Work Text:
A sleepover. They've done this since kindergarten. Now, they're going on to 11th grade. It shouldn't be out of the ordinary. They just show up at eachother's front steps sometimes, unplanned.
Stan is standing at his best friend's doorstep, the welcome mat below him crinkling a bit due to its stale, grassy texture. It has the words "Welcome Home" in bold, black cursive on it. The weather outside is cold, snowy, and small flakes are falling from the sky. Stan lifts his head to the front door and knocks. He hears a quiet "coming!", getting louder with the footsteps approaching.
The front door opens, Kyle standing right there with a big goofy grin on his face. "Hey, dude!", Kyle's eyes are squinting, but Stan takes a mental note of the larger than usual bags underneath. Kyle rests, his smile getting smaller. Freckles are splattered amongst his face, majority on his cheeks. His eyes are a deep olive, full of happiness yet dull with exhaust. Kyle always seems so joyful around Stan. Stan had to admit, he was cute. Stan looks at him and smiles back, waving his hand back and forth with little effort. "Hey Kyle.", he responds.
They immediately start up the stairs to Kyle's room. The bedroom door opens, but Stan notices a lot is.. off. Much different than usual. He looks around, walking in slowly. The full-body mirror that Kyle had put Terrance & Phillip stickers on when they were younger was covered with a light blue sheet. The sheet had lighter redish orange stains on it with splattered stains around the larger ones. 'Looks like he had a girl on her period over,' Stan thinks to himself. He sees the carpet next. It had orange spots from Fanta soda, brown ones from Coca-Cola. The ones that stuck out to him the most were the red ones. Deep red stains drench spots of the tan carpet. 'Towels placed in some spots to cover them,' he guesses, yet it was obvious because of the dark maroon seeping through the cloth. There are clothes in stacks that are yet to be put away in drawers and hung up in the closet. Socks are randomly mismatched across the floor. The dresser had some bandaids on it and the small trashcan was overflowing with trash.
Stan is more confused than anything. Did a whole ass murder scene happen in here? What the hell had happened? Stan hears a 'fwump' noise, and looks to the bed. Kyle had fallen on it, like he was playing trust fall with his own bed. Stan sits next to him. "Anything you wanna do?" Kyle asks. Stan can't think of anything. He can only eye the dark spots everywhere. He doesn't know what to do, what to say. 'Should I speak up? No, that'd be to obvious. Should I confront him about it? No, that'd be too demanding! Ugh!' Stan looks at Kyle, and is greeted with curious eyes. "Can we just watch TV or something dude? I'm a little.. stressed right now." Stan says, a lump getting caught in his throat. He felt like he was being strangled. He's worried, scared. What is going on with Kyle? Are his parents hurting him? He doesn't know. Kyle grabs the remote, flicking the TV on and turning it to the channel they usually watch together. Stan just stares at Kyle, wondering what's going through his mind. Kyle looks awful right now. Though it was snowy, it was a little sunny as well. The sun was setting at the moment, and the light seeping through the blinds was blinding yet gorgeous when placed along Kyle. His hair was tangled, eyes looked heavy with bags protruding underneath. His cheeks looked tear stained, and his nose was bright red. 'What the fuck is happening with my best friend??'
A lot of time passed since they sat in his room, and it was about their usual time to put on pajamas. Their comfier clothes for bed consisted of a T-shirt, shorts and socks. Kyle was getting up to go change in the bathroom, but he comes back in.. long pants and a long sleeve shirt? 'He's gonna have a heatstroke in that,' Stan thinks. "Dude, you're gonna sweat your ass off." he states accusingly. Kyle glares at him. "No way dude! I'll be fine. Don't worry about it."
Stan, on the other hand, is fed up. "Kyle, if you don't tell me what the hell is wrong with you, so help me God." Stan raises his voice after saying his best friend's name. Kyle just looks back, defeated. "W- What do you mean, man?? Nothing is wrong, I don't understand why you're-" "Oh my God! Kyle! Do you see your room?? It's a hot fucking mess! It looks like someone was murdered in here, and it wreaks copper. So tell me, what is up with you?" Stan just yells at that point. Kyle jumps a bit at that, not knowing what to do. Stan walks closer to him and grabs his arm. Kyle winces a little and his eyes start to look glossy. Stan's brows are furrowed, glaring at him in such an intense way that he feels like he's staring holes into him. Kyle's silent. "Oh for fucks sake dude. Is someone hurting you? What's going on and why aren't you saying bat shit? I don't know what's up with you but I'm not leaving 'til I get an answer." All Stan hears are small hiccups. He feels wet droplets on his feet, looking down. Is Kyle, crying? 'Shit, shit, god fucking damnit Stan you fucked up again.' He let's go of Kyle's arm, and it drops to his side. "You're confusing the hell out of me right now Kyle, and the way you're being right now is worrying me sick." Stan says, quieter this time.
Kyle finally looks at him. Yep, he's crying alright. And he's not just crying a little bit. Tears are full blown pouring from his eyes, and he keeps wiping his nose every 2 or so minutes. "Hey, hey. What's wrong. Please, y- you don't have to hide shit from me. Please, tell me what's wrong." Stan holds Kyle's shoulders gently. After a minute of calming down slightly, Kyle just says "Take a guess, Stanley." That worries Stan even further. 'What does he mean by that? Am I too stupid to realize? I am. I'm too stupid to realize. I can't think of anything.' He let's go of his best friend, and Kyle starts to walk away. "Woah- wait, where are you going?" Stan frantically looks at him. Kyle glances to him, "Just sit -sniff -, on the bed, and -hic-, and wait. I'm getting -sniff-, something." Kyle walks out. God, what's he getting.
Kyle comes back a few minutes later after rummaging through some drawers, loud enough for Stan to hear. He hears his footsteps walk towards the bed. He throws something on it. Directly next to Stan. He hears a soft 'pmph' of whatever he threw hit the covers. He looks up to Kyle, who is crying awfully hard again. His head is faced towards the ground, and his hands are clenched into fists. He's shaking violently. "Do- does tha- at give you any i- id- idea-?" Kyle's mutters, voice trembling. Stan gulps, looking down to the bed. He sees shiny silver, the light from the ceiling reflecting off of whatever it is. It has fingerprints on it, indicating it had been held before, and small slits of maroon. 'That's blood. That's a-, that's a whole razor blade.'
Kyle had been cutting himself.
It all made sense now. The red stains on everything, that's blood. The longer clothing, he's covering up what he's done. The bandages in the trashcan with huge red splots on them, its blood. The towels that have the dark red liquid seeping through, that's all blood. It's all blood.
Blood. That word rang through Stan's mind.
Stan gets up, more shakily than he ever had before. He just grabs Kyle, and holds him. Holds him in hope that the pain would go away. Holds him, wishing he could take all that pain away. He hates seeing Kyle like this, crying and hurt. He hates it with a passion. He wants Kyle to be okay. He wants his best friend to be happy. 'Please, please.' Is all Stan can think. He begs that there aren't too many cuts. He begs that there aren't any at all. All he feels is Kyle's tears drenching his shoulder. He hears his sobs. He can't move - he can only hold him. Stan subconsciously starts crying too, his own tears staining his face. "I can't fucking t- take Cartman's slander anymo- ore, dude. He talks sh- hit about me not o- only behind my b- b- ack, but infront of me to- oo!" Kyle's body is shaking against Stan's. "I j- ust can't take it- it anymore!" Stan whispers little 'it's okay's, 'shh's, and 'I'm here's to his best friend, not letting go. Kyle eventually - finally - wraps his own arms around Stan. They're in eachother's tight embrace. It's comforting for the both of them.
"Kyle, come on, we have to get them cleaned up dude. I'm not taking you to a hospital or anything,-" God, he knew how much Kyle hated them. "- we're just staying here. I promise." Kyle nods slowly. Stan is holding his hand, leading him to the bathroom. He picks up Kyle from under the arms, and lifts him to sit on the counter. He takes off Kyle's top, and tells Kyle to put on some shorts.
Stan comes back after a while, and his friend is still on the counter, but now in shorts and no shirt. Stan sees the cuts, majority deeper than others. He has some healed scars that blend in with his skin, but the others are much more severe. All are long, but one sticks out the most. It's one across his left thigh, so long that it reaches one side of his thigh to the middle. Like if his thigh was put into 4ths, it would reach from 0/4th to the 2/4th. It was huge, and not only that but it was deep. You could see down to the fat, and it made Stan wonder how it didn't get infected. His thighs, wrists and ankles were littered in fresh cuts and healed scars. He's so thankful that Kyle didn't hit an artery. Stan stops observing, and quickly goes to get alcohol to clean them. "Kyle, this shit's gonna sting like a bitch, here." He holds out his hand to him. Kyle takes it, trembling in anticipation. He knows he's going to have to prepare himself for the sting. Stan starts a count down, and pours some once it reaches one. "Shit-!" Kyle jumps at the pain, hissing. Stan feels his friend's hand tighten around his own. Stan wishes be didn't have to do this, he felt awful.
It was over quicker than expected - which Kyle is relieved about - and Stan fetched some bandages. He had to get butterfly, or steri, strips for the big wounds. After all of it was done, Stan steps back, pleased with his work. He helps Kyle hop down from the counter, not expecting a big hug from his friend. "Thank you so much, dude. I, I love you." Kyle mumbles the last part, embarrassed. He looks up at Stan and smiles. Stan looks down a bit, remembering their height differences. Kyle was only a few inches shorter than Stan. Stan was 6'1, and Kyle was 5'11. The two of them remember all the vivid memories of the teasing and laughter they shared. They loved it so much. "We better go back." Kyle nods in agreement. Stan makes sure to get to the room quicker so he can stash those blades in his own bag and throwing them out later. He really has to observe Kyle for a long time after this.
They both sit on the bed next to eachother. Stan remembers something he needed to ask about. "Kyle?"
"Yeah?"
"Why do you have that sheet over your mirror?" Stan asks. Kyle just stares at the area blankly, as if he was trying to remember something. "I, uh, haven't been eating as much lately 'cause I thought I was getting too fat. It's made me look gross and I regret it a bit. I'm still trying to get out of the habit, though." Kyle replies. That made a lot more sense to why Kyle seems so much thinner than a while ago. Stan's heart stung upon hearing that. He knew his best friend was insecure about a lot of things, but about his own body? To the point where he developed eating issues? Jesus. "...you know I love how you look," Stan says quietly. "I always have. You're good looking, and it's always confused me why you were so insecure. The opinion of yours that you aren't good enough, that you aren't ever gonna get a bitch because of your looks simply isn't true." Kyle just sits silently not knowing what to really say in response. Stan glances at Kyle who was now blushing a bit. "Hey, wanna go to bed?" "Y- yeah. Sure." Kyle replies softly, a small smirk on his face.
Both of them lie down, next to eachother in their usual spots. "Hey Stan?"
"Hm?"
"..I love you dude."
"....I love you too."