Chapter Text
It was just another Monday.
Or so Kyle believed while walking into the school building. He hated how much strength it cost him to open the main door – he needed to lean against the cold surface and utilize the whole weight of his body. Well, off to a good start.
‘’Gotta stay positive,’’ he murmured to himself stepping into the harsh lights of the main hallway. At last the flu had left his system and he could hand in those overdue papers he’d accumulated. Two weeks were undoubtedly too much time for lying in bed, so the vision of getting productive seemed like a salvation. After all, how many staring contests with his ceiling could he pull off? The bastard was far too experienced for him. But one day…
Kyle turned around as he felt someone’s gaze on him. A small flock of freshman girls followed him with their eyes, whispering animatedly. Did he have something on his face?
Or maybe it was a matter of his long absence. Yeah, most likely. Their high school was rather small, so news like that spread quickly and soon everyone knew everything. That must’ve been it. Fortunately, the solution to that was simple, easy to execute – keeping his head low and picking up the speed should be more than enough. Just survive the first period, maybe second, and Kyle would be home. Well, figuratively.
It was a method proven by his ancestors that every teenager had to master before beginning their education. Kyle believed he usually managed to hide pretty well – all those years living his life with ginger hair or Jerseyan blood had provided him with many occasions to train in getting under the radar – but apparently he still had a long way to go. Almost everyone was staring at him, talking in hushed voices, pointing curious fingers.
Damn, perhaps he could ask Kenny for some tips. The man was able to just say ‘’lol, bye’’ and dematerialize. Kyle remembered how during one of biology lectures Kenny had randomly sent him a peace sign and evaporated into thin air. Slick bastard got some things to explain, now that Kyle thought about it.
He looked around and shook his head. Coming back to school was always stressful and his mind must have been playing nasty tricks on him. Nerves made him blow things out of proportion, yeah. Yeah.
Yeah?
If yes, then why was Stan standing by Kyle’s locker, glancing around, looking all sweaty and terrified. As soon as he began to twitch, Kyle was convinced Tweek wore Stan’s clothes as part of another stupid bet. Anyway, Stan seemed ready to pull one more eco-terrorism heist or animal-hijacking. Either of those, considering his history.
‘’Stan?’’ Kyle waved casually, sauntering towards his locker, still feeling those stares piercing through his back. What was worse, the amount was seemingly growing with each passing second. He opened the green door and sorted out his books, wishing he could just squeeze in and hide there.
‘’Uh, hi dude,’’ Stan sputtered, his smile cracking violently. ‘’Fuck, okay, here it goes…’’
Kyle glanced around once again, trying to convince himself that the hallway wasn’t becoming crowded. But after spotting all of his friends, and even Cartman, his hopes died. He turned his head and felt his eyes widening wildly at the image before them.
Stan had already dropped to one knee in front of him, while his cheeks matched the color of the pompon on top of his beanie. Was he having a stroke?
‘’Stan, are you having a stroke-?’’
‘’Kyle,’’ he cut in, the words leaving his lips in an obviously practiced manner. ‘’Will you accept Sir Clementine the Fluffball?’’
Stan reached into his jacket’s pocket and pulled out a tiny creature hiding from the harsh school lights. He opened his large cupped hands slowly and from behind his fingers the smallest, fluffiest and obnoxiously rust-colored head peeked out. Its little confused beady black eyes blinked at Kyle.
‘’Stan,’’ Kyle managed to whisper, though he had no idea - or will to participate in - whatever that shit show was. ‘’What the fuck?’’
His best friend held a ginger freaking hamster, almost pushing the poor fluffy thing into Kyle’s face. He looked on the verge of collapse, while the crowd gossiped in hushed, expectant tones. What had happened to the peaceful Monday morning?
‘’Just… just please take it, dude.’’ Stan’s voice cracked terribly, but the words were directed to Kyle only, so nobody heard him either way. His eyes were the encyclopedic synonym of pleading, begging to hand over Clementine-something-something.
‘’Sure, just get up already, your jeans are getting dirty-‘’ Kyle tried to finish the sentence, but the hall erupted into a pure chaos full of loud cheers. He shielded the ginger ball of fluff sitting on his palm from the shouts instinctively.
He helped Stan stand up with his free hand, scrambling to process the situation.
‘’Well, well, well,’’ Cartman pushed through the sea of people, which seemed both easier and harder due to his weight. ‘’Didn’t think you’d have the balls to accept, Kahl. Move over, hippies, there’s an appraisal in progress!’’
‘’What are you talking about, you fatass-?’’
‘’Shh, Kahl, don’t interrupt the administrative process.’’ Cartman said as he put his wide finger on Kyle’s mouth and wiggled it much to Kyle’s dismay and utter disgust. ‘’Mmm, yes, Grade-A fur… mhm, a purebred Syrian, I presume, yes, I see…’’
‘’Yes, of course, I wouldn’t settle for anything less.’’ Stan vigorously nodded as they examined the hamster.
Whatever was happening, and regardless of why some people were filming the moment on their phones, Kyle’d had enough of the bullshit. He gently hid Clementine with his cupped hand from the countless stares and smacked Cartman’s face away.
‘’Kahl, you’ve got to respect my authoritah,’’ the fatass spoke in his casual down-to-business voice. ‘’Everything seems about right here, I just need to see your collateral to secure the union. Well, we’re waiting, Kahl.’’
‘’What collateral? What union?’’ Kyle asked, glancing at the clock. Didn’t these people have anything better to do? And whatever that stupid joke was, it wasn’t even funny. ‘’And stop poking at the hamster; it’s obviously fucking scared!’’
‘’So no collateral, I see.’’ Cartman continued, unbothered, and marked something on his pad he’d pulled out of his ass. Knowing him, probably literally, when nobody had been looking. Just like those cigarettes in the juvie.
‘’Dude…!’’ Stan hissed in panic, checking his phone. ‘’Didn’t you get the memo? …Oh God, I haven’t sent it.’’
‘’Could someone explain what the fuck is going on?! What memo, Stan?!’’ Kyle shouted, his voice cracking above the whispering hallway.
‘’About the dowry!’’ Stan squeaked, his cheeks more red than the hamster’s fur. He pulled Kyle to the side and started explaining the situation in a hushed tone. ‘’My dad made me do it. He said he’s taking my car away otherwise and you know how much I love Old Bertha!’’
‘’Stan… dowry? What do you mean, aren’t you with Wendy-?’’ Kyle tried really hard to comprehend it all, but it felt like Jesus himself would have to do the explanation for him to understand.
‘’Kyle,’’ Jesus emerged from the crowd. ‘’It isn’t important right now. You have to present Stan with an equal asset.’’
‘’But, Jesus, I don’t have a hamster! Can’t I just, you know... give it back?’’
‘’NO!’’ Stan and Jesus yelled in unison. Stan pinched his nose, while Jesus glanced around and continued whispering. ‘’Think, Kyle, think! It would be social suicide for Stan!’’
‘’So, where’s the rodent?’’ Someone from the crowd probed. A murmur of ‘’yeahs’’ followed it immediately.
‘’Kahl, where’s the rodent?’’ Cartman echoed with a wide grin on his face.
‘’Well, too bad, because I don’t have any!’’ Kyle yelled, completely stressed out and enraged.
"Then the law of the Holy See must be inquired." Jesus said solemnly, stepping between Kyle and Cartman. He reached into his robe, pulled out a smartphone with Metallica case and pressed speed dial. "Forgive me, my son, but we need your guidance here; you see-"
Stan’s jaw dropped. "Jesus, wait—are you calling—"
"Quiet, Stanley!" Jesus snapped, holding up a hand as the call connected over speakerphone. A majestic, Gregorian chant echoed through the hallway speakers, followed by a faint, majestic squeak-squeak from the receiver.
Jesus bowed his head to the phone. "Your Holiness Pope Snowball I. We have a crisis in South Park High. A high-tier Syrian has been accepted without counter-offering. We require an emergency papal decree on courtship default."
The hallway went dead silent. Even Cartman looked slightly unnerved as the tiny, muffled squeaks of a holy rabbit wearing a miniature mitre filled the crowded corridor.
Jesus nodded solemnly from time to time, while everybody held their breath. Across the hall, leaning casually against a row of lockers, Kenny took a lazy sip from a juice box, and flashed Kyle a quiet, knowing peace sign. Kyle sent him back a sign—the 'fuck off' sign, to be precise—which, of course, lured Craig into joining the exchange. All of that unfolded to the soundtrack of the holy squeak-squeaks.
Jesus held the speakerphone closer to his ear, his face darkening with each high-pitched squeak. "I see. Yes, Holy Father. Even the ginger ones? Understood."
"Wait," Stan said, his voice dropping into a horrified whisper. He leaned toward the phone, straining his ears. "Did he just say... Clause Seven?"
Jesus cast a stern, sorrowful look at Stan. "You speak the Sacred Lagomorph, Stanley?"
"My dad made me take the weekend seminar!" Stan groaned, buried his face in his hands, and let out a long, agonized sigh. "He's right, Kyle. There's no way out. According to Papal Decree, if a high-tier Syrian is accepted without a counter-offering, the recipient is bound into a thirty-day trial courtship..."
Stan winced, barely able to look Kyle in the eye. "...and the suitor’s family assumes temporary power of attorney over... all assets."
"What the fuck does that even mean?!" Kyle shrieked.
"It means," Cartman interjected, his voice dripping with sinister delight as he tapped his pen against his chin, "that until you offer an asset of equal status, Kahl... you're officially Stan's ball-and-chain. You’ve got his hamster, he’s got you."
Jesus hung up the phone with a decisive click, slipped it back into his robe, and patted Kyle on the shoulder. "My child?"
"Yes, Jesus?"
"Lol, bye."
Jesus turned and dissolved into a blur of bright light, blinding everyone within a mile radius. Huh, so that was where Kenny got that from.
"Oh, for fuck’s sake," Kyle groaned and rolled his eyes.
The warning bell rang, shattering the crowd into a scramble for first period. Stan tried his hardest to blend into the sea of students, though he was probably even worse at hiding than Kyle himself—he really needed to get some tips from Kenny or Jesus.
"Hell no, mister," Kyle said, grabbing Stan by his jacket collar and yanking him back.
"Haha, I wouldn’t want to be late, you know—" Stan gulped, stuttering nervously.
"Late? You think I give a shit about being late?!" Kyle hissed, tightening his grip until Stan had to stand on his tiptoes. Sir Clementine squirmed in Kyle's other hand, sniffing curiously at Stan's zipper. "Explain. Now."
"Look, my dad was gonna hand him over to Clyde!" Stan stammered, raising his hands in surrender. "Clyde, Kyle! Just because he has connections to Craig and his guinea pig empire! He would’ve fed him chocolate or left him in his locker over the weekend! I knew if I gave him to you, at least he’d be safe! You actually care about animals!"
Kyle blinked, his grip loosening just a fraction as the absurd logic hit him. "You saddled me with a legally binding debt... because you thought I’d be a good pet owner?!"
Before Stan could answer, a kindergarten kid waddled past them, clutching a half-eaten glue stick. The kid stopped, stared down at the hamster in Kyle’s palm, then looked up at Kyle with pure, unadulterated disgust.
"Broke-ass deadbeat," the kindergartener spit out coldly, before continuing down the hall toward the elementary wing.
Kyle stood frozen, his mouth slightly open. "Did a six-year-old just call me a deadbeat?"
"Technically, in the eyes of the present economy, he's not wrong," Stan muttered under his breath, immediately wincing as Kyle glared back at him.
‘’Fuck, Stan,’’ Kyle sank down onto the floor, uncaring about its dirtiness anymore. There were more pressing matters at hand. ‘’What did you rope me in, dude? I... I don’t even get what exactly has happened.’’
Clementine peeked at him with his beady eyes and nuzzled its fluffy head as if trying to cheer Kyle up. He patted the tiny ball, feeling like it was the only living being that understood and somewhat even shared his situation.
Stan slid down the locker next to him, burying his face in his knees. "Look… while you were sick, things happened. Now, in this god-forsaken town, rodents are strictly courtship collateral. You can't just give one to someone. The second you took Clementine, it registered as an accepted proposal. We're officially an exclusive item until you give me a rodent back."
"And your dad forced you into this?!" Kyle demanded, glaring over the top of the hamster's ears.
"Dude, you know him," Stan groaned, pulling his beanie down over his eyes. "He heard Gerald was looking into buying a chinchilla, so he panicked! He said we had to secure our family's social credit score or some bullshit like that—otherwise we’d have to sell Bertha!"
Kyle stared at Stan, then down at Clementine, who gave a tiny, contented squeak and attempted to nibble on Kyle's thumb.
"Stan! God! The chinchilla was supposed to be a birthday present for Ike!" Kyle cried out.
"Oh…"
The sheer density of the Marsh family line was something that should have been studied by scientists long ago, in Kyle’s humble opinion.
"Yeah. 'Oh,' Stan," Kyle said, his voice dangerously quiet. "So let me get this straight—because your dad is a lunatic and because you wanted to save a hamster from Clyde, I am now a deadbeat housewife in the eyes of the Catholic Church, Cartman, and basically the whole fucking school."
"...Technically, yeah," Stan agreed weakly, shrinking under Kyle's glare.
"No. Absolutely not. I am not spending thirty days as your stay-at-home wife, Stan," Kyle snapped, carefully sliding Sir Clementine into the warm front pocket of his hoodie. The hamster turned in a circle, made a tiny nest, and settled down. "We are fixing this. Today."
"Fixing it? Kyle, did you not hear the Pope?" Stan asked, looking up from his knees. "Let’s just wait it out or something; I mean the only way is to find a rodent—‘’
"Then we find one!" Kyle said, standing up and dusting off his jeans. He held out a hand, grabbing Stan by the wrist and hauling him up off the floor. "Until the end of the day, we find one, pay off this insane dowry, and break this stupid contract before your dad tries to claim power of attorney over my locker. And you are helping me with this."
Stan blinked, rubbing his wrist. "Are you kidding me?! Where do you want to find one up for adoption in this economy? All the pet stores in South Park are backordered until November because of the market rush, dude!"
Kyle paused, sending a death-threatening scowl directly at Stan.
‘’Stan,’’ he said dangerously slowly. ‘’One way or another, I am paying off this debt. And you are helping me with this."