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There was a time in Stan’s life where he couldn’t imagine a life without Kyle, Kenny, and Cartman. And as he got older, it became more that he couldn’t imagine a life without Kyle. While they were all Stan’s best friends, Kyle was his super best friend, and that made him all too special.
But now he didn’t have to imagine.
He and Kyle had gotten into a really big fight over an incident, and it was never the same after that. They couldn’t hold a conversation with another afterwards without bursting into a big argument.
Kyle was a dick anyways. Stan didn’t miss him.
He didn’t.
Really, he didn’t.
But after he and Kyle stopped being friends, Stan, Kyle, Cartman, and Kenny disbanded the gang. Stan and Kenny stayed friends—Kenny eventually replaced Kyle as Stan’s best friend, and Cartman faded into the background. Kyle should have too, but he didn’t. Stan was honestly too much of a pussy to talk to Kyle again after their big fight, and as more and more years drifted by, the opportunity drifted as well. Stan turned to the next best thing in his life: hockey. He played all day, all the time, and slowly got better and better. Kenny eventually joined the hockey team, and the two practiced all day together. They hardly got injured or hurt, but when they did? It was bad.
Like today, for example.
Stan felt the pain as soon as the puck hit. He toppled over, and the sound of his skates hitting the ice filled the rink. His back ached as it made contact with the side of the rink, and he felt the blood fall down his face. He licked his lips, the warm blood entering his mouth. It tasted like copper, or was it salt? Stan was too out of it to know.
“Stan! Jesus Christ!” A voice Stan vaguely recognized spoke. Was it a girl? No, the voice was a bit too deep for that. Has to be a boy. The voice—the boy dropped his hockey stick and ran over to where Stan lay. “Cartman, aim for the goal. Not Stan!” The voice spat, glaring at something. All Stan saw was a fat blob, but he guessed by the figure that it must be Cartman. Stan's vision cleared slightly, and he started to make out the boy's face. Blue piercing eyes and a head full of matted blond hair. Oh god, it was Kenny.
“Ken…” Stan weakly whispered. Concern flooded Kenny's face, and he crouched down next to Stan. Kenny wiped the blood from Stan's forehead—oh, that was where it was coming from—and barked some orders at the teammates. He didn’t hear the conversation, but the next thing he knew, he was in the school's nurse's office, and there was a bandage around his forehead. Kenny had told him later on that Cartman apparently had hit the puck, and instead of scoring a goal, it hit Stan’s forehead.
“Dude, you sure you want to go back to practice? Stan, you look like shit if I’m being honest.” Stan rolled his eyes at Kenny's remark. He was the team’s best player. He had to be there.
“I’m fine, Ken," Stan said. Kenny scoffed and glared.
“No, you fucking aren’t. I’m not stupid, Stan. You wince every time you move.”
“I do not—"
“Yes, you do.”
“Okay then, what am I supposed to do about it then, Ken?” Stan stood up. “You know we need to practice; if we don’t beat the Jaguars, we’ll instantly lose the championship! And I’ll lose my spot as captain and—"
“Stan, if you don’t calm down right now, I'm going to leave.” Stan sat down really quickly. “Are you that scared about us losing the championship?” Kenny said, his voice softer this time.
“I’m not scared I’m just—" Stan paused. “Ever since the incident, hockey is really the only thing I’ve ever felt this passionate about. If I don’t win Kenny, I mean, if we don’t, we won’t get scouted. None of us! I don’t want to be in this dead-end town forever. I just… need to focus.”
Kenny leaned back, staring at Stan with an expression he couldn’t describe, but then a slow, deliberate smile spread across Kenny's face.
Stan raised an eyebrow at his smile. “What are you smiling about?" he asked Kenny.
Kenny responded with a shrug, getting up to itch closer to Stan so that they were sitting next to another and not facing each other. “It’s funny how much you’ve changed. You’re not the same person you once were. You were kind of an asshole, honestly.” Stan scoffed at Kenny’s comment. "But… you're different now. I mean, you’ve changed. In a good way.” Stan smiled in response, and Kenny just grinned. “But that doesn’t mean you’re getting out of resting, Stan; if you want to do well in the championship, you have to heal quickly. That means you need to rest.”
Stan wished he could ignore Kenny’s comments, but he had a point. “Fine,” he relented. Kenny just flashed him a quick grin once again. “Perfect dude, and while you’re still out of captain mode and actually acting like my best friend for once, let’s get high.”
"Are you serious?” Stan responded, caught off guard.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Kenny replied, standing up to walk out. "Are you with me or not?”
Stan debated it. On one hand, he could sit in the nurse's office and wait for his dad to get off work, thinking about how much Randy was going to yell at him afterward, or he could get high as fuck with Kenny.
Stan came to a quick decision.
“Show me how it's done, Ken.” Stan said, standing up and following Kenny to wherever he was taking them.
-
Kenny took him to the boys' bathroom, and the two decided on the big stall. It was spacious and nice, and the floor wasn’t covered in piss stains like the rest of the bathroom stalls. Kenny took a seat on the toilet while Stan carefully sat on the floor.
“God, we haven’t had a janitor for years,” Stan mumbled, causing Kenny to snort in response.
“I know. The last one was what, Mr. Venezuela? I think his real name was Jose or something,” Kenny replied.
“Didn’t he get fired for not cleaning out the poop in the toilet?” Kenny nodded in response, confirming Stan’s statement.
“Poor guy. Hope he found a better job that paid more.” Kenny said, “Anyway, the joints! You know how to smoke joints, Stan?” Stan shook his head. “It’s fairly easy." Kenny pulled out a small Ziploc bag with three joints. The joints were covered in some flimsy paper—the type of paper Stan was unaware of—and they caused the smell of weed to fill the room. The joints were less impressive than Stan thought they would be.
“How do I use it?” Stan questioned.
“That is a fairly good point! Uhm, it's better to show you through actions.” Kenny brought the joint to his lips and took a few fairly small puffs. He let the smoke fill his lungs for a split second, then breathed out. “See Stan? It’s fairly easy. You want me to show you again or—" The bathroom door suddenly opened, and Kenny went quiet. He turned to Stan and brought his finger to his mouth, telling Stan to keep quiet. They waited for the person to speak, and eventually they did.
“Fuck my life. Why am I a hockey coach again? I hate this stupid job. Better text Rick that I’m on my way home.” Fuck, Stan recognized that voice instantly. Was hockey practice over that quickly? Around the end of practice Mr. Garrison would let everyone go on break and do whatever; he had probably come to the bathroom for his break.
"Fuck, dude, I forgot about Mr. Garrison," Kenny murmured. He had probably reached the same realization that Stan had about Mr. Garrison.
Stan prayed Mr. Garrison wouldn’t smell the weed, but apparently God hated him because right as Mr. Garrison was going to leave, he smelled it.
“What the fuck. Is that weed? But the school day is over! Unless…” Mr. Garrison started kicking open the stalls. He inspected each one, then moved to the next one. He was looking for them. Fuck. He eventually reached their stall, and Stan was happy Kenny locked it until the door flew open with a small push. Nevermind. Stan glared at a pale Kenny. They both look up at a very angry Mr. Garrison.
They were so screwed.
-
Stan stared down, refusing to look at his dad. After Mr. Garrison had caught them with the marijuana, he had taken them to the principal's office. Luckily for him, he didn’t call PC principal, but he did call Stan and Kenny’s dad. After the “I expected better from you” speech Randy gave Stan, they entered the car. The ride home was quiet, and now Stan was waiting for his dad to speak.
Ever since his mom left Randy because of the incident, Randy hasn't been the same. It was as if all the parts of Randy that made Stan love his dad had disappeared, and all that was left was a hollowed shell. Conversations always felt tense after that.
“Stan,” Randy started to speak. “You’ve told me yourself that you want to be a pro hockey player. Am I wrong?” Stan shook his head. “Then you can’t be doing things like this. Luckily, I was able to convince Mr. Garrison to not put it on your record, only because it was outside of school time and, therefore, shouldn’t go on your record, but I can’t do that every time. You need to learn better, Stan. I am disappointed in you. This is why I have a perfect punishment for you.” Stan looked up at the dad at the word "punishment."
“Okay, am I being grounded or do I have to do chores, which—"
“You’re going to get a job as a punishment.”
"What."
“Dad, I have hockey practice! I can’t drop it to make time for a job! I’m the star player!” Stan shouted at his father. Randy responded coldly and matter-of-factly.
“Then get a job at night. I honestly don’t care. Just get one or no more hockey ever." They had just now reached their house, and Randy pulled up to the driveway, not saying anything else to Stan and instead leaving him alone with his thoughts.
-
Stan knew what to do. It was his sleep or hockey, and he easily chose hockey.
He opened up his computer and started job browsing. He changed the settings to “Night jobs” and “16 and under” and was given a few. McDonald's? Gross. A gym? Ew, he really didn’t want to reek of sweat, but then something caught his eye.
An ad for a place called "Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria.” Hey, wasn’t that place closed for health violations a couple years ago? He couldn’t believe that it reopened. Whatever. The hours worked for him, and so did the job. 12AM to 6AM was perfect. School didn’t start until 7:20, and it was a night security job. Who wants to steal some old fursuits? He could just sleep through the entire night. He would do nothing and get paid. Free money! Stan hit the apply button and filled in the basic info, and in a matter of minutes he got a message in response.
“Thank you for applying to work at Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria! A magical place for kids and grownups alike, where fantasy and fun come together. You have been accepted and will need to be in the office by 12AM tomorrow. There, one of our staff here will explain your job and how it works. Have a magical night and welcome to the Fazbear Family!”
(Stan wouldn’t know how much he regretted this until many nights later.)