his jaw to just below his eye, which had a partly red sclera. Kyle must have fought back hard.
Kenny had begun shaking, though it seemed to mostly be from the cold. That idiot had only himself to blame. It was his fault for losing that parka of his.
Clyde's face had turned several shades of red, as he continued to open his mouth to speak and then close it again. He looked like a fish.
Craig, seemingly unaffected by the change in atmosphere, turned to Trent. "Here, I opened a soda for you," he said, smiling.
Trent hesitated a bit before he took the soda from Craig's outstretched hand. He looked down at the can, then back at Craig, a faint hint of unease crossing his features. That reaction was so far removed from nervousness, this was genuine discomfort, fear possibly. What was wrong with soda? Stan had no idea. Maybe he didn't like that it had been opened, and the fizz had run out?
"Heh, thanks," Trent said, smiling uncomfortably. He placed the soda on the ground between himself and Kenny without taking a sip. He maneuvered the little girl around in his arms, so she was fully sitting in his lap. "Guess my arrival kinda ruined the mood, huh? Sorry 'bout that."
Craig let out a small laugh and, in a very sarcastic tone, said. "Yeah, Trent. How dare you show up to an event you were invited to?"
Trent did not respond; he just gave Craig a sheepish, still kind of uncomfortable, smile.
"Still though," Craig continued, his voice much more serious. Stan couldn't tell if Craig had even picked up on Trent's, frankly obvious, discomfort. To be fair to Craig, Stan could also not tell why Trent had even become so uneasy in the first place. Maybe he just really disliked soda? "I see you invitited your own guest?"
This felt weird, almost like an interrogation, and he had to wonder if Craig was even aware of this.
"I, uh," Trent began, looking at the kid in his arms. "I didn't think it would be a problem."
"It's not," Craig spoke. "But who is she?"
Trent shifted uncomfortably; his gaze still fixed on the sleeping child in his arms.
"She's my neighbor's kid, Nia. I'm babysitting her, so I couldn't just leave her home alone." It came out rushed and almost sounded like an apology.
"Mhm," Craig continued. It was becoming increasingly obvious that he had simply not recognized the change in atmosphere. Trent had evidently realized this as well, as he visibly relaxed. "And what happened to your face? Did you get punched?"
"Yep," Trent said and looked over at Clyde with a small smirk. "I got caught talking shit and paid the price."
Clyde's face turned even redder than it already was as he turned his face away from Trent's gaze. A gesture that Trent ignored as he took his jacket off, showing a pair of muscular arms in the process. It could be interpreted as intimidation. It was certainly working on Clyde. However, Stan got a feeling he had other intentions.
"Wait," Kenny said, his voice was shaking a bit as he shivered in the cold. He was looking at Trent with big, questioning eyes, which only grew even more questioning when Trent handed him his jacket. Though, he did not object to putting it on. It was a size or two too big on him. "Who did that to you?"
Kyle.
Kyle did it.
In self-defense.
They just wanted Trent to say it.
"Rick did," Trent said, turning his head away from Kenny. "Crazy asshole."
The two words hung in the air for a while. The silence hung around the blankets in a suffocating, accusation-filled vapor. Only punctuated by the sound of insects buzzing around and frogs singing in the distance.
Kenny's grip on the jacket he now wore seemed to tighten, his knuckles turning white. His eyes remained locked onto Trent, and his mouth hung slightly open. Stan had not bothered to check, but he assumed that Clyde and Craig had relatively similar reactions.
"No. No, you're lying." Kenny started, his voice was still shaking, but now it was definitely not from the cold. "You said you got caught talking shit. But you didn't even say anything that bad about Rick. You even promised you wouldn't fight him."
Kenny had raised his voice just a smidge, causing Nia to stir a little in Trent's arms.
"I'm not lying. And I didn't break my promise either." Trent said, much calmer than expected.
"Oh, so you just expect me to believe that you let him hit you and you just didn't fight back?" Kenny said. Stan had to wonder why Kenny was being so skeptical. Stan wouldn't hit back either; Rick was scary.
Trent was silent for a moment, once again maneuvering Nia in his arms.
"I don't break my promises." He stated. Finally, Nia had been sufficiently moved. She had been covering Trent left hand the entire time he was there, but now she was gone and the others had a full view of the pristine, white cast around Trent left wrist. "He even broke my fucking wrist. And just a few minutes before that, he had snapped Kyle's arm like a twig. The bitch is crazy."
If the silence had hung heavy before, then Stan had no idea how to describe the current one. Somehow, the fact that Rick had been the one to break Kyle's arm was worse. At least, if Trent had done it, he would have been the only person to blame. But now, Kenny was almost certainly blaming himself again. Like always.
"I-I…" Kenny stammered, standing up quickly and beginning to walk away. "I need to call Cartman."
No one stopped him. Even though he was still wearing Trent's slightly-too-big jacket.
Stan watched Trent watching Kenny walk away. The way he looked at him was both completely different and the same as he had looked at him the previous day. Those previously cold eyes seemed so soft now. Still really damn col though, or maybe that was just the air?
Kenny stopped under a lonely streetlight near the edge of the woods, still within eyesight, but out of earshot.
"So, I guess you won't be in the kickboxing tournament?" Craig asked.
Sometimes, Stan had to stop himself from using Craig as a generalization of all autistic people. But it could get really hard to do that, especially when Craig would say the most outrageous stuff or ignore extremely emotionally charged situations, in favor of talking about something else.
"Huh?" Trent responded, completely dumbfounded. Even he had the politeness to not immediately change the subject. There was a small moment of silence as Craig looked expectantly at Trent, who just looked confusedly at him. "Why wouldn't I?"
"Because of your broken wrist?" Craig asked, taking a sip of his soda. "Such a shame too. I really thought someone had come who could finally hand Rick's ass back to him. Guess I was wrong."
What was that supposed to be? Provocation? Craig did not seem like the type to provoke someone. But here he was doing that and Stan had to admit it was working.
"Well, I am gonna participate," Trent said. It sounded stilted, inflated, rushed. "And you know what? I'll beat Tweek too. And I'll do it all with one hand."
Craig leaned back on his elbows, his gaze fixed on Trent, seemingly unbothered by the tense atmosphere that still lingered among the group. "One-handed kickboxing, huh? That's a bold move. Still, I guess I'll be rooting for you."
What?
"What?" Trent said, parroting Stan's thoughts. He had talked too much; Nia was stirring in her sleep even more. Trent's chest was evidently not a good pillow. "Shouldn't you root for your boyfriend?"
Craig shrugged and smirked slightly and it took a moment for him to respond. "I have this weird little hobby. I think there's this saying connected to it; 'To bet on losing dogs'. I just think it's really funny to root for Tweek's opponents. I know they'll lose, and I make it a point to watch it happen." He held eye contact with Trent when he spoke. "Sorry, but I don't think you'll break the pattern, not with that injury. But who knows? Maybe next year you can graduate to being a winner, a Cujo maybe?"
Trent's face twisted, and his eyes sharpened as he heard Craig's words. Stan could almost feel the tension in the air, a palpable discomfort that settled over the group. Trent's attempt at maintaining a calm facade seemed to crack in the face of Craig's unintentional insults. 'Losing dogs', how rude.
Stan watched with bated breath, feeling the throbbing ache of his concussion as he remembered that he had touched that same nerve and paid the price.
He could see Trent's grip on Nia tighten as he held her even closer to his body.
Clyde, who had finally composed himself, spoke up. "You're being rude, Craig." He said it very matter-of-factly like Craig simply needed to be reminded. "Don't call people dogs."
He had done it again. For the second time in 24 hours, Clyde had located exactly where and what the problem was, even if he had yet to know about it himself.
"Oh," Craig simply stated. "Sorry."
Stan had to admit he really disliked Trent. Okay, that was not an admission, just a rather well-known fact. But he had his reasons: Trent fried his nerves like crazy; it was always impossible to tell what he was going to do next. And the unfolding scene was a perfect example of this.
As Trent's grip on Nia remained tight, his knuckles white against her small form, Stan found himself torn between wanting to defuse the situation and a morbid curiosity to see how it would unfold. Maybe Trent would mess everything up for them. That could be fun. He would certainly have no one to blame but himself.
But instead, Trent did something else. Stan had seen Cartman do it a few times. Kyle too, occasionally. The way their faces would fall, only to be replaced by perfect masks showing nothing but what they wanted to show. Trent was doing that now. He smiled, showing a row of perfect white teeth.
"I've been called worse. But still, that interpretation was way too literal," he said with not a single bit of bite behind his words, as he waited a moment before handing Nia off to Stan and rising to his feet. "Anyway, uuuuuuuuuuhhhh, I'll go check on Kenny."
It was such an obvious way to excuse himself from the situation. But no one stopped him as he walked away. Clyde looked a little torn, about to stop him but not quite having the gall to do it. Stan couldn't help but find it slightly hypocritical. Just last night, Clyde had been so adamant about interrogating Kenny about Trent, yet here he was, letting Trent 'check on' Kenny. Alone.
Well, they would still be within eyesight.
Speaking of last night, Stan could have sworn Trent had seemed much more comfortable around Craig. Something changed. But it was not Trent's behavior was not what had changed.
Now that he was thinking about it, really thinking about it, Trent had not seemed confident in the slightest last night. The way he had seemed so very taken aback that Craig knew anything about the Reginae Adiutor or the uneasy, uncomfortable smile he had worn when Craig touched his arm. His behavior had not changed, Stan's perception of it had.
Nia stirred in his arms a bit, causing him to hold her closer to his body. Trent would almost certainly scold him if he woke her up. He looked down at her, studying her face. She was really cute, a picture-perfect little kid with dark curls and a round face. How anyone could willingly leave her in Trent's care was beyond him.
Somewhere in his periphery, Clyde was proving himself not a hypocrite as he excused himself to go join Kenny and Trent by the lonely streetlight.
He took the time to watch Clyde move toward the unfolding scene. Although he was unable to hear it, Stan could see that Kenny was yelling at Trent. Maybe not yelling, scolding possibly, or simply talking slightly more assertively than usual. Either way, Trent was busy holding his hands up defensively and looking like he regretted every decision he had ever made.
In most situations, Stan would simply state that he had no idea what Kenny was on about. But that was not the case. At this point, it had become routine every time Rick hurt someone, be they friend or foe, in a Kenny-related incident.
Step one: find out. Step two: assess the damage. Step three: offer compensation for the damages which usually meant that he would demand to pay the hospital bills. Step four: the injured individual refuses compensation, simply because Kenny had no way of actually getting that much money.
Naturally, Kenny was unaware that he even had a routine. Despite this, he and Trent were currently going through the motions of it. It was weirdly elating to see Trent effortlessly do what half a dozen people had done before him, as though he had been given a script to follow.
Wait…
No.
Nevermind, there was a small deviation in the routine, as Kenny suddenly put his face in his hands, shrinking in on himself and seemingly decreasing in size. A gentle hand, halfway covered in a white cast, found its way to Kenny's shoulder. Trent said something Stan wished he could hear. Something that caused Kenny to look up at him with an unreadable expression. Though it appeared to help Kenny compose himself before Clyde arrived.
"Did something happen to Kenny?" Craig asked, snapping Stan out of his reverie.
"Huh? Why'd you ask?" Stan asked back, not entirely certain how to even respond.
Craig simply shrugged and said, "He seems pretty stressed out. Just this morning, he started crying when a customer yelled at him."
Stan glanced over at Kenny, who was now standing with Trent and Clyde under the streetlight, appearing to be deep in some conversation. The fact that Kenny had been crying over a customer yelling at him was definitely unusual.
"Yeah, something did happen." Stan knew he was telling the truth, at least to a certain extent. He just needed to switch out some names. "Uhh, Rick's been really aggressive lately."
He couldn't read Craig's reaction. Stan often found himself wondering if the reason Craig remained so monotone and stoic was due to being unable to read other people. He would wonder if it was some sort of payback. After all, if Craig could not read others, why should they be able to read him?
This was exactly the case now, as Craig spoke. "Does he have a ride home tonight?"
Stan laid down on the blanket and placed Nia next to him as he looked at the sky. Strangely, not a single meteor had graced their eyesight. "Well, Kyle or Cartman should've driven him home, but, uhh, you know what happened."
Stan would probably have to walk him home, even though he absolutely did not want to do that. Walking Kenny home was scary; there was always the lingering threat that Rick could show up. And in his current state, Stan would be pretty useless.
"Hm," Craig began, laying down as well. He had already picked up on the fact that Stan did not want to walk Kenny home. "I'm sure Tweek wouldn't mind walking with him."
Scheming was not exactly Stan's forte, but for a brief moment, he was sure he had come up with the best scheme, as he spoke, in a very exaggerated manner. "Yeah, I'm sure Tweek would love to walk him home."
Craig sat back up and looked down at Stan with a confused face. "Why'd you say it like that?"
Stan mustered up his best innocent façade and spoke. "Hm? How'd I say it?"
For once in his life, Kenny's not-that-warrented-but-still-kinda-warranted reputation as community spank bank might actually come in handy. And it seemed Craig was already picking up what he was putting down. It was written all over his face.
"You said it, like, sarcastically?" He said, sounding unusually unsure. "What're you implying?"
Stan continued feigning an innocent, slightly confused smile. "Well, I'm not saying anything for sure. I just think it's a little suspicious that Tweek consistently volunteers to walk him home. And be. All. Alone. With him."
This had to be how Cartman felt every time he started some manipulative scheme. It was weirdly elating to watch Craig squirm, although subtly.
An old phrase of Cartman's echoed around in his head. It was something he used to say a lot before he was sent off to juvie: "It's not rape if she wants it," he would say, but only in front of Wendy, because he knew it would make her angry. Still, though, if Craig thought Tweek was cheating, or at least trying to, maybe he would want to cheat too.
He was just planting a little seed of doubt. For now. Soon enough, Tweek would come and plant more with his mere presence.
"No, that can't be right," Craig still sounded much too unsure. It was uncanny. "Tweek yelled at Kenny this morning."
Truly channeling his inner Cartman, Stan scoffed loudly. It was not a convincing scoff by any means, but he doubted Craig's ability to pick up on its insincerity. It was an inability Kyle once described as "terribly uncouth" back when he was going through a fancy phase. "Come on, we both know yelling at Kenny and being into him are not mutually exclusive."
Rick used to do that all the time. Why should Tweek be any different? Stan knew how insulting the notion was. No one would willingly admit to having something in common with Rick.
Craig looked like he was about to say something, but his eyes darted to somewhere in his periphery, and he turned his head. "Nice of you to finally show up."
Stan turned to look. Bebe and Wendy were approaching them, carrying chips and a stack of solo cups. Bebe smiled widely when she saw him.
"Real nice of us indeed," she said. "Seriously though, you guys gotta back me up here. She's totally grilling me!"
Wendy smiled and rolled her eyes. "I'm not grilling you. I'm just making sure you're staying safe," she began. Poor Bebe had probably been forced through a long monologue about living alone as a woman. "Like, for one, what would you even do if someone broke into your apartment?"
They had made it to the blankets and sat next to Craig, Stan, and Nia, right by Trent's untouched soda. Bebe placed a contemplative finger on her chin before responding. "I'd probably call Trent."
"Boyett?" Wendy asked, cocking an eyebrow.
"Yeah," Bebe retorted, gearing up to defend her answer. It seemed everyone always had to defend their words when it came to talking to Wendy. "He's my most useful, least mean neighbor."
Stan snorted a bit; he didn't mean to; it just came out. "In what kind of hellhole would Trent be your nicest neighbor?" He had to stop his hand from flying up to cover his mouth. It may have just been a knee-jerk reaction, but badmouthing Trent in front of Craig was probably a bad idea.
Bebe shrugged. "Okay, to be fair, I've only met the weird guy above me. And then also Trent. So, I might be biased." She paused for a small moment, pushing back her cuticles with her nails. "Seriously though, he offered to help me install a deadbolt lock. That's gotta count for something, right?"
As Stan tried to recover from his inadvertent slip of the tongue, he noticed Craig's eyes fixated on him, a hint of curiosity in his gaze. Stan could feel the weight of that gaze, and it made him slightly uneasy. It was as if Craig was studying him, trying to decipher something about him that confused him.
Looking down at Nia, Stan had to admit that Bebe probably hadn't been biased. Who would willingly leave their child in Trent's care if better people were available?
Speak of the devil, their incessant gossiping was cut short when Stan saw Trent coming back to the blanket. He had left Kenny and Clyde by the streetlight, where Clyde was already visibly working on his newfound hobby of interrogating Kenny.
Stan could not be bothered to sit up; it would make his head hurt, and he still had yet to see any meteors. Instead, he awkwardly maneuvered his arms to grab Nia and hand her back to Trent. "Take her back, asshat. I didn't ask to hold her."
He kept looking for meteors while Nia was removed from his personal bubble. Strangely, Craig, of all people, did not seem particularly interested in the so-called 'meteor shower.'
"Hey Trent," Bebe's high-pitched voice broke him out of his reverie. "Did you bring the stuff?"
That piqued Stan's interest, and he sat back up. His eyes landed on the still entirely untouched soda Craig had given to Trent.
"Yep," Trent said, grabbing the bottle of transparent liquid he had brought with him. Bebe's hand found its way to the bottle, and she looked at its shadow in the moonlight. The light passed through with ease, casting a lilac tint upon its umbra.
For a short moment, her eyes fell on Trent's face, lingering on his bruise and the cast on his wrist. She refrained from asking about it.
"What's that?" Stan asked, tentatively. He watched as Bebe's nimble fingers started picking solo cups out from the stack she had brought, giving one to Trent, Craig, Wendy, and herself.
"It's Melted Euphoria," she said. "It's basically Everclear except you can't taste the alcohol."
She started taking another cup out and reached over to hand it to Stan, but she was stopped by Trent, whom she gave an inquisitive look. "He won't need one," he said.
It did not feel like he actually cared. In a way, it felt more like he was just holding it over his head. He was right, though; Stan should not drink with a concussion no matter how small it was.
Stan just smiled politely. "Well, it's Sunday. So, I probably shouldn't drink either way." Besides, he lacked the ability to drink in moderation. If he even had a glass now, he would not wake up before 3 pm tomorrow.
"Alright then," was all Bebe had to say to that, as she started serving small amounts to each person present, except for Nia and Stan. "You should bring this stuff to the party, Trent. We could make punch with it."
In the meantime, there was silence. Awkward, lingering silence that promised to stay for as long as you didn't want it to. It was only slightly broken by the tranquil sounds of Craig and Wendy chatting about something that Stan could not care to listen to.
It felt like forever until Bebe broke the silence for good. "Hey Trent, did you notice the ambulance outside our building a few hours ago?"
"Yeah," he said, taking a sip from his cup. He had been very careful to watch Bebe's every move when she poured him some. "I was in it."
The statement got everyone's attention very fast, and Stan found himself speaking before thinking. "Why?!" It was much too aggressive; even Trent looked taken aback. He had a gut feeling that this ambulance had something to do with Kyle.
"Well, I already told you," Trent began. This did not bode well. "Rick broke Kyle's arm."
No, no, there had to be more to it than that. "You called an ambulance over a broken arm?" He asked, trying and failing to not sound condescending.
"W-well," Trent began, getting ready to defend his own past actions. "It was a lot more intense than that. He was throwing up and passing out and shit. The fuck else was I supposed to do? I thought he was gonna die or something."
"Wait, wait, wait," Bebe started, holding her hand up to indicate that Stan and Trent should stop talking. It was working. Surprisingly. "Rick was in our building?!"
Trent looked confused for a second before he asked. "You know the weirdo asshole who lives below me?"
Judging from her face, Bebe was connecting the dots way faster than Stan was. Her eyes widened, and her mouth hung open. "So that's the guy who just put 'R' on his nameplate!"
Oh.
Rick was their neighbor.
And he had picked a fight with Trent and Kyle.
Fuck.
No one spoke. Craig and Wendy had long since been pulled from their conversation and were listening in. It seemed even the silence dared not speak. Somewhere, by the lonely streetlight, it felt like even Clyde and Kenny were baiting their breaths.
Stan knew Bebe was secretly thankful they were so far away. Clyde would almost certainly try to convince her to move if he actually heard.
The silence merely continued its tyrannical reign, only broken by rebellious frogs and martyrish crickets. A lonely crow had joined in the unruly choir. Strange, Stan had been sure there were no crows around, at least not when he was alone with Kenny. Or with Craig and Clyde. It seemed it only showed up when Trent showed up.
Another sound tied itself into the cacophony; a set of footsteps, oscillating between fast and slow and medium pace. Tweek was here. And judging from the sounds of even more footsteps, Kenny and Clyde coming back as well.
They sat down on the other side of Trent. Kenny was closest to him, and the soda can between them remained untouched. Tweek sat next to Kenny, and Stan did not miss the ever-so subtle expression on Craig's face.
Alongside alcohol, conversation flowed once again, as Kenny, Clyde, and Tweek remained ignorant of the previous tension. Stan continued to study Craig's expression, whenever Tweek and Kenny as much as glanced at each other. Stan had planted so many seeds of doubt, and they were already blossoming beautifully. Knowing Craig, he would certainly keep these doubts to himself.
"Nah, my credit is fucking awful. I'm kinda in debt at the moment." The statement, said with such casualness and carelessness that most simply did not register it, caught Stan's attention. Trent was the one who said it, while deeply engrossed in some half-drunken conversation with Bebe. Nia was still sleeping, using him as a pillow. And his jacket was still far away from his body.
"Really?" Bebe said, with a skeptical, slightly amused look. "How financially irresponsible are you?"
"Oh, I'm terrible with money," Trent said sarcastically, moving his hand to his forehead. "I keep blowing it on ambulances and hospital bills!"
Bebe laughed lightly. She had such a nice laugh; in fact, Stan knew Clyde had spent many years trying to hone his comedic skills purely for the sake of making her laugh.
"Seriously though," she said, quickly changing her tune. "How bad is it?"
Trent shrugged, "Like breaking my wrist without health insurance levels of bad." He stopped talking for a moment because Nia started fussing in her sleep next to him. He held her closer.
The way he spoke held a surprising lack of bitterness that Stan could not quite decipher.
"Shit," was all the insightful, slurred input Bebe had to give. "What're you gonna do about it?"
Trent shrugged again. "Eat noodles for the rest of my life, I guess. And also pray I don't need surgery, ever." He chuckled lightly and moved a contemplative finger to his chin. "I should probably quit smoking too. Unless I find some quick way to make more money."
Bebe sat in silence for a moment, pondering.
She looked so small next to Trent.
"You were gonna participate in that kickboxing tournament, right?" she asked.
"Yeah? How's that relevant?" Trent asked, a very reasonable question if Stan was to judge.
"Well, don't tell Tweek that I said this." Bebe moved closer to Trent, whispering into his ear. She was obviously a little too drunk because Stan could easily hear her. "Tweek has a shitton of money. If you beat him in that tournament, you can get him to pay it for you."
No, he could not. He had something else to ask for. And if he asked for anything else, Stan and the guys would stop at nothing to put him on the chopping block.
Stan looked around, making sure no one else had heard Bebe's traitorous statement. No one had. Good.
Thankfully, Trent shook his head. "I can't do that," he said. "Having other people pay my debts doesn't feel all that fair." For a short moment, he held eye contact with Stan.
Fair? Asshole.
Stan tuned them out again, laying down on the blanket. Still no meteors. Maybe he should ask.
"Ay Craig!" Stan half-shouted. Bad idea; it made his head hurt. It had been a bit loud too, since he evidently startled Craig out of the death stare, he had been giving Kenny. "I thought you said there'd be a meteor shower?"
Momentarily, Craig looked… confused? Stan quickly scanned everyone else; Kenny was the only one who seemed to get what he was talking about.
"Oh, right," Craig said, collecting himself rather quickly. "I lied." Then his expression, subtle as it was, changed to something Stan could not decipher. "But it's okay if you guys only came for the meteors. You're free to leave."
Oh, Craig had worked on being more subtle. He wanted them to leave. No, he wanted Kenny to leave. It was so obvious and so subtle. Quite an interesting dichotomy.
He exchanged a look with Kenny, who had clearly picked up on the same thing as himself. Oh well, it was quite evident that they both wanted to leave. So, they said their agreements and polite pleasantries before standing up and getting ready.
Right before they were about to get going, Tweek's voice caught Stan's attention. "Hey Kenny, I'll walk you home."
It was routine, a surprise to no one. But something changed today when Craig said, "But honey, you just got here. You should stay. Stan can walk him home."
He had to admire the audacity. Did Craig even realize what he was doing? For all Craig knew, Kenny was in danger of being attacked on his way home, and Craig was willing to leave him in Stan's care. Stan, who had just gotten a concussion and was completely useless because of it. Asshole.
Stan could not recall what everyone said; it seemed irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. Kenny was objecting, and Tweek was objecting, and Craig was being confirmed in his suspicions, and Bebe and Clyde were insulting Stan's ability to do anything in case Rick reared his ugly mug. The only person who kept silent was Trent. Eventually, he simply grabbed Kenny's hand and started walking off, saying his goodbyes in the process.
Of course, all the objections were correct. Stan's presence was merely a courtesy; if Rick actually showed up, he would be able to do absolutely nothing at all, and he knew it. Soon enough, Kenny started matching his pace. The faster they were, the less time they had to spend being paranoid about Rick.
Unfortunately, it did not take long before they noticed a set of footsteps behind them. Stan would glance at Kenny, who would glance at Stan, and they would confirm their suspicions: they were both hearing the footsteps. Someone was behind them, following them.
Shit. Shit! SHIT!
They started walking faster, but the footsteps were approaching rapidly!
Idiot! He was such an idiot for thinking nothing would happen!
They quickened their pace. How had the night even managed to take such a turn? It seemed only mere paragraphs ago, they were chilling with their friends. Had Stan had some sort of cognitive dissonance? Or maybe it was just confirmation bias that made think Rick was following them when it was just some noise?
He could feel Kenny's grip on his arm tighten - he hadn't even realized they were holding onto each other. A twig snapped behind them, sending shivers running down their spines as they speedwalked faster. They could not run; they could not let the pursuer know they knew.
The footsteps only grew louder and louder, until they were by the edge of the forest. They had only made it to the church. Kenny's house seemed acres away.
He was saying something to Stan, but nothing seemed to register. At least, thinking back on it, Stan could not remember what he was saying.
He had been so, so stupid. How could he even think it was smart to try and convince Craig that Tweek was into Kenny? It had barely even been an hour and it had already backfired! Stupid! Stupid!
"Stan!" Kenny snatched his attention. At least, this time Stan actually registered and remembered what he said. Or did. His eyes pointed him to the church. Right, they could take refuge there. If Rick really was the one following them, he would not follow them into a church. That guy hated the church more than he hated Kenny, which was honestly impressive.
Mere seconds and then they had entered the church. Thank God, literally. The heavy wooden doors closed behind them with an echoing thud, drowning out the sound of pursuing footsteps. The dimly lit interior was a stark contrast to the moonlit night outside, and for a moment, they both stood there, catching their breaths.
They took a moment to scan the sanctuary. The flickering candlelight revealed rows of empty pews, religious icons adorning the walls, and the eerie silence that permeated the holy place. It was hauntingly beautiful, a sanctuary of peace and refuge amidst the chaos outside.
"Fuck, man," Kenny said through panting breaths. "Why'd Craig send us away like that? Did we piss him off?"
Stan stepped back for a moment. He had messed up big time, and Kenny was the one paying the price. Maybe trying to instill some skepticism in Tweek and Craig's had been a terrible idea. Not to mention that he never even brought it up with Kenny first.
"I-I, uhh," His voice shook with painful shame, as lilac eyes bore through him with tender rage. He had connected some but not all the dots.
"What did you do?" Kenny's eyebrows were furrowed.
"I, kinda," Stan considered sugarcoating it, but decided to simply tell the whole truth. "I kinda tried to convince Craig that Tweek was into you. And it kinda worked."
His fingers fiddled together as he began studying Kenny's worn-out shoes. His eyes slowly moved upwards; a pair of pants with old stains, small holes, and patches. An old but still rather nice shirt Cartman had given him as a birthday gift a few years ago. A black jacket, new and stainless; not a single broken seam littered its façade. It did not fit him at all, literally and figuratively.
For a second, Stan wondered where Kenny got that jacket. Then it struck him: it was Trent's.
He was still wearing Trent's jacket.
"Why was I your go-to?" Kenny asked. "For fuck's sake, man. If you keep this shit up, Tweek's gonna stop walking me home entirely."
"I'm sorry," Stan said. "The situation called for it. It was a stupid spur-of-the-moment idea. I should've just hoped that operation Kyle's notebook would do the trick."
Kenny placed his face in his hands and groaned. "No, it wasn't stupid. It clearly worked."
The silence in the church hung heavy, the flickering candle flames casting eerie shadows on the walls. Stan and Kenny stood there, neither knowing exactly how to break the uncomfortable quiet that had settled between them.
"You're, uhm," Stan began. "You're still wearing Trent's jacket." He had come up with another idea. But it seemed Kenny had not quite caught his train of thought. "We could, uh, use it as an excuse to go back to the others."
Kenny's face turned several pretty shades of red as he looked down at the jacket around him. It was clear that he hadn't realized he was still wearing it until Stan pointed it out.
He quickly composed himself before responding. "I dunno… I'm pretty sure we can't go back. If Rick's actually following us, he won't just let us make it back." He shifted a bit before he pulled his phone out. "I think I have a better idea."
"Praying?" Stan asked. He sounded so silly, but it was really the only thing he could think of.
"Ha ha," Kenny said dryly. "Go pray then or something. I gotta go make a call."
He then went off to the church's backroom. It was the only place in the church with proper cell service. Meanwhile, Stan opted to do exactly as he was told.
He went to sit on one of the many pews, where he leaned forward, folded his hands, and prayed.
Prayed for so many things that he did not actually believe would come true. He had been raised in a somewhat Christian family, been baptized and he had even had a Confirmation. Yet, he found the notion of praying exceedingly silly.
Still, he went on and on. Internally, of course, he could never get himself to pray out loud. The whole process felt so mechanical, like an old machine that had stopped working many years ago, like he had forgotten how to do it.
He used to pray a lot, well not a lot, but sometimes, which was certainly more often than now. But he had stopped sometime around two years ago, when he was finally diagnosed with clinical depression. That had not been fun and he had been so angry that God would let him go through that. That God would ignore his pleas for help.
If Cartman had come to school back then, talking about how Jesus saved his life, he would have sucker punched him. So, he must have changed at least a little since then. But, of course, Cartman was not even in town back then. He was in juvie.
He would love to say that he felt guilty for putting himself and Kenny in this situation, seeking refuge in the house of God of all places. But it could make for a funny story in the future. Hey kids, do you wanna hear the story about the time uncle Kenny and I had to camp in a church? It was a dark and stormy night.
When Kenny came back and sat next to him, he did not greet him or ask who he had called. They simply sat in silence. Maybe this wouldn't be the funniest story.
The darkness outside the church pressed against the stained-glass windows, casting colorful patterns on the pews and floor. Stan could hear the distant chirping of crickets and the soft rustling of leaves in the wind.
He should, by all means, have been aware of the time. But time tends to fly when your thoughts do, and he was caught by surprise when someone knocked on the entrance door. They did not wait for either Stan nor Kenny to respond; they simply came in.
Whoever it was walked down the aisle with confident, heavy steps, not in any rush to get to them. For a moment, Stan thought Rick had actually followed them in here. He did not look to see. He did not want to.
The person spoke. "What kind of loser stalks someone in the middle of the night but is too chicken to enter a church?" The voice had Stan look up really quickly. Right there, towering over them, with a half-empty bottle of Melted Euphoria in one hand and carrying a small child on his other arm, was Trent. "Sounds like the devil incarnate."
Kenny had called Trent. Of all people in the world, he called Trent?
Stan turned his head back to Kenny to get at least some sort of confirmation. The sight frankly shocked him; Kenny had seemingly lit up. What the fuck?
"You actually came," Kenny said.
Trent looked like he was about to say something, but he seemingly changed his mind at the last second. "Well, uh, you have my jacket so…uh…" He looked off somewhere. In fact, he was looking at anything other than them. Any and all bravado had disappeared in less than a second. If he had had a free hand, he would have certainly started scratching the back of his neck.
It made Stan wonder what exactly Trent had said to Kenny by the lonely streetlight, if this was the outcome. Whatever. His head hurt, and this day had stretched on far too long.