SP Fanfic: Matrosha, Pt. 1
I've finished the first part of my Kyle fic, and I seriously doubt that anyone on FFN will find it to their liking, since genre labels and summary word count limits prevent me from giving an apt description of the story, plus the sharp divide between slashers and anti-slashers on the site (as this is an ambiguous pairing fic).
But, well. It's just one of those stories that demands to be written. And so there it is.
I'll post it here in case anyone actually cares to read it--
Title: Matroshka [Part One: Flip Towards the Sun]
Rating: R
Genre: Drama/Angst
Notes/Warnings: The focal point is Kyle's experience with LSD, as inspired by the episode "Smug Alert." Mostly one-sided confusion, may or may not end up as explicitly Stan/Kyle in later chapters. Largely inspired by Dredg's "Catch Without Arms" album.
Word Count: Somewhere around 3000.
Archived: FFN
All he had asked for was half a hit.
He didn't know anything about dosages. He didn't even know how much it would take to reach threshold effects for someone of his body weight, or what sort of effects to expect. He had heard that acid caused hallucinations; that was the extent of his knowledge on the substance, and he had told his new "friends" as much.
They didn't explain much about it. All he needed to know was that it would take a while for the drug to take hold, and that it was probably not a good idea to go anywhere for the next several hours.
"How long is several hours?" Kyle asked, curious fingers tracing the edges of the bit of paper one of the kids had handed to him. His glance fell sideways to his little brother, who seemed to take a great interest in the designs on the squares in his hands.
"Depends. Could be five hours, could be twelve." Brian raised an eyebrow. "Does it really matter?"
Did it? He wanted to think that it did, that he could still maintain some level of responsibility in the situation. And yet, he didn't. He didn't want to think about it, or about anything that had happened recently. Why did they have to leave South Park? Just because his dad thought that he needed to be with people who shared the same views as him, who drove hybrids and loved the smell of their own farts? That wasn't even Gerald Broflovski at all, it was just the persona he'd taken on as the result of yet another of his many, often ridiculous mid-life crises.
They didn't belong here; they belonged in that stupid redneck Colorado town. That was their home, that place where anything was expected and nothing was normal, where one needed to question his insanity on a daily basis, where Cartman spewed his assholic comments and Kenny defied the finality of death... but most importantly, it was where his best friend was. Everything else he could tolerate in that town, some days less so than others, but it was Stan that made it Kyle's home.
There was no Stan in San Francisco. This was not home, and it never would be.
Kyle slipped the paper into his mouth.
Minutes ticked by; nothing happened. As half an hour came and went, so too did the other children, their parents having come to collect them when news of an approaching storm urged all visitors from the new Broflovski residence. The sky didn't look particularly ominous yet, at least not as far as Kyle could see from the window over Ike's bed in their shared room, but he suspected it would darken considerably over the next few hours.
What was the weather like back home? Was it storming there as well?
A small, secretive smile crossed Kyle's lips.
"Um... could you come over?" Stan's voice sounded cracked over the phone.
"I have to ask my mom, but yeah, sure. What's wrong, dude? Shelley isn't, you know...? Is she?" Kyle recalled Stan mentioning that his parents were out of town for the weekend, leaving Stan's sister in charge, and that never boded well for the boy.
"She's... not here. Said she was going to some guy's house, threatened me more than usual if I told mom and dad." From the sound of it, she'd already more than threatened him. "I don't think she's coming back tonight."
"Are you sure you wouldn't rather come over here?"
Stan was silent for a long time, before finally answering almost too quietly to hear. "Kyle, please..."
Within minutes, Kyle had thrown some clothes into his backpack and yelled to his parents where he was going as he swung the door shut behind him, not waiting for a response. He ignored the torrential rain and howling winds as he sprinted to his best friend's house, with frequent flashes of lightning illuminating his way.
He didn't remember if he knocked before throwing open the door. He didn't remember to kick off his sopping shoes before racing up to Stan's room and nearly slipping on the stairs. But the one thing he would remember with painful clarity later was the sight that met him.
Stan was huddled under his desk, face partially hidden by his hat which he'd pulled down in an attempt to cover his ears. It might have even looked silly, if it weren't for the barely audible whimpers that escaped him as he chewed on his bottom lip.
Kyle's stomach clenched as he ventured cautiously into the room. "Stan...?"
The boy made a choking noise, as though trying too hard to swallow the pathetic noises coming from him. He made no motion to move from where he was, though he did lift the edge of his hat to peer up at his friend. "Uh, h-hey dude."
Without invitation, Kyle climbed under the desk next to Stan and pulled him into a hug. He couldn't help but wonder at the situation... was it the storm that made his friend like this? Was it Shelley? Or was it something else entirely?
But the reason didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was that Stan was upset about something, and Kyle was there with him.
"Dude... you're soaking wet."
"Well, yeah, I did just run through a storm."
"You're gonna get sick." Stan swiped the ushanka from Kyle's head before he could protest.
"Eh, I'll live." But he didn't want to get Stan sick, so he removed his jacket and kicked off his sneakers. "Better?"
Stan nodded, smiling. "Thanks, Kyle."
Kyle never did ask what it was exactly that had upset Stan so badly. But after that incident, whenever there was a storm, he'd make sure that Stan wasn't alone.
Was Stan alone right now?
Ike started making weird little burbling noises, which pulled Kyle from his thoughts. At least he and Ike weren't alone, even if they wouldn't be much help to one another once the acid started taking effect, and it seemed to already be doing something to Ike. But then the boy jumped up with a shriek and dashed to the door.
"Ike, get back here! Don't wander away like-" but his brother cut him off, quickly explaining he needed to pee, and disappeared down the hall...
Leaving Kyle alone.
He tried to calm himself, to not give into the worry that wracked his nerves, but he couldn't help shuddering. His eyes wandered back to the window, desperate for something to focus on. That was when he noticed it.
The sky was bleeding.
The clouds were dark and heavy, seeming as though they could drop from the sky at any moment and crush the world below. They pulsated with an eerie, fiery glow, swirled in upon themselves, rolled and churned and filled the air with a deafening roar.
Kyle wasn't sure at first if the acid was making him see this, or if a funnel cloud was about to descend and ravage the city. He tried to turn away from the sight, but only managed to fall off his bed in the process; he cried out in surprise, though it didn't really hurt all that much.
The only thought he could cling to in that moment was home. He wanted to go back, back to Colorado, back to Stan.
Stan... Stan would be so disappointed if he knew what Kyle had done. Sure, they'd tried smoking once, but who wouldn't when faced with the danger of growing up to be just as lame as the people in that anti-smoking campaign that spoke at their school? But even if they hadn't ended up burning down the school, they still wouldn't have tried it again any time soon - it tasted horrible and made them gag. And even when they joined the hippies that took over the town, they'd never tried their pot or acid-laced water.
They'd always been together when faced with these decisions, and now, now that Kyle was alone, he'd been so quick to accept the offer of an escape.
Did that make him weak? Maybe...
The sounds from the sky slowly faded, until they were little more than a buzz; neither annoying nor pleasant, but he couldn't ignore it, either. He craned his neck, still sprawled on the floor, to see if the storm clouds had gone away.
No, they were still there, swirling manic patterns through the sky. Only now, the sun poked through their bottom, like a fat honeybee, just hovering there. The clouds must have been hiding the wings.
Up became down, down became up, both became meaningless and vertigo reigned. Still the sun sat there, below and above, as if waiting for him to fall up into its fiery core and burn alive.
By that point, Kyle was sure that he was tripping, but he wasn't sure that he was enjoying it so much.
It was a strange sensation, as though he weren't quite certain where his body ended and the incorporeal world around him began, if there even was that distinction to be made anymore. Was he really still sitting on the floor? Where was he; what was he doing? But then, it didn't really matter, because the bright swirling shapes - no longer buzzing, now singing and chattering - offered him company, and as long as he wasn't alone, everything was okay.
But... but he was alone! Stan? Where was Stan? He needed Stan!
He looked around, panicked, searching, hoping to turn the right way and catch sight of who he was looking for. His eyes (were they really his eyes?) turned up and out the window once more; there was that honeybee sun, still waiting for the world to crane its neck upward and see it there, hovering, waiting for the moment when everything would freeze and the universe would flip inwards upon itself and stop.
But he had looked at it. So did that mean he had stopped? Was he frozen in time, apart from everything else still moving at breakneck speed around him, or was his action enough to make it all freeze?
For being frozen, he sure didn't feel as cold as he should have been; he was more damp than anything else. Why was he wet? Did he get outside, was it raining already? Or... hadn't it just been storming? Yeah, yeah, that was it. He'd been out in it, that's right; ran right through that rain and thunder, got soaked to the bone, but it didn't matter, there was something more important than that. That was why he was there - why he was there, huddled under Stan's desk and holding onto the other boy for dear life, just hoping that somehow his arms could make him understand that everything would be okay, and whatever had upset him, well, Kyle would kick its ass, because that's what best friends did.
Even with his jacket and shoes off, he was dripping all over Stan's carpet; he still wasn't all that cold, but he could feel it creeping up his spine with the threat of an inevitable cold. Damn, Stan had been right about that. He shivered a little, but beyond that, tried to ignore the butterfly-nauseous feeling.
But Stan noticed. He noticed the shivering of the arms wrapped so tightly around him - it would have been hard not to - and looked up into Kyle's eyes, obviously concerned, but then looked away and sniffed.
"Dammit, I knew you'd get sick. It's my fault... shouldn't have asked you to come over."
"Fuck that, dude. 'Sides, it's not a big deal." He'd rather get a little sick than have left Stan alone while upset, but it sounded so corny. Stan could figure that out anyway.
Stan just scowled. "Like hell it's not. C'mon, you gotta get changed before you really get sick." He squirmed in Kyle's grip, trying to tug the other's shirt off since Kyle was being stubborn.
“"Dude, no, get off!" He didn't mean for it to come out so whiny, but it did, and he groaned.
Stan's frown eased into a smirk. "Don't be such a bitch, Kyle," he teased mercilessly as his hands snaked up under the drenched cotton tee. Man, his hands were so damn warm. Kyle flinched and tried to pull away; he wasn't normally so ticklish, but he just needed to get away from those fingers.
"Quit it!"
"Nuh uh." By this point, Stan was grinning and all but laughing, and though Kyle was thrilled that his friend's earlier mood had vanished, he still wanted him off of him. He tried pushing Stan away, but he just swung back around and used that momentum to knock Kyle over. The redhead grunted and rolled his eyes. His plans for tonight had definitely not included being pinned down by his best friend, who was still trying to tear his shirt off.
He finally wrestled it up and over Kyle's head, who simply glared up at those amused blue eyes. "I can change myself, thanks."
"But you weren't gonna. So I had to." There was something in Stan's eyes at that moment that Kyle wasn't too sure he liked...
And then Stan pounced, if it could even be called that from his position, his fingers poking and prodding at the clammy skin beneath, and oh god, how it tickled. Kyle writhed and shrieked, begging incoherent mercy, but Stan only grinned wider and carried on with his torment.
"Staaan!" he whined, and this time he didn't care that he was whining, he just wanted the goddamned tickling to stop.
Finally Stan let up, though still laughing at his friend's state. Kyle was beyond flustered; his breathing ragged and labored, muscles still twitching from the assault, blood pounding in his neck and ears and face.
"Feeling any warmer?"
"Yeah, thanks, asshole."
Stan snickered. "Sorry, dude." He rested a hand on Kyle's shoulder, a reassuring gesture. Kyle was still having some trouble catching his breath; they both stayed there, just as they were. Stan's thumb started making little circular motions, kneading the tense muscles hidden under skin and sweat, and soon Kyle released a soft sigh.
And then, the wind shrieked.
No... that wasn't the wind. It was the colors, the patterns, and suddenly Kyle remembered that he wasn’t where he thought he was. But Stan was still there, still hovering over him, smiling, and it felt so real even though he knew it couldn't possibly be real because Stan was in Colorado and he, he was in fucking San Francisco.
The honeybee sun was watching, waiting, making him see and feel things that he knew weren't real, and he didn't know whether to hate it or thank it, to laugh or scream or cry.
"Ssh, Kyle, don't cry." Stan - the not-really-there Stan - leaned down and whispered into his ear, both hands now on Kyle's heaving shoulders, in some attempt to calm him. Those hands rubbed gently, soothingly, everywhere they could reach. As they moved from arms to chest, the soft whispering ceased and warm breath gave way to warm lips, tongue, teeth, and Kyle couldn't help but moan and whimper.
He knew it wasn't real. And yet he wanted it to be, and for that, though wonderful as it felt, his stomach flipped into knots.
Hands, mouth - everywhere - and Kyle never wanted it to stop.
But time had stopped, and it needed to start up again. The honeybee sun's freezing power could only last for so long. Down, down the bee spiraled, and soon it was no longer a bee but a spaceship, and Kyle could only reason that it had come to take him far, far away, because he'd been the one to freeze the world.
Out of the ship stepped a figure, clad entirely in orange with a helmet protecting his face. Was this astronaut the one who'd come to take him away? He must have been, because he started calling his name, over and over again, and Kyle thought he said something in response, but he didn't recognize the words spilling over his tongue; perhaps it was an alien language.
And then, for an instant, all light in the universe ceased to be. Everything ceased to be. The sun, the astronaut, even Kyle himself.
When the light returned, the astronaut was gone, and the spaceship had transformed into a bus.
A light pressure on Kyle's arm pulled him back to reality; he peered down with sleep-crusted eyes to see Ike leaning against his side, snoozing away. Across the aisle, his parents also slept heavily.
How had he gotten there? What was going on? Where were they going?
He twisted around in his seat and saw in the next row back a middle-aged man and a woman whom Kyle presumed to be his wife. Both were idly chatting with each other in hushed tones. It seemed as though everyone else on the bus was fast asleep, as it was the middle of the night. "Excuse me... excuse me, sir, ma'am? Do you know where this bus is headed?"
The couple exchanged a wary glance. Then the woman spoke softly, nervously, "I... think Colorado. Denver, yes, yes, that’s right."
Something about her demeanor unnerved Kyle a great deal. "Is, um, is there something wrong?"
"Don't you know, boy?" the man asked, incredulous. "Everyone's left town. That storm's likely to kill anything left in its path."
The storm... That's right. Kyle had forgotten all about it. Had it really become so dangerous? But that didn't matter anymore. The only thing that mattered was that he was going home.
But then... why did he feel so uneasy?
But, well. It's just one of those stories that demands to be written. And so there it is.
I'll post it here in case anyone actually cares to read it--
Title: Matroshka [Part One: Flip Towards the Sun]
Rating: R
Genre: Drama/Angst
Notes/Warnings: The focal point is Kyle's experience with LSD, as inspired by the episode "Smug Alert." Mostly one-sided confusion, may or may not end up as explicitly Stan/Kyle in later chapters. Largely inspired by Dredg's "Catch Without Arms" album.
Word Count: Somewhere around 3000.
Archived: FFN
All he had asked for was half a hit.
He didn't know anything about dosages. He didn't even know how much it would take to reach threshold effects for someone of his body weight, or what sort of effects to expect. He had heard that acid caused hallucinations; that was the extent of his knowledge on the substance, and he had told his new "friends" as much.
They didn't explain much about it. All he needed to know was that it would take a while for the drug to take hold, and that it was probably not a good idea to go anywhere for the next several hours.
"How long is several hours?" Kyle asked, curious fingers tracing the edges of the bit of paper one of the kids had handed to him. His glance fell sideways to his little brother, who seemed to take a great interest in the designs on the squares in his hands.
"Depends. Could be five hours, could be twelve." Brian raised an eyebrow. "Does it really matter?"
Did it? He wanted to think that it did, that he could still maintain some level of responsibility in the situation. And yet, he didn't. He didn't want to think about it, or about anything that had happened recently. Why did they have to leave South Park? Just because his dad thought that he needed to be with people who shared the same views as him, who drove hybrids and loved the smell of their own farts? That wasn't even Gerald Broflovski at all, it was just the persona he'd taken on as the result of yet another of his many, often ridiculous mid-life crises.
They didn't belong here; they belonged in that stupid redneck Colorado town. That was their home, that place where anything was expected and nothing was normal, where one needed to question his insanity on a daily basis, where Cartman spewed his assholic comments and Kenny defied the finality of death... but most importantly, it was where his best friend was. Everything else he could tolerate in that town, some days less so than others, but it was Stan that made it Kyle's home.
There was no Stan in San Francisco. This was not home, and it never would be.
Kyle slipped the paper into his mouth.
Minutes ticked by; nothing happened. As half an hour came and went, so too did the other children, their parents having come to collect them when news of an approaching storm urged all visitors from the new Broflovski residence. The sky didn't look particularly ominous yet, at least not as far as Kyle could see from the window over Ike's bed in their shared room, but he suspected it would darken considerably over the next few hours.
What was the weather like back home? Was it storming there as well?
A small, secretive smile crossed Kyle's lips.
"Um... could you come over?" Stan's voice sounded cracked over the phone.
"I have to ask my mom, but yeah, sure. What's wrong, dude? Shelley isn't, you know...? Is she?" Kyle recalled Stan mentioning that his parents were out of town for the weekend, leaving Stan's sister in charge, and that never boded well for the boy.
"She's... not here. Said she was going to some guy's house, threatened me more than usual if I told mom and dad." From the sound of it, she'd already more than threatened him. "I don't think she's coming back tonight."
"Are you sure you wouldn't rather come over here?"
Stan was silent for a long time, before finally answering almost too quietly to hear. "Kyle, please..."
Within minutes, Kyle had thrown some clothes into his backpack and yelled to his parents where he was going as he swung the door shut behind him, not waiting for a response. He ignored the torrential rain and howling winds as he sprinted to his best friend's house, with frequent flashes of lightning illuminating his way.
He didn't remember if he knocked before throwing open the door. He didn't remember to kick off his sopping shoes before racing up to Stan's room and nearly slipping on the stairs. But the one thing he would remember with painful clarity later was the sight that met him.
Stan was huddled under his desk, face partially hidden by his hat which he'd pulled down in an attempt to cover his ears. It might have even looked silly, if it weren't for the barely audible whimpers that escaped him as he chewed on his bottom lip.
Kyle's stomach clenched as he ventured cautiously into the room. "Stan...?"
The boy made a choking noise, as though trying too hard to swallow the pathetic noises coming from him. He made no motion to move from where he was, though he did lift the edge of his hat to peer up at his friend. "Uh, h-hey dude."
Without invitation, Kyle climbed under the desk next to Stan and pulled him into a hug. He couldn't help but wonder at the situation... was it the storm that made his friend like this? Was it Shelley? Or was it something else entirely?
But the reason didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was that Stan was upset about something, and Kyle was there with him.
"Dude... you're soaking wet."
"Well, yeah, I did just run through a storm."
"You're gonna get sick." Stan swiped the ushanka from Kyle's head before he could protest.
"Eh, I'll live." But he didn't want to get Stan sick, so he removed his jacket and kicked off his sneakers. "Better?"
Stan nodded, smiling. "Thanks, Kyle."
Kyle never did ask what it was exactly that had upset Stan so badly. But after that incident, whenever there was a storm, he'd make sure that Stan wasn't alone.
Was Stan alone right now?
Ike started making weird little burbling noises, which pulled Kyle from his thoughts. At least he and Ike weren't alone, even if they wouldn't be much help to one another once the acid started taking effect, and it seemed to already be doing something to Ike. But then the boy jumped up with a shriek and dashed to the door.
"Ike, get back here! Don't wander away like-" but his brother cut him off, quickly explaining he needed to pee, and disappeared down the hall...
Leaving Kyle alone.
He tried to calm himself, to not give into the worry that wracked his nerves, but he couldn't help shuddering. His eyes wandered back to the window, desperate for something to focus on. That was when he noticed it.
The sky was bleeding.
The clouds were dark and heavy, seeming as though they could drop from the sky at any moment and crush the world below. They pulsated with an eerie, fiery glow, swirled in upon themselves, rolled and churned and filled the air with a deafening roar.
Kyle wasn't sure at first if the acid was making him see this, or if a funnel cloud was about to descend and ravage the city. He tried to turn away from the sight, but only managed to fall off his bed in the process; he cried out in surprise, though it didn't really hurt all that much.
The only thought he could cling to in that moment was home. He wanted to go back, back to Colorado, back to Stan.
Stan... Stan would be so disappointed if he knew what Kyle had done. Sure, they'd tried smoking once, but who wouldn't when faced with the danger of growing up to be just as lame as the people in that anti-smoking campaign that spoke at their school? But even if they hadn't ended up burning down the school, they still wouldn't have tried it again any time soon - it tasted horrible and made them gag. And even when they joined the hippies that took over the town, they'd never tried their pot or acid-laced water.
They'd always been together when faced with these decisions, and now, now that Kyle was alone, he'd been so quick to accept the offer of an escape.
Did that make him weak? Maybe...
The sounds from the sky slowly faded, until they were little more than a buzz; neither annoying nor pleasant, but he couldn't ignore it, either. He craned his neck, still sprawled on the floor, to see if the storm clouds had gone away.
No, they were still there, swirling manic patterns through the sky. Only now, the sun poked through their bottom, like a fat honeybee, just hovering there. The clouds must have been hiding the wings.
Up became down, down became up, both became meaningless and vertigo reigned. Still the sun sat there, below and above, as if waiting for him to fall up into its fiery core and burn alive.
By that point, Kyle was sure that he was tripping, but he wasn't sure that he was enjoying it so much.
It was a strange sensation, as though he weren't quite certain where his body ended and the incorporeal world around him began, if there even was that distinction to be made anymore. Was he really still sitting on the floor? Where was he; what was he doing? But then, it didn't really matter, because the bright swirling shapes - no longer buzzing, now singing and chattering - offered him company, and as long as he wasn't alone, everything was okay.
But... but he was alone! Stan? Where was Stan? He needed Stan!
He looked around, panicked, searching, hoping to turn the right way and catch sight of who he was looking for. His eyes (were they really his eyes?) turned up and out the window once more; there was that honeybee sun, still waiting for the world to crane its neck upward and see it there, hovering, waiting for the moment when everything would freeze and the universe would flip inwards upon itself and stop.
But he had looked at it. So did that mean he had stopped? Was he frozen in time, apart from everything else still moving at breakneck speed around him, or was his action enough to make it all freeze?
For being frozen, he sure didn't feel as cold as he should have been; he was more damp than anything else. Why was he wet? Did he get outside, was it raining already? Or... hadn't it just been storming? Yeah, yeah, that was it. He'd been out in it, that's right; ran right through that rain and thunder, got soaked to the bone, but it didn't matter, there was something more important than that. That was why he was there - why he was there, huddled under Stan's desk and holding onto the other boy for dear life, just hoping that somehow his arms could make him understand that everything would be okay, and whatever had upset him, well, Kyle would kick its ass, because that's what best friends did.
Even with his jacket and shoes off, he was dripping all over Stan's carpet; he still wasn't all that cold, but he could feel it creeping up his spine with the threat of an inevitable cold. Damn, Stan had been right about that. He shivered a little, but beyond that, tried to ignore the butterfly-nauseous feeling.
But Stan noticed. He noticed the shivering of the arms wrapped so tightly around him - it would have been hard not to - and looked up into Kyle's eyes, obviously concerned, but then looked away and sniffed.
"Dammit, I knew you'd get sick. It's my fault... shouldn't have asked you to come over."
"Fuck that, dude. 'Sides, it's not a big deal." He'd rather get a little sick than have left Stan alone while upset, but it sounded so corny. Stan could figure that out anyway.
Stan just scowled. "Like hell it's not. C'mon, you gotta get changed before you really get sick." He squirmed in Kyle's grip, trying to tug the other's shirt off since Kyle was being stubborn.
“"Dude, no, get off!" He didn't mean for it to come out so whiny, but it did, and he groaned.
Stan's frown eased into a smirk. "Don't be such a bitch, Kyle," he teased mercilessly as his hands snaked up under the drenched cotton tee. Man, his hands were so damn warm. Kyle flinched and tried to pull away; he wasn't normally so ticklish, but he just needed to get away from those fingers.
"Quit it!"
"Nuh uh." By this point, Stan was grinning and all but laughing, and though Kyle was thrilled that his friend's earlier mood had vanished, he still wanted him off of him. He tried pushing Stan away, but he just swung back around and used that momentum to knock Kyle over. The redhead grunted and rolled his eyes. His plans for tonight had definitely not included being pinned down by his best friend, who was still trying to tear his shirt off.
He finally wrestled it up and over Kyle's head, who simply glared up at those amused blue eyes. "I can change myself, thanks."
"But you weren't gonna. So I had to." There was something in Stan's eyes at that moment that Kyle wasn't too sure he liked...
And then Stan pounced, if it could even be called that from his position, his fingers poking and prodding at the clammy skin beneath, and oh god, how it tickled. Kyle writhed and shrieked, begging incoherent mercy, but Stan only grinned wider and carried on with his torment.
"Staaan!" he whined, and this time he didn't care that he was whining, he just wanted the goddamned tickling to stop.
Finally Stan let up, though still laughing at his friend's state. Kyle was beyond flustered; his breathing ragged and labored, muscles still twitching from the assault, blood pounding in his neck and ears and face.
"Feeling any warmer?"
"Yeah, thanks, asshole."
Stan snickered. "Sorry, dude." He rested a hand on Kyle's shoulder, a reassuring gesture. Kyle was still having some trouble catching his breath; they both stayed there, just as they were. Stan's thumb started making little circular motions, kneading the tense muscles hidden under skin and sweat, and soon Kyle released a soft sigh.
And then, the wind shrieked.
No... that wasn't the wind. It was the colors, the patterns, and suddenly Kyle remembered that he wasn’t where he thought he was. But Stan was still there, still hovering over him, smiling, and it felt so real even though he knew it couldn't possibly be real because Stan was in Colorado and he, he was in fucking San Francisco.
The honeybee sun was watching, waiting, making him see and feel things that he knew weren't real, and he didn't know whether to hate it or thank it, to laugh or scream or cry.
"Ssh, Kyle, don't cry." Stan - the not-really-there Stan - leaned down and whispered into his ear, both hands now on Kyle's heaving shoulders, in some attempt to calm him. Those hands rubbed gently, soothingly, everywhere they could reach. As they moved from arms to chest, the soft whispering ceased and warm breath gave way to warm lips, tongue, teeth, and Kyle couldn't help but moan and whimper.
He knew it wasn't real. And yet he wanted it to be, and for that, though wonderful as it felt, his stomach flipped into knots.
Hands, mouth - everywhere - and Kyle never wanted it to stop.
But time had stopped, and it needed to start up again. The honeybee sun's freezing power could only last for so long. Down, down the bee spiraled, and soon it was no longer a bee but a spaceship, and Kyle could only reason that it had come to take him far, far away, because he'd been the one to freeze the world.
Out of the ship stepped a figure, clad entirely in orange with a helmet protecting his face. Was this astronaut the one who'd come to take him away? He must have been, because he started calling his name, over and over again, and Kyle thought he said something in response, but he didn't recognize the words spilling over his tongue; perhaps it was an alien language.
And then, for an instant, all light in the universe ceased to be. Everything ceased to be. The sun, the astronaut, even Kyle himself.
When the light returned, the astronaut was gone, and the spaceship had transformed into a bus.
A light pressure on Kyle's arm pulled him back to reality; he peered down with sleep-crusted eyes to see Ike leaning against his side, snoozing away. Across the aisle, his parents also slept heavily.
How had he gotten there? What was going on? Where were they going?
He twisted around in his seat and saw in the next row back a middle-aged man and a woman whom Kyle presumed to be his wife. Both were idly chatting with each other in hushed tones. It seemed as though everyone else on the bus was fast asleep, as it was the middle of the night. "Excuse me... excuse me, sir, ma'am? Do you know where this bus is headed?"
The couple exchanged a wary glance. Then the woman spoke softly, nervously, "I... think Colorado. Denver, yes, yes, that’s right."
Something about her demeanor unnerved Kyle a great deal. "Is, um, is there something wrong?"
"Don't you know, boy?" the man asked, incredulous. "Everyone's left town. That storm's likely to kill anything left in its path."
The storm... That's right. Kyle had forgotten all about it. Had it really become so dangerous? But that didn't matter anymore. The only thing that mattered was that he was going home.
But then... why did he feel so uneasy?