Chapter Text
Kyle Broflovski’s mornings follow a predictable and almost meditative routine all before the sun rises above the mountains surrounding Stark’s Creek. He goes about neatening his clothes and cleaning himself while reflecting on what his life could have been had he not been tricked into purchasing “The Silver Spur”. Despite his original hesitations, he’d grown to love living in the tight community. It helped that the saloon’s fortunes were starting to turn, Kyle’s internal argument for selling the building losing heat each morning as he grew further intertwined with the town itself.
The familiar motions of sweeping debris from the previous night’s revelers made Kyle think back to when he had first bought the saloon, without any idea of how to run a business, much less run a saloon. He chuckled to himself thinking back to his original optimism, the hope that carried him past his mother’s arms as she cried for him to stay, his father’s rage at his departure, and the hope that flung him far into the frontier of America.
Kyle’s abrupt decision to leave his family was done without planning, and without thinking of where he wanted to go. All he knew was that he wanted to leave his father’s oppressive wishes to become a lawyer. Leopold Stotch, affectionately known as Leo to most, was the first person he had met upon arriving in the small town and promptly took Kyle under his wing. While Leo had originally seemed to be a naïve man, it become clear quickly that he knew the town well and had genuine affection for everyone who crossed his path, and Kyle was no exception. Upon asking Kyle’s plans, of which there were none, Leo was horrified and offered the spare room of his home, something Kyle wasn’t going to turn his nose up to – it was a better alternative to renting from the questionable hotel off the main road or taking his chances sleeping in the nearby woods. Two weeks later, Kyle proudly told his host and friend of his purchase of one of the two saloons in town.
Leo chuckled, laughter echoing around his cabin. "I am glad you have a plan now, don’t be mistaken, but I have to be honest—this investment of yours, it's nothing short of a disaster."
Kyle's face twisted with a mix of confusion and defense. "I believe it's a solid investment. Mr. Garrison himself assured me that the town is on the verge of expansion. More folks will be flocking in, and they'll be looking for a quality saloon before you know it! If I can provide it, I can live comfortably for the rest of my days."
Leo's laughter erupted once again, this time even louder than before. “Kyle, you’re the only fool who’s bought Garrison’s tale of future fortune. He’s been saying that to any fool who would hear him out for years now. The nearest train station is an hour’s ride for God’s sake, and homesteads are the only thing for miles. Kyle Broflovski, you are the owner of a sorry saloon in a town slowly fading away. But fear not, I’ll lend a hand good buddy!”
Leo had been Kyle’s bartender and friend since, serving faithfully for nearly 5 years. With Leo’s help, Kyle quickly grasped the reigns of running a saloon, the two working hard to improve the saloon as best they could.
The restocking of supplies for Leo was a task that never took too long, although Kyle cleaned as long as he could until he couldn’t put it off anymore. Simply bringing cases of alcohol from the cellar below and ensuring a supply of clean rags, glasses, and anything else Leo would need for the day was daunting for Kyle, even though it wasn’t a hard task, just one Kyle despised doing every morning. While Leo likely could do it, he felt it was his responsibility to ensure the bar was prepared for the day. The act of restocking this morning, however, brought back memories of the early days of trying to get the saloon to turn a profit.
The saloon’s fortunes relied on the shortcomings of its sister establishment on the other side of town, serving its patrons barely edible food and watered-down beer. Kyle was quick to realize that was his opportunity to bring in patrons, and made a point of serving decent, filling hot meals (not filled with sawdust, plaster, and the other common tricks of the trade Leo had originally told him about) and a selection of reasonably priced, quality alcohol. Exhausted from traveling through the harsh landscape, travelers were more than willing to part with their hard-earned money in return for strong drinks. Kyle’s meager savings were increased and invested back into the saloon.
His hard work paid off, and Kyle was able to fix the building piece by piece, starting with the main floor. Unstable tables were replaced with quality pieces and chairs, not barrels, for his patrons to sit on. Modern gas lighting illuminated the space, and the grimy windowpanes were cleaned, allowing for natural light to filter in. As time went on, Kyle was able to renovate the upper rooms, allowing him to move out of Leo’s spare room and into his modest apartments on the second floor. The vacant rooms were made available for use at a fair price, providing a discreet space for private business dealings without prying questions.
The improvements made to the longstanding town institution endeared Kyle to the residents. The residents were glad to have a place to gather once more, one not run by Garrison, whom Kyle quickly learned was a man generally disliked for his lack of care towards the establishment and dismissive attitude towards the town at large. It became soon after his purchase that the man had been waiting to give the saloon to the first fool who would leave town. Leo theorized that Garrison had been hiding gangs and was worried about Pinkerton’s confronting him. Kyle quickly decided he would have no part of it, he wouldn’t invite trouble to the sleepy town he was falling in love with.
Checking the saloon floor for repairs that had appeared during the evening, he couldn’t find anything that needed an emergency repair before the doors opened. Although Kyle had become adept at basic repairs, the young man who had first inherited the saloon had not been. What did need repairing Kyle wrote down on a piece of paper and set it aside for Leo to give to Stanley Marsh, if he came in that night, as well as payment for Stan’s service.
Stanley Marsh had quickly become one of Kyle’s favorite patrons in the early weeks of running the saloon. After witnessing Kyle struggle to use a hammer properly while installing light fixtures, Stanley made quick introductions, insisting he be called Stan, before taking the hammer from him and completing the job. Kyle was grateful, as Leo would mysteriously disappear when Kyle began to work on renovations in the saloon.
Through the time Stan spent working and socializing in the saloon, Kyle learned that Stan was the owner of the general store, inherited after his father’s passing. Furthermore, Stan was married to Wendy, a sweet woman from the times Kyle had met her while she managed the store when Stan was out of town on business. Kyle also discovered that Stan cared for his aging mother and provided financial support to his sister Shelly, who lived far away from Stark’s Creek. When probed, Stan admitted he wasn’t sure where Shelly was and he only had an address she had once mailed him from weeks earlier.
Kyle couldn’t help but inquire, it struck him as odd that Stan’s sister would leave the relative safety of Stark’s Creek and Stan’s apparent apathy towards her wellbeing.
“Stan, why did Shelly leave? I don’t mean to be rude or offend you. It seems as though you would have been able to take care of her until she found work or a husband who could take care of her. At the very least you must admit it’s odd she left so abruptly and went so far.”
“Kyle, you assume my sister had any prospects here. She would have rather died before marrying a man here, staying where we had lived our whole lives, watching our father die slowly from his love of the bottle. Besides, should Wendy and I expand our family, we wouldn’t be able to support her and a growing family. I do not know if it was the right decision for her to leave, but sending her a few dollars a month gives my mother and Wendy peace of mind. She does send letters every two months, give or take a week.”
“Does it give you peace of mind? Sending money, I mean.”
“She was a poor sister to me throughout our childhood, I would give her nothing if Wendy didn’t insist. I know she doesn’t live on the streets, which is why I send money. Wendy wishes I sent more.”
Kyle was stunned by his candid admission and then thought back to what he knew of Stan’s childhood, gathered from the few stories Stan told of his life before Wendy. Most stories pertained to Shelly harming him in some way or embarrassing him in front of their parents.
He nodded in a noncommittal acknowledgment of Stan’s sentiment and made a mental note to ask Leo about it. Leo confirmed that Shelly had left once their father had been buried and she received her part of his will and that nobody had seen her since.
Kyle wonders if Stan was happy in Stark’s Creek – having chosen to remain with his wife running a store he admitted more than once he disliked, caring for his aging mother in a town that watched his father die in an alley behind the saloon. He had lost sleep that night worrying about the man, but quickly pushed it from his mind; Stan had a wife who could care for him and had enough work to keep busy running the general store.
An added benefit to living in a livestock town was the regular availability of fresh meat and produce from local homesteaders. Kyle paid fair prices for the goods and served hearty stews most evenings for those who needed them. Originally, Kyle had hesitated to serve anything besides roasted meats and beans. The regular demand for hardier food by Tolkien Black and Clyde Donovan had quickly pushed Kyle to make meat-heavy stews with vegetables and biscuits.
Sheriff Tolkien Black and his deputy, Clyde Donovan, were regular patrons of the saloon and bachelors who loathed to make a hardy meal for themselves, instead preferring to get bowls of stew from Kyle. While most of their visits were to get a stiff drink, a good meal, and chat with others, seeking a well-deserved break. The occasions when their visits were to handle rowdy men who’d drank too much only happened once a week, Kyle made a point to handle what he could with Leo. The two were regularly overloaded with the regular day-to-day challenges of keeping the peace in the town.
To save his sanity, Tolkien had given Clyde Donovan a badge, making him a deputy of the town not long after Kyle had arrived. Kyle harbored doubts surrounding Clyde’s legitimacy – he took in at least one outlaw to the larger town a short ride away to “ensure the outlaw was brought to justice” – given he hadn’t been elected and the appointment had been made in a fit of frustration after Tolkien had moaned to Leo about trying to handle his duties. Despite this, Kyle recognized that the deal was beneficial for Stark’s Creek at large. Tolkien was able to better uphold the peace with the help of his questionably legal deputy, Clyde was able to bring in outlaws with ease and was given a badge from the Sheriff. It helped that Clyde gave Tolkien a cut of the bounty when he returned from the neighboring town. So long as Clyde upheld the law and only toed the line of law on occasion, Kyle extended the discount he would give to an official deputy, as a silent thank you for helping the town.
As Kyle sat down in the back room, preparing to review the large pile of paperwork on his desk, he tampered down the rising panic in his chest at the sheer amount of it. Most had to do with settling accounts with suppliers, checking that the accounting book was accurate, and ensuring that Leo got his pay for the week and Stan was compensated for whatever work he provided that wasn’t covered by the amount he usually gave Leo. Taking a moment to rock back on his heels, Kyle thought about the only man more stressed than him in town: Tweek Tweak.
Tweek Tweak was another regular Kyle saw, often seeking solace in discussion with Leo and a beer. Usually, Kyle would be concerned if a man came in as often as Tweek did but was quickly informed that he was a good friend of Leo’s, and often sought his opinion, drank sparingly, and would often buy food or some other fair. From what little he had talked to the man about, Kyle believed that Tweek would run into the wilderness to try his hand at living in the harsh mountains instead of facing his problems without the council of Leo.
Whenever Tweek entered the saloon, he seemed seconds from a crisis at any given time, almost always from his job as the second hand at his father’s stable. Leo would talk him down whenever he came in from making a mistake, and Kyle would then hear these second hand from him. Kyle wondered how the man would handle life when he eventually inherited the successful business: Tweek struggled to handle his nerves when a new shipment of horses came in from a dealer, or when someone traded in their horse for another at the stable, or when his father had him run to another city to get supplies. The only time Kyle had seen the man at peace was when he ran a horse in the run outside or even did basic maintenance on the horses in the stable. Tweek was a nice enough man, but so tightly wound it gave Kyle second-hand stress.
As the sun began to rise above the town, heating the hard-packed dirt of the road and worn wooden buildings, Kyle opened the door and in walked Leo, the two quietly preparing for the rest of the day. Kyle made his way back to finish the paperwork he had set aside for after Leo’s arrival, and Leo started to neaten the bar to his preferences, and the two waited for their first patrons to arrive.
After nearly three months of running from Pinkerton’s and various other forms of law enforcement, the band of outlaws led by Eric Cartman were exhausted. Kenny could feel it in his bones, he couldn’t last much longer at the grueling pace Eric had set to outrun the law. A botched job in northern territories, where Eric had shot Timothy Burch ‘accidentally’ while the gang tried to flee the law, had forced them south and away from their home for nearly a year.
While Kenny knew that they would eventually get caught and forced to leave, he thought they’d have more time than Red riding into the camp nearly hysterical, telling everyone to pack up camp, yelling about the botched job and Timmy’s sudden death. Kenny had to leave nearly everything behind, including the stash of money carefully siphoned from the money meant for the gang and Cartman’s pockets. His beloved horse, Princess, had been stabled at the time and Kenny had to leave her behind. The best he could hope for is she would be sold to a nice enough owner, one who would treat her well. Luckily, the spare horse the gang kept around for hauling was in good enough shape that he could ride the old boy until they got to a suitable stable. While Kenny would miss Princess, it was part of being an outlaw.
The respite offered by Engelmann’s Overlook was a welcome break from the harsh camps the gang had been living in while on the run. Kenny knew he wasn’t the only one happy to be in greener pastures. Bebe and the other women, Red and Nicole, had been happily chatting about a nearby town and their plans to swindle the local men, Jimmy’s mood had been improving despite missing his best friend, and Craig was no longer a fountain of misery. Overall, Kenny couldn’t ask for much more. If the gang (excluding Cartman) was happy, he was content. While Cartman’s mood was terrible and vindictive as ever, there wasn’t much the gang could do but avoid him until it passed.
Although Cartman officially ran the gang and handled the money, Kenny was accepted as Cartman’s second hand, doing the dirty work, and making day-to-day decisions on camp activities while Cartman sat in his tent “reviewing the great plan that will make us all rich”. He and Craig had long worked together to find suitable places to set up camp and keep it safe, and Bebe kept him in the loop on supplies needed and ran the day-to-day chores with the others. It was a good system, and in return, nobody told Cartman that Kenny siphoned money from every job and stashed it away from Cartman’s influence.
The small collection of photos Kenny kept near his cot reminded him why he had joined Cartman: to keep his sister Karen safe. The only family portrait of the two of them, taken shortly before he left, was a treasured possession. After getting mixed up in an unfortunate business that went south, Kenny was forced to leave Karen to keep her safe, to keep her from being involved in the mess he’d created. Kenny hadn’t reached out, fearing she was being watched, but hoped she understood why he left after reading his letter. Karen was a smart young woman and believed she would be fine without him. The picture of them in their smartest outfits, Kenny clean shaven and neat, Karen’s hair carefully done, all for the family portrait meant to be sent to their brother Kevin back east. It brought an ache to his chest if he looked at it too long and was usually placed back in his clothes chest. The pictures of him and other members of the gang, his parents, and various newspaper clippings about his crimes were pinned inside the tent as well.
While Kenny was not a man of many words usually, the mementos on his wall told anyone who ducked into his small tent that he did love the gang and those before them and would love again despite the pain that would inevitably follow.
The sun was already well overhead as Kenny finished his breakfast, a light fare of fruit that wasn’t long for this world anyways. The camp was already bustling with activity as everyone embarked on their daily tasks. For Kenny, that was waiting for Ms. Bebe Stevens and Ms. Nicole Daniels to give him a list of supplies needed by the camp. Under most circumstances, they would want to come with him to the nearest town to investigate potential jobs or ply their trade. However, the camp was far from being fully set up and Bebe had recruited Nicole and Red to help her in sorting out what needed to be done. The basic tents were set up, but the wagons needed to be unpacked and the kitchen needed to be set up, as well as an intensive review of supplies.
Kenny was always happy to get away from camp, away from Cartman’s fat hand constantly trying to choke him in guilt.
“Mr. McCormick, here’s the list of supplies we need. It isn’t much, so you shouldn’t need to take the wagon. I already talked to Mr. Tucker; you can take his horse instead of the one you rode into camp.”
Kenny couldn’t help but snort into his cup of coffee, “Ms. Stevens, this is more than a man can carry, even with Clyde’s giant of a horse.”
“You’ll get it done Kenny, and it can be done over multiple trips if you so choose, but please get the food and soap first. Mr. Tucker smells like horseshit, and everyone needs to do their own laundry. I refuse to keep washing yours and everyone else undergarments,” Bebe sniffed in disdain, thinking back to the last time she was on laundry duty.
Kenny nodded in understanding, writing a brief note on what had to be purchased immediately and what could be picked up later. Donning his worn hat and tying his neckerchief, he sauntered towards Clyde to confirm that he could take his horse, Stripe. Clyde didn’t let him ask and simply nodded in the horse's direction, the threat of death upon the horse's injury not needing to be said.
The ride into Stark’s creek was easy, took a half hour at most to reach the outskirts of the town. Kenny’s first impression was that for a livestock town, it was surprisingly busy. According to Cartman, “The town is small Kenny, we can bribe them if need to be to turn a blind eye to us.” Clearly, Cartman was wrong as there were too many people to bribe, not even Jimmy’s clever loan schemes could raise enough money fast enough to bribe anyone important. Kenny sat back into the saddle, and eased his features into one of practiced calm as he approached the first and only general store in town.
The bell chimed above his head as he pushed the door open, stepping into the building from the covered porch. His first opinion was that the store owner clearly took care of it, the shelves were neat, the displays were organized, and there wasn’t much dust at all. Kenny browsed the shelves, carefully taking note of what was and wasn’t available from Bebe’s list. Luckily, most staples like flour, dried fruits, and dried meats were available, all items Kenny selected. He added some small items for himself too, including an extra tin of coffee and honey. While not necessary, he doubted Bebe would say anything as he was getting everything she needed. Pulling out money for the goods as he approached the counter, Kenny got his first good look at the man at the counter.
The man was relatively tall, wore a light blue shirt and suspenders, and was clearly bored to death watching Kenny choose his items. After a quick apprasels of the items Kenny dropped on the counter, he gave Kenny back the change before Kenny could ask to see the catalog.
“If you wouldn’t mind Mr…”
“Stan Marsh.”
“Mr. Marsh, I’d like to see the catalog for this establishment. I’m hoping to order more supplies you don’t seem to have.” Kenny internally cringed as he watched Stan pull out a well-used catalog, uncertain if he’d accidentally offended the man’s selection in his store.
“It will take a week or two to get any items you want to order. Keep that in mind.” Stan informed him as Kenny wrote out what he wanted to have ordered from the catalog. A second exchange took place, and Kenny quickly tucked the goods into his bag. He couldn’t help but balk at the price, but kept his thoughts to himself, understanding that Stan could only do so much about the price.
After loading Stripe with goods, Kenny checked the change in his pocket and decided to duck into the local saloon. Nothing would go bad before he got back, and he was parched anyways. The saloon down the mud-caked road seemed like a fine establishment, the building taken care of and a sign hanging from the porch declaring itself “The Silver Spur” with a beer mug on it. Stepping inside, Kenny was immediately glad that the women had stayed behind because they would have seen the man behind the bar immediately and known Kenny was a goner.
The man at the counter was easily the most beautiful man he’d ever seen. Flaming red hair, and clothes that complemented his body perfectly. Even the tumbler of whisky he was pouring for a patron seemed like an accessory, drawing out the way his hands were undoubtedly nimble. Taking in a deep breath, Kenny took his hat off and ran a hand through his hair, and approached the bar.
Putting on his most charming smile, Kenny leaned against the bar.
“Two fingers of whiskey, if you don't mind?”