Chapter Text
It had been a long time since Wendy Testaburger set foot in the home of her long-time ex-boyfriend, Stan Marsh. She was freshly 18 now; it had been 10 years, nearly to the day, from when she first confessed to him back in the third grade. And here she was, standing on his stoop, ready to knock on his door.
Kenny McCormick, of all people, had texted her out of the blue, and it wasn’t just for homework like usual. Instead, he asked that she meet him and the other boy at the Marsh’s. She didn’t press the issue. She and Stan had remained close all these years, and she knew he was having a hard time. So here she was.
Wendy flattened the wrinkles in her yellow jean skirt, adjusted her bangs in the reflection of her phone screen, and knocked thrice, just like she always had. Kyle was waiting for her at the door, opening the door wider for her and welcoming her in. Sharon and Randy must not have been home. Kenny and Eric were focused on a video game on the TV, but Stan was nowhere in sight.
Kyle closed the door behind her as she slipped off her loafers. He had always been on the taller side when they were kids, but since he joined the basketball team, he had grown a lot more muscular than she remembered. It had been a season or so since she attended a Cows game, so she rarely saw the boy without his orange wool coat. Now, he was in an oversized t-shirt and sweats, a state she had seldom seen Kyle in.
The others, too, were in pajama-type outfits. It was a Saturday after all, but they had grown out of sleepovers. At least she had. She didn’t remember the last time she had Bebe and Heidi over at her place.
“Hey, Wends, thanks for coming over,” Kyle flopped on the couch next to Kenny as he spoke, “Stan wasn’t doing so hot this morning, so I thought you could snap him out of whatever’s up with him.”
“What do you mean, 'not doing so hot’?” She replied, growing concerned.
“He’s just hungover, Kyle, I told you. Nothing to worry about,” Eric whined at him from his spot on the floor. “Besides, this is a bro weekend. Why’d you guys want a chick here anyway?”
“I’ll go talk to him. Check up on him.” Wendy set her purse and jacket on the armchair by the door before making her way up the stairs. Kyle nodded in appreciation before grabbing a controller of his own and joining the other two in their game.
If what Cartman had said was true, he was drinking again. She wasn’t quite ready to face Stan’s ever-present alcoholism again, but it wouldn’t be her first time living through it. At least the two weren’t together this time.
She knocked softly on his door, waiting for a response. After a groan came from inside the room, she slowly twisted the knob, opening the door just a crack.
“Hey, Stan… Kyle and Kenny wanted me to check up on you. Are you okay?”
The almost sickly looking boy shot up from his bed at the sight of her, trying to wipe the lack of sleep off his face. Wendy hadn’t seen him like this in years, so she made her way in.
***
The two of them sat talking for an hour. From what she gathered, his parents were out of town for one of his dad’s conferences, and from the looks of it, the four took quick advantage of it. Stan’s room was scattered with beer cans, empty chip bags, and fast food cups. A half-empty bottle of whiskey sat on his dresser across the room. It was, rightfully, a mess. And it reeked, too. She knew it would take at least two washes to get the scent of shitty beer out of her hair, and yet, she was compelled to help him.
After a long minute of silence, she eyed an acoustic guitar leaning on the side of his desk. She hadn’t seen it before. Come to think of it, last time she was here, his walls weren’t plastered in music posters either.
“When did you get so into music? You never told me about it…”
“Oh, it’s nothing serious. Not a new thing. Happened after we broke up. Dad got me the guitar for my sixteenth birthday. I only fiddle with it every so often.” He was lying through his teeth, and Wendy knew it.
“Stan Marsh, I know you well enough to know when you’re lying to me. And it’s not just because you’re a terrible liar.”
“You’re right… I got into music school,” He admitted sheepishly. Wendy couldn’t imagine why he was embarrassed, though. Cooler than where she was ending up.
She didn’t say anything. She just smiled at him while motioning towards his guitar. He immediately started shaking his head.
“Absolutely not, Wends. I’m not singing for you.” He frowned at her before grabbing it anyway.
He traced the strings effortlessly with his calloused hands. He started strumming what sounded like nonsense at first, until she recognized the tune. Bob Dylan. Her favorite. She grinned at him like she was a kid again, impressed at his memory.
***
Go away from my window
Leave at your own chosen speed
I’m not the one you want, babe
I’m not the one you need
You say you’re looking for someone
Who’s never weak but always strong
To protect you and defend you
Whether you are right or wrong
Someone to open each and every door
But it ain’t me, babe
No, no, no, it ain’t me, babe
It ain’t me you’re looking for, babe
Go lightly from the ledge, babe
Go lightly on the ground
I’m not the one you want, babe
I will only let you down
You say you’re looking for someone
Who will promise never to part
Someone to close his eyes for you
Someone to close his heart
Someone who will die for you and more
But it ain’t me, babe
No, no, no, it ain’t me, babe
It ain’t me you’re looking for, babe
Go melt back into the night, babe
Everything inside is made of stone
There’s nothing in here moving
And anyway I’m not alone
You say you’re looking for someone
Who’ll pick you up each time you fall
To gather flowers constantly
And to come each time you call
A lover for your life and nothing more
But it ain’t me, babe
No, no, no, it ain’t me, babe
It ain’t me you’re looking for, babe
***
Wendy found herself singing along, just for each other’s ears. She knew the song by heart and was more than willing to be Stan’s Joan Baez for a moment or two. When he was finished, he grinned at her and laughed, the first time she had heard that sound since she got there. She missed it.
“Y’know, you’re not half bad of a singer, Wendy. Didn’t you do the church choir in middle school?” Stan leaned on the body of his instrument, his blue eyes meeting Wendy’s with clear interest.
“Oh, yeah, I guess I did. My mom wanted me to, but I hate those froofy hymns. They get so old after a while. I do lessons for fun now. It’s therapeutic.”
“Sick. Maybe I would’ve told you about my music if I had known you were into it like I was.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m not going to school for it like you are. Just a hobby. The environment has long been my calling.” And though she wouldn’t know it yet, Wendy would soon live to regret those words to Stan.