I don't even know what I'm doing tbh, this might be one of the most autistic ideas my brain spawned into my head in forever lol. Have no idea how this will be structured, if I'll just focus on Stan, maybe have special chapters where all four of the boys moved but we'll see what happens.

Also the COVID specials never happened in this universe, might clarify some other events that have been changed if the need arises.

Chapter 1: Birdwell Blues

Stanley Marsh stared out the window of their new Birdwell Island home, a stark contrast to the familiar, snow-capped peaks of South Park. The vibrant, almost offensively cheerful, turquoise of the ocean clashed horribly with the grey sludge of his mood.

Two weeks.

It had been two weeks since the fiery demise of Randy's weed farm, a week since the tearful goodbyes, a week since he'd last felt anything resembling genuine happiness, or even just feeling anything impactful enough to evoke a strong response, whether it be laughing with Kyle, arguing with Cartman, and sharing awkward silences with Kenny. Now, the only silence was the heavy one pressing down on him, a suffocating blanket woven from regret and a deep, gnawing homesickness. If only he had burnt down the farm sooner.

Burning down Randy's weed farm had felt... right, at the time. A desperate, scorched earth attempt to reclaim some semblance of normalcy, to jolt his family back to the mountain town they all called home. But the house was gone. Sold. Another casualty in the relentless march of progress, leaving them stranded, adrift in this... this place.

The move had been Randy's idea, a "fresh start" he'd called it, a chance to escape the shadow of the burned-down weed farm – a monument to Stan's impulsive act of rebellion.

The house itself was... adequate. A two-story colonial painted a cheerful yellow that clashed horribly with Stan's mood. It was spacious enough, filled with the sterile scent of new paint and the lingering ghost of previous occupants. But it lacked the comforting familiarity, the comforting chaos, of their old life. It lacked South Park.

The fresh start felt more like a forced exile. His parents, bless their oblivious hearts, chattered away about the two-story colonial they bought out with the money Randy accrued from his business, their enthusiasm a painful counterpoint to the lead weight in Stan's chest. Sharon, ever optimistic, was meticulously organizing their belongings with the practiced efficiency of a seasoned military strategist. Shelley, headphones clamped over her ears, seemed utterly oblivious to the familial drama unfolding around her – a drama Stan felt acutely and alone. Randy, however, was in unusually high spirits.

The absence of his beloved Tegridy Farms seemed to have sparked a renewed sense of entrepreneurial zeal. He was already sketching diagrams on napkins, muttering about potential business ventures that involved... well, Stan wasn't sure, and at this point, he didn't really care. The forced cheerfulness felt like a slap in the face. Stan wished he could retreat into his own world, but unlike Shelley, he didn't have the luxury of noise-canceling headphones to block out the jarring optimism.

He'd spent the last few days in a haze of sullen silence, a ghost haunting the periphery of his family's attempts at settling into their new life. The unpacking process was a blur of muted conversations and forced smiles. Stan mostly kept to himself, helping minimally, his responses brief and clipped. He watched, listlessly, as his family unpacked. Each box seemed to hold another painful memory, another reminder of the life he'd left behind. The framed photo of him, Kyle, Cartman, Kenny, Wendy and many friends he made at South Park Elementary either grinning goofily, showing indifference along with an assortment of emotions present in the photo, felt particularly poignant.

His mother had told him he would be starting his new semester of school in two weeks, though it's not as if he cared too much. Like most things in this world, they would drift by, the moment being over before he could register it. Besides, who'd want to make friends with a mopey pessimistic douchebag?

Soon, a full week had passed on by and his room was still unfinished, with two half-empty boxes of his personal belongings still waiting to be placed around the room. Now, he was cooping himself up in the living room, reruns of Terrance and Phillip playing, the highlight of his increasingly bleak existence.

Sharon, ever the pragmatic optimist, believed fresh air and a change of scenery held the key to unlocking Stanley's dormant spirit. Or, at the very least, it would keep him from becoming one with the upholstery. Her solution? A double-pronged assault on Stanley's inertia: a mandatory dog-walking session with Sparky, their hyperactive terrier mix, and a grocery shopping expedition.

The unspoken subtext? They needed jobs, and fast.

"Stanley," Sharon's voice, crisp and commanding, cut through the television's blather. "Get your butt off that couch. Sparky needs a walk, and we need you to buy some groceries."

Stan turned to his mother, disinterest looming. "Why can't you get Shelley to do it? Isn't the older sibling supposed to be the one helping taking care of things?"

Sharon sighed, massaging her temples. "Your sister is currently going through looking for high schools still willing to accept new students while we're still hoping elementary schools nearby are accepting you. Now go upstairs and change, I'll text you a list of stuff we need."

Stan knew her word was final when she pulled out her phone and began typing on the electronic keyboard, so he figured he'd get it over with, and headed upstairs to change. Some minutes later, he exited the house with an empty bag and headed to the doghouse sitting in the yard.

Sparky eyes landed on Stan's figure and his tail wagged in a rapid fashion, jumping up and down as he saw the 11-year-old approach him.

"Come on, boy," Stan's lax and soothing voice was always a delight to the part-wolf, part-Doberman, eager to leave the house as his owner patted him and attached a leash to his collar. "We're heading to the supermarket. It'll be you and me, just like old times."

If there's one thing Stan was still grateful for, it was his dog still by his side, and it might be the only thing that'll be able to bring a smile out of him for the foreseeable future.

I think I dragged some of this on too long, lemme know if there's a bit of fat since I try to compensate for not being too good with dialogue.