Chapter Text
It was group project time in Mr Garrison’s English class and everyone was sitting around chatting to their newly chosen partners who’d they’d be working with for the event.
Well, everyone except a certain British student who was alone yet again, and too embarrassed to speak up and actually let his teacher know he was without a partner because he knew how uncool it looked.
Pip sighed and kept his head low to nullify the noise of the whispers around him. His heart pounded in his chest as his nerves took over. He felt so embarrassed.
He was never chosen by anyone as a partner in class because he was the most unpopular person in probably the entire school at this point and he knew nobody liked him, but it still hurt to see his classmates actively avoid trying to pair with him.
He lowered his head, wanting to disappear.
The classroom door was unceremoniously kicked open as Stan re-entered the room, sliding the hall pass onto Mr Garrison’s desk as he passed it.
Stan wiped his hands on his jacket and made his way back over to his seat. He then noticed Butters sitting there and realized in his absence, everyone had seemed to have moved desks.
“Uh, what’s going on?” he asked their teacher.
“Oh Stanley, I forgot you went to pee-pee.” Mr Garrison addressed him. “Everyone’s found a partner for our class project today. As there’s nobody left for you to pair with, I guess you’re on your own for this one. Just choose a topic based on what we’ve been learning over the past week and submit it by Tuesday.” he explained, not really caring about his plight.
“Dude!” Stan protested.
“But sir, Frenchie doesn’t have a partner!” Cartman intentionally called out to piss off Stan.
Both Pip and Stan cringed at the same time.
“Oh hey you’re right! Stan, sit by Pip. He’s going to be your partner for the project.”
The class snickered at this news. Stan looked distraught. He opened his mouth to argue but Mr Garrison shook his head, pointing harshly towards Pip. Stan groaned and made his way over to the Brit, sitting down in a huff.
“Um, hello Stanley. A-Are you sure you’re okay for me to be partners with you?” Pip asked nervously.
“Well not really but I guess I have no choice.” Stan rudely snapped back. He folded his arms crossly.
“Righto.”
Mr Garrison then decided to explain their class project would have to be completed after school as part of their homework, and this in itself made Stan blanch. He’d have to meet up with Pip OUTSIDE of school? He shuddered at the thought.
There was no way Pip was coming to his house, that was for sure.
~~~~~
And so, later that evening Stan found himself trudging down the backstreets of South Park towards the address Pip had hastily given him on a scrap of paper, kicking snow as he went along.
With his hands shoved deep into his pockets, Stan grumbled at the whole situation he found himself in. Pip was such a fucking loser. Like lowest of the low. And now Stan was expected to do some crappy project with him? It wasn’t fair.
He found out later that afternoon that Kyle had tried to wait until Stan got back to partner up with him but he’d been collared by Kenny and couldn’t really say no, but Stan still felt like Kyle had bailed on him.
Why did he have to choose THAT fucking moment to go to the toilet?
Stan stopped on a driveway and double-checked the address to make sure he was at the right property. The garden and house from the outside looked immaculate but he wasn’t sure what else he was to expect from British people. They were known for their tidiness, right?
He knocked on the door. There was no answer for a few moments, then he knocked again.
“Come on.” he complained.
He could hear some commotion from inside the house and then the door suddenly opened, a flustered Pip standing in the doorway.
“Oh, you’re here!”
“No shit.” Stan deadpanned. “Well? Can I come in?”
Pip opened the door fully. “Y-Yes, er, sorry!” he moved out of the way so Stan could enter.
Stan walked into the hallway and was surprised to see how spotless everything was. Pip followed him in before overtaking him to lead the way.
“D-Did you find the house okay?”
“Well I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Y-Yes of course, I’m sorry.” Pip apologized. “Would you like a drink or anything?”
“Er, no thanks.”
“No problem. The table is through here.”
As Pip lead Stan through the spotless rooms, he caught a glance of several photographs on the walls and mantlepiece, proudly showing off the family. His eyes lingered on them for a few moments, taking in what he assumed were the figures of Pip’s parents and other relatives. Oddly, there were none of Pip.
For a split second he wondered why the Brit wasn’t in any of them.
“Um, the table is here.” Pip cleared his throat, pulling out a chair for Stan to sit at, then moved to the other side of the table and took a seat, gathering his papers which were scattered on the table.
“So, this is your house then?” Stan forced himself to make conversation as he waited for Pip to finish faffing about.
“Well, i-it’s not my house, but I live here.”
Stan thought that was a weird answer.
Once Pip had piled his papers together, he turned to Stan. “D-Did you have any ideas in mind for the project?”
“Not really. I wasn’t really listening to what Mr Garrison said we had to do.”
“Oh.”
“Why?”
Pip rubbed the back of his head. “I-I wasn’t really listening to him either…”
Stan scowled. “God damn it! You’ve mean I’ve come all the way over here for nothing? What the hell are we supposed to do now?”
Pip flinched at his raised voice. “I-I don’t know. I’m sorry.”
Stan groaned and faceplanted the table, dropping his face into his arms.
Pip shuffled a little on his chair, watching him. He felt awful for not being able to remember what the task was. He was so worried about being laughed at he had completely zoned out and couldn’t remember for the life of him what their teacher had told them to do. There was nobody in his class he could ask either, not that he had a phone to do that anyway. But then he suddenly realized- Stan probably had one!
“Er, do you have a phone? You could, um, use that to ask someone, maybe?” he dropped his thought out there.
“What about you?” Stan mumbled.
“I… don’t have a phone… or anyone to ask.”
Stan lifted his head. He reached into his pocket and texted Kyle.
As he waited for the jock to text his best friend, Pip glanced at the clock. On seeing the time he excused himself and went into the kitchen, grabbing two oven gloves before taking a tin out of the oven. He checked the contents of the tin then put it back in the oven.
When he returned to the dining room, Stan was scribbling some notes in the notebook he’d brought over. Pip sat back down.
“Kyle said we have to choose a topic based on one of Mr Garrison’s TV shows and then write up a review of why they’re good or bad. I asked him if we actually have to watch the shows but he said he was just gonna make stuff up.”
“O-Okay. Do you need me to do anything?”
Stan pushed some paper towards him. “Just write any old shit about that shitty romantic show he likes.”
Pip nodded and got to work.
The two teens scribbled away in silence at first, which Stan found particularly uncomfortable. All they could hear was the sound of the oven and the popping of the tin lid every so often.
Stan decided to attempt conversation once more, just to relieve his own boredom.
“So, um, I’ve got a question.”
Pip glanced up. “A question?”
“Yeah, so like, why aren’t there any photos of you?”
“P-Photos?” Pip’s pen jumped from the page, leaving a squiggle in its place.
Stan nodded. “Yeah, photos. I noticed you have lots of photos of your parents but none of you. Why?”
“W-Well they didn’t- don’t really need any pictures of me?”
“Why?” Stan asked, looking up from his paper.
“I’m not a true member of the family, really.” Pip shrugged. “It feels wrong for me to have photographs with them.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Well, I’m adopted.”
Stan stared at the Brit for a minute, noticing for the first time that his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Oh.”
Pip glanced at his work.
Stan pressed the issue further. “But… they haven’t taken any photographs with you since they adopted you?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I don’t really know.” Pip lied, “They’re probably just busy. I don’t really see them much.”
“So, where do they actually work?”
Pip’s eyes dropped to his paper. “Oh, um, I… don’t know.”
Stan frowned. “What do you mean you don’t know?”
“They… don’t really talk to me about stuff like that.”
“But even I know what my parents do. My Dad’s a Geologist, and my Mom’s a Receptionist. You really don’t know what they do?”
Pip shook his head.
“Aren’t you curious? Don’t you think to ask them?”
Pip shook his head again. “Um, well, not really. They’re usually too busy for any questions and don’t like me asking anything.”
“They don’t talk to you at all then?”
Pip blanched, realizing he’d admitted the truth by accident. “Um, well, you know, they shout at me from time to time. L-Like normal parents do. They ask if I’ve finished my chores and stuff.”
“Do you have many chores to do?”
“Um, just usual ones. Cooking, cleaning, stuff like that.”
“And you do these after school?”
“And the mornings and weekends.”
Stan was finding this stranger and stranger.
“D-Does that answer your question?” Pip asked nervously, not liking being probed so much.
“I guess. It’s just weird.”
“S-Sorry.”
Just as Pip apologized, an alarm went off in the kitchen, startling the pair. Pip’s eyes widened and he darted into the kitchen towards the oven. Without protecting his hands first, Pip yanked the door open and pulled the tin out, a wall of smoke hitting him in the face. He turned off the oven, opened a window to stop the alarm, and knelt over the tin discarded on the floor, viewing the cremated contents.
The reality of the situation dawned on Pip.
When they got back home, he was FUCKED.
Stan had followed Pip into the kitchen and was now observing him. The Brit was hunched over, scars visible on his exposed neck, staring at the baking tin with despair in his eyes. He looked as though he was in deep trouble, and from what Pip had told him already, Stan was beginning to understand why.
“Hey.”
Pip shuddered as he heard Stan’s voice from behind him. He winced and prepared for a nasty comment about his culinary skills.
“Your hands are bleeding.”
Pip lowered the sweltering palms of his hands into his lap. He stood up and attempted to pick the tray up, but he recoiled as the burn got worse. From behind him, Stan grabbed the oven mittens and picked up the tray.
“Where do you want this?”
Pip snapped out of his bubble of anxiety. He gasped when he saw Stan was actually assisting him.
“N-No, you shouldn’t be doing that!” he panicked, trying to take it off the jock. “You’re my guest, you don’t need to worry yourself over this.”
“You seem to be worrying yourself over this.” Stan noted. “Do you… do this every night?”
Pip nodded in defeat. “It’s… one of my jobs.”
“Run your hands under the cold water.”
Pip did what he was asked. He ran the cold tap and held his crippled hands under the faucet to soak them as Stan disposed of the tin’s contents. Pip almost let out a cry when he did that, conscious that he no longer had a meal to present his adoptive parents, which would likely mean punishment. He bit his lip. Stan didn’t know this and probably didn’t care.
However, instead of bailing like he expected him to, Stan turned the oven back on.
“What ingredients do you have in the cupboard?”
Pip was in shock. “E-Excuse me?”
“I know a little bit about cooking, so I can help you make something else. What ingredients do you have?”
Pip found himself getting emotional at Stan’s unexpected thoughfulness. “Um, if you look in the cupboard on the r-right there’s some things in there.”
Stan soon got to work. Pip didn’t want him to do everything, so assisted in preparing the new meal, which was homemade lasagne, and soon the Italian meal was cooking in the oven. Stan watched as Pip dropped his arms over one of the kitchen chairs, breathing unsteady, clearly fraught over what had happened. His hands were still red and crusty, looking extremely sore.
“I-I’m sorry.” Pip started.
“Why are you sorry?”
“You shouldn’t have had to do that for me.” he dejectedly replied.
“I guess it’s my fault for distracting you.” Stan admitted. “So I’m sorry too.”
Pip shook his head, “Oh n-no, it wasn’t your fault. It was mine. I’m too clumsy and forgetful. I-I can pay you back though. I’ll do the rest of the project by myself so you don’t have to.”
Stan considered this. At the start of the evening he would have jumped at the chance to get out of working with Pip, but since gaining a little bit of insight into his home life, he didn’t really feel like burdening Pip with something else. He seemed busy enough without that on his plate.
“No, it’s okay, I can still help out. Do you want to perhaps try this again tomorrow? Maybe, at my place?”
Pip’s mouth dropped open. Was that… an invite? To another person’s house? Like what normal kids his age usually got? He shuddered excitedly.
“Oh, u-um, t-thank you very much for the offer S-Stanley, but- I- I mean- are you sure you and your family will want me there?”
Stan actually smiled. “Yeah. To be honest I think you deserve a break.”
Understanding his meaning, Pip gave his first geniune smile of the day. He bowed his head. “T-Thank you Stanley.”