Chapter Text
If you were to ask a student what summer vacation meant to them, most would say one word: freedom. Those few months might not seem like a lot, but they can make all the difference in the world. Time away from classes that could now be spent exploring new places or simply revisiting old ones. It doesn't matter how it's used, only that there is a respite. Something that the young adults of South Park were in desperate need of.
Yet, this doesn't mean with certainty that everyone will be receiving such luxuries. This was the unfortunate case for Kyle and Stan.
For Broflovski, it had originally been planned that he and his family would pay a visit to an uncle who still lived in New Jersey. In truth, he could only recall a few hazy details about this relative, but that didn't matter much to him, not when he had been told that there was an indoor pool he could swim in - and hey! It would be nice to reunite with his place of birth, see if he remembered anything, and even show Ike some sights. Well... That had been the plan, but that was before his mother ruined everything.
Kyle wasn't sure what started his mother's fight with Uncle Murrey or if it truly mattered to begin with. Either way, two days away from the anticipated trip, his father came into his room. Gerald's expression was apologetic as he gently shut the door. "You can just unpack everything. We aren't going anywhere."
Startled, Kyle dropped the folded t-shirt he'd been stuffing into a suitcase. "What? Why?!" He squinted at his dad's sudden sigh, watching him harshly rub at the side of his face while trying to explain.
"Your mother is having a... disagreement with uncle Murrey, so..." With a huff, the lawyer let his hand fall. "Our trip will be delayed."
"...For how long?" Kyle chewed on his bottom lip at the responding lengthy pause, fighting back the desire to spit out a slew of curses. He had been more than prepared to hear the inevitable 'forever, we aren't going,' but the silence between them only carved a deeper hole into the bottom of his stomach.
After another tense second passed, Gerald gingerly replied. "We should let things cool down first, maybe in two weeks we'll try again."
"Two weeks!?"
Gerald shushed him, tossing a nervous glance over his shoulder before he crossed the room. The mattress springs creaked pitifully, one of the few sounds as he sat down. "Look, I know this sucks, but there isn't a need to get all worked up over it. If things don't clear up, we can always go somewhere else. Okay?" He averted his gaze from his son's disgruntled visage to the hands lying limply in his lap.
It pained him that Kyle was upset, but he didn't know what to do to help. He'd never been good in times such as these. His hands curled into fists as a wave of determination crashed into him. He chose to ignore the flash of surprise that fluttered across Kyle's face when he reached over, patting his head in a way he hoped was somewhat reassuring.
Kyle blinked, his shoulders unwittingly hunched at the awkward display of affection. He listened to his father mumble another string of apologies before he climbed to his feet with a grunt. Peering upwards, their eyes met for half a moment, then Gerald gave a quick smile and promptly left. Only hesitating after he opened the door, he called out "Love you!" over his shoulder, then shut it.
Now alone, Kyle frowned at the almost full suitcase in front of him. He angrily grabbed it, upturning the heavy luggage and letting all of the contents spill out in a messy avalanche.
The next day, he had told himself that it didn't matter, that at least he could spend time with Stan over the course of the break. Finding satisfaction in the knowledge that he wouldn't be alone in this misery, as everyone in the school knew how Randy Marsh had fucked up his family's tickets to a tropical getaway.
How the summer weather and its fruity drinks, beaches, and brilliant sunshine had been lost forever to dreary snow and mountain ranges. They had all watched as an excited Stan entered the school, happily saying goodbyes and wishfully thinking of a new, tanned version of himself. The downfall from this was a gloom that cringed at any mention of the should-have-been tropical adventure. In all likelihood, the wounds were still raw and red, so when Kyle mentioned on the last day to Stan that they'd get to chum around, two trapped losers, Stan was less than pleased.
An argument was the last thing Kyle expected, enough to blindside him completely. But after he got over the shock, the defensive words were already slipping out of his mouth, furious as he retaliated. "That's not what I meant, Stan!"
"Oh, so what did you mean, Kyle? That I should be happy being a loser?!”
Kyle deeply exhaled, clenching his hands tightly until his fingernails dug into his palms. "No, all I was saying was that at least we have each other. There's no need to be melodramatic over everything I say."
"I'm melodramatic now?" Stan scoffed, the sound echoing in the thinning halls. There was a hushed tone that lingered, eyes watching as these two best friends fought. Some were considerate enough to pretend that they weren't listening as they rummaged through their lockers, making the mechanics of zipping up a backpack or relacing a shoe purposely slow.
"Yes, you are. You're taking everything I'm saying out of context! I know you're upset about your father being an idiot, but that doesn't give you the right to take it out on me!"
"Don't," Stan hissed. "Call my dad an idiot."
Kyle rolled his eyes. "Well, it's true and everyone knows it." He tried to catch someone else's eye, hoping through a nod to show Stan he was being riled up for no reason. In that strange and hostile environment, no one would meet his gaze. And if his eyes skimmed over them, they bustled to cower or run away.
The next words that were said from his friend's mouth had him stiffening. "At least... at least my mom isn't a bitch." Like a gear toy, he haltingly turned around. This individual had been his closest friend for years, a person he could fully trust when he wasn't able to with so many others. The pain that flashed over him was real, one with such startling clarity that he was baffled at the concept of experiencing anything else.
"What did you just say?"
That yanked the floodgates open, and before he could drown within the meaning of it, Stan tripped over his words as he added more on. Hoping vainly that maybe he could rise above the murkiness of it, and if he couldn't, at least he could drag Kyle further down.
"I... I said that your mother is a bitch. And you know, if this is how you treat your friends... then maybe we shouldn't, uh, we shouldn't be that anymore."
Kyle merely stared, unsure how to process the change in their relationship over the tidal wave that threatened to consume him. He was vaguely aware of the red that began to tinge his vision, the overpowering sensation of needing to hit something or someone. Hitting Stan. Hitting Stan repeatedly to make him feel just as bad. The words he lashed out with were painful, stabbing his belly with tiny invisible knives as they wrenched on his heart.
"Fine! Good riddance! I don't need you, I'll be better off!"
There was a pause; no one knew what to do. They just remained there, staring at one another until Stan looked away. After that brief second of glancing to the side, he was running down the halls, trying to leave the awful feelings of their fight behind. Kyle glared after him, oblivious to the whispers of his classmates.
That first step outside was purgatory, caught between entering a dream or a nightmare. Stan couldn't tell the difference, though the guilt was immediate. He wanted to go back and apologize; an unknown without Kyle was too much. But to admit his wrongdoings would be a punch to the gut, one he could live without.
Blindly, he walked without a destination, going over the events that had just transpired, weaving them into different angles and other things he could have said. Insults that were witty, comebacks that Kyle would be dumbfounded to hear. Thinking of these things left a bitter and heady taste in Stan's mouth, tainting until his guilt was eclipsed.
He resolved that he wouldn't turn back, that it was below him. How it wasn't his fault, it was Kyle's. A friend who always had to be right, the smartest, with a clean moral compass and principles.
I always apologize, he should do it for once, Stan thought with a frown. Now the trick was finding something to do that didn't involve his best former best friend.
At that moment, Stan began to realize how far he'd walked, taking in his surroundings with frank surprise. In the grey horizon, he caught a glimpse of red in a convenience store's parking lot. He raised a hand over his eyes to shield them from the sun's rays, squinting until he finally realized who it was. Adjusting his backpack's straps, he hurried to make his way over.