Chapter Text
Being where he was now felt surreal. Practice, Friday evening, playing the game he loved most while also being witness to the most muscular, attractive men in the school, and getting trampled by them.
Stan felt as though he didn’t deserve this, the perfect life, the perfect team.
And then, as soon as it began, practice ended.
“Alright,” Clyde, the captain of the football team, said, rubbing his hands together. “Remember, this is our last practice before the big game this weekend. Wake up at 6’r so,” A few sporadic groans throughout the audience. “Yes, I know that’s early for a weekend. You’ll get through it. And, gracious as always, Tolkien’s supplying us with a few dozen donuts, so you’ll be able to eat before the game. Great practice everyone, and please, for the love of god, get some fucking sleep tonight.”
After that, the team changed, and they all went their separate ways.
Stan, now wearing a black long-sleeve shirt with army green cargo pants, made his way towards his girlfriend. His beautiful goddess of a girlfriend.
He wasn’t lying. Wendy did look like a goddess, with her hip length, silky black hair, and her spotless tanned skin that seemed to shine just as bright as the sun. Her hazel eyes. And her mind is that of one as well; brilliant and strategic, winning everything she tries, and obviously going to be valedictorian in their year.
Perfect.
“Wendy! Wends, wait up!” He calls running up behind his girlfriend.
“Hey, Stan.” She said, her voice awfully flat, not looking at him.
“You excited for this weekend?” He asked, bubbling with excitement.
“Meh,” She kept walking, now a faster pace.
“‘Meh?’ Wends, we’re going to the Playoffs! Isn’t that at least a bit exciting?”
“Yeah, It is, i’m just… Tired, I guess,” She finally looked to him, showing a bright smile, albeit ingenuine.
“You okay?”
“Fine,” Wendy walked towards her car, a small little thing that Stan hadn’t bothered to learn the name of, entering on the drivers side. Stan followed suite, clambering into the passenger seat.
They sat in silence a moment, before Wendy reached for his face, and pulled him into a soft kiss. The couple kissed, and kissed, and kissed, before Wendy finally allowed her tongue to venture into his mouth.
With this addition, the kiss became even more uncomfortable than it was before, but Stan pushed through. No matter if he didn’t like it, he was going to do the best he could for Wendy, and give her what she wanted.
After all, wasn’t he supposed to want this?
-
Dinner was weird that night, as his mother seemed extremely tense, and his dad was acting more bitchy than normal. Shelley was also off, offering more frustrated glances to Stan than normal.
Prayer was the worst, though.
“Dear lord, we thank you for this meal, and for our wonderful, perfect family,” His moms voice wavered slightly as she spoke, confusing Stan slightly. Is mom upset about something? “And we pray that you’ll continue to lead our children in the right direction.”
“Amen,” The table descended into silence, other than the sound of knives scraping against ceramic plates.
Stan found the whole interaction odd, and the fact that he wasn’t spoken to at all for the rest of the day only solidified his suspicion.
Something was wrong.
-
Passing period was calm as usual; screaming, yelling, overall roughhousing accompanying the shrill shriek of the bell.
He noticed two of his team members walking in the opposite direction as him, and smiled at them brightly. The jocks simply exchanged glances, not making a move to smile in return.
Rude, Stan thought, making his way to his locker, which happened to sit right next to his best friend, Gary’s.
“Hey, Gare,” He greeted, swiftly unlocking the door, and grabbing his geography notebook.
“Stan,” Gary said, his voice so unenthusiastic that it was nearly monotone. What was up with every one today?
“You excited for Playoffs?” Stan asked, abandoning his locker in a favor of staring into Gary’s blue eyes, studying for any signs of strange behavior.
“Yeah, sure,” Gary waved him off easily, before the minute bell rang. Dammit. With that, Stan smiled weakly at his friend.
“Later dude,” He saluted, making his way towards his class.
Gary stayed behind, pursing his lips. Stan’s locker was open.
Isn’t this an invasion of privacy? A voice ringing the back of his head spoke, before he shook his head. No, this is for the greater good.
And so, Gary opened the locker wider, grabbing the comically large poster of John Elway, and taking it with him to his next class.
-
Wendy insisted on walking Stan home, despite the fact that she had driven him to school. She held her bag in front of her, bumping into Stan as much as possible. The contact made him feel odd, but he didn’t comment on it. Plus, Wendy’s sweater was soft, warm, and Stan had forgot his jacket.
The two of them were silent for the most part, though it looked like Wendy wanted to speak a few times. Stan would look at her, puzzled, but he wouldn’t press. He would never want to make her feel uncomfortable.
Because he was uncomfortable, especially after todays events. Everyone had been acting so odd. His teachers had given him pitiful glances, and his classmates glared. Everyone seemed to be avoiding him, as though he had the plague, or the cheese touch.
Stan was, obviously, extremely confused. People had never acted like this to him before. Sure, he wasn’t the most well liked person, but he considered himself at least somewhat tolerable. Even Wendy herself had been acting distant, though Stan tried his best to avoid taking that train of thought.
By the time they had reached his house, the silence had long passed comfortable, and switched over to awkward real quick.
Wendy escorted him to his front door, a conflicted look on her face, before she inhaled deeply. She kissed him, grabbing his cheek and caressing it softly. Stan, though surprised, tried his best to reciprocate the motion, but Wendy had already pulled away.
She wore a deep frown, and motioned for Stan to open the door, which he obliged to. For some reason, Wendy had followed him inside. Even stranger, he could hear conversation from inside the house; a high pitched, grainy voice that Stan couldn’t recognize.
“Hey?” He called out, setting his bag down underneath the coat rack. Wendy did the same. He shot her a questioning look.
What the fuck is going on.
The low buzz of chatter turned quickly into nothing. Slightly more annoyed than he probably should have been, Stan walked into the living room. He froze in the doorway.
There were a lot more people than usual in there: Other than his parents, there was a balding old man with a sock puppet Tolkien, Clyde, and Gary, and Wendy soon joined his teammates on the other side of the room.
“Whats… Going on?” Stan asked, extremely awkward, the piteous glances from the majority of the room forcing a twitch out of his eye.
“Oh, hello,” The man with the sock puppet spoke, making both his and the puppets hand wave. “I assume you must be Stanley?”
“Er, yes?” He answered, not entirely knowing why he was uncertain. “Who’re you?”
“The names Herbert Garisson, Stanley,” Garrison replied gravely, frowning deeply. “The two of us have something rather unfortunate in common.”
“What?” Stan asked, but he was nearly immediately ignored. Peeved, he took a seat on the couch, digging his nails into the cushions of the sofa.
“Stanley,” His dad spoke slowly, as if Stan was unable to understand that single, simple word. “We think it’s time we put an end to… all of this.”
“All of what?” Stan’s stood up, glaring, as his father rolled his eyes.
“You know exactly what I mean, Stan!” He said, which confused Stan further, as his mom finally intervened.
“Randy, sit down,” She said, pointing to his armchair, than redirecting her attention to her son. “Stan, we’re talking about your… homosexual tendencies.”
What.
w h a t.
Stan felt his face flush, not only from embarrassment; from anger.
“I’m not gay,” Stan said smoothly, trying not to loose his cool. Calm thoughts, happy thoughts.
“We have evidence proving otherwise,” His mother spoke solemnly, motioning to his teammates that sat right in front of him. He laughed nervously.
“Wha- What kind of evidence?”
“Well, for starters, you write music,” Clyde pointed out, holding up a purple spiral notebook labeled ‘SONGS,’ in Stan’s very own handwriting. He scrunched his eyebrows.
“So? Plenty o’ straight people write music,” He argued. It was crazy to even consider that as evidence. Clyde gave him a somber look.
“Yeah, but not usually about heartbreak and unrequited love,” Clyde tossed him the book, Stan flushing.
“You read my songs?”
“That’s besides the point, Stan,” His father interjected. Stan rolled his eyes, picking at the bindings of the notebook. He ignored Randy’s interruption, and pressed further.
“Did you like them?”
“Stan,”
“Okay, fine,” Stan grumbled, “You have one piece of ‘evidence.’ What more could you have?”
“This,” Tolkien held up a bag with salad in it. Stan looked at him, extremely puzzled.
“Eating salad makes me gay?”
“The way you do, yes,” Tolkien remarked. “You’re always eating this stuff, never eating meat.”
“I’m sorry that I don’t want to eat dead animals?” Stan was getting annoyed now.
“Most homosexuals are vegetarian,” Garrison said said, as if this was a well known fact. Stan had to stop himself from sighing loudly.
“So what?” Stan slumped further down into the couch. “That’s gotta be it, right? What else could you even have?”
Gary raised a sheepish hand, pulling out a poster.
“Well, uh, you have this giant poster of Elway,” He said. Tolkien nodded, grabbing something from a table next to him.
“And this poster of David Bowie,” Tolkien added on.
“Gay iconography,” Garrison clarified.
“He’s David Bowie! He wasn’t even gay!”
“Stan, you don’t have any pictures of women, just male stars, and movie posters,” His mother pointed out.
“So what, you want me to have pictures of skimpy women in my bedroom?” He exclaimed.
“Rather have a pervert than a faggot for a son,” Randy hissed, Stan glaring at him in return.
“Randy,” Sharon warned, placing a hand on his shoulder. Her husband rolled his eyes, shoving her away from him.
He looked around the room, then shot Wendy a desperate glance. Help? He asked with his blue eyes, though he was certain she would not be of any aid to his cause.
“Stan,” Wendy started, mirroring his mother and placing a hand on his shoulder, “You don’t even like to kiss me.”
He blinked up at her. Then he grit his teeth. He stood up suddenly, Wendy’s comforting hand slipping away,
“I am not gay,” He nearly screamed, “I am a football player, a devoted christian, and in love with my fucking girlfriend. I am not a fucking homo!”
Garrison gave him a look.
“Look, Stan, I understand what you’re going through,” Stan scoffed. This old man did not understand.
“Try me,”
“I, too, am a homosexual,” He stated, the word slipping out as if it was worse than the dirtiest slur on the planet, “Albeit, reformed. We want to help you.”
“Stanley, honey, please sit down,” His mother pleaded. “Just let Mr. Garrison explain.”
“I’m here for you, Stan,” Garrison said, fishing around in his purse, which seemed pretty fucking gay to Stan but he wasn’t going to point that out. “To help you, your parents have decided to send you to a camp. It’s actually quite nice. It’s a year round thing, so you’ll miss quite a bit of school, but in due time, everything will be better.”
That piqued Stan’s interest. Garrison handed him a pamphlet. There was a green background, a cross, and writing in flowery letters.
CAMP NEW GRACE
Pray The Gay Away
Stan winced internally, but externally stayed completely still. He read through the program; he would be staying in a big house, sleeping in one room with all of the boys, and have a strict schedule so he could learn his “gender binary” and how to “properly fit in.”
He could hear his parents talking, but mostly ignored their words.
It wasn’t like he could say no. Everyone at his god forsaken school thought he was gay, apparently, and he couldn’t really live with that shame. The only issue is, he’ll miss playoffs as the quarterback. He makes eye contact with Clyde, who shrugs noncommittally, then looks away to talk to Tolkien.
Stan sighs. The conversation around him has hit a lull, so it seems to be time to give up.
“Ahem,” He tries to get everyone’s attention, succeeding. “I’ll do it.”
Everyone gave him different looks; his teammates somewhat frustrated, for whatever reason, his parents and Wendy looked relieved, but Stan couldn’t quite read Gary’s face. He looked somewhat guilty, which didn’t make sense.
“You made the right choice,” Garrison slapped his knees, standing up. “Be there by tomorrow at noon. Most of the others are arriving today, so you’ll be a bit late. But, no worries. Time doesn’t matter as long as you try.”
“Mmm,” Stan replied, biting back his urge to cuss this man out.
“I’ll be seeing you tomorrow,” Garrison looked towards his parents, who nodded.
The room was silent a moment. They could hear Garrisons car trailing away, but no one said anything.
His parents were having a conversation with their eyes. A minute passed, then two, before Stan hard anything final.
“Stanley, you should start packing,” His mother said, then retreated upstairs. “I love you, honey. Sleep well.”
“Love you,” He replied mechanically. His father pat his back, then followed his mother. Tolkien and Clyde stared at him, before Clyde tried a smile.
“Sorry, Stan-the-man,” He said, sounding genuine. Stan believed Clyde. He’d always been a good guy, just misled. Didn’t change the fact that he was mad.
“Yeah, no hard feelings, dude?” Tolkien asked. Stan paused.
“Yeah, dude,” Stan smiled as sincerely as he could. He watched them leave, entering Clyde’s car and drive off. He feels like a part of him is breaking, but it doesn’t hurt as much as he thought it should.
Wendy left next, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to Stan’s cheek, before making him promise that he’d come back to her.
He didn’t respond, and she left sad. He hated seeing her sad, but he also didn’t want to promise anything. Because he might not come back. He’d heard about the shit that happens at camps like that, and it sure as hell isn’t any good.
Gary, finally, left next. They both kinda danced around one another, not exactly saying goodbye until Gary hugged Stan tightly.
“I’m sorry,” Gary’s voice was nearly a sob. “I shouldn’t have gone along with this.”
Stan felt himself soften, hugging Gary back.
“No, don’t apologize,” Stan mumbled into Gary’s hair. “T’s not your fault.”
Gary stiffened at that, but didn’t speak. He pulled back eventually, and smiled brightly. Stan nearly fainted.
“Bye, Stanny,”
“See ya, Gare,”
And that was it.
Gary was gone.
Now, Stan just had to pack.