Last edited chapter before I pick this up again. Or try to. YAY.

Disclaimer: Matt and Trey own South Park. They did "Imaginationland." LOL I see what you did there. 3 Anywhizzy in the flippity-floppity-flooozy-hizzouse, this disclaimer is also brought to you by Gatorade, which has nothing to do with this fanfic. The author is property of someone. Maybe.

Anyway, shall we? We shall, yes.

To say he was surprised to see Craig would be an understatement; Stan was floored. But there Craig was, not threatening to kill him, trying to start up some sort of conversation. Stan didn't trust it, but there wasn't much he could do about it except rise to his feet and walk alongside Craig to one of the tables in the back. They took seats and stared each other down. For a moment, Stan thought that they could have had the potential to be spitting images of each other, maybe in the right clothes mistaken from the back, but Stan's face was more effeminate and Craig's only marring feature was bad teeth, something he tried to hide at times.

They ordered a round of drinks. Stan's sixth, Craig's first. In the background, the Rolling Stones "You Can't Always Get What You Want" faded into Keith Urban's "Nobody Drinks Alone." Stan downed half the bottle in a few large gulps.

"We need to talk," Craig reiterated, taking a small sip of his.

"So you said."

Craig fidgeted, hands moving beneath the table before he finally sat on them, probably in attempt to keep from flipping Stan off. By that point, Stan was too drowsy to care. "You know," Craig began, "I really hated you. And I think you got what you deserve from the guys bullying you… but I was wrong. I shouldn't have fucked you. Not like that when I was angry."

So eloquent. Stan finished his drink and lifted his hand for another.

"I mean it. I'm sorry. Not that it makes things better, but-"

"Why are you apolo—apologizing?" Stan caught himself fumbling. He took a deep breath. "Are you looking for another fuck?"

"No. I wanted to apologize."


"I told you, I felt bad."

"You know what I think? I think that's bullshit," Stan said as he pulled the beer to his lips. Usually Stan preferred to think that he took after his mother, but his drinking habits mirrored his father's. This time warranted an excuse. He wanted to forget. Needed to.

"You've been messed up since then. And I talked with Tweek and Clyde and they thought I should apologize as well. So, here I am. Apologizing."

"You should take that apology and shove it up your rectum. Bitch."

Craig blinked at Stan. "Great. I go out of my way to try and be nice to you, and you're wasted."

"Am not. Another!" he called to the bartender, not quite finished with the one on the table. Craig twitched. "You… you can apologize later if you realllly mean it. I mean, fuck. Probably you're- you're only apologizing because Tweek's not putting out."

"Leave him out of this," Craig growled. "You have beef with me? Sure. Fine. But keep Tweek out of it."

"Why? He was the reason this enti-whole mess started," Stan challenged.

"I'm not apologizing because he's not putting out. I'm apologizing because I did something wrong after you gave him a handjob."

"And he gave me a blowjob. Don't forget that," Stan added, leaning across the table. Craig was shaking in fury. Craig closed his eyes in a slow countdown.

"It's not that simple."

"Uh huh."

"I'm about ready to drag you to the motel and show you why I did what I did."

"Then do it," Stan challenged, shocked when he was pulled to his feet, Craig throwing cash on the table. Stan barely grabbed the bottles of beer, one of which he drained and dropped next to the garbage can where it broke and shattered, the other quickly brought to his lips.

Craig half-carried Stan toward the motel, pulling one of Stan's arms over his shoulders as they walked and wove side to side, Stan drinking and breaking into song.

"Hey, come on try a littttttle~

Nothing is forever~

There's got to be something better than in the middddddle~

But me and Cinderellaaa~

We put it all togetherrrrrr~

We can drive it home~

With one headliiiiiiight~~~"

"Would you fucking shut up?" Craig hissed. "No one wants to hear you butcher The Wallflowers."

"You know, it's like… it's like I'm the Cinderella."

Craig knocked the bottle from Stan's hand as he turned, grunting as he bent over and with a heave lifted Stan up and over his shoulder, ignoring the way he kicked and struggled to pull free.

"What the hell's wrong with him?" Kyle asked, head turning as the attention of the team was caught, or at least Jimmy, Token, Kyle, Cartman, Kenny, and Butters as they played hackey sack outside in the snow


"He's plastered. I'll bring him back to your room after I have a little chitchat with him."


Craig growled as he kicked at his motel door, Clyde opening it. "I swear to God, Marsh, when you sober up, I'm kicking your ass." And he carried Stan in, Clyde closing the door behind him, shutting the team out, even Kyle who watched silently.

Inside the room, Stan was dumped on the bed, almost instantly falling asleep. When he woke up, he found himself with his jeans around his ankles and in his underwear. The shower was on, Clyde standing outside it waiting his turn, Clyde sitting in a chair by the door. Stan groaned as he looked to himself. "Shit, you guys did rape me," he muttered, grunting as he pulled up his jeans.

"No. You had the brilliant idea to give Tweek your underwear as a replacement for what the Underpants Gnomes would steal," Craig mumbled.

"It's true," Clyde added. "Then you passed out before you could get your underwear off."

"Also true."

Stan sighed. "So what? Why the big secret conference crap?" He rubbed at his head.

"I wanted to apologize for what I did."

"Oh God, not this again," Stan moaned.

"If I weren't dating Tweek, I still probably would have done that to you since he's my friend. Even if it's wrong."

"Why? Because you have a hard on for him?" Stan spat bitterly.

Craig looked at Clyde who looked to the shower, then nodded. "Tweek," Craig began, and paused. "Tweek's been raped."

Immediately, Stan sobered up, hit with something harder than just a hangover. "What?"

Craig's lips pursed. Clyde continued in his stead. "We're sworn to secrecy on who but it's happened for awhile. There's a system that happens… did you kiss him?"

"What? No. I didn't."

"That was it then." Clyde exhaled. "He switches, becomes another person when he's not shown that someone cares about the action. So like, he might have consented when you were jerking him off, but going down on you was probably, to him, going down on somebody else."

"Jesus Christ," Stan murmured, hand moving to his mouth. "That's… dude, why didn't you tell anyone?"

"Sworn to secrecy."

"And you listened to that why? Don't either of you have any sense?"

"It's more complicated than you think. Just leave it like that," Clyde exhaled. "And for the love of God, don't tell anyone."

"He needs therapy or something."

Craig shifted his weight. "He does get therapy. And pills. Things to make him relax. To make him happy."

"Shouldn't they be doing something? He's just a spazz," Stan persisted.

"Drop it," Craig said, head turning to the bathroom door as the water from the shower turned off followed by an "Oh Jesus, I dropped the soap and there's no rope!"

Clyde sighed as he looked to Craig. "Permission?"

"It's cool."

And Clyde disappeared into the bathroom. "I'll get it. Go get dry," Clyde's voice said through the closed door.

Stan and Craig were left in silence.

"So…" Craig started.


"Will you accept my apology?"

Stan saw the bed, the floor, the pillow, tasted the linen, felt blood, felt cum, felt disgusting, felt gross, felt violated, humiliated, shower, stall, soap, shampoo, conditioner, nothing, nothing, nothing, cold, cold, so cold, faggot, it's not like you, Stan, Stanstanstanstan.

"Well?" Craig asked.

His mind went to Tweek. Tweek thinking Stan was someone else. Tweek thinking Stan was his assailant. Craig doing revenge, for Tweek. Craig regretting it.

Stan bolted to his feet. "I need to go," he said more suddenly, the room seeming to tilt on its side as he rose fumbling toward the door. Craig was on his feet, arm outstretched to help. Stan batted it away. "Get the fuck away from me."

"I apologized."

"That doesn't mean I need to accept!" Stan snapped, gripping the door, twisting it the wrong way before getting it right and pulling it open. He stepped out disoriented, shivering with the cold night air. Wherever they were, it definitely wasn't someplace warm, and probably not too far from home. He shuddered as he moved down the line of rooms, unsure of which was his.

"You'll freeze," Craig called.


Craig hesitated, then sighed. "Our door will be open for when you start freezing your balls off."

Stan started to pace. A gnawing bit at his stomach. Images came to his mind – Tweek. He hooked up with and helped Tweek relive a horror, something that Craig and Clyde knew about yet were too fucked up to tell anyone about it. Not the cops, not a teacher. They let it happen. They let it occur. Monsters, gnomes, strange things—were they just the product of PTSD?

Shivering, he walked past each window, peering through the tiny gaps of the curtains but nothing seemed familiar. He didn't know what time it was. The sky was black, ground starting to coat with snow. Rapidly falling. He sat on the ground underneath the overhang, knees pulls to his chest, arms wrapped around himself, rocking back and forth. It was so cold. So very cold. Just like the room. That night.

"Don't fuck with my friends."

His eyes squeezed shut as his shoulders shook in hard heaves, cries muted by the wind as tears formed in the corners of his eyes and rolled down his cheeks where they froze.

It was after an inch of snow accumulated on his body that any of the doors reopened.


Stan could barely open his eyes. "Kyle?"

"Jesus," Kyle said, in his pajamas and slippers as he ran out, arms moving around Stan's shoulders. "You're frozen stiff. We need to get you inside."


"It's okay. It's all right, now." With more of a strain than Craig had, Kyle lifted up Stan and carried him into the motel room, kicking the door shut behind him.

"Holy shit, dude," Kenny swore, immediately out of bed. Cartman blinked sleepily.

"What the Hell's going on? It's two-thirty in the fucking morning," he complained.

"Stan was in the snow all this time."

Stan sniffled, shivering although the warm air felt good against his skin. He was too numb to process being pulled to his feet, to the three bodies surrounding him. He thought he said no as they removed garment by garment off his frozen body, pealing the items away before carrying him into the bathroom and placing him in the bathtub. Warm water filled it, something that stung at first but then was comforting. He shivered. It was cold. So cold. Hands were on his body, rubbing him with soap and washcloths, warming. He liked the touch. The forms spoke but he couldn't make out words, finally closing his eyes as he let his body relax, opening them when he was pushed into an upright position, hands over his eyes as water was poured on his head. And as quickly as that started, it was over as he was pulled to his feet, six hands wrapping and patting him down with towels, then two moving away as a hairdryer was turned on. The hot air was exhilarating. So euphoric. He shuddered and leaned against one of the forms.

"Aw, dude's getting a stiffy. Fag," Cartman complained.

"Dude, shut the fuck up." Kenny.

"It's going to be okay, Stan. It'll be okay," Kyle murmured taking care as he lifted each of Stan's legs and worked them through pajama pants, sliding them up over his thighs and on his hips, careful with the waistband so it wouldn't scrape against the sensitive areas. Next were the arms that were put through the flannel top, buttons done carefully. Socks were rolled on his feet.

"Can you walk now?" Kyle asked, but Stan didn't answer, only leaned against Kyle as he took small steps, led to the closest bed that he pulled himself onto, wriggling to get beneath the covers. He felt warmth on each side of him and opened his eyes.

"A whole bed to myself? Shweeeeeet," Cartman said with glee.

Stan blinked a few times as he turned his head from side to side – Kenny with his arm wrapped around Stan's waist, Kyle's left hand seizing his own as the right moved over his stomach. Stan's eyelids felt heavy. Kenny was already breathing deeply, something which came with sleep. Soon he'd be under.

"Hey Kyle," Stan whispered softly.

"Stan, thank God…" he murmured, working to turn Stan on his side to face him, Kenny, in sleep, scooting to snuggle up behind Stan. It was cold, and their bodies were warm, so warm. "Stan, promise me you won't do that again. I was so scared."

"Kyle…" Stan whispered, that same tone as he tightened the hold on Kyle's hand, other arm moving to wrap around his waist, Kyle's arm wrapping around his own in response. "I'm sorry."

"Stan, just… just go back to the way you were before. This isn't like you. None of this is. You have me worrying around the clock."


"Please," Kyle begged, Stan's eyes starting to get heavy, and heavier, and heavy, and heavier.

"Hey Kyle?" he whispered.


"If you ever end up gay, you'd tell me, wouldn't you?"

Kyle was quiet for a moment and nodded. "You'd be the first I'd tell. Promise."

"Good," Stan murmured. "Good."

He shifted his weight, inclining his head toward his best friend. Kyle didn't budge. "Stan..?" he whispered. "Are you sure you want to do that?"

Stan paused mid-motion, lips already somewhat pursed. His expression relaxed and he settled back to the pillow. "Sorry."

Kyle exhaled and squeezed Stan tightly. "You'll thank me for stopping you when you're sober."

But Stan didn't, if not for anything than waking up to the sound of cameras, the blinding blinking lights of flashes, and chatter. "The hell-" he said before he felt movement on both sides of his body, Kenny offering a "Fuck off" before snuggling back up to the warmth of Stan's back, and Kyle bolting upright.

"Cartman, you son of a bitch!"

"You rich son of a bitch, you mean. I just made a hundred dollars off these guys for letting them take these pics. Ha, you'd think everyone in South Park was a fucking homo."

Stan would have loved to fight Cartman once more but it was Kyle who leapt from the bed, took off across the room, and tackled the other to the floor.

Fatigued, Stan shifted, turning so he faced Kenny, tugging the blankets up over their heads for warmth, arm wrapping around the blond's waist.

"What's wrong?" Kenny asked, worried.

"Nothing," Stan answered, gazing into another set of blue eyes. "Nothing at all," he added in a whisper moments before he felt lips against his own, this time not from his own initiation.

Comments are always nice, though obviously unnecessary. Hope you enjoyed and stay tuned for next time.