Chapter Text
April 4th, 2014
7:14pm
Tegridy Farms
The kitchen was silent aside from the static buzzing of the tv and the wooden spoon that scraped against the pot over the stove. The light was flickering, giving Stan a headache as he sat at the table, his left foot up on his chair as he leaned his face against his knee. He watched as Shelley worked the powdered cheese into the pot, bouncing on the heels of her feet and wiping away the sweat on her brow. The kitchen always ran hot when the stove was on, with no fan or air conditioning to cool it down. Usually, she would prop the window or the door open, but it was starting to snow and she didn’t want the house to get too cold.
“I’m hungry.” Stan whined, turning into a groan as he threw his head back, moving his fingers to the wood of the table. His ripped and torn nails scratched lightly at it, bumping against the cracks.
Shelley rolled her eyes with a scoff, “It’ll be ready soon, so be a little fuckin’ patient, would ya?” There were other words that she had mumbled under her breath, but none of them made it to Stan’s ears.
He rolled his eyes, his leg dropping as he started to swing them both, “Nah… It’s almost 7:30, I feel like I’ve been patient enough.”
“You haven’t.” Shelley noted, shifting on her feet and keeping her eyes on the pot.
“I so have!” Stan defended, “I asked you about dinner two hours ago and you didn’t do anything about it!”
Shelley paused, looking back at him with a raised brow, “Oh? And why didn’t you make anything?”
“I… I don’t know how…”
She couldn’t help but laugh at that, “The instructions are on the box, dumbass.”
Stan shrunk in on himself, his head falling slightly, “I didn’t know that…”
She softened her gaze, looking back at the pot in front of her. She sighed, moving to turn the stove off, tapping the spoon against the rim before throwing it in the sink beside her. She opened the drawer beside her, finding two small, silver spoons for her and Stan before closing it. They were scratched up and bent, something their parents didn’t care about replacing, so they made it work.
She picked up the pot and made her way over to the table, setting it down in the middle as she sat down across from him. “Yeah, well, now you do. It’s never too late to learn how to cook, Stan, and with all the late nights moms been workin’ and with dad runnin’ around doing God knows what, it'll be beneficial for you to learn.” She said, offering him a spoon.
He stared at it for a little while before taking it, tapping it against the pot as he looked inside, “I guess…”
“Do you understand, or are you upset that I won’t be your personal chief forever?”
Stan chuckled lightly at that, looking up at her, “Not with the way you cook.”
Shelley gasped at that, hand on her chest, “I’m offended by that, Stan.” Stan snickered, moving his spoon towards the pot, but she pulled it away, “No, you can’t have any since it’s not good enough for you. It’s all mine now.”
“Hey, no fair!” Stan giggled, reaching across the table, but Shelley continued to pull it away with a smug look on her face. “Okay, I’m sorry, your cooking is the best thing I’ve ever tasted! Now let me eat!”
She smiled, pushing the pot over so he could reach it again, “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
He chuckled, digging his spoon in and gathered what he could as Shelley did the same, looking at him as he concentrated on eating. She sighed, hunching herself over the table, mostly playing with the food so he could eat most of it. She’d go hungry for him in an instant, even if she’d never admit it.
They sat in silence for a while, Shelley watching as Stan ate until the pot was nearly empty, letting his spoon fall into it as he wiped his mouth, letting her know she was allowed to eat the rest. She made her way through it, eating slowly as a way to trick her brain into thinking she was eating more than there was.
When she was finished, she also dropped her spoon into the now empty pot, pushing it off to the side as she looked at Stan, “Mom called earlier today.”
He hummed at that, “Yeah? Did someone die at the hospital or was she bitchin’ over Mrs. Tweak again?”
Shelley breathed out a small and slightly forced chuckle, “No, uhm, something came up at work, I guess some guy needed to get home-”
“She’s working late again, isn’t she?”
“Yeah… She won’t be home until the morning.”
Stan shrugged, rolling his eyes as he shook his head, “No, of course not, because when is she ever fucking home, right?”
“Stan-”
“Sometimes it feels like she picks up these shifts on purpose, like she doesn’t even want to be here with us.”
“Of course she does.” Shelley defended with a scoff, “Damnit, Stan, you don’t get it. You're just a kid, you don’t understand what she does for us at all.”
“I’m not just a kid…” He grumbled, head leaning on the palm of his hand.
“You’re, what, Thirteen?”
“Twelve…” He corrected shyly, biting his lip as he looked down to the table.
“Yeah, exactly. Don’t go on acting like you understand when you don’t.”
He leaned back in his chair, “I want to.”
“Well I don’t.” She replied, leaning back in hers, “It's bad enough that I do. You don’t need to understand any of this, alright? Just be a damn kid.” He hummed, folding his arms as he looked off to the side. She breathed in the air, closing her eyes before sitting up again, leaning forward on the table, “There's one more thing…”
“What?”
She sucked in a breath, closing her eyes as she spoke, “A couple of my friends are going to a party tonight-”
“No, Shelley, please.”
“Stan, I haven’t gone out in fuckin’ weeks. I want to hang out with my friends!”
“But that means I’ll be alone takin’ care of dad when he gets back from God knows where!” Stan whined, “I don’t like being alone with him! He always finds a way to piss me off and he just blows up in my face!”
Shelley folded her arms, eyes soft, but she was quick to shake that away, “You’re not taking care of him, alright? Not tonight, and especially not when he’s drunk. Wait- Have you been doing that?” Stan bit the inside of his cheek, looking off to the side. He didn’t say a word, but Shelley knew the answer, “Shit. Don’t do that anymore, alright?”
Stan tapped his foot against the floor, nodding his head, “Okay.”
“Good. And when he gets here, just go to your room, lock the door and ignore him. If he starts screaming you can call me, alright?”
“I probably won’t have to go as far as locking my door, maybe just to keep him from bitchin’ in my room about how messy it is, but it’s not like he’ll do anything other than yell.”
Shelley stood to her feet, reaching over to grab the pot, “Yeah, well, I don’t trust the bastard.”
“Neither does mom, and yet, she lets him watch us all the time when he’s drunk.”
“Hey, she’s trying her best, Stanley!” Shelley defended, “You should be grateful for that, alright?!”
Stan jumped back at that, “Jesus, alright! I’m not saying I’m not grateful for it, I’m just annoyed I have to deal with it alone! It’s not fair!”
Shelley sighed, rubbing her face. In a way, she’s always felt responsible for Stan: Cleaning him up, feeding him, making sure he gets home on time, sitting with him when the screaming gets too much. They fight, and it’s something that their parents only ever see, but their connection runs deeper than that. Siblings with a relationship bound by tragedy.
She made her way over to the sink, pulling at the rusted knob until the water started to spill, “I know it’s not, but that's the hand we’ve been dealt, so it’s best we make the most of it and do what we can to make it easier.”
Stan sighed, laying his head in his arms against the table as he watched her, “Do you ever wonder if dad would be acting like this if we never moved? Like, at least he was bearable then, but now, he just sucks.”
Shelley chuckles at this, working to scrub away the cheese sticking to the bottom of the pot, “I’m not sure, but I do know he’s aware that he sucks and he’s just making it worse for everyone.”
Stan giggles for a moment, “You’re funny when you’re not being a bitch.”
“Oh, shut up, I’m always funny, you just don’t have a good sense of humor”
“Hey, my sense of humor is awesome!” Stan stood, hands on the table, unable to hide the growing smile on his face, “Just ask any of my friends, they’ll tell ya!”
Shelley laughed, turning the sink off as she shook the water off from her hands, “Yeah, I’m sure they will, Stan.” She moved around the kitchen, throwing away the box and cleaning up the table as Stan watched. She wanted to ask him to help, but she knew he wouldn’t.
After the kitchen was finally cleaned, she made her way to the living room, grabbing her jacket off from the couch, shoving her arms in as it covered the purple turtle-neck she wore, “Try not to burn the house down while I’m gone, alright?”
Stan leaned back against the table, folding his arms, “Do you really have to go?”
“I promised my friends I would. It’s Kevin’s birthday next week, and since he’s doing something with Ken and Karen then, we decided to have a surprise party for him now. I’d be a pretty shitty friend if I didn’t go.” She straightened out her jacket, making her way over towards him, “Just do what I told you and everything will be fine.”
“What if he got into another fight at the bar? He’ll be screamin’ my name all night just so I can clean his wounds like a big baby!”
Shelley rolled her eyes, “Then put your headphones in! He’s a grown ass man, he can take care of it himself.”
Stan tapped his foot against the ground in thought, standing to his feet. He moved to the railing, leaning back against it with his legs crossed, a pout on his face, “What if I just went with you?”
Shelley let out a laugh, “Fat chance.”
“Come on, please?! You won’t even know I’m there!”
“Oh, trust me, I’ll know.”
Stan groaned with his head thrown back, “Shelley-”
“You’ll be fine, you’ve been home alone with him before.”
“But it sucks!”
“It always sucks.”
“You’re just proving my point!”
“Stan-“
“Please, Shelley, he’s so unbearable.”
“I know he is, but you owe me this with the amount of times you’ve ditched me alone with him to hang out with Kyle.”
Stan groaned, “Damnit.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” She chuckled, making her way through the kitchen, grabbing the keys off from the hook beside the front door. She had only gotten her license two weeks ago, using Randy's blue truck when he doesn’t. And, despite the poor choices he tends to make often, he doesn’t drive when he goes to the bar. So, tonight, the car was hers. “I’ll be back around midnight, alright? Call me if something happens.”
“I won’t.” Stan mocked, making Shelley pause at the door, turning to face him with a stern face.
“I mean it, Stan.” He nodded and Shelley sighed, walking out the door, slamming it behind her. Stan sighed in the new silence, pulling at the rolled up sleeves of his shirt, feeling alone in the empty house.
10:38pm
Stan was flipping through the different channels on the tv when he heard the front door open, making him quickly shut it off and turn to look over the couch he was sitting on. Randy had stumbled in, bottle in hand as he stared at Stan with red eyes. His blue, collared shirt was unbuttoned, showing off the stained white tank top underneath. There was a small stubble on his chin—a poor excuse of a beard—that matched his unruly hair that had gray growing in on the sides.
“Did you eat?” He asked, but Stan knew he didn’t really care.
He didn’t say a word as he placed the remote on the coffee table in front of him before standing on his feet. He walked fast, ignoring his father and making his way through the kitchen, trying to walk up the stairs, avoiding Randy's eyes. Something felt off about his demeanor. He wasn’t as snappy, wasn’t as loud, it was strange and off putting.
His foot met with the first step, but he paused when Randy started speaking, “Where the fuck are you going?” It was all slurred, his tongue too lazy to help him speak. Stan turned to watch as he took another swig from his bottle, letting it drop to the ground when he was done, kicking it away and under the table. His mother would surely have a fit over it when she got home.
“Upstairs. I have homework to do.”
Randy scoffed, stumbling forward on heavy feet, “Don’t bullshit me, Stanley. I know for a fact that you’re failing. You’re probably too stupid to figure that shit out on your own. You’re my kid, so that means you’re gonna give up on even tryin’.”
Stan shrunk in on himself, “I-I’m not failing…”
“That’s not what your teacher said. What was her name? Ms. Anderson?”
“Mrs. Honey, dad. Ms. Anderson is Shelley’s calculus teacher.”
“See, calculus!” He shouted, pointing a finger towards Stan, “Now that’s smart shit! Shelley’s like her mom, always workin’ headstrong, wantin’ to be the most intelligent bitch in the room. But not you. You’re like me.” He scoffed, stumbling around the kitchen with bitter chuckles, slurring his words, “We’re both destined for nothin’ . Everythin’ you do with comes down to nothin’ . It’s all worthless bullshit.” There was a forced smile on Randy's face, opening his arms for Stan, “But it’s okay, we can be worthless together.”
Stan didn’t move towards him, didn’t go in for the hug as he felt the water start to fill his eyes, letting his head droop down so Randy wouldn’t see, “I-I’m not worthless…”
The smile on Randy’s face fell, “You can’t seriously tell me you believe that?”
Stan lip quivered, “But… But I-I’m not. I don’t want to be-”
“That’s not for you to decide.” Randy scoffed, folding his arms, “That’s up to fate, and fate decided you are.”
Tears were rolling down Stans cheeks as he started to brush them away, “Wh-What-”
“Oh, man up, Stanley!” Randy groaned, rubbing his face, “Quit the cryin’ before I give you somethin’ to cry about!”
Stan choked, brushing the tears away as fast as he could, but they just kept falling. Sobs were breaking through and he couldn’t stop the overwhelming wave of emotions. He felt he should’ve been used to this by now, that this shouldn’t be getting to him, but he couldn’t help it. He wished he had just gone upstairs or begged a little harder for Shelley to stay. He wanted to be anywhere but here.
“This fuckin-” Randy swore, making his way over towards Stan at a quick pace, something he couldn’t have prepared for. He got up in Stan's face, the liquor loud on his breath as it drowned his nose, “Stop crying, Stanley, I taught you better than that.”
Stan nodded, trying to hold himself together, “I-I’m sorry.”
“You should be sorry about a lot of things, kid.” He nodded again, accepting it fully in hopes his father would just back off for the rest of the night. He flinched when Randy placed a hand on his cheek, unsure of what to do as he stared. “I say these things because I love you, Stanley. I want you to grow up strong.”
“I don’t understand-”
“I don’t expect you to.” Randy sighed, moving to tighten his arms around Stan, holding him in a hug that Stan was hesitant to reciprocate.
“D-Dad?”
“Yes?” He asked pulling away to look Stan in the face again.
“What if… What if I didn’t want to be worthless?”
Randy rolled his eyes, standing up fully again as he pinched the bridge of his nose, “Jesus Christ, you’ll never fucking learn.”
“B-But-”
“What, you want to be like your mother?! Leave me behind like Shelley to be another version of her?! Is that really what you want?!”
“I don’t-”
“Don’t you fuckin’ lie to me!” Randy screamed, and Stan opened his mouth to defend himself, but it was too late for that.
Randy gripped at Stan's wrist, dragging him through the kitchen and out the front door. They moved across the wood of the porch and skipped through the stairs. The cold nipped at his skin and the only light that guided their footsteps came from the moon. Randy let him go rather harshly, pushing him to the ground and standing over him with a disgusted look on his face. Stan yelped, landing on his arm as the gravel scratched at him.
“Get up.” Randy's voice was low, something eerie and something Stan hadn’t heard before. He was lifting himself on his elbows, looking with pleading eyes as he was breathing almost too heavily. Breathing has become harder for him as of recently. Randy refused to acknowledge it and Stan refused to mention it to his mother. Shelley knew, and with the way he was starting to wheeze, he decided that maybe Sharon should too.
He tried to calm himself, thinking of what Shelley would do in this moment—a voice of reason to make him leave—, “Y-You’re drunk and pro-obably tired… Just go to bed a-and we can talk about this in the morning.”
“Get up!” He shouted, it echoed through the air, something so loud that Stan wondered if the town could hear it. He flinched, watching the way Randy shifted himself around, “I won’t tell you again, Stan, get up.”
He hesitated, lifting himself slowly from the ground and onto his feet. His arm was littered with small scraps and cuts, some beading out blood, while others would surely bruise in the morning. His breathing was rough, something that hurt and was uncontrolled. He hunched himself over, lip quivering as he waited for the screaming to start, but it never came.
“You don’t want to be worthless? Fucking prove it. Prove to me that you aren’t.”
“W-What?”
Randy got up close, leaning to get face-to-face with his son, “Go one, prove it.”
“I-I don’t-”
“That’s what I fuckin’ figured. You’re not your mom and your sister. You’re nothing.”
“But I want to be something!” Stan cried.
“Well you’re not!” It was something so fast. He hadn’t been expecting it, wasn’t ready for the pain that coursed through the bridge of his nose or the white blinding his eyes, stars dancing in his vision. His father had never hit him before, so how was he meant to prepare for his fist?
He hit the ground, a sob breaking through as he cradled his face. He pulled his hand back, watching the blood leak down to his palm, feeling it fall from his chin. He looked up at his father, wishing that this was nothing short of a nightmare. He wanted to wake up and realize that it wasn’t true.
“Look at you,” His father scoffed, “A bark and no bite.”
“I-I’m sorry-”
“You want to be a man? Talk back to me when you want? Is that what you want?” Randy asked, taking the collared shirt off and throwing it to the snow that covered the grass, “Well? Is it?!”
“No, dad, I’m sorry.” He sobbed, sitting up and pleading.
Randy shook his head, walking past him and back up the steps of the front porch, “Sleep in the fucking barn, maybe the cold will do you some good.”
“W-What…” Stan asked, a nauseous feeling flowing through him, but he ignored it. He watched with shock, his father entering the house and slamming the door behind him, a lock echoing through the air.
Stan shook his head, unbelieving. He stood with trembling knees, wobbling over until he was practically running towards the porch. He rushed up the steps, his balance lost as he fell against the door, trying to twist at the knob, but it wouldn’t budge. He banged his fist against it, breath short, screaming through sobs as he apologized and begged to be let back in, but he was met with nothing. He wanted to call Shelley, or maybe even his mother, but he didn’t have a phone. He didn’t have access to the landline, trapped inside as he was cast away.
He watched as the light went out through the window, leaving him in the darkness, guided by a helpless moon. He leaned his forehead against it, sliding down to sit on the porch as he cried. Small pleads still cracked through him, the pain pounding through his nose and making his head dizzy.
He sat there for what felt like hours, shivering from the cold, praying that Randy would just open the door again. He looked out, watching the snowfall with the wind blowing it harshly against his skin. It hurt. He tugged down the sleeves, squeezing himself as he sniffled. He stood, walking with no thought in his head as he wiped the blood away with his thumb, wincing at the pain it caused him.
It felt as if he had blinked and, suddenly, he was inside his fathers barn. The smell of weed cursed it, choking him out as he coughed into his elbow. He looked around, slowly walking inside. His eyes spotted a trap in the corner, and he decided that that's where he would sleep for the night.
He huddled himself in, pulling the tarp over himself as he laid on the floor with his knees to his chest. His lip quivered as he continued to cry, tears mixing in with the blood. Everything was spinning and it made him want to throw up, but it never rose. His breathing was still so short, choking him until his eyes finally fluttered shut.
August 14th, 2024
“I never told anyone about that night.” Stan whispered, leaning against Kenny as he pulled his knees up against his chest. “Shelley found me that morning, but I never told her what happened, despite how much she pleaded. She never went out much again after that. Well, until mom died, at least.”
Kenny rubbed at Stan's shoulder, forehead leaning against Stan, “I didn’t know you two were that close.”
“We were once.” Stan hummed, playing with his fingers, “She always did what she could before my mother died. We fought, but it was never something that stuck. Then, she found out how my mother did it, and just stopped talking to me.”
“Oh.”
Stan hummed, “I think she thought it was just easier to blame me for what happened, and I blamed myself too, so I didn’t bother to try and stop her. Soon, she wasn’t even home anymore, and I think she knew she took it too far when she started spreading rumors.”
“That wasn’t fair of her, Stan.” Kenny said, putting a hand on Stan's cheek, making him look at him, “She was your older sister and you needed her, but she just left you in the dust and blamed you for something that wasn’t your fault.”
Stan nodded, reaching a hand up and over Kenny's, “I know, it just hurts. Like- I wish I could just call her, but, even if she didn’t change her number, I wouldn’t know what to say. The day she left for college… I didn’t even know she applied! She left a note on my door with an apology, saying she was a coward because she couldn’t face me. She wanted out of that house, and, for what it’s worth, I’m glad she got that… even if it meant she had to leave me behind.”
Kenny could feel the way he was leaning, his whole body relaxing against him. He shifted them so they could lay against the pillow, pulling the covers to their shoulder as Stan continued to hold Kenny close.
“The more I think back to it, the more I realize it was our mom that really held us together.” He whispered, “And it was Randy who tore us apart. My mom never really found out about it, but it’s not like she was home enough to put the pieces together,” The tears flowed like a river from Stan's eyes, “The more I think about it, the more I realize she wasn’t around for much of anything.”
“Stan-”
“She didn’t know Randy hit me, she didn’t know that me and Shelley had to clean him up when he got home bloody, she just… wasn’t there .”
“I’m so sorry, Stan.”
“I was just a kid, Ken… Why? Why would he-” He choked, biting his lip as he covered his mouth with a whimper following shortly.
“I don’t… I don’t know. I can’t make sense of why someone would want to do this to their kid.”
“It was easier when I thought I deserved it.”
“You didn’t-”
“I know… I didn’t deserve any of it, but sometimes I pretend I did. Gives him more of a reason to act the way he did so I don’t have to get stuck asking ‘ why ’, you know?”
Kenny frowned, brushing the hair away from his face, thumb rubbing against his cheek, “Yeah, I do.”
“Sometimes I think you’re the only one that does.”
Kenny chuckled, “I fear you’ve already said that before.”
Stan smiled, cuddling himself against Kenny's chest, eyes heavy as sleep started to hold him in comforting arms, “Then you should know that it’s true…”