Chapter Text
Stan had always been a bit of a mama's boy, for as long as Kyle could remember. Which made sense, Randy was an alcoholic piece of shit, who was more focused on his weed business than his family.
So, when Stan showed up at his doorstep at midnight, clearly drunk out of his mind, stumbling and slurring his words with every attempt to speak, Kyle wasn't surprised. Stan hadn't exactly been doing well since his mother had passed, and Kyle hated seeing him fall apart like this. He just wished Stan hadn't turned to drugs and alcohol to cope. But Kyle couldn't blame him, grief affected everyone differently, didn't it? This was just his way of coping.
"Stan, what the fuck is going on? You're not supposed to be here!" Kyle hissed, his voice sharper than he meant. Kyle wasn't angry at Stan, not truly. Anger wouldn't fix this, and he couldn't be mad at his best friend for something that wasn't his fault. But the helplessness, the frustration of watching Stan destroy himself by choice, hit harder than anything else. It was like seeing a friend drown, and Kyle couldn't save him no matter how hard he tried. And one day he'd drown deeper than even Kyle could swim.
Every bottle Stan grabbed, every pill he swallowed, felt like a punch to the gut like his friend was slipping through his fingers. Kyle wanted to scream, "Those don't fix your problems, they just mask them!" but the words stuck in his throat. Instead, Stan only mumbled incoherently, his words a jumble of nonsense.
The room smelled faintly of old leather and stale air, the quiet hum of the city outside the only sound breaking the stillness. Kyle exhaled sharply, the scent of alcohol heavy on Stan's breath. This wasn't just about the alcohol anymore... it was everything. Stan was unraveling right in front of him and there was nothing he could do about it. He just wanted to take Stan away from all his problems, until he gets better again.
"My God, you're infuriating. You have to tell me what's going on, or I can't help you!" Kyle didn't expect Stan to answer right away, but the silence that followed felt suffocating. It stretched between them, thick and unspoken, until Stan let out a choked, shaky breath. Then another. His hands curled into fists, his knuckles white as he swayed where he stood.
Then, he broke.
Stan's legs buckled, and before Kyle could react, he collapsed against him, his entire body wracked with trembling sobs, shaking his whole body. Kyle barely caught him in time, arms tightening instinctively around his friend's shaking frame.
"Shit, Stan, hey, I got you, im right here your gonn be okay i promise." he murmured, lowering them both to the floor.
Stan clung to him like a lifeline, fingers twisting into the fabric of Kyle's hoodie, his breaths coming in sharp, ragged gasps. The weight of him, the way he trembled violently, sent a sharp pang through Kyle's chest. He wasn't sure what hit harder, the sound of Stan's cries, raw and broken, or the realization that this was how bad it had gotten. Kyle had seen Stan upset before. Hell, he'd seen him cry. But this? This was something else. This was years of grief, exhaustion, and loneliness crashing down all at once, years of emotions being pushed down.
"I want my mom," Stan finally choked out, his voice so small it almost didn't reach Kyle's ears.Kyle's throat tightened. "I know, dude," he whispered. "I know."
Stan's breath hitched, and his grip on Kyle's hoodie tightened. "She's gone, Ky... I don't know how to do this without her. I don't even know who I am without her. Im gonna have to go into foster care, and- and i have no idea whats that gonna be like." His voice cracked, and his words turned to barely coherent mumbling, like if he spoke fast enough, maybe the pain wouldn't catch up. But it always did.
Kyle shut his eyes for a moment, fighting the lump in his throat. He hated this. Hated seeing his best friend like this, hated that no matter what he said, it wouldn't bring her back. He wanted to tell Stan that everything would be okay, but the words felt hollow. Forced. A lie. But Kyle still believed, he still belived with time Stan could get better.
"You won't forget her," Kyle said, voice steady despite the storm of emotions inside him. "You never could."
Stan sniffled, his body still shaking against Kyle's, bodys still racked his body. "She'd hate me like this."
Kyle exhaled sharply. "She wouldn't hate you. But she'd want you to be okay." He hesitated before adding, "And I do too."
Without thinking, Kyle pulled Stan into his arms, resting his chin on Stans's head, the weight of him heavy and fragile against his chest. Stan balled his hands into the fists grabbing Kyle's, as if holding onto Kyle was the only thing keeping him from falling apart completely. Kyle could feel the heat of Stan's tears soaking into his shirt, his heartbeat pounding in his own ears. How had it come to this? His hand was firm on Stan's back, but he could feel the rawness of his own emotions threatening to spill over. But he had to stay strong, for Stan, he needed him right now.
Every shaky breath Stan took seemed to echo in Kyle's chest, too. Kyle breathed slowly, hoping Stan would follow his lead. Minutes passed, stretching into what felt like hours. The room was filled with the sounds of Stan's sniffling and ragged breaths, his sobs muffled against Kyle's shoulder. Gradually, Stan's body stopped trembling, and his sobs softened to hiccupping breaths.
Kyle's throat tightened. What the hell was he supposed to say? He wasn't a therapist, wasn't some damn savior. But seeing Stan break like this... it was breaking him too. He knew this would take a toll on him, too. He just didn't have the right words. He just had to... try. His hand trembled as he brushed the hair from Stan's face. "She'd be proud of you, Stan. She would... she would hate seeing you like this, wasting yourself away... I know that for a fact and so do I."
Stan's breath hitched, and he dropped his gaze, his puffy eyes staring at the floor. Kyle could see the internal battle on his face. Stan was holding it together, just barely. After a long, heavy silence, Stan gave a weak nod. It wasn't much, but it was enough for Kyle to know that Stan was at least going to try.
"You're still way too drunk to be left alone. Up you go!" Kyle declared firmly, sweeping Stan into his arms without waiting for a protest. Stan let out an undignified squeak, clinging to Kyle like a lifeline. Stan's legs wobbled as he tried to push himself upright, but they didn't seem to want to cooperate. His hands, shaky and uncoordinated, reached for Kyle's arm, grasping at it like it was his only anchor.
"Dude, what the hell?" he slurred, his words coming out in a tangled mess.
"Complain later. Right now, you need sleep, dude," Kyle muttered, carrying Stan upstairs. Stan sniffled again, rubbing his puffy eyes with his sleeve.
"I'll be fine, Ky. I'm not five. I don't need someone taking care of me," he protested, though the slurring made it sound more pathetic than intended.
Kyle snorted, a smile tugging at his lips despite the situation. "Sure, and I'm the damn Tooth Fairy. Just sit down before you faceplant into my floor and get yourself seriously hurt, I dont want to explain that to my mom too."
Stan groaned but let himself flop back onto Kyle's bed with a heavy sigh.
Kyle moved to his closet, his hands shaking slightly as he grabbed an old T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. The fabric felt rough against his skin, almost grounding him as he tossed them to Stan with a look that said, No arguments. "Change into these,," Kyle instructed, his voice softer now. "You'll feel a lot better once you're in clean clothes."
Stan grumbled under his breath but knew it was futile to argue. Stan tried to pull his shirt over hos head put it got stuck, he then started flailing about, stomping his feet ike he was a little kid again. "Hey Stan, calm down ill get the shirt off," Stan let out a whine bfore relaxing his body as best he could, Kyle slipped the shirt off Stan with ease before helping him put on the new one. Stan muttered a tired 'thanks' He still looked like a drunken mess, but at least he was more comfortable now.
Kyle pushed a water bottle into Stan's hands before he could protest. "Drink this. You'll thank me in the morning."
Stan groaned, mumbling something incoherent, but he obeyed, taking slow sips here and there. Kyle sat on the edge of the bed, watching his friend carefully. His mind was still racing, stuck on the memory of Stan's breakdown just minutes ago. Seeing Stan so broken, so vulnerable, left a heavy knot in Kyle's chest. He'd always been there for Stan, right? Since the beginning, they'd been inseparable. But tonight... tonight was different. This wasn't about pranks or fights with Cartman. This was real. This was the kind of hurt that could rip someone apart from the inside. And Kyle wasn't sure he could help him fix it.
Before he could spiral too much, Stan's soft voice broke through the silence. "Thanks," he mumbled, his eyes glassy but filled with quiet gratitude.
"Yeah, dude. No problem," Kyle replied quietly, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm always here for you remember that."
The room felt unnaturally quiet now, thick with the unsaid things hanging in the air between them. The weight of everything, Stan's grief, Kyle's helplessness, pressed down on both of them. Kyle could feel it deep in his chest like the quiet between them was more telling than anything they could say.
Stan's hand gripped Kyle's arm, his fingers trembling as if afraid Kyle would vanish if he let go. "Promise you won't leave?" Stan whined. His voice was thick with vulnerability. Kyle blinked, processing the words. Kyle had forgotten how clingy Stan got when he was drunk. In his drunken state, Stan was clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping him afloat.
"I won't leave. I promise." He took Stan's hand in his, squeezing it gently, offering all the comfort he could, "I promise ill be right here next to you when you wake up." Even after Stan finally drifted off to sleep, Kyle stayed there, his fingers still curled around his best friend's hand. He stayed just a little longer, just to make sure Stan fell asleep okay.
Kyle wasn't exaclty sure how to fix this, or how long it would take for but he knew one thing-he wouldn't let Stan go through it alone.
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