Chapter Text
Wendy sighed, sitting upright and stretching, her back giving sharp 'pops!' as she did, "Stan, we've been searching for an hour. You must have thrown out the CDs years ago."
Stan didn't look up from the cardboard box he was digging through. Sure, it was a pipe dream, but it was still a dream. Stan was many things, and being a wistful, nostalgic sap was definitely one of them. It was a harsh contrast to his wife, who was always pursuing and thinking about the future. Their future, she would have corrected, "I couldn't have! I know it's around here somewhere… I wouldn't have left them with my parents, would I?"
Wendy hummed thoughtfully, "It's a possibility. You were pretty antsy to get out of South Park, and Crimson Dawn was a pretty major part of your high school life." She placed her hands on his shoulders, rubbing and squeezing them gently. "I should get our groceries, but I don't want you stuck down here all afternoon. Come with me?"
Stan sat up, turning his gaze to her. The motion caused Wendy's hands to fall to her sides; disappointment at the loss of contact flashed across her face before being smoothed out again. Wendy had always been a pretty girl, but now as an adult, she'd become an elegant woman. Her hair was always done perfectly, outfits meticulously chosen, presenting herself just so. Stan, in contradiction, did not care about his 'presentation' in the slightest; why should he pretend to be someone he's not, after all? When they were younger, Stan and Wendy had been more aligned in their presentation, in their chemistry. Times changed, he supposed. Now, Wendy tended to encourage Stan to keep all his geeky board games and nerdy action figures somewhere else, pretty please.
"I'll be done soon. I just want to look around more."
Wendy pursed her lips, thinking. She shook her head; silky strands of hair moved as she did, "Alright. But if you're not up soon, I'm dragging you out of this basement myself."
He hummed back, knowing she would. Stan was soon left alone, The Cure playing gently from a nearby record to fill the void. Maybe it was a little selfish to spend his free time searching for a dinky old CD, looking for a shot of nostalgia from the past, instead of spending it with his wife. The woman he was supposed to love and cherish forever, as promised by his wedding vows. But this just… felt more important. Kenny and Marj had been over last week, and the longing to hear music from their cringe teen band years had been eating away at his mind ever since they left. If only he could find the damn CDs.
Stan had already tried looking at old music sites he could have used in the 2000s, but many were gone, media once cherished deleted long ago. During their senior year, Crimson Dawn had made a handful of CDs and given them to friends and family. But it had been twenty years since then, if not more. After reaching out to Jimmy, Kenny, and Marj and none of them having the CDs, Stan's old boxes of records and CDs were his last hope. The thought of all that work and passion being lost to time forever made Stan sick with dread. He couldn't lose one of the happiest memories of South Park when so much of it had already been tainted with shit.
The raven reached the bottom of the old cardboard box, groaning with annoyance. No Crimson Dawn CD here either. Rolling his eyes, he reached for the final box. If the CDs were just hanging out in this box the whole time, he might scream.
The hunt continued; the grime, dust, and old memories sticking to Stan's fingers as he searched. It was almost embarrassing how much incel music (as Kenny would so lovingly put it) teenage Stan had stored away. He'd found plenty of poorly put-together CDs, full of doom and gloom, that a self-proclaimed Goth Stan had created as a tween. No wonder Shelly had teased the fuck out of him as they grew up. Stan and Wendy had even uncovered an old CD of weepy romance music, named 'When I'm Thinking of My Girl', which had made the usually put-together Wendy laugh loudly. Stan truly had been a character growing up. He blamed his alcoholic deadbeat of a father.
This box seemed to be fruitless as well. If Stan truly didn't have the CD in his house, he might have to reach out to someone else, and he really didn't want to do that. It had been years since the pair had spoken… and that kind of nostalgia made Stan wince painfully… Another wave of determination hit, and Stan powered through the box. Maybe there was something he was missing… a saving grace to show his efforts weren't all in vain.
They were, in fact, in vain.
That odd sinking feeling made its way back to Stan. There couldn't just be… NO trace of Crimson Dawn left, could there? Stan carefully put the CDs back in the box, nostalgia and lingering affection for his youth keeping him from throwing any of them away. Maybe in a couple of years, Wendy would make him go through and throw everything away; but for now, his hoarding continued. He'd give Sharon a call tomorrow; maybe she'd have something lying around. The thought helped keep the dread at bay. Stan lifted the box, heading back to the fold-up ladder to store the old box away again.
Stan positioned the box, ready to slip it back in its spot on the tall shelves when something caught his eye. In the furthest corner, as if it had been forgotten at some point, something lay. Placing the box down, Stan reached as far as he could. His eyes widened as he looked down upon an old CD binder, fabric dirty and rough. When he opened the binder, he saw two CDs. One with "Stan <3" written on top with Sharpie. The other, with large fading print, read 'CRIMSON DAWN'.
Scrambling down the fold-up ladder, Stan hurried over to his CD player. Fumbling with excitement, he put in "CRIMSON DAWN". Nothing played for a moment, the old CDs struggling to be read, before a scratchy noise began. The music was patchy, rot evidently having seeped its way into the CD, making the words hard to pick up. But Stan couldn't care less; he'd found Crimson Dawn. Grinning with glee, Stan pulled out his phone to take a video. Stan could almost hear Kenny's cheers as he sent it over to his best friend.
The CD continued; the rough noise grated against Stan's ears. It was as if the music was clawing against its confines, like it was fighting to be remembered. The lyrics were so scrambled at some points that it made Stan flinch. His teenage self could barely make himself be heard, as if he knew he'd almost been lost to time. The voice was caught in a moment that Stan could never return to, and the further life went on, the blurrier the memories of this time in his life would get. The thought made his stomach clench painfully again. Maybe Wendy had a point about living in the past. She usually did. She had been pointing out flaws more frequently as of late, anyway. It really felt like she couldn't be satisfied at some points, and he'd almost proven her right.
The CD ended, the music cutting off and leaving Stan with his thoughts. Silently, he looked down at the CD player before turning his gaze to the second disc. The handwriting wasn't his own; maybe it was Wendy's? Carefully taking 'CRIMSON DAWN' out of the CD player, he replaced it with 'Stan <3'. He slipped the first CD back in its case, safe and secure once again. It was odd; this CD binder had many empty slots, as if someone had been planning to fill it up but never got around to it. He flipped through the empty plastic before a loud beep brought Stan attention back to the CD player.
The player read "ERROR" on its little old-school screen, clearly upset with this new CD. Pulling 'Stan <3' back out, the raven looked at the CD closely. Why wasn't the CD player reading this disc correctly… unless? Moving to the couch, Stan put the CD in the Xbox. After a moment of buffering and clicking of the remote, the TV lit up. Again, the audio was scratchy; the video was in a square format, leaky colors mixing and blurring together. Stan widened his eyes, opening and closing his mouth dumbly. He had no memory of ever recording this. The video was of the band itself, set outside his childhood home. Snow was still clinging to the ground, but teenage Crimson Dawn didn't care. They were all set up, a small crowd surrounding them. The person behind the camera began zooming in on teenage Stan, filming as he prepared to introduce himself and the band. His teenage self looked over at the camera, and his whole face softened. Stan, in all his bleached-blonde glory, smiles sweetly, waving to the person behind the screen. There's a chuckle before a voice speaks, fondness completely returned.
"There's my Stan. What a dork."
Stan thinks a green hand comes into view, waving back, but he can't tell. His entire world is ending at this moment, heart completely stopping, breath sharp and shaky.
It's Kyle.
These are Kyle's.
He hasn't spoken to Kyle for twenty years.
But these are Kyle's discs.
Stan sat in a haze, the old home video seeming even fuzzier than before. He hadn't seen Kyle since graduation, let alone heard his voice. Stan swallowed the lump in his throat, eyes darting to the date in the bottom corner: February 3rd, 2003. In a couple of weeks, it would have been prom. The pair would be going together, as friends they had said, the curious kisses and domestic cuddles at night going unknown to everyone else.
Stan hadn't meant to cause a rift; he didn't mean to panic. But Kyle had pressed up close, eyes soft and warm during the slow dance. The fairy lights had twinkled above them that night. There'd been a kiss, right there amid the sea of couples, and it had been the happiest moment of Stan life. And it had been the worst too. The waves of shame and guilt were sudden. Overwhelming. Drowning him. Stan had pushed back. He'd called Kyle disgusting. He'd run out of the dance floor. He'd avoided Kyle afterwards, too embarrassed and confused to face his consequences.
And then he'd gotten back together with Wendy.
A voice spoke from the video, Stan blinking away the blur of tears to focus on the screen again. Teenage Stan tapped the microphone, sending a cheeky grin to the camera, "This is for a special someone. I hope you enjoy it."
Gentle music played, slower than anything Crimson Dawn had created. Their style was heavier, louder, a little more screamy than this. This, instead, was gentle, sweet, loving. A soft romantic tune looped in the background before the Stan on the screen approached the microphone once again. Kyle behind the screen zoomed out, letting Stan see the way the crowd swayed on beat. Snow slowly trickled down from the sky, blurry on the old camera but creating an almost magical environment. The lyrics slowly began, words once lost to time rushing back to Stan. He'd written the lyrics to be ambiguous, so people would assume he meant them for Wendy. But there was only one passionate flame in mind when teenage Stan had written the song.
Stan sniffled softly, watching his younger self be so carefree. Mourning what could have been if he hadn't been such a coward. The plans he and Kyle had made when they were kids, the life Kyle created with Stan in mind, the future he could have been living currently. He wasn't… not happy in his relationship with Wendy; the pair had been together as long as he could remember. But the interest had fizzled with time; he'd settled because it was simple, easy, maybe even expected. But Kyle had been his everything at one point. His laugh, his smile, his passion; they had forever been branded onto Stan heart. Stan lay awake at night, pushing away the sorrowful longing for Kyle. He'd kiss Wendy, remembering the feel of red curls through his fingers instead of ebony strands. He'd spend hours down in the basement, chasing, yearning for any moment of nostalgia, to find a way back to fix this future. To change his present. To admit the words he wanted to say, but was far too afraid to do so. That something deeply ingrained in him would never allow him to confess.
Teenage Stan transitioned from lyrics to a soft repeat of 'la la la', letting the instrumental take the lead. Teenage Kenny and Marj played a duet on guitar and bass, giving a younger Stan the chance to make eye contact with Kyle once again. The camera zoomed in on Stan again, a grin on his face, dimples on full display. He tilted his head playfully, eyes darting back and forth; Stan could only assume between Kyle's eyes and his lips. The music faded out eventually, the gentle song leaving Stan in an overwhelming silence. The camera stayed focused on teenage Stan before the crowd erupted into cheers. Then the video ended. Younger Stan was frozen on the screen, present Stan staring back. The remote control slipped from his hand and onto the floor, causing the video to loop again. Stan's face fell into his hands, muffling his sobs, as that same sweet music played again. The love-sick tunes filled the room, reminding Stan of everything he could have had.
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