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There was a brief moment for the raven, where the burn was just comforting. And then, the actual hurt kicked in. He set the bottle aside, taking a breath. "Hey Chef". He paused again, unsure of how to phrase it, before stating, "I made a mistake. Things are... pretty bad. None of the other adults can help. No one... cares enough to help, not even Kyle or Kenny or Cart- Actually, since when did Cartman give a shit about anything?". He scoffed bitterly to himself, taking another sip. "Kyle says I'm a bummer to be around. No one wants to hang out with me anymore. Mom and Dad are splitting up".
He chewed his lip. "I'm... having a hard time with this shit. I'm having a hard time ACCEPTING that everything is shit, I guess". A pause, and another sip slid down his throat, almost mocking him. But DAMN it felt good to feel anything BUT the pain he had in his heart, first coming to Chef's grave. "I... I thought... Maybe it was safe, y'know? To talk about these things? To go to my friends when I... didn't feel right? But I was wrong. And I can't... seem to accept that", his voice died down. He had no one to really blame but himself.
His parents were going through shit, his friends were tired of his shit, the adults at school had their own shit to deal with, and didn't need to add his shit to it. SHIT, SHIT, SHIT. "Hey, Chef? I tried asking this before, but maybe you have an answer, since... heh... you've got the answer to everything. It's been hard, since you've been gone". He pulled a bit at his sleeves, pulling them down, covering up some wounds he could only blame himself for. Who else could he blame without being such a downer? Heh. "Um... I'm sure you've had some down times. What did you do? How did you go on when... things... people... whatever used to make you happy just didn't anymore? How did you keep going, Chef?".
He shivered a bit as an autumn breeze seemed to gently grab his shoulders, tired blue eyes staring dully at the headstone in front of him. "...I miss you", he whispered. "Would it be okay if... if I stayed with you? Where I won't be bringing anyone down? Or would that bother you too?". His lower lip trembled. "I'm fucked up, aren't I?". Stan moved to sit next to the headstone, burying his face into his arms. "I don't want to be this way. I don't fucking want to be this way!", he sobbed, trembling and crying into his arms. A few autumn leaves gently fell on his head, the breeze seeming to gently pet his hair and embrace him. "...Can I just stay with you...? They won't notice. They're not even looking. They hate me. They hate what I've become, they don't want me, they don't...". He coughed a bit into his elbow, closing his eyes.
"Hey, Chef? ...Would it be too much to ask to sit by you until I feel better? Please...?".