Chapter Text
Leaning over the counter of the booth, Kyle gazed up at his best friend. “Hi.”
“Hi yourself.” Stan grinned and set down the box of prerolls in his hands. “What can I get you, adorable stranger?”
“Mm.” Kyle tried not to blush at being called ‘adorable’, but Stan looked surprised at his own words, so that was some consolation. “Depends, what do you have in there that isn’t flower or an edible?”
The Tegrity Farms booth at the local carnival was set up near the entrance of the fairgrounds, ready to welcome in any fairgoers who wanted to get a little buzz going before hitting the attractions. Unsurprisingly, it had been super popular earlier in the day, but closer to sunset, now that the adult crowd had drifted a few blocks over to Skeeter’s Wine Bar, Kyle was the only person in line for whatever they had to offer.
Randy was nowhere to be found either, probably off distracted by whatever bullshit he was into these days, so Stan and his sister were running the booth. Shelley popped over from the back.
“Pretzels are normal,” she said, sticking another case of brownies in the cooler. “But don’t get it with the cheese. That’s infused.”
Kyle laughed. “Gotcha. Where’s Jackass?”
Stan plucked a massive soft pretzel from the rack and plopped it into a cardstock boat. “Honestly? I have no idea. Hell, he could’ve slipped off to the bar with your dad for all I know. Any sauce?”
“You have any honey mustard?”
Shelley checked the condiment station. “No, sorry, is regular okay?”
But Stan grinned like a dumbass, a very cute dumbass. “Wait, hold up, gimme a sec.” And he reached into the front pocket of his apron and produced a few bright yellow plastic packets.
Now, Kyle may have been cold most of the day, March chill biting through his sweater since early in the morning, but now? He felt nothing but warmth. He burst into laughter, almost wanting to climb into the booth to give his friend a hug.
“DUDE! Why the hell do you just have honey mustard in your pocket?”
Stan shrugged. “I dunno. You like honey mustard.”
“Yeah, but you don’t.” It was true. Stan really didn’t like honey mustard, had made that clear on multiple occasions. But the fact that he literally kept some on his person JUST for Kyle? That was fucking adorable. Not that he’d ever say it out loud.
With a dimpled grin, Stan passed the sauce and the pretzel to Kyle, who slung his backpack forward and unzipped the front pocket. “How much do I owe you?”
“Nothin’.”
“Dude, seriously?”
“Yeah, man. It’s our “fuck you” to Randy. He gets to dick around and be an asshole instead of helping with the booth he makes us run? Our friends don’t pay.”
Shelley nodded and flashed her braces in a smile, reaching into her pocket and holding up a handful of joints. “I’m supplying half the senior class with weed, turdling.”
Kyle snorted. “Dude, you better have an up charge on that. Fuck your friends.””
She chuckled. “For real.”
Down in the front pocket of Kyle’s backpack, beside his wallet, was a black bag with his (as Cartman called it) “diabetic bitch shit” and the first aid kit that his mother insisted that he always have with him. He held up the bag. “You guys have a table in the back where I can do my insulin and crap?”
Stan, as usual, visibly paled at the very idea of his best friend testing his blood. “Aw, dude, do you have to?”
“I mean, yeah? Not like you have to watch.” It was actually pretty funny how squeamish Stan got sometimes, and Kyle would never fail to rip on him for it. “C’mon,” he teased, “I’ll start a timer and see how long it takes for you to throw up.”
“Dude, fuck you.”
A voice sounded behind him. A familiar one, and one whose owner definitely had a familiar face. “Can I join?”
Kenny McCormick was smirking at the two of them, still in his employee vest from the local GameStop.
Kyle rolled his eyes. “Jesus, Ken, not like that one ever gets old.”
Kenny ignored the sarcasm and tugged on a curl sticking out from under Kyle’s hat. “It totally doesn’t,” he agreed, “unlike you. You got another grey, babushka?”
Stan laughed while Kyle swatted Kenny away. “Dude, you’re gonna get your ass kicked.”
“He deserves it.”
“I deserve it.”
“Aaaannnnnyway,” Kenny draped his arms over the counter. “How’s the Tegrity booth doin, Stanny Boy?”
“Slow, now that Randy wandered off to the bar and isn’t shouting at everyone who passes. Thank god.” He nodded towards their friend’s attire. “Just get off?”
Kenny grinned, and Kyle wasn’t even surprised at what came out of his mouth next. “In more ways than one, my guy.”
Shelley tore off her apron and threw it at her brother. “That’s it, I’m done. Bad enough that I have to run dads stupid weed stand, I’m not sticking around if your loser friends are gonna talk about jacking off!”
Stan watched her go, the inkling of a relieved smile on his face. “And the she-troll retreats.”
“Amen, brother.” Kenny proceeded to hop into the booth, donning the discarded apron. “Okay, boss, what we got that needs doin’?”
Shrugging, Stan looked around. “Honestly? This carnival’s lame as shit, so nothing. Oh! You can watch Ky shoot up so he can eat his pretzel.”
Kyle grinned and flipped him off, then entered the booth too (from the side door, like a human). “Dude, one of these days I’m gonna pretend to faint when we’re alone so you have to take my sugar for me.”
“Please don’t.”
Kenny had taken the liberty of pouring himself a soda. “Hah. Weaponized diabetes,” he quipped from around his straw.
“It’s gotta be good for something,” Kyle reasoned. Fourteen years of that bullshit had yet to reveal any silver lining, but it was whatever. At least he was good at managing it, and not, like, Scott Malkinson or anything. The guy was nice enough, but damn, we get it. He plopped down into the crusty chair in the corner. “Okay Stan, this is your blood warning.”
And well versed in the way his super best friend always warned him before anything that would make him squeamish went down, Stan averted his eyes. Dramatic loser.
But before Kyle could even start, a grating voice announced itself.
“You guys!!! Get out here, I am SO SERIOUSLY!”
Goddamnit. Eric fucking Cartman. “What did you do, fatass?”
“Two words. Zombie. Aliens. FUCKING- ZALIENS, Kahl! We’re being chased by zaliens!”
Unsurprisingly, Kyle wasn’t all that concerned by a claim that would’ve been concerning coming from, oh, literally anyone else. As a general rule, he took anything Cartman said with a grain of salt. Or more like enough salt to provide traction to every sidewalk in the state. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
Butters, naturally, as Cartman’s right hand man, was on his right side, and tapping his knuckles together while he anxiously looked around. “Well, uh, we, um… the thing is, fellas-“
“Jesus goddamn CHRIST!” Cartman shoved the smaller boy over and jabbed his finger into Kyle’s face. “We broke into Mephisto’s, maybe we went into a quote unquote “restricted” area, but, like, the fuck did we think was gonna happen?! That lab’s been closed for years! How were we supposed to know the fucker had gross ass experiments in a tank?!”
Stan sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly already done with this shit. “Okay, you fucked some shit up and roped Butters into it. Shocker. What does that have to do with anyone here?”
“Don’t you GET IT?! You guys! They followed us BACK HERE!”
Kenny hopped the counter and drew out his switchblade; always on edge and always the second most gullible when it came to Cartman Bullshit. His ever observant eyes scanned the park entrance, widening when he saw the ambling wave of “zaliens”.
“Oh. Fuck…”
That was seriously an understatement. Kyle grabbed Stan by the arm and snagged his backpack from the table. “What’s the plan?!”
Butters cowered behind Kenny and Eric. “Well, we need an adult, don’t we?”
“Goddamnit, Butters! It’s seven pm in goddamn South Park! They’re all out drinking or something!”
“We’re fucked.” Why in the everloving shit did that crazy ass old scientist have a HERD of alien zombies locked up in his basement? And Kyle had no idea how to deal with something like this, even after fourteen years in this godforsaken town. “Okay. We need a secure location.” But where would they find one? All of the vendor booths were undeniably vulnerable, and it wasn’t like they could just hole up on top of the ferris wheel.
“Dude!” Stan pulled his jacket on, and usually Kyle would fix the collar for him, but this wasn’t ‘usually’. “The haunted house! It’s pretty close, and probably easy to like, barricade!”
Good enough. Kyle yanked a piece of wood from the paneling in the wall, in case he needed to hit something. The makeshift haunted house that had been set up for the carnival was within sight, they just had to get there. He turned to his friends.
“Fucking run.”
So they did. They fucking ran. Their target was on the other side of a decimated field, but it was a clear shot. Kenny led the way, with Stan bringing up the rear, shoving Cartman along to keep him from falling behind, brandishing a pair of tongs grabbed from the Tegrity stand like it was a sword. The zaliens (damnit, that name was gonna stick, wasn’t it) stumbled across the fairgrounds, focused on the five boys. Kyle ran like his life depended on it, which it probably did. The creatures behind them moved pretty slowly, but some had weird ass space-being blasters, which they shot haphazardly in their general direction. Yeah, they really needed to get out of the line of fire.
Kenny swung the door to the haunted house open, ushering everyone forward. Kyle was almost over the threshold when he heard a soul shattering scream.
Kyle whipped around, and immediately saw red.
Those fucking zombie alien what-the-fuck-evers, they’d fucking SHOT Stan.
His best friend was staggering sideways, clutching his arm and tripping over dry grass, eyes wide and clearly panicked even in the dim light. And Kyle wanted to scream. He wanted to do something, wanted to hurt somebody for hurting his Stan. But Stan was too far away, having covered the back of the group over a stretch of dirt riddled with old, barely covered mine shafts and wielding nothing but the same tool he’d been flipping hotdogs with earlier.
Kyle had to get to him. He could fix this. He had to.
And then, Stan dropped through the earth.