The Act of Healing: A South Park Fanfiction

Chapter One: Nothing But Everything at the Same Time

A/N: Hi there! This is honestly the first fanfiction I've ever written, so please let me know in the comments what you think and how I can improve, I would really appreciate it! Hope you enjoy!

WARNING: This chapter contains graphic descriptions of self harm, suicide, and other harmful behaviors. Read with caution.

Leopold Stotch looked out of his second story window at the town that had drove him to his breaking point. It was snowing out there, fat flakes drifting to the ground like dying butterflies; afraid of landing, but no longer having the strength to go on. Downstairs he could hear his parents yelling again. Glass was breaking. It always did when they got like this.

In his hand he held a crumpled piece of lined paper covered in pencil scribbles of nothing but everything at the same time. "Dear mom and dad, I'm afraid I can no longer go on like this...." He read it over. Then he read it over again. It was his fifteenth draft of the note but it still didn't sound quite right. He figured it would have to do. His time was running out.

With shaking hands he placed the paper on his desk, next to a family portrait and his box of razors. Next to that was a fully loaded shot gun. His father hadn't noticed its absence from the safe in his closet for the past two weeks, much to Butter's advantage. He felt the pressure of his own ticking clock. Soon his mother would come up to check on him and explain that it was okay if mommies and daddies fought sometimes. He couldn't wait that long. He knew that if he did he wouldn't be able to force the barrel of the gun in his mouth. He would fail again, just like he had every other night for the last fourteen days. He couldn't go to school again. He couldn't see those who called themselves his friends again and suffer their torment another day. This ended tonight.

The gun was cold on his lips. It had an odd smell to it, a smell that he had gotten used to and almost found comfort in. It would be the last thing he smelled and he was okay with that.

With the only light illuminating his foggy room coming from his window, Leopold Stotch's last thought was how pretty the moonlight was reflecting off his chosen weapon of death. Then he squeezed his finger and was finally at rest.

Stan Marsh woke again to the sound of a mother's scream. For a minute his heart beat quickly in his chest and he felt an urgency to run to the Stotch's house, to put an end to what was about to happen. But soon his pulse slowed and the scream echoing in his head faded away to the buzzing of the alarm clock. Stan took in a deep breath. All that was over now. There was nothing he could do.

Still, the memory of the morning after flashed behind his tired eyelids as he turned off the alarm and threw back the sheets. His mother's words bounced around his skull like a tennis ball. "There's something you boys need to know."

The bathroom tile was cold and hard against his bare feet. "He left a note that I think you all should read." Clink went the seat against the back of the toilet. "Dear mom and dad, I'm afraid I can no longer go on like this...." Bending at the waist. "...those who drove me to this point with the greatest force..." Two fingers down the throat. "...Eric, Kyle, Kenny..." A few quick jabs and his stomach was emptied. "...and Stan."

That morning had changed his life forever. He had run from the house the moment he saw his name of that paper, ran as if he could get away from the guilt and the shame. But it caught up with him and hadn't yet left. Two-and-a-half years it had been but still he felt like a dirty rag. He had resigned himself to the idea that he always would.

His phone buzzed as he struggled to pull his jeans on, Kyle's freckled face smiling out from the screen. He picked it up and stuck it between his shoulder and his ear.

"Hey," he huffed into the mouth piece.

"Hey," came the almost cheerful reply. "I'm out front, you about ready to go?"

Stan grabbed his bag and his hat as he rushed out his bedroom door. "Yeah just give me like five minutes."

Downstairs his mother was waiting for him, sitting at the table with a cup of coffee. "Good morning, Stan. Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah mom. I slept fine." He felt her watching him as he searched through the pantry.

"Can I get you some breakfast?" She asked. "I could make you some eggs or get you a cup of coffee or-"

Stan sighed. "No thanks, mom. I'm running late. I'll just eat a pop tart on the way." He clutched one of the crinkly packages and headed toward the door.

"Oh, okay Stan. Well I'll see you after school, right? You'll come back right after school?" Her voice cracked at the end and it broke Stan's heart. He stopped with his hand on the door nob. A different note came to his mind, one he found on the living room coffee table about a year ago, addressed to his parents. "Mom and dad-I'm running away with my internet boyfriend. I hate this town and I hate this family. Goodbye."

"Yeah mom. I'll be back right after school."

"Okay Stan. I love you!" She called after him as the door closed.

"Love you, too," he mumbled even though she wouldn't be able to hear it.

Kyle watched as Stan hurried down the walkway. A gust of wind followed him into him car, bringing with it the crisp smell of dirt and wood. Fall was coming.

The two sat in silence, and Kyle felt Stan inhale deeply with thinly veiled desperation. On his rough exhale he leaned his head back against the head rest and closed his eyes. His thumb and index finger pinched the bridge of his nose and Kyle couldn’t help but smile and the familiar gesture. Another moment of tense silence until Stan composed himself and nodded for Kyle to finally start the car.

Houses blurred by quickly as they drove too fast through the streets. The euphoria early morning gave him urged Kyle’s foot further on the peddle than it should go. He wondered briefly if his speed should worry him, but just like any other morning the thought fell behind them like the suburbs they left behind.

“Any word from Ike?” Stan asked as he fumbled with the wrappings of a pop tart. Kyle noticed the quiver in his voice but didn’t mention it, instead graciously accepting the cold pastry Stan offered him.

“Not since Thursday,” He mumbled around a mouthful of dry cherry-flavored cardboard. The answer hung heavy in the air, the both of them contemplating the true meaning of the statement. Not since Thursday. Not since the fight. Not since he said he’s never coming back. Not since he told me he hates me.

“That school will be good for him,” Stan offered in efforts to lift the somber mood. Kyle’s head nodded but his heart sunk even lower.

The jeep came to a red light and Kyle stalled the car. The nerves of the first day of school finally caught up with him and he breathed deeply to still the uneasiness. They say junior year is the most stressful. Kyle wondered how it could be any more stressful the years before. After all, more than one of them tried desperately not to make it this far. He finally caved and took out a cigarette and lighter, extending the pack to Stan who took it reluctantly.

He felt more than heard the deep rumbling of the engine as a dark figure pulled up next to them on a blue chrome Harley. Nothing showed through the helmet to give away who the rider was, but Kyle didn’t need it to. There was only one person left in town who still rode a Harley, or any motorcycle for that matter, and he had once done Kyle a great service. Kyle gave him a respectful nod and after a pause the figure nodded back. The light turned green and he speed off down the road, leaving the red jeep in its figurative dust.