Chapter Text
“How far are we from his house?” Stan murmured. His face twitched in desperation.
Without turning around, Kenny answered calmly, but with a trace of annoyance. “Far enough. You realize hidin' from him ain't gonna do anything, right? You’re gonna see them eventually,” he said, struggling to get his lighter to spark. Stan mumbled, before pointing at Kenny’s sad little excuse for a cigarette. “What?”
“Give me one of those,” he said.
Kenny looked at what he was pointing at, and his head jerked back as he put a hand over the pack of cigarettes. Stan’s shoulders slumped as he looked down at Kenny, but he wasn’t going to fall for that lousy guilt tripping. Kenny coughed, accidentally blowing clouds of smoke in Stan’s face. Stan didn’t look like he gave a shit. “Hell nah!”
A low groan. “Loosen up!”
“Nope, you ain't getting any. And you wouldn’t want these, anyway,” he said in a stern voice. Kenny took another drag despite the stinging pain in his throat, blowing smoke rings. He didn’t want to look over eager about the fact that this was his first time actually succeeding to do those, so he smugly blew another set and chortled. “I made them at, like, six in the morning earlier. They kind of suck.”
He refused to give Stan a single cigarette, holding the box up so he couldn't reach for them. Kenny dropped his cigarette in surprise as Stan jumped to try to get one, but Kenny dodged just in time. They were DIY tea cigs—Craig stopped sharing, but to be fair, they were pretty damn expensive—but he still didn't want Stan falling down the god forsaken rabbit hole of smoking. He's gone down the alcohol one already, and one rabbit hole's more than enough. In fact, no rabbit holes would be even better. He made a face, picking up the wasted cigarette and throwing it in the trash can near Stan.
Stan was on edge the entire afternoon. Meanwhile, Kenny was struggling to stay awake since he dragged him on some sort of dumb mission to stay hidden from Kyle and Wendy. He found it amusing how he knew everything that Stan had frantically explained to him that morning. He spent most of last night with Kyle just talking about Stan and Wendy’s… issues, but Stan didn't need to know that. Neither did Wendy, probably. Kenny offered him a deep sigh and a forced yet thoughtful smile.
The day was pleasant until Stan arrived, bringing a cloud of negativity upon not only himself, but Kenny and everyone around him, too. The green leaves that swayed in the breeze looked dull, like they were gray with only pathetic tinges of green whenever Stan walked under them. Kenny would skip behind him, grinning enthusiastically at the little streams of sunlight through the foliage that Stan huffed and scowled. It was evident that the two were different that afternoon.
“God, that sounds like shit,” Stan would say as a car blaring pop music drove by.
“Not really,” he would reply, shrugging. Stan usually grumbled at his replies.
“Agree to disagree, I guess.”
Eventually, they sat. Kenny was sort of glad, since Stan would pipe down about the comments about the littlest things already. If he had a comment in store for a bench, a trash can, or something stupid like the ground, Kenny would actually lose it. He sneered and watched Stan scroll through his and Wendy’s text messages, the last one being from before summer vacation even started.
As the two sat, he snuck a look at Stan’s screen and saw a photo of Stan and Wendy, hand in hand, during the last day of school. She was pretty, Kenny had to admit to himself. Next to Stan, Wendy donned a deep purple cardigan and pink beret that Kenny remembers her wearing ever since elementary school. That reminded him; some overpriced fashion boutique he and Stan passed by had a purple coat on display. Kenny was a hundred-and-one percent sure Stan would make a big deal about it. And he did. Many Wendy and Kyle-directed comments followed quickly after, as did Kenny’s annoyed responses.
The entire day, Stan had been kind of insufferable. He had called him to come over to his place to chill, but the awkwardness in his voice told Kenny that he was going there for some cheap booze, or maybe pot, if he was feeling adventurous. He wasn’t having any of that, so here he and Stan were, going everywhere in South Park except the Broflovski and Testaburger residences. Kenny knew, however, that Kyle was somewhere outside because he told him over text messages that morning. Stan didn't have a clue, and maybe he didn't have to.
Even so, he played along, all the while secretly kind of hoping they'd bump into Kyle or Wendy. Or both of them, if he was lucky.
The two were sitting in front of Tweek Bros. on a bench next to a trash can. Kenny felt kind of guilty that they were just hanging around in front of the coffeehouse, but he doubted he could afford any. Meanwhile, Stan was sitting by the trash can, which Kenny didn’t want to admit was kind of fitting. Kenny was about to beckon to Stan for them to go somewhere else, but Stan grabbed his arm and pulled him back down to the bench, a desperate look on his face. Was this how he acted with Wendy? Maybe Kyle, sometimes?
He shook himself out of the thought and sat back down, shifting in his seat. Kenny huffed, pursing his lips into a thin line while Stan's expression tightened as he looked down at him.
“What now?”
“Can you stay with me?” Stan said. He lowered his hand, letting go of Kenny’s sleeve and letting fragments of words escape. “We can move, I just… Everything's shitty right now and I'm just tired,” he said. “Sorry. Just…”
“Hey, I wasn't going to leave you. But we can move, if you w–” Kenny fumbled over himself, looking over Stan's shoulder where a sudden noise rang out. He exhaled. “Oh shit.”
Today was Kenny's lucky day.
He was cut off by the abrupt ringing of chimes, which were more chaotic and noisy than the usual relaxing and harmonious noise he usually heard upon opening the door to Tweek Bros. Said door was open, and out came two figures that Kenny instantly recognized as Kyle and Wendy–although her hair seemed to be cut at least ten inches shorter. Kyle's fingers touched his parted lips as he shuffled back two or maybe three steps, while Wendy looked like a deer in headlights. Her hand was keeping the door open, her grip so tight Kenny could swear her knuckles were turning white. Kenny felt a cold rush of air on his skin from the coffeehouse's air conditioning, making him shiver.
He laughed a little, under his breath.
“Oh no,” Stan said, his voice lowered to a whisper.
Oh yes.
“Hey, good timing,” Wendy said to Stan, closing the door to the coffeehouse. Her expression was unreadable to Kenny. Kyle followed close behind, eyeing Kenny like he didn't want to be there. ”We… need to talk.”
Oh boy. Kenny knew that phrase from a chick, especially, meant shit was about to go down. It also meant Stan was fucked. Kenny drummed his feet against the floor in anticipation, watching Stan’s widened eyes close as he pinched the bridge of his nose. There wasn’t much the guy could do at this point, since the two people he was trying to avoid were right in front of him. Stan scooted closer to Kenny, before finally, fucking finally getting the balls to get up and face Wendy. He breathed out shakily, but followed it up with a reply, surprisingly.
It was honestly a wonder he even replied.
“Okay.”
“So,” Wendy said. ”I– Okay,” she closed her eyes, as if to calm herself down, before looking straight at Stan. “Stan, is everything alright?”
Kenny didn't get up from his seat, but uncomfortably looked up at the three. He and Kyle exchanged worried glances at each other, watching Stan and Wendy like some stupid bystanders. Maybe they could pull out a camera and go viral or something. Kenny groaned. Last time, he was a third wheel, but somehow it had gotten worse and now he was a fucking fourth wheel. At least he could be an extra wheel with Kyle, he guessed.
“I don't– Yes.” he looked to his side. Kenny could burst into laughter right there and then. “I am.”
Yeah, and here's your award for Most Convincing Man of The Year, Kenny rolled his eyes.
“Are you sure?” Wendy asked.
“Bullshit,” Kyle argued.
“Huh?”
“Stan, I know you,” he cut himself off, as if he heard his own voice rising. He continued, softer this time. “And I know you're lying.”
Kyle's face was covered in a sheen of sweat, his lip curling in anger. He took an audible intake of breath as his posture straightened, muscles tightening. Kenny couldn't help but stare. Kyle looked like he was going to blow a fuse, staring sharply at Stan. Even Wendy's gaze ping-ponged as her lips pressed together in a slight grimace. Kenny saw her walk towards Kyle, but she hesitated after seeing Stan, staring down at his shoes as he placed his trembling hands in his pockets.
It was like watching a strange, human gradient of red and blue: there was the fiery red Kyle, standing behind Wendy, as if she were a locked gate holding back an angry red ocean threatening to spill; The cold blue Stan, too empty to even react, cowering slightly behind the barrier. And the conflicted purple Wendy in the middle, her gaze darting around the two like she couldn't choose who to approach.
Kenny was the painter in the background taking up unnecessary space, wondering how the colors would mix and blend as something completely different. He wasn’t a part of this. Just a bystander. But the painter was getting a bit concerned, in this case; it seemed the paint had jumped off the palette and started arguing with one another. Last time he checked, colors didn't do that.
“Look, shit's been hard, okay? Goddamn it,” Stan cried. ”Everything's just been shitty. I've fucked everything up, Kyle. How am I supposed to–” his voice broke off. “I don't know anymore.”
“Hey, it's okay–” Wendy finally approached Stan, hands firmly on his shoulder. Kenny was kind of worried he would misinterpret the innocent touch. Stan didn't even move, his neck bent as he didn't bother to look up at Wendy. “I understand. But, ah, it had to happen, okay?”
“Why? We could've… I could change, Wendy. I could change! For the better, for both of us.”
Really?
“We… we could've made it work. You could help me become better. Just one more chance?”
Kenny was willing to bet a hundred bucks that he had asked for 'one more chance' at least a gazillion times. Kyle grit his teeth at that, which confirmed it for Kenny. He wanted to take Kyle’s hand again and squeeze it. But he probably wouldn’t do that, since the only time they were that close was when Kyle was high as a kite, lying down in Kenny's bed and thinking the dirt on his ceiling was stars. Now wasn’t exactly the same case. Kenny tried to hide whatever he was thinking about, smoothing out his shorts and looking away from Kyle.
“I've given you hundreds of 'one more chances,' Stan.” Wendy said. ”I'm sorry. I, um, I just think it's better for both of us. I can't just fix you, okay? That's not how it works.”
Easiest hundred bucks of his life. If only they weren’t imaginary.
“But–”
“Stan,” Wendy spoke over him, with that tone of finality Kenny recognized. It was the same one she used whenever she made a speech, or talked to a teacher, or whatever it is class presidents do. Kenny didn't know jack shit about what they did. Maybe he'd ask Kyle. He seemed like the type to know. “I really think we're not meant for each other. We could stay friends if you wanted. I think you're a nice guy.”
“I need you, Wendy.”
Wendy sighed. “You don't need me.”
“Stan, what don't you get? I'm sorry to say this,” Kyle offered him a deep sigh and a half-hearted pat on the back. “But it just won't work. Don't you understand?”
“Wendy, you made me happy. And I made you happy. Right?” Stan said, ignoring everything Kyle said and turning to Wendy instead. Kyle's hand slipped off of Stan's back, which Kenny guessed he didn't like. He whipped around with eyes fixated angrily on Stan.
“Stan.”
“I’m sorry, but you need to focus on being happy with yourself first,” Wendy said. “Once you can make yourself happy with yourself, then you can make someone else happy.”
“Give me until our anniversary… Please? I promise, I'll be better to you. And happy with myself. I promise.”
“Stan!” Kyle raised his voice, but it was as if Stan didn't see or hear or feel him.
“Anniversary?” she asked.
Kyle fucking snapped there and then. He took his hand off Stan’s back in one sharp motion, as sharp as the daggers he was glaring at him. Having placed the hand once on Stan's back in his pocket, Kyle stomped to get everyone's attention. Kenny flinched, flashed with a brief vision of eye contact from Kyle. Sardonic laughter threatened to escape from his mouth. Someone should go get him some fucking popcorn. Or a bike, so he could get out.
“Anniversary? What anniversary? You've broken up and gotten together enough times for your guys' anniversary to be every fucking day.” he scoffed, at his wit's end with Stan. ”There comes a point where it's just… not good for both of you. That point came a long time ago, but I was trying to believe I could help you guys. I was wrong.”
“Oh. Uh.”
“Hey, okay,” Wendy said when Kyle's voice wouldn't stop rising.
Some potential customers who were passing by changed directions as they saw the four teenagers making a scene. In other words, a total fucking shitstorm had hit right in front of Tweek Bros.
“I'm sorry if that was harsh, but I don't know if you would've listened if I didn't speak up,” he muttered. “Dude, I love you, okay? You're my super best friend, and I don't want you just… getting hurt every time you get back with Wendy, because I know what's going to happen. Wendy, you too. Both of you.”
“Kyle…” Wendy's voice cracked, and she cleared her throat before continuing. “I'm glad. And I agree, so, so much.”
“Dude, I just want this shit to be over. I'm tired. I know you guys are too.”
“I know, but–”
“Dude!” Kyle snapped.
“Fucking hear me out for once!”
“Why would I do that, when you're going to mope about how sad and depressing your life, Wendy and… I don't know, guilt tripping her for not continuing the stupid on and off relationship thing you've got going on?” He said. “How many times do I have to say: It's. Not. Fucking. Healthy!”
You tell him, Kyle!
“It's also none of your business.”
What. What the actual fuck is this guy on? Whatever it was, Kenny needed some of it to even have a basic understanding of whatever Stan's thought process was behind saying that. None of Kyle's business? Kenny's jaw hung open.
“Stan, he's just trying to help! And he's right, you know. As much as I hate to say it, It's not right for us to keep doing this,” Wendy yelled. It was a brief ripple in her calm and collected exterior, her chin raised high.
Before Kenny could give his two cents, Stan was fucking manhandled by Kyle. He let out a noise of surprise as Stan was pushed roughly onto the bench, his knee colliding with Kenny's. Kyle's hand was wrapped around Stan's wrist, who wasn't even bothering to yank it away. Wendy gasped, but stood frozen above Stan. “Jesus,” Kenny mumbled, unable to hold his tongue.
“Huh? None of my business?” Kyle snarled. “So all the things I did for you mean nothing? I was carrying your relationship on my goddamn back, I'm surprised it's not fucking broken yet.”
“If you cared,” Stan's voice lowered. “Why won't you let me do what I want?”
“Because if I did, you and Wendy will just end up hurt! And me too, but clearly, nobody gives a shit.”
“I do, Kyle, I care,” his tone became apologetic. Almost sickeningly so. It was a stark contrast from his yelling earlier. Maybe because he had noticed Kenny starting to narrow his eyes at all the backtalk. “What's wrong?”
“You,” he spat. “You! You ’ re wrong! I keep trying to tell you–”
“I keep trying to tell you, too!”
“Trying to tell me what?”
Kenny shifted in his seat, ears acclimating to the sound of yelling. Words spun around and around, incoherent to Kenny. It didn’t faze him anymore, or at least that was what he convinced himself to believe. Yelling, to Kenny, was kind of a pathetic display of 'strength.' It felt like hearing someone's higher brain switched off, letting an out-of-control, immature version of someone loose. Like a poorer version of a conversation, no, like the dumber version of a conversation. It didn't spark fear in him. But sparked worry, concern, hurt, guilt, every negative word you could think of. And they didn’t even direct the yelling to him.
It sparked like the flame of his lighter did, swift and strong. Kenny's eyes darted around the disapproving bystanders, getting up. But it was as if he was invisible to Stan and Wendy, and much to his dismay, even Kyle. He couldn’t tell who was who anymore over all the voices talking over each other, turning into one dissonant sound echoing around the front of the coffeehouse. Passersby stopped to stare and whispered to one another, but their soft sounds quickly blended in with the grating noise of the three's argument. He almost didn’t catch himself talking.
“You guys,” he said. No response.
A loud noise, followed by a shrill cry. Kenny's skin prickled with surprise as the new voices pulled him out from his thoughts. His ears, which he thought had acclimated to the sound, began to ring all of a sudden. Tweek rushed outside of Tweek Bros., pulling Craig along. He was a shaking mess, struggling to form coherent words as Stan and Kyle yelled over everything he tried to say. Wendy stood in between them, trying to break the two apart as she too tried to yell over them without much success.
“Argh! You guys are scaring customers off!” Tweek managed.
Kenny snapped out of his trance. “Hey, you guys. Sorry they interrupted your makeout sesh in the employee room.”
“W-What?”
Craig flipped him off–talk about surprising –but led the four inside Tweek Bros.
The coffeehouse was full of yelling for the first few minutes.
“Okay, okay, calm down,” Craig muttered, followed by a sudden halt in Kyle, Wendy and Stan's argument.
“I am calm!” Kyle yelled. Uh huh, very calm.
Craig gave him a long, flat look, scanning Kyle's expression and shaking his head. He looked at Tweek, and he looked back, and the two seemed to communicate with each other without even uttering a single word. Like some weird psychic couple magic, or something. Kinda gay, if you would ask Kenny.
Craig finally replied in a slow drawl. “Yeah, no.”
In the middle of the heated argument, Bebe had walked inside and blurted out the longest order of a single coffee Kenny had ever heard. He didn't even recognize some of the shit she wanted in her coffee. She definitely would've kept going if it weren't for all the commotion in the back of the coffeehouse where Stan, Kyle, Wendy and Kenny were sitting. Tweek and Craig had taken a few chairs from the employee only room so they could help sort things out too, although Tweek was at the front, just in case a customer arrived. If Kenny had to be honest, he wished he could just leave things to them. Tweek and Craig were good at this shit. Stan and Wendy were not. Like Kyle had told him in his house that night, Stan and Wendy weren't the greatest when it came to relationships. As if he hadn’t already figured that out after tons of hanging out with Stan, that unstable little shit. He sighed.
“Yeah, I’ll have a caramel latte with extra ice, whipped cream, extra caramel… Oops, I almost forgot, two pumps of vanilla, hazelnut syrup, and I have a free reward!” Bebe beamed, digging through her tiny purse. Tweek looked mortified, nearly dropping the marker and empty cup in his trembling hand. “Thanks!”
“Wait- agh- I didn't catch most of that!” Tweek cried, to no avail. “Oh come on, man.”
Her smile was turned upside down once she turned around to make a beeline for a nice seat to drink whatever the hell that caramel-ice-whipped-cream-vanilla-hazelnut bullshit she ordered was. “Wait, Wendy– Oh my god.”
“No, that's not what I said, St– Bebe?” Wendy turned her head to the counter, where Bebe and Tweek stood.
“What are you doing hanging out with Stan?” Bebe wrinkled her nose, pointing at Stan who cowered at her sight. She shook her head upon seeing his eyes meet hers, muttering something under her breath that Kenny couldn’t hear from where he was.
“We aren’t hanging out!” she protested, speaking through her teeth in forced restraint.
“What’s going on, then?”
He wanted to say that this was just an average day in South Park: the unnecessary drama, the unnecessary violence, the unnecessary everything between a bunch of kids. Kenny would normally just have a good laugh and enjoy the show, but he caught himself feeling something different. Was this getting older? This didn’t feel like a minor scuffle between rowdy teens. He could tell that everyone had that feeling, too. Kyle especially, who had been shifting in his seat and jittery the whole time. Maybe it wasn’t strange for him to do that, but that Kyle-typical haughtiness Kenny always noticed in his words and actions was just… gone. It was weird. Like Craig without Tweek, or Kenny without his signature orange parka.
Kenny caught himself staring up at Kyle at some point, just looking at his uncharacteristic movements for some time; it felt both like a long time and way too short of a time to even matter, somehow.
Things were eventually settled, but not before Bebe had knocked–more like slapped–some sense into Stan. It was still fresh in Kenny’s mind, the way she had knocked over glasses of water and ice as she stormed over to Stan with her chin tilted downwards. The way the noise rang out inside the coffeehouse, the noise of the sharp blow of her hand hitting Stan’s cheek. The way Stan slowly put his hand to his face, a tightness in his eyes. And finally, the way everyone was brought to a standstill as they processed what in the fuck had just happened. Kenny was kind of surprised how hard Bebe had slapped him; there was a red, undeniably hand-shaped mark on Stan’s face. Upon looking closer, her long nails had also kind of done extra damage. Ouch.
“Hey!” Kyle spoke up, rushing to Stan's side. ”You– Stan, oh god.”
“What the fuck, Bebe?” Wendy cried, getting up from her seat. What happened had happened, though. Standing up did nothing.
“I'm not letting him talk about you like that.”
“I wasn't letting him! I can do this on my own! Look, Stan, can we just accept this and move on? I know that's not as easy as it sounds, but things have to change.”
Stan didn't reply. Just kind of sat there. His hand hung limply at his side, letting go of his cheek that looked like it stung like hell. Like Bebe hit a switch inside of him. Stan backed off from Wendy, and just… up and left Tweek Bros. He pulled his backpack on (which Kenny knew had a jug of ‘water’ in it upon inspecting that morning while Stan used the bathroom; blame it on Kenny’s big brother instinct instead of him being nosy, trust him) and glanced at Wendy, Kyle and then Kenny, a faraway look in his eyes. Kyle snapped at him to stop, but he shook his head and turned on his heel. Like Kenny wanted to do earlier when the yelling went from frustrating to unbearable.
Wendy, of course, ran after him. It was a bit ironic, since she had been trying to convince Stan to just leave her already. And now she was chasing him. He couldn’t help but chuckle softly at that, although Craig gave him a suspicious look for laughing at something that probably wasn’t all that funny to the others. Kenny didn't get up, but looked up a little to see what was going on outside the coffeehouse. Stan was walking away, hands in his pockets as Wendy cut through crowds towards Stan and grabbed his wrist.
He turned around, meeting Wendy's eyes for a split second as she panted. She said something, inaudible from inside the coffeehouse. Wendy stood with clasped hands, listening to Stan's out of earshot words. He stared at his balled up fists instead of her and nodded. Wendy eventually let go of his arm, and the two went their separate ways. Kenny could see one last word come from Stan's lips, and although he couldn't read lips, it was clear that he mouthed the word 'sorry'. He sank lower into his chair, as did most of the others, as they watched Wendy stop and look at Stan for a moment, before smiling and walking the opposite direction from Stan.
So this was it?
“War’s over, you guys,” Kenny joked.
“Finally,” Craig said flatly. “Peace.”
“Damn right.”
Or maybe things weren't over. Kenny glanced at Kyle, staring blankly where Stan had stood before Wendy with an unwavering frown.