Title: Superman
Ships: StanKyle, StanWendy
Genres: Romance, Angst, Drama
Warnings: Slash, Dark Themes
Rating: Teen, at most
Summary: I wanted to be his Superman. I just didn’t know how.
-
Chapter Four: He who sheds, only strengthens

“…aren’t you hot?” I asked Stan, noticing the red sweatshirt he was wearing. Stan, Kenny, and I were walking home from school that afternoon, our bags dangling loosely behind us, and our shoes dragging against the steamy sidewalk.

“He’s hot,” Kenny said, giving a wink. Except, I knew Kenny wasn’t gay, so it was probably just him trying to liven up the mood. “Wendy’s told me so.”

“I’m not hot,” Stan replied. “I just like this jacket… that’s all.”

“You sure?” I asked him, and he nodded.

“If the emo kid wants to wear long sleeves, let him be, Kyle!” Kenny gave a wink again to Stan, probably seeking recognition and thanks on his part, but Stan gave him no thanks.

“I’m not emo….”

“Right,” said Kenny, shaking his head. “Anyway, I don’t have work today, coz this one girl’s taking my shift. Wanna hang out tonight?”

“I can’t,” I told him, frowning apologetically. “I’ve got a two thousand word essay to write for psychology, and I haven’t started.”

“Two thousand words?” Kenny repeated in disbelief, and I nodded in affirmation. “Dude… Kyle… that’s fucking insane.”

“It’s a college class,” I told him, though that really didn’t justify anything. Being in a college class didn’t mean we were capable of anything….

Kenny turned to Stan. “You up for it then? It can be a date, you and me….” He made a whistling sound. “Unless Wendy’s gonna get jealous.”

“I’ve got a date with Wendy, actually,” he replied, and Kenny stuck his tongue at Stan. “Sorry.”

“You guys suck,” he whined, and with that he parted ways. Stan and I continued to walk home, our houses not too far, now….

“Lucky guy, huh?” I said to him, smirking as I nudge him in the side. He winced, backing away, but he hid the act quickly, though a little too late.

I think I just hit him a little too hard. Nothing more.

“And while I’m stuck writing an essay, there you are, having the beautiful Wendy by your side—”

“You aren’t hitting on her, are you?”

“Not at all,” I replied honestly. “We’re best friends, Stan. I wouldn’t hit on your girlfriend.” Yet he didn’t acknowledge my statement, and a silence fell between us as we continued to walk further on. “…we are best friends still, aren’t we?”

“Sure, Kyle.”

“You sure…?” He turned to me, reaching a hand to pull aside his bangs, and with a serious face, he opened his mouth to speak.

“Of course, Kyle. Super Best Friends. Always are, always will be.”

“Always will be,” I agreed, and it was left at that.

-

My mind’s dead. I know I’m probably just over-thinking everything, yet even the slightest chance that all that could be right… is enough to scare me.

I can’t even look at him; I’m scared to see how he’s looking at me, if he’s looking at me. Maybe he won’t talk to me again, maybe he’ll never confide in me with anything….

Thankfully I don’t have to sit in this awkward silence with Stan, because not long after I sit down Wendy comes back in, accompanied with Stan’s parents. I immediately stand up, still not looking at Stan, and greet the three, all before pulling Wendy outside.

“I think he hates me,” I whisper to her the second we’re out of earshot.

Her expression is blank, so I continue. “I think… I think I might’ve done something to him….”

“Kyle, make sense,” she said, looking at me with a cautious gaze. “I don’t understand you. I thought you knew he did this because I broke up with him.”

“No,” I tell her, and she’s taken aback. “You’ve broken up with him… countless times before. He would’ve killed himself ages ago if it was you.”

“Then… you think it’s you?”

I nod solemnly; somehow, every time we talk about this, Wendy and I always make this sound like a detective’s case. But then, in detective stories, does the detective ever end up being the one guilty?

“I don’t know what I did, but I think I might’ve done something…. I dunno, Wendy, it’s just… all of a sudden he’s not talking to me. He’s been really cold, and I’m not sure why.”—except, I do know why… I think. But I don’t tell her this.

“I guess, Kyle….” She frowns, looking away. “Kyle… did you ever think that it could… you know… be both of our faults?”

“What’d you mean?” I ask her quietly. Last time I checked Wendy and I had never done anything purposely… or even anything together, for that matter. “I didn’t break up with Stan, you did. And you didn’t do what I did, I’d imagine….”

“I don’t mean like that,” she snapped, shaking her head. “I mean like… a buildup of things. Like, maybe you doing… whatever you said you did… and maybe me breaking up with him… maybe they all contributed to this. I don’t think it has to be anyone’s particular fault, Kyle.”

I shrug at this idea, but it doesn’t exactly leave me alone. I don’t think I ever thought about that—and if I did, I don’t remember thinking it anymore. But the idea alone started triggering ideas in my mind; surely Wendy and I couldn’t be the only people to have contributed to this, then.

A nurse enters the room, and Wendy and I both look at each other. Visiting times must be over. Yet as we watch Mr. and Mrs. Marsh exit the room, and as we follow them down the hall, the same question continues to plague my mind.

…just who had he been angry at, then?

-

There was a knock on my door as I scribbled heavy markings upon the paper. It came once, then again, and even a third time, yet I chose to ignore it. I merely let the music continue to play, let my hand continue to write, and my mind continue to think.

“Kie-yole!” called my mother, rapping on my door again. “Kie-yole, are you listening? Young man, turn that volume down!”

I ignored her again. This Psychology paper couldn’t wait, nor could my grade, nor could my chance at Harvard….

“Kie-yole, Stan is downstairs looking for you.” I grumbled under my breath; Stan wasn’t here. I knew he wasn’t, or else he would’ve called me first. I knew Stan, he was my best friend. I already knew all his habits.

I returned to my essay, briefly mentioning the five stages in grieving. The first was Denial, and then Anger….

“Kyle?” I froze: Stan’s voice. He really was here. But why hadn’t he called?

I turned off my music, tossing the pen onto my desk as I went to unlock the door. True enough, Stan stood outside the door, giving me a feeble smile as I let him in.

He looked terrible, though. His eyes were glazed, as if having just cried. But his mascara wasn’t running, unless he wasn’t wearing it… but he always wore it nowadays; I didn’t know why, though.

His bangs hung like a curtain over his eyes, slanted slightly left, and there was a distinct… something in his slightly visible right eye. I couldn’t place a mark on it, even though I’d noticed it for some time already, and as I continued to wonder what was wrong with Stan, he spoke to me quietly.

“You think we… you think I could talk to you for a bit?”

“Sure thing,” I replied, glancing at my desk. “But I’ve got a psychology paper to finish. How long you think it’ll be?”

“Er… dunno. Maybe a while.” He gave me a dejected frown, but I merely shrugged at him. “So….”

“How important is it?” I asked, taking a seat on the side of my bed. “End of the world?”

“No, not really, just….” He looked at me again, and for I moment I wondered what he wanted to talk about. He was giving me a piercing look, as if trying to evaluate something, but it only made me all the more confused. What did Stan want?

“Forget about it,” Stan said, turning his back to me.

I turned him around once more. “Stan, what?—you can’t just walk in here and tell me to forget about it!”

“Yeah I can,” he spat back. “Why do you care, anyway?—just… just do your paper, dude. I… wouldn’t want you to get an F because of me.”

I stared at him one final time, searching for something—anything—just some clue to help me with things.

But none came. And I watched him leave, I watched him descend the stairs, and I watched him walk out the door.

I considered following him, but… I didn’t think there was a point. So I merely went back to my desk and began writing once more.

Stan would’ve wanted me to do that, right…?

-

Mr. and Mrs. Marsh had treated Wendy and me to a quick dinner, which in turn only took a good thirty minutes. It had been food I particularly liked, yet for some reason it tasted bland; it was like holding barbeque sauce to your nose while drinking orange juice, as if thinking about Stan’s ulterior motives had annulated the taste completely.

On the way back I had asked Stan’s parents if Wendy and I could have time alone with him again, and they agreed. It was only until we had gotten to the parking lot, however, that the two informed us of a task they had to do instead, and before we could say anything they had driven off once more.

Now we’re walking back to his room, and when we open the door he’s reading a magazine on his bed. There isn’t much time until sunset, maybe an hour at the most, and I’m pretty sure Wendy wants the time to talk to Stan, being the ex-girlfriend….

But what was an ex-girlfriend to him, exactly? Maybe if she were still his girlfriend, maybe she’d still care this much… but she had already dumped him, discarded him… again. It might just be the guilt taking its toll, but… if I were Stan’s ex-girlfriend, I’m sure I wouldn’t be as attached as she is.

Yet it doesn’t really matter. At least this way it complements her character, and not damaging it instead.

“Hey,” he says weakly, giving acknowledging nods in both her direction and mine. I can’t help but to notice how my nod is a lot stiffer, as opposed to his gentler one in Wendy’s direction.

I’m starting to think that Wendy’s not even in this equation, at all, that breaking up with him aided nothing in what he did that night.
…and no, I still haven’t forgotten that question.

“You need something?” Wendy asks, sitting down by his side. “I can run get something if you’d like.”

“No you can’t,” I remind her, shaking my head. “Stan’s parents left.”

“They did?” he asks softly, and Wendy and I both nod at the same time. Yet for some reason, when he asks us where they went, his voice doesn’t have the shock it initially had, as if he had expected them to leave… again.

Now that I think about it, where do his parents keep disappearing to?

“They went somewhere,” Wendy says honestly, though that’s quite the obvious statement.

Stan tells her so, and she apologizes.

“I’m sorry; it’s just, I don’t know where they went! I was going to get to the rest of that if you didn’t cut me off!” I laugh at their feuds and turn away; it’s almost as if nothing’s happened between them. Yet between me and Stan… there seems to be a whole chasm of separation now, and I still only vaguely know why….

“Well then, I’m off,” said Wendy, and I frown.

“Where’re you going?”

“Where you just not listening?” she asks, and I shake my head. “Stan wants me to get some stuff for him. Oh, don’t worry,” she adds, noticing my doubtful face, “it’s all safe stuff. Mascara, eyeliner… that kinda thing.”

“Oh… right.” I turn to Stan, who smiles weakly at me. “I suppose you’d be better of getting those, then….”

“Yeah. Sorry, Kyle… you’re not a girl, and you don’t look emo.” She doesn’t look to Stan as she says this, and with a mere wave, she’s off.

…leaving the two of us in the room alone again.

It’s silent at first, though Stan doesn’t turn away. He merely closes his eyes, resting himself against his pillow, and heaves a sigh. He might just want to sleep, and I couldn’t blame him, as it’s been a long day for him; yet at the same time, there’s a fear inside me, something telling me that he might just be trying to ignore me.

“…how’s… er, how’s your baseball team doing?” I ask quietly and nervously, hoping to strike conversation. I don’t think either of us has forgotten the events earlier today, the events that had caused so much tension and awkwardness between the two of us. I’m hoping it doesn’t affect what’s going to happen between the two of us, and though he seems to be at least acknowledging my presence, there’s definitely a difference….

Just when I regard the topic as a lost cause, he answers.

“…good, I guess. Our first playoff game was today… or yesterday, maybe.”

I smile at the sound of his response. “You think they won?”

“Hopefully,” he replies, opening his eyes to look into mine. “I’m not sure, though. After me, we really don’t have many good pitchers. And even though it’s only the first round of playoffs, our opponent’s definitely not an easy one.”

Our conversation is calm now, and by the way we talk it’s almost as if nothing happened between us earlier. Not that I’m complaining of course, as I’m basking in the feeling of a rescued friendship, but it definitely feels weird at the sudden turnaround of events.

Maybe it’s because we’ve finally found common and stable ground, a conversational topic that won’t cause earthquakes on the ground between us. Maybe that’s why he’s talking to me freely about this.

It seemed so much harder earlier to strike conversation, yet now it’s coming naturally. Maybe it’s because the idea of Stan waking up has settled into my mind now, maybe because the excitement and adrenaline aren’t controlling my actions as it did back then.

We continue talking about his baseball team for a while. I found out that he’s a starting pitcher, and that he’s usually the reason that their opponents don’t score much. I also learned that he hates his team’s relief pitcher, mainly because that pitcher lets too many runs in, and completely puts Stan’s efforts to waste. There’re also many batters Stan regards highly on his team, and it makes me wonder if he regards them higher than he regards me….

All too soon, sunset arrives. There’s still light out—only the yellow and pink and red and dark blue, the colors that mark the sunset’s arrival—but it’s due to come soon. In due course I’ll have to leave.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I tell him softly, giving his knee a little pat. But before I can actually leave, I feel a hand cling onto my arm, and as I turn around, I find his eyes staring into mine, a saddened look cast over his face.

“Don’t… leave.” My face falls; somehow the sentence alone causes my insides to melt, as if the sentence had reconstructed a world that was almost to its entire collapse. It doesn’t match with his reactions earlier in the day, how he seemed so much colder to me, yet I don’t even take that into consideration as I return to his side. Maybe one day I’ll ask why he seemed so bitter when he first saw me. But not now. Not now, when asking him might only ruin the moment, the moment I had wanted to happen since he woke up.

That moment was an affirmation of a friendship. It was something to give basis to the claim he had made only days before, the claim that we would forever be Super Best Friends. For a second I had doubted him, but he had given me hope, encouragement….

I’m starting to sound like his girlfriend now, but I really don’t care. If it’s not man enough to say if a moment truly touches your heart, then I’ll stop being a man.

But then reality sets in, a truth that tells me I can’t stay, not without having to go against the rules of Hell’s Pass. And eventually I tell Stan so, too, because I don’t want to get in trouble.

“Don’t…” he merely mutters, and I’m torn. Why does he want me to stay so badly? Why not Wendy?—or would he say the same thing to her, too?

“Stan… I have too… you’ll see me tomorrow….”

“Kyle….” He shuts his eyes, and turns away. “I… won’t do it again.”

I frown. “Do what again?”

“That thing you asked me earlier… I won’t do it again, I promise.” He heaves a sigh, turning to me. “I won’t do it again. Now will you stay?”

I turn away; joy is filling my insides, and though I’m not sure why this is making me so fucking happy, I allow myself to feel its warmth. I can feel all my doubts all my suspicions, all of it washing away; Stan doesn’t hate me, he cares for me, just as I care for him, and he doesn’t want to see me go….

I nod at him. But what makes me the happiest isn't that he's given me the confirmation to the question I had asked earlier. For some reason I feel like I couldn't care less about that at the moment, though I do appreciate he's finally told me. No, what makes me feel the happiest is the smile he gives me, his smile, the smile I completely forgot about, the smile I never saw for the longest time.

Even if I’m only staying until the sun fully sets, there’s something about this scene that makes me feel like it’s worth it. And for the first time since the beginning, I begin to cry.