DISCLAIMER: I don't own South Park. It was created by Trey Parker and Matt Stone, and is aired on Comedy Central. I am writing this story for non-profit entertainment only.

How Could You Do This to Yourself?

Inspired by a flashback in chapter 3 of Dirty Little Truths.

Kyle's POV

Style if you squint. (:

1,857 words

...

"Friday, fuck yes!" Stan exclaimed. "This week was so long, I swear."

"I know, right? And I barely have any homework too!" I replied with a smile. Stan gave me a look of disbelief.

"Fuck homework." He said simply. I laughed, glancing back at him.

"You say that, but you still do it!" I knew it was true. My beautiful super best friend tried in school even though he talked about it like he didn't give two shits about having good or bad grades. It was almost kind of admirable in a weird kind of way. I mean, fuck, we're only in fourth grade, but you still have to try at least a little bit to earn A's in your subjects.

"Oh hey, two-people party at your house?" Stan grinned at me as we approached my house. I grimaced and shook my head.

"No dude, my mom's home right now. She's been really stressed lately because Ike recently found out how to work the oven." I smiled slightly at the memory. My brother was way too smart for his age. "He tried to make pancakes. I think you can guess what happened after that. Those Canadians and their freaking pancakes, I swear. Anyway, I don't want to deal with her right now."

"Got it, but...what did happen?" Stan inquired, arching his eyebrow. I giggled.

"It's kind of a long story. How about your house?" I suggested, gesturing in the direction it was in.

"Yeah, of course! You can tell me there. Come on, dude." He made the decision to hold my hand as he led me to his house and I blushed slightly, looking away with a big smile. Today would be fun.

...

Stan's POV

...

I exhaled, laying back on my bed and rubbing my temples. I felt a recent wave of stress coming on, fucking Asperger's. Looking out my window, I narrowed my eyes with a frown. The snow falling outside was no longer a pretty sight. In fact, it was more representative of a literal shit storm. A shit blizzard, for fuck's sake. Kyle was in the bathroom for the moment. I felt a bit guilty to do it, but I mean...I've been doing this every day for about a month now, right? So I slid off of my bed and crept over to my dresser, opening the top drawer. Buried under all my boxers and socks was a half-full bottle of Jack Daniel's whiskey. Quickly, I gulped down a few sips of it. I winced as it burned unpleasantly in my throat, something I never liked. The taste was kind of shitty too. With a little hesitance I drank a little more and put it away rapidly. I didn't want my super best friend to know, after all...

...

Kyle's POV

...

As I washed my hands I breathed in the smell of Stan's hand soap. It was always so nice. At my house, I was stuck with mediocre bar soap. I glanced at the door to the bathroom, which was slightly ajar since no one else but me and Stan were in the house anyway. As I went to open the door to the bathroom I froze, hearing a suspicious noise- the pop of a bottle. Coming from Stan's bedroom. Oh hell no, I thought he stopped three weeks ago! I was sure that I convinced him to stop drinking after he became more used to his Asperger's syndrome. Did he...lie to me? Has he been keeping this from me for a month? Okay, I can't just assume things already. For all I know he got some soda from the kitchen and he's just popping it open for me! Chill, Kyle.

I moved forward silently and slowly pushed the door open, hoping it didn't creak, which it didn't because Stan's house was perfect or something. After letting out a quiet breath I gently crossed the hallway to Stan's bedroom and listened from the doorway. The only way I could describe what I heard was...desperate glugging noises. The clink of a cap. And the careful placement of a heavy glass bottle in a drawer. Yeah, Stan was drinking. It was for sure. I slid down and sat against the wall of the hallway, chin on top of my bent knees. What to do now? I was mad at him, that was for sure. And I wanted him to stop what he was doing right now. But how?

...

Stan's POV

...

The bitter taste of the whiskey still lingered in my mouth, but I was starting to feel a little better already. I looked outside, happy to see that the shit storm had stopped and had been replaced by gently falling, white snow. But where was Kyle? He seemed to be taking a bit longer than usual. Without much of a second thought I opened my bedroom door and stepped into the hallway. The door to the bathroom was wide open, and Kyle wasn't in there. I was about to call his name, but I turned around to see Kyle getting up from a spot in the hallway. Fury was evident in his eyes. I hesitated.

"Kyle...?" I started, but was answered with a hard slap to the face. The shock of it caused me to lose my balance and turn around a quarter of the way, hand instantly going to the spot where Kyle had hit me. "What the fuck..?"

"You lying bastard!" Kyle exclaimed hysterically. "How could you?!" He seemed to grit his teeth and clench his fists, trying to control his anger. Oh no. Had he...? I composed myself and turned to face him.

"Kyle, calm down! What did I do?" I said gently, looking him in the eye.

"You know what you did! You kept your problem away from me for a month after telling me you would stop!" He retorted. "And don't even try to deny it!" He marched into my bedroom and opened a drawer from my dresser. I facepalmed. It just had to be the top one. Why is Kyle so good at predicting me? He rummaged through the clothes in there and a deep blush formed on my face when I remembered that I had put the bottle under a giant pile of underwear. Great, so now my super best friend was touching all my boxers. When he pulled the bottle out I slowly removed my hand from my face, though my blush was probably still pretty obvious. Kyle smirked triumphantly as he held the bottle up, and I averted my gaze.

"I'm...sorry?" I muttered.

"You better be, Stan." He told me with complete seriousness. The level of guilt in me just increased as he said it. My mind didn't seem to like it and I felt myself being returned to a cynical state. Kyle's face seemed to lose all of its radiance and righteousness in that moment, and I frowned deeply. All the colors of my room that had once seemed comforting and normal became repulsive, and I felt a sickness in my stomach.

"Give me that!" I demanded suddenly, lunging for Kyle. He held the bottle out of my reach, but I was a couple of inches taller than him and easily stretched my arm up to fetch it. Greedily, I unscrewed the cap and chugged the bottle. When the burn in my throat became too much I brought it down, gritting my teeth. Kyle was staring at me in shock.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing, Stan?!" He yelled, and slapped the bottle clean out of my shaking hand. It shattered on my bedroom door, falling to the ground in a million pieces where the rest of the alcohol in the former bottle began to stain the carpet with a slight sizzle. Kyle was breathing hard, clutching his now red and pulsing hand. As the situation settled in on me I felt tears threatening to spill from my eyes. Kyle couldn't seem to handle the tension but when he looked at the bedroom door he seemed to not want to leave. Instead, he slid down to lay against the wall of my closet. What the fuck do I do now? I felt traumatized by what had just happened. I wasn't sure how much time had passed with me just standing there dumbly but Kyle eventually spoke. "Stan..." He paused right before he was about to say something else.

"How could you do this to yourself?" His voice was small and weak, full of sorrow. "Do you even know...how bad this is for you?" I didn't reply or really acknowledge that he was talking much because I had no idea what to do anyway, but my heart kept sinking as he spoke.

"If you kept this up...what you could become?" Kyle continued. "We're 10 years old, Stan. 10. We're too young for this." I saw him wipe his eyes. Finally I relaxed my posture and half focused on him, a truly guilty expression playing on my face. Fuck, I felt horrible. He was right, wasn't he? He was completely right. I'm a greedy fucking idiot who doesn't even acknowledge that other people care about me and is too stupid to remember how harmful certain things are. Certain things like alcohol. When you're 10 years old.

"K-Kyle, I..." I managed. But I didn't really know what to say next.

"Don't, Stan. You don't need to say anything. But you better stop it right now. And you better keep it that way." At Kyle's response I bit my lip and tried to hold back tears. Finally I made the decision to do something.

"I'm so sorry, Kyle..." I said softly as I kneeled down to hug the redhead. I felt him relax in my arms and I tucked my head into the back of his neck.

"You're only hurting...yourself..." He muttered quietly, clearly being stubborn.

"I'll stop this time, Kyle. I promise. You can trust me." I told him in the strongest voice I could muster, tightening my grip on him. Kyle straightened his back.

"Can I really?" He asked me. "This time?" He took my shoulders and pushed me backward so I faced him. I looked him straight in the eye.

"Yes," I replied. "This time." Kyle smiled ever-so-subtly and wrapped his arms around me. I felt his warm breath gently on my ear.

"Thanks." He whispered.

...

A/N: So you didn't really have to squint. But you know. xD