BY : RandomJaz
Category: +S through Z > South Park
Dragon prints: 7363
Disclaimer: I do not own South Park or any of it's characters, nor do I profit from this fanfiction.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hey, guys! Welcome back! Thank you to my Archive of Our Own site readers for leaving me comments! This may be the fastest I've ever pumped out a story. You guys are just cramming dynamite up my ass, I swear. (In a good way!)

Other info:

*** In the second South Park video game, there's a DLC where you have to defeat the Vamp Kids at Mike's birthday party at Casa Bonita. It's revealed there that the annoying but well-meaning social worker in series, Mr. Adams (Appears in Season 15 Episode 14-The Poor Kid), is Mike's step dad. This implies his mother remarried at some point in his childhood during, or before, 5th grade.

I'm mentioning this because since I have no reference to what his real parents look/act like, I'm taking some creative liberties. It is cannon, however, that Mike's hair is naturally black. The game showed a picture of him as a baby, and as a little kid, with black hair.***

Anyways, thank you so much for reading! I look forward to hearing from you guys! 😊


Two weeks passed without a word from Stan or Michael. Stan was so frequently absent before that this situation I found myself in felt inevitable. Our relationship was bound to crash and burn from the beginning, wasn't it? But, my friendship with Michael?

Had someone told me that one day he'd turn his back on me like this, I would have blew smoke in their face and laughed. Michael's cold shoulder was frigid. Dwelling on it didn't feel worth the anguish, so I consciously shoved it down.

If this was how he wanted to treat me, he was no better than Stan. If anything, he was worse. Michael had been there first, from the very beginning. If deep down he cared about me as much as he claimed, he had a despicable way of showing it.

It was harder to accidently cross paths with Michael in school than it was Stan. When school started in September, it'd been a bummer to learn I didn't have any classes with him. Then to learn I had a class with Mike? I wanted to bash my head in... Now, I was significantly more grateful.

If I didn't want to see Michael, staying away from the back of the school was the best bet. Then the diner. Then the graveyard. Henrietta's house was also off limits, not that she wanted much to do with me.

Stan- I could avoid the hallways I knew he took. Stay away from the Cafeteria. And, most importantly, stay the hell away from the football field.

Mike still ran the Vampire Club afterschool once a week. Today was the day, which I wasn't going to be a part of. At my locker, I collected my stuff to catch the bus home. That was the plan.

Georgie came up from behind me, quiet as a mouse. He tapped my back.

"Michael says we're going to Henrietta's, tonight."

"...okay?" I said slowly, not understanding why he was telling me this. "What does that have to do with me?"

"You're invited this time."

How convenient. Michael hangs me out to dry for two weeks- In the aftermath of what was the most devastating charade with Stan- then sends Georgie to retrieve me from exile. His passive aggression was something to behold.

"Oh? That a fact?" I rolled my eyes. "What do I owe the honor?"

"He says you learned your lesson. You can come back now."

Georgie was only the messenger. As the saying goes: Don't shoot the messenger. I couldn't be mad at the kid. He was only following orders. Watching what happened to me, he quickly learned not to cross Michael.

"I don't want to come back." I dismissed Georgie flatly.

"You don't?"


That was a curveball our all mighty leader wouldn't anticipate. In Michael's mind, I was desperate to come back. He thought after Stan's betrayal, I'd see he was the only person I had.

"Pete..." Georgie warned me, looking up with trepidation. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

We already went this far. I had nothing else to lose.

"You can tell Michael I'm not coming back."


On my hands and knees after school, I scrubbed down the bathtub. Cleaning products and different abrasive brushes laid across the tile floor. I was lucky to have my own bathroom connected to my room, but it was my responsibility to keep up with it.

Goths had a reputation for being grungy, but I couldn't stand mess or grime. I had enough clutter in my head. Keeping things clean made me feel like I had more control over things than I actually did. It was my own personal source of structure.

Once the bathroom was freshly clean, I took everything off and ran a bath. Loud music from my phone provided background noise, easing the stale silence with guitar, drums and guttural screaming.

Peering over the edge of the tub to where my phone was sitting atop of my clothes, I picked it up to do some idle browsing. They must not have been reading poetry at Henrietta's because Georgie and Henrietta were active online. Michael was offline.

It was interesting to see Stan's friends tearing up social media. He'd gone mysteriously missing in action. He hadn't posted anything for a while. His first post in the past two weeks was about the game coming up this weekend.

All his friends knew about the game because they were on the team, cheerleaders or in his main circle. No one needed a reminder. He may as well have just sent it to me directly. Scrolling past his cowardly attempt at communication, I pondered what planet he was fucking on.

Mike was tagged in a post with others, by Annie. Their club started a new vampire genre book today.

"Livin' on the edge, guys."

The usual venom that would have accompanied such a thought was missing. Vampire books were stupid to me, but Mike liked them. They read through the Twilight series years ago. Whatever they were reading now couldn't have been worse.

Cleaned up and rinsed off, I unplugged the drain to the tub after soaking. I had a towel around my waist and was towel drying my hair when I stepped out of the bathroom. There on my bed, with his arms crossed, was Michael.

"Holy shit-" I flinched, putting a hand to my chest.

"Have a nice bath, Pete?" He patronized me.

"How the hell did you get in here?"

"Front door."

It was early enough in the evening that my dad wasn't passed out on the couch. He let him in. My music was so loud I hadn't heard the doorbell downstairs, or his shoes on my bedroom floor.

"You can leave the same way you came in." I told him, turning off my music. "Get out."

He didn't move an inch. He stared me down with narrowed eyes and dark circles under his kohl eyeliner. Michael's hair was so black it washed him out. His pale skin looked sallow, almost like it had a yellow undertone.

He was aged beyond his years. That's what anger did to him. This brooding eighteen-year-old could pass for ten years older than he actually was. He smoked way too much, slept too little and was slowly killing himself from the inside out. Faster than the rest of us.

"We need to talk."

"No. I have to get dressed, and you need to leave."

Unfortunately for me, my dresser was next to my bed where Michael was sitting. In my towel, I went over and grabbed the first underwear and pajama pants that I saw.

"I'm not going anywhere." he said.

"Get. Out." I ordered him, walking past on my way to the bathroom.

With his cane, Michael caught the thin bend of my elbow. He snatched me in close, my clothes falling to the floor. I had to grab for my towel to keep it from slipping undone around my hips and falling.

"The last time I arrived unannounced, you were far more appreciative." His voice was nonchalant, but his delivery was sharp as a dagger.

Michael traced up my neck with two fingers, stopping where my scar started.

"Or, did you forget?"

I tried tugging myself away. He wouldn't let go.

"If it weren't for me, you wouldn't still be here." Michael leaned in closer to my face. "Where was your precious prince when you were hanging from the fucking ceiling?"

"Shut up-"

"Where was he, Pete?" Michael barked. "Answer me."

I averted my eyes, feeling helpless as he held me there. I hated being grabbed like that. Hated, hated, hated it. It made my chest tight. My skin crawled.

"On a date with Wendy." I huffed, still struggling to free myself. "He was on a date with Wendy."

"That's right." Michael snarled.

Michael released me without warning. I went flying backwards, hitting the floorboards ass first. Admittedly, I was scared to look up at him.

Rage rolled off him in thick, smoky waves. He was a black flame, eating up all the oxygen around him and choking everything in his path. If hellfire were a person, he was sitting right there in front of me.

I sat before him damp, and almost naked.

"I'm getting dressed." I announced, looking around for my dropped clothes.

They were in a heap by Michael's feet. I crawled the short distance to grab them. He placed his foot down in front of the pile, blocking me. I froze, staring at the black shoe. The chill that went down my body had nothing to do with the temperature in the room.

"Get real clothes. You're coming with me to Henrietta's."

"Who said I'm going anywhere with you?"

"I just did."

I reached around to retrieve what he was blocking.

"I'm staying here." I objected, matter of fact.

He didn't thwart my next attempt to retrieve my dropped pajamas. I collected it and got up, weary of the brown eyes boring holes in to my body. From sheer paranoia, I locked the bathroom door to get dressed.

I grabbed my purple choker off the counter. Michael seethed at the sight of it when I exited the bathroom with pants on.

"You're going to wear that after what he did to you?"

"It's a nice choker."

"You have a better one."

"Do I?"

Pouring gasoline on a fire was the least helpful thing to do. There was no stopping myself. The only way I was going to make Michael happy was to obediently comply with his self-appointed authority. That wasn't happening.

"Put it on."

"You don't call the shots, anymore. I'm not one of you."

Getting up, Michael swiftly ambushed me. In a flash of black, he had me backed in to the wall.

"Whatever sunshine fairytales that conformist sack of shit fed you, they aren't true." He hissed down at me, so close the fabric of his white dress shirt brushed the piercings on my chest. "You will always be one of us."

"This has nothing to do with Stan, anymore." I looked up at him defiantly. "Stop pretending it does."

"You picked him." The words tasted disgustingly bitter on Michael's tongue-This man, who chain smoked and drank his coffee black. "He just uses you. He doesn't love you."

"And, you think that you do?"

He just stared at me. Stewing.

"Love didn't work out for my mom and dad. So, why should it work out for me?"

I wanted to scream when Michael left, I couldn't. I knew on some level, I was being used by Stan. It was hard hearing Michael hiss it at me. I felt dirty.

I was the equivalent of a human stress ball. Stan got his sexual urges and frustrations out with me. When he didn't need me, I was easily set aside like a real stress ball.

If he had me tucked away like that, why did he stray? I let him have everything, at my expense. All I asked for in return, was to be his one and only. I thought I finally had it. He faked me out.

Love. Yeah, right.

Razor in hand, I grazed the delicate skin of my left wrist. The thin surface cut wept red droplets. It was supposed to be one cut, just one. But, there I was making the next one. The third line was on its way, interrupted by the buzz of my phone.

Mike asked if I wanted to sleep over that weekend. The razor lost its appeal instantly. It wasn't helping, now I felt guilty. Blotting the blood away, I pressed a paper towel in to my wrist to stop the bleeding.

Michael and Stan weren't worth it.


Friday night, Mike hung out with his friends until he picked me up after work. My overnight bag sat in his backseat, filled with enough clothes to last me the weekend. Someone came down the stairs as Mike let me inside the front door.

This woman, who I rightfully assumed was Mike's mother, came down the steps in a fuzzy pink night robe and matching slippers. I was taken back by how much they looked alike. She had long shiny black hair and the same hazel eyes Mike did.

The bone structure on their faces was almost one to one. I wondered what his dad looked like because he was almost a male reflection of his mother.

"Mikey, your aunt brought over dessert from the bakery earlier. Make sure you and your friend have some."

"We definitely will." He assured her. "Thanks Mom."

Smiling at me, she asked me my name.

"I don't think I've met you." She observed. "Have I?"

"No...I'm Pete."

"Mikey has so many friends, it's hard for me to keep up. I'm tellin' ya."

She gave Mike a kiss on the head before going to the kitchen for some of that dessert she was telling us about. We went downstairs to put my stuff down. With a small dish of cookies and a glass of milk, Mike's mom retired to her room for the evening.

"There's cannoli, tiramisu and different Italian cookies." she told us in parting when we came up from the basement.

"All I understood out of that was 'cookies'." I bluntly told Mike when he led me to the kitchen.

There was a bakery box on the table and he pulled a second one out of the fridge.

"Cannoli and tiramisu are Italian pastries." He laughed. "Never had them?"

"My mom's mostly an ice cream person. She just buys it from the supermarket."

The tiramisu was a coffee-based dessert, Mike happily informed me.

"I never acquired a taste for coffee." He got me a small plate of it and a fork, handing it to me while he opted for a cannoli. "Tiramisu isn't for me."

It did have a strong coffee taste to it. I liked it. It was mildly sweet. Looking at the bakery box, I stored away the name for later.

"...did you hear something?" I asked when there was a random rustling.

"That's Lenore and Poe."


Mike abandoned his snack for a moment. He went to the living room, returning with two birds perched on his shoulder.

"Their cage is in the living room." he showed me the birds with dark green, gray and black feathers.


"Close. Green-cheeked conures."

The birds were about the size of mangos, not including their long-feathered tails. Mike resumed his snack, unbothered as one bird used its beak to gently peck and nibble at his earing.

"Pretty bird." He made kissy noises at it. "Pretty bird, Lenore."

She ruffled her feathers, contently playing with his jewelry. When Mike was done eating, he brought his finger to her belly to poke her. She nibbled at his nail without any actual force.

"Here." he got her to hop on to his wrist, holding her towards me.

There wasn't any harm in it so I let him put Lenore on my sleeve.

"Lenore and Poe, huh?" I drawled.


"Gee, I wonder who named them."

Getting Lenore to reperch on him, Mike brought her and Poe back to their large cage for the night.

"Why is it people with birds almost always have two?" I asked.

The two birds cozied up to each other on a perch. Mike smiled in on them.

"Everyone needs a friend."


"I don't understand the hype with this movie. Everyone made it out to be great."

Lounging with Mike, I watched our horror feature for the night. Neither of us had seen the remake of Stephen King's "It". It was free to watch on Netflix so we gave it a try.

"It isn't a total bust, per se. The killer clown trope is just played out."

"Yet, they brought it back anyways."

The film was loosely holding my attention. When you saw one clown horror film, you saw them all. The end verdict wasn't astounding.

"I give it a five out of ten, at best." I concluded as the credits rolled. "That's me being generous."

"I'd hate to see you be stingy."

"You would."

Propping myself up, I stretched my arms up to relieve the tension from lying down through the whole movie.

"I'm going to step outside for a smoke." I excused myself, craving a cigarette. "I need nicotine."

"Smoking's so bad for you."

"Wouldn't be the worst thing I've done to myself."

I said the last bit without intending to. I'd forgotten who I was in the presence of.

"...Baby bat, what is that supposed to mean?"

"I don't take care of myself." I lied, although it was also the truth. "I live off coffee and junk food. Deal with idiot people. Same shit, different day. Cigarettes are the least of my flaws."

To avoid expanding on that conversation, I went up the stairs with my pack of cigarettes and a lighter in one hand and a half empty bottle of water in the other. That was a can of worms I didn't want to pop open for Mike.

He would have had empathy, no doubt. But, when I came to see him, I liked to leave as much of my shit at the door as I could. Having the opportunity was a luxury. Everywhere else it followed me like a storm cloud.

Barefoot with long sleeve pajamas, I was out of my element smoking in Mike's backyard. They had an inground pool, covered up for the season. The patio furniture was taken care of and all matched. The grass was cut and the grill on the patio gave me the impression Mike's family was big on get-togethers.

My mom paid one of the neighborhood kids to mow our lawn because my dad couldn't be bothered to do it consistently. I fended for myself, doing my own chores, so she didn't pin me with that task. Not many mothers could say their high schooler cleaned their room, bathroom and did their own laundry every week like clockwork.

Done with my cigarette, I put the it in the water bottle. I capped it and shook it up. Mike's family wouldn't appreciate cigarette buds in their lawn. The bottle was my ash tray for the weekend, and my gesture of courtesy.

"Back." I declared in my monotone way.

"You have a missed call."


Remote in hand, Mike clicked through Netflix's library. He pointed to my phone on the sheets. I'd left it right next to him so he easily saw who the caller was. I asked him and he gave me a look that said I wasn't going to be impressed.

"Take a wild guess." he prompted me


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