South Park: But He Knew Who I Was (30_tears prompt #22)
South Park
But He Knew Who I Was
Prompt #22, "A Great Sorrow"
PG
366 words
Approx Age: 17
Stan's grandfather is sick.
Please read the ending author's note.
But He Knew Who I Was
“He knew who I was,” Stan whimpered. “Not my n-name, I mean, but he a-always gets that wrong. I-isn’t it, like, if they’re r-really bad, they don’t know who you are?”
Kyle would’ve liked nothing more than to lie and agree that this was absolutely the case; he also knew how desperately Stan wanted to hear it. He couldn’t bring himself to, though─ he was almost damnably compelled to the truth. So he reached out his hand instead, stroking the length of Stan’s bangs from his forehead to his chin, making it easier to admit, “I really don’t know.”
“I know. I know.” Stan managed a single deep breath before his features collapsed again. “H-he forgot that gr-gr─” he tried to swallow back a sob, and the noise that replaced it sounded like gagging. Kyle moved closer, smoothing the blanket down over Stan’s hip, finding any excuse for physical contact. Stan swallowed, shook his head miserably, and tried again: “He forgot that Grandma was dead.”
The words came out like cannonfire and Stan turned and pressed his face into the pillow. “Oh, God,” he sobbed. “I c-c… K-kyle, I…”
Kyle shushed him gently, abandoning all pretenses of personal distance and pressing up next to Stan like a cat hunting for warmth. An instant after he’d finally got his arms around Stan’s shoulders, though, Stan shot up, gasping, his hands clutching at his chest. “I c-can’t,” he panted, struggling to sit up. “I can’t…”
Only when he was finally sitting cross-legged, his head bent down into his hands, did Stan begin to breathe again. Kyle hovered at his side, rubbing vague patterns in the fabric of his shirt.
“It’s okay,” he soothed, regretting the words the instant they left his lips. It wasn’t possible for any other three syllables to be quite as meaningless as those.
“No it isn’t, dude,” Stan bawled, each breath seeming the trophy of a hard fought battle, and expelled just as violently, as though his lungs couldn’t hold it.
“No, it isn’t. I’m sorry. It’s not.” He lay his head against Stan’s shoulder, sighing. “I meant it’s okay to feel it,” he whispered, and Stan let himself be pulled into Kyle’s arms.
Please note: A few years ago, I wrote slash story with the theme of suicide, inspired by a real life event. I received an extraordinarily scathing email from someone who had read it and was “appalled” that I would take such a serious issue and make it into “a cheap excuse to slash”. I will never forget this email because it also genuinely hurt me that she hadn’t stopped to think I might be channeling real life experiences and the fact that my channel was slash fanfic had nothing to do with it. So I would like to put it on the record that, for better or worse, all of my more serious stories are inspired by my real life. Please feel free to critique my writing, style, grammar, talent, etc, but please do not question the authenticity of the emotions. Just because it’s slash doesn’t mean it’s a “cheap excuse”.
I know I’m probably overreacting with this disclaimer, but I’m just covering my ass so I don’t have to e-choke any bitches later on.
But He Knew Who I Was
Prompt #22, "A Great Sorrow"
PG
366 words
Approx Age: 17
Stan's grandfather is sick.
Please read the ending author's note.
But He Knew Who I Was
“He knew who I was,” Stan whimpered. “Not my n-name, I mean, but he a-always gets that wrong. I-isn’t it, like, if they’re r-really bad, they don’t know who you are?”
Kyle would’ve liked nothing more than to lie and agree that this was absolutely the case; he also knew how desperately Stan wanted to hear it. He couldn’t bring himself to, though─ he was almost damnably compelled to the truth. So he reached out his hand instead, stroking the length of Stan’s bangs from his forehead to his chin, making it easier to admit, “I really don’t know.”
“I know. I know.” Stan managed a single deep breath before his features collapsed again. “H-he forgot that gr-gr─” he tried to swallow back a sob, and the noise that replaced it sounded like gagging. Kyle moved closer, smoothing the blanket down over Stan’s hip, finding any excuse for physical contact. Stan swallowed, shook his head miserably, and tried again: “He forgot that Grandma was dead.”
The words came out like cannonfire and Stan turned and pressed his face into the pillow. “Oh, God,” he sobbed. “I c-c… K-kyle, I…”
Kyle shushed him gently, abandoning all pretenses of personal distance and pressing up next to Stan like a cat hunting for warmth. An instant after he’d finally got his arms around Stan’s shoulders, though, Stan shot up, gasping, his hands clutching at his chest. “I c-can’t,” he panted, struggling to sit up. “I can’t…”
Only when he was finally sitting cross-legged, his head bent down into his hands, did Stan begin to breathe again. Kyle hovered at his side, rubbing vague patterns in the fabric of his shirt.
“It’s okay,” he soothed, regretting the words the instant they left his lips. It wasn’t possible for any other three syllables to be quite as meaningless as those.
“No it isn’t, dude,” Stan bawled, each breath seeming the trophy of a hard fought battle, and expelled just as violently, as though his lungs couldn’t hold it.
“No, it isn’t. I’m sorry. It’s not.” He lay his head against Stan’s shoulder, sighing. “I meant it’s okay to feel it,” he whispered, and Stan let himself be pulled into Kyle’s arms.
Please note: A few years ago, I wrote slash story with the theme of suicide, inspired by a real life event. I received an extraordinarily scathing email from someone who had read it and was “appalled” that I would take such a serious issue and make it into “a cheap excuse to slash”. I will never forget this email because it also genuinely hurt me that she hadn’t stopped to think I might be channeling real life experiences and the fact that my channel was slash fanfic had nothing to do with it. So I would like to put it on the record that, for better or worse, all of my more serious stories are inspired by my real life. Please feel free to critique my writing, style, grammar, talent, etc, but please do not question the authenticity of the emotions. Just because it’s slash doesn’t mean it’s a “cheap excuse”.
I know I’m probably overreacting with this disclaimer, but I’m just covering my ass so I don’t have to e-choke any bitches later on.