South Park: The Ten-Thousandth Time (30_tears prompt #08)
South Park
The Ten-Thousandth Time
Prompt #08: "Down in the Dumps"
PG-13 (severe language)
440 words
Approx Age: 14
For whatever reason, Cartman's torture hits harder that day. Kyle/Stan.
The Ten-Thousandth Time
“It’s nothing new,” Stan reasons aloud. The words are almost swept away when the wind chooses that moment to gust. He doesn’t know how it could be any sort of comfort to mention that it’s not unusual for Kyle to be teased this severely, but it’s something to say, at least.
Hunched next to him on the bench, Kyle doesn’t respond immediately, and Stan wonders if the sound of the approaching storm really had overpowered his voice. Then Kyle reanimates briefly, long enough to shift his legs, wipe his eyes and mutter, “I know.”
“Then why’d you let it get to you this time?” Stan asks quietly, resisting the urge to glance over at his friend. He satisfies himself with tracing the paths of grey snowflakes across the field before them and nervously fingering the hem of Kyle’s sleeve. The fabric is gently tugged from his clutch as Kyle raises his hands in a feeble shrug.
“I dunno, dude. I don’t know why this time’s any different from any of the other ten- fucking-thousand times he’s been an asshole to me. But he’d better watch it because one of these times I’m gonna kill him, I fucking swear. Kill his motherfucking ass.”
He sighs, wheezily; Stan reaches over blindly to reclaim his hold on the sleeve but misses and finds the felt web of Kyle’s mitten instead. Unsure of whether this has crossed some sort of line, he turns to judge Kyle’s reaction and catches a glimpse of his wet, blotchy face.
He’s dumbfounded by the sight and it takes a moment for him to recover his breathing. “You’re just giving him what he wants, you know,” he whispers, when he can do so steadily.
This doesn’t inspire and fortify Kyle the way it’s supposed to; instead, his mouth contorts into a silent wail and he covers his face with his hands. “I know,” he moans.
Stan’s arm snakes around Kyle gently, but when it pulls him closer, the grip is firm; Kyle turns his body into it, shaking, and lets his head fall sideways onto Stan’s shoulder.
“M-maybe I’m just really tired today,” Kyle offers, shivering as the wind picks up again briefly. And he sounds tired─ sounds a little weak, a little drowsy; he’s sinking against Stan without meaning to, his tensed muscles relaxing to better conform to the half-embrace.
Stan assesses things carefully before making his next comment. “Or maybe you really are getting your period soon,” he suggests devilishly, then waits, praying.
The sudden pain that shoots up his leg as Kyle stomps hard on his foot is worth it, because under the eerie bawling of the wind, he can hear quiet, wet laughter. Kyle’s arms slip around his chest, and together they defend themselves from the cold.
The Ten-Thousandth Time
Prompt #08: "Down in the Dumps"
PG-13 (severe language)
440 words
Approx Age: 14
For whatever reason, Cartman's torture hits harder that day. Kyle/Stan.
The Ten-Thousandth Time
“It’s nothing new,” Stan reasons aloud. The words are almost swept away when the wind chooses that moment to gust. He doesn’t know how it could be any sort of comfort to mention that it’s not unusual for Kyle to be teased this severely, but it’s something to say, at least.
Hunched next to him on the bench, Kyle doesn’t respond immediately, and Stan wonders if the sound of the approaching storm really had overpowered his voice. Then Kyle reanimates briefly, long enough to shift his legs, wipe his eyes and mutter, “I know.”
“Then why’d you let it get to you this time?” Stan asks quietly, resisting the urge to glance over at his friend. He satisfies himself with tracing the paths of grey snowflakes across the field before them and nervously fingering the hem of Kyle’s sleeve. The fabric is gently tugged from his clutch as Kyle raises his hands in a feeble shrug.
“I dunno, dude. I don’t know why this time’s any different from any of the other ten- fucking-thousand times he’s been an asshole to me. But he’d better watch it because one of these times I’m gonna kill him, I fucking swear. Kill his motherfucking ass.”
He sighs, wheezily; Stan reaches over blindly to reclaim his hold on the sleeve but misses and finds the felt web of Kyle’s mitten instead. Unsure of whether this has crossed some sort of line, he turns to judge Kyle’s reaction and catches a glimpse of his wet, blotchy face.
He’s dumbfounded by the sight and it takes a moment for him to recover his breathing. “You’re just giving him what he wants, you know,” he whispers, when he can do so steadily.
This doesn’t inspire and fortify Kyle the way it’s supposed to; instead, his mouth contorts into a silent wail and he covers his face with his hands. “I know,” he moans.
Stan’s arm snakes around Kyle gently, but when it pulls him closer, the grip is firm; Kyle turns his body into it, shaking, and lets his head fall sideways onto Stan’s shoulder.
“M-maybe I’m just really tired today,” Kyle offers, shivering as the wind picks up again briefly. And he sounds tired─ sounds a little weak, a little drowsy; he’s sinking against Stan without meaning to, his tensed muscles relaxing to better conform to the half-embrace.
Stan assesses things carefully before making his next comment. “Or maybe you really are getting your period soon,” he suggests devilishly, then waits, praying.
The sudden pain that shoots up his leg as Kyle stomps hard on his foot is worth it, because under the eerie bawling of the wind, he can hear quiet, wet laughter. Kyle’s arms slip around his chest, and together they defend themselves from the cold.