Chapter Text
Stan had time to shower, change, and start a load of laundry before anyone else was awake the next morning. It was late, surprisingly, and took a phone call to rouse any of the others. The only thing that did eventually wake them was Kyle’s phone going off. Stan looked up from where he was moving wet clothes into the dryer when he heard his voice approaching down the hall. They made brief eye contact, though Kyle was still engrossed in his conversation, his phone pressed to his ear.
“No, yeah, we did show, we just had something come up. Real sorry dude. Today? Uh, I mean, sure. Butters might be here, if that’s alright. Hey man, it’s your birthday, don’t want any uninvited guests. Yeah, we’ll see you soon.” Kyle let out a sigh once he’d hung up.
“Tolkien?” Stan asked, pushing the dryer shut.
“Yeah, He was wondering where we were last night.” Kyle ran a hand through his hair, watching Stan’s movements closely as he put their laundry supplies on top of the dryer. Stan turned and stared at him, raising a brow when Kyle glanced away. “So… why did you…”
“Oh.” Stan turned, looking helplessly for something else to do in the kitchen, but at this point, all the chores were taken care of. His fingers twitched. “There was just, um….”
Stan didn’t want to say it. He didn’t want to admit it. Saying it out loud meant that it was a problem, and it wasn’t a problem. He wasn’t an addict anymore. He was better. He didn’t think about drinking anymore, ever. Not last night at the party. Not when Kenny came home drunk, and he craved to be that oblivious to his feelings again.
“Who was that?” Kenny’s voice pierced through Stan’s spiraling thoughts as he appeared in the hallway, clothes ruffled as he’d just tumbled out of bed.
“Oh.” Kyle turned, surprised. “Tolkien. He, uh, asked to come over since he missed us at the party last night.”
“Oh.” Kenny swiped a hand over his face to wipe away the grogginess still in his eyes. “Yeah, I don’t think I ever got a chance to say hi.”
“He and Clyde are coming over. Thought you wouldn’t mind.”
“Not at all.” Kenny’s gaze slid from Kyle to Stan, and one brow lifted in a questioning glance. “Do you?”
“Huh?” Stan wiped his hands on his pants nervously. “Oh, no, not at all. I didn’t get to see them either.”
“It’ll be nice to catch up,” Kenny agreed, turning after a brief moment of hesitation. “I’ll go let Butters know.”
“He can stick around,” Kyle added hurriedly. “Tolkien said it’s fine.”
“Dope.”
Stan moved towards the hallway, beelining towards the bedroom to do something other than stand there , but Kyle caught his shoulder. Stan turned, chewing on the inside of his lower lip nervously.
“Are you sure everything’s okay?” Kyle murmured, brows pinched together.
“I’m fine ,” Stan breathed, and the words echoed hollowly in his head. He’d said the exact same thing last night before having a total fucking breakdown. Kyle had no reason to believe him. He reached up and set a hand over Kyle’s. “I swear, dude. If somethin’s up, I’ll let you know.”
Kyle didn’t look convinced, but he nodded regardless, and the two detached.
Tolkien and Clyde showed up at their apartment hardly fifteen minutes later with two bags of Doritos and, much to Stan’s chagrin, a pack of beer. He stepped away from the two as Clyde barged into the kitchen with the drinks as if what Clyde was carrying was some kind of contaminated biohazard. Clyde didn’t seem to take the hint that Stan was uninterested, instead going out of his way to elbow him in the chest. “Thought we could use a little somethin’ to loosen up, yeah?”
Stan laughed nervously, moving to squeeze his hands together and then pressing his palms to his pants again. “Yeah, man.”
Stan glanced at the beer on the table. It was a brand he liked. Kyle was talking animatedly to Tolkien about how the party had gone. He sounded so happy. Stan picked up a bottle and looked at the label. The colors swirled in his vision. He hadn’t held a beer bottle in a long time. One couldn’t hurt, right? He’d be fine. He could barely remember the taste of his last one. The memory was muddled by the days that followed that he spent in the hospital. He tapped on the bottle cap. It wasn’t a twist-off. He’d need a bottle opener. He’d been on some heavy-duty meds to help his liver recover after. The thought of getting his stomach pumped made his throat hurt. Where was their bottle opener? Did Clyde have it? He probably did, knowing Clyde.
Stan turned, and the bottle suddenly disappeared from his grasp, instead replaced by a calloused palm. His hands were wet and sweaty in comparison, and he blinked to clear his vision. Kenny was standing in front of him, holding Stan’s hand a little too tightly and holding the unopened beer in his other hand. He had a frown on his face, a deep frown like he’d just caught a dog peeing inside, and Stan’s stomach churned. He fucked up. He fucked up .
Maybe he’d get out of being yelled at. His chest clenched just at the thought of Kenny being mad at him. He hadn’t drunk it- he hadn’t even opened it. All of the thoughts of vice were locked away safely in his head, and Stan was pretty sure Kenny couldn’t read minds, so he couldn’t know. Could he? He probably did. Stan felt like he was going to cry. Kenny didn’t need to be dealing with this all over agian. Him or Kyle.
“Stan and I are running out to get pizza,” Kenny said in a voice that easily masked the frustration Stan was convinced was there. “Text us what you all want, ‘kay?”
Stan stared at the floor as Kenny tugged him out the door. He could feel eyes on the back of his neck and goosebumps on his skin. Somehow, Kenny not yelling at him was worse. He kept waiting for it, waiting for the other shoe to drop and Kenny to turn and just scream at him, but it never happened. Kenny held his hand down four flights of stairs, across the parking lot, and only let go when Stan had to sit in the passenger seat. Stan clenched his hands between his thighs, his palms helplessly clammy. His whole body felt clammy. Honestly, if he had anything in his stomach, he probably would’ve thrown up on the floor of Kenny’s truck.
The drive was silent. Their preferred pizza place wasn’t that far- South Park was a small town, after all- but every passing minute made it harder and harder to breathe. Unspoken words hung in the air like snowflakes frozen in time, waiting for the chance to fall and cover Stan in a blanket of cold self-loathing.
Kenny parked the car. “What do you want.” His voice was stiff, lacking emotion he was so desperately trying to keep contained like bile in his stomach.
“Um…” Stan’s voice was thin, clogged by the tightness in his throat. “Ch… cheese?”
“Wait here.” Kenny got out of the car and slammed the door behind him, and Stan was left to wallow and practically drown in his thoughts. He buried his face in his hands, fighting back tears. He needed to apologize. He needed to get Kenny to understand he was so, so sorry. Kenny had spent his whole childhood watching people fight and relapse, and he didn’t need to be an adult seeing it from Stan, too. He was awful . What kind of a person was he to do that to Kenny? God, he was such a fuck up .
Stan lifted his head and wiped his hands nervously on his pants. Kenny came back out of the store, a forcefully emotionless look on his face. The second Kenny opened the driver’s door, all of the words tumbled out like vomit.
“Ken, I’m sorry . I didn’t-I wasn’t thinking, I didn’t mean to make you-I shouldn’t’ve-”
“Stan, I’m not mad at you.”
Stan hiccuped, blinking as Kenny turned to stare at him. His expression was still painfully closed off, but his steely blue eyes were soft, and Stan’s heart thudded in his chest. “You… you’re not?”
The wobble in Stan’s voice made Kenny’s eyebrows pinch, and he reached out with his hands to rest his palms on Stan’s cheeks. Stan stared at him, all of his attention devoted solely to trying to read Kenny’s expression. “No, Stan. I couldn’t be mad at you about this. Not ever. You know why?”
Stan stared at him with wide eyes. He took a breath. “ Why ?”
“Because five years ago, that bottle would’ve been gone before I even thought to stop you. You have made so much progress, and you’re doing so much better, and I could never be mad at you for making a mistake. Because I know it’s hard. It’s so hard, and you’re doing such a good job.”
“I am?”
“ Such a good job. You’ve come so far, and I’m so proud of you.” Kenny’s voice shook. “No one could possibly be prouder of you than I am.”
And as the realization sank in that Kenny wasn’t mad, not even a little bit, just concerned and compassionate and proud of him, Stan bawled . He dropped his head forward, violent sobs raking his body. Kenny bundled Stan up in his arms, pulling him halfway across the center console and hugging him tightly. He ran his fingers in one long stroke from the hair at the base of Stan’s neck to halfway down his spine and then repeated the motion. The two held onto each other tightly like their lives fucking depended on it. At that moment, it felt like they did.
“I’m so proud of you,” Kenny repeated, lip quivering and tears welling in his eyes. “No matter how bad the thoughts get. I’m so, so proud of you.”
Stan sobbed. “I-I’m s-s-sorry f-for not t-telling you I-I was--”
Kenny shushed him, holding him tighter. Every muscle in Stan’s body was tense and shaking, and Kenny wished he could just squeeze all of the tears out of Stan and put a smile back on his face. “It’s okay,” he whispered, not trusting his voice to stay steady. “We can talk about it later, okay?”
Stan nodded, face buried deep in Kenny’s shoulder. Kenny pressed his nose into Stan’s sweater, taking a shaky breath. His heart ached for Stan. Sure, he was a bit upset Stan hadn’t said he was struggling, but that didn’t matter. At that moment, Kenny just wanted him to feel better.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, indicating the pizzas were ready, and he slowly extracted his limbs from Stan’s. The other whined softly, still clutching Kenny’s shirt in his hands. Kenny chuckled, swallowing back the knot in his throat. “I have to go get the pizzas, Stan.”
Slowly, Stan uncurled his fingers and sat back in his chair, rubbing his sleeves across his face viciously. By the time all of the tears and snot were on his sleeves instead of his face, Kenny was inside again. Stan blinked harshly, lacing his fingers together and clenching his hands. He jumped when his door opened next instead of the driver’s door, and Kenny smiled down at him in an attempt to be reassuring. He still looked a little like he was going to start crying, but Stan was more focused on the warm pizzas in his hands.
“Can you hold these for me while we drive home?” Kenny asked softly. Stan took them in slightly shaky hands and held them in his lap, shifting his legs until the warmth of the pizza on his thighs was tolerable. Kenny sat down in the driver’s seat, pulling out his phone, and dialing Kyle’s number before backing out of the parking lot.
“‘S hot,” Stan whispered like the temperature was a secret.
Kenny chuckled as his phone rang. “Move it if it gets too hot, okay?”
Stan nodded seriously, staring at the pizzas like they’d disappear if he took his eyes away from them.
The phone clicked when Kyle picked up. “Hey. You got our pizza orders?”
“Yeah.” Kenny’s voice had firmed up again, and Stan went tense in his seat. “You need to get rid of the beers before we get back.”
“Huh? Oh.” A pause. The TV could be heard in the background. “ Oh , oh, yeah, yeah, we can do that. Is-” Kyle’s voice cracked. “Is Stan okay?”
Kenny glanced at Stan. “... I don’t-- I’ll need your help in the parking lot when I get there.”
Kyle swore softly, quiet but audible, and the show of frustration attracted Stan’s attention.
“‘M sorry,” he rushed out, voice high and shaky. “I’m sorry, I really am.”
“Hey, hey, it’s okay, bud.” Kenny kept his eyes on the road, struggling a bit with how stretched his attention was. “We’re not mad. We’re just trying to take care of you, okay?”
“Don’t need takin’ care of. ‘M jus’ fine.” Stan scraped his nails lightly across the cardboard of the pizza.
“I’ll meet you in the parking lot,” Kyle reassured, voice far softer, and Stan leaned his head back against the headrest, closing his eyes and pinching his brows together.
“Thanks, Ky,” Kenny breathed, quickly placing both hands on the wheel once he could set his phone aside.
Stan swallowed, taking a shaky breath. “‘M really sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Kenny repeated, feeling a little unsure of what to do. Obviously, Stan was still lost in his own head about the whole ordeal, but there wasn’t a whole lot Kenny could do while he was driving other than try to verbally reassure Stan that things would be okay and work out in the end. “We’ll talk it out when we get home. I just need you to hang in there until then, yeah?”
Stan turned his head and stared out the window. It wasn’t much, but it was an improvement from his trembling apologies.
Kyle was standing at the curb when Kenny and Stan parked. He was at the passenger’s side instantly, opening the door and extracting the pizzas from Stan’s lap. Stan looked up at Kyle blearily, and Kyle’s lip quivered a bit at how red and swollen Stan’s eyes were. “Oh, sweetheart.” Balancing the boxes on one arm, he reached up to gently caress Stan’s cheek, and he leaned into the touch greedily.
“Messed up,” Stan mumbled, voice hoarse.
“You didn’t mess anything up,” Kyle reassured in a quiet voice as Kenny took the pizzas from him. Kyle unbuckled Stan from the car and carefully hoisted him to his feet with one arm around his waist. “I promise, you didn’t.”