A/N - After quite possibly the longest hiatus of my life, here I am again with another fanfiction. It was one I actually uploaded wayyy back when, but deleted because I had no drive to finish it, so my apologies if some of you remember this :') At least you'll get to see how it ends now! If you like what I write about, hop over to my tumblr to see my fanart! ALSO I realize how horrendously short my chapters are, and I've been told to lengthen them, so as we go on they will get longer, I promise C:

South Park (C) Matt n Trey

Part 1.

What would you do if somebody told you that you were going to die?

It was a Tuesday when Stan Marsh got the phone call from Kenny asking if he was sober enough to retain the information he was about to relay. He just mumbled back an incoherent reply, but Kenny went on despite that. "Stan, it's Kyle."

"Hm?" Stan grunted in response. The last time he'd spoken to Kyle, Kenny or even Eric for that matter was more than two months ago. He didn't mean for it to happen that way, but Kyle had told him countless times to stop drinking; that it wasn't healthy for him. He just never listened. He was tired and upset and sick of his parents' bullshit. Drinking seemed like the easiest way to escape it all, even if for just a little while. For Kenny to suddenly call him out of the blue was a rare occurrence.

He could hear Kenny sigh on the other end. "Stan, he's in the hospital. The doctors say he's going to die." There was an awkward silence after that, in which Stan's eyes widened in disbelief. Sure, he may not have spoken to the redhead in a while, but he sure as hell didn't want him to die. They were super best friends for a large point in their lives and no matter how much he didn't want to believe it, Kyle was, at present, lying in a hospital bed on the verge of death.

"W-when did this happen?" his voice was shaky. "Why is he..." he couldn't manage to finish his sentence before trailing off, imagining the horrible possibilities.

"It started last week," Kenny's voice was unreasonably calm, but Stan knew from past experiences that Kenny was just very good at covering up his feelings. "He started to get sick again. He told us not to worry, but it only escalated after that. He's been in the hospital for a while... It's his kidney again. It's failing."

"What?" Stan nearly yelled. Why hadn't anyone told him?

As if reading his mind, Kenny said, "He didn't want me to tell you at all, but when I visited him today, he told me that he knows he's going to die." He paused for a moment, taking in a breath, "Now that he knows he's going to die, he wanted me to tell you..."

"You're lying," Stan's breaths were quick. He felt like he was suffocating. Kyle couldn't be dying. He couldn't be sick. This was all just some sick, twisted joke, right? "Kenny, you bastard. Do you think this is funny? How could you tell this sort of sick joke?" he yelled.

This was when Kenny lost it. Normally he was the kind to stay calm through anything, to make everyone else feel better about the situation, but Stan couldn't blame him. He deserved all that Kenny said to him. "Shut the fuck up, Stan! Do you really think I want to tell you this? Do you think that I want to be the bearer of bad news? That Kyle's dying isn't some sick fucking joke. It's reality. Maybe if you had been around more, you would have known. Maybe instead of drowning yourself in alcohol every time you didn't think you could handle some stupid ass problem or yours, you would have realized! He's your best fucking friend, you douche bag. I don't care what you say. Even if you haven't spoken in months, you two are still best friends, so stop wallowing in your own self pity and get your ass down to the hospital to see him again!" Stan was sure he heard Kenny start to cry before he hung up the phone and it made him feel like shit. He knew that his parents fighting and Shelly beating him up was a normal thing and maybe if he'd bothered to talk to his friends about it, they could have helped, but because he turned to alcohol, he couldn't turn away. He hated himself for never trying to fix things, but he'd always just assumed Kyle would run back to him and they would start over like usual. What a pathetic thing to think. It wasn't Kyle's fault that this fight had started. It was his own, and to believe Kyle would come back to apologize first was pathetic.

He threw down the phone in rage, running to his desk and throwing off any papers and folders he could get his hands on. He let out an aggravated scream. "Fuck! This isn't happening!" he screamed to himself until his screams turned into nothing more than sobs and he was curled up on the floor crying. He didn't know if it was partly the alcohol, but that was the worst he had ever felt in all his years of living.

"Stan?" his mother knocked on the door. She'd learned to leave him alone when he had these outbursts. "Stan, honey, what's wrong?"

"Go away," he snapped. "I don't want to talk to anyone right now!"

She sighed, "You can't just lie on the floor. It won't make your problems go away."

"Leave me alone," he muttered. He was in no mood to talk things out now. He just wanted to fall asleep and wake up to a world where everything went back to the way it used to be. He wished he'd never become such a cynical bastard or touched that first bottle of alcohol.

After his mother left, he pulled himself into a ball on the floor and shut his eyes tight. He didn't want to face this world right now. He didn't want to believe that Kyle was dying. He didn't want to believe that Kenny had just called him out and he definitely didn't want to believe that it was all real. If it was, that meant he would have to face it sooner rather than later because if Kyle died, he wasn't going to come back.

"Fuck," he hissed, rubbing his eyes. "Fuck everything. This whole world sucks!" He wanted to dream of when they were still eight years old, going on crazy adventures and getting mixed up in weird shenanigans. It was all fun, though, when he looked back on it. They may have complained, but out of each strange adventure, they got thousands of laughs and made tons more memories. Memories he wouldn't trade in for anything, no matter what had happened over the course of the year. He wondered if the others felt the same way, or if they were embarrassed to be in the same room as him.

He sighed, remembering one of the last times he'd really seen them. They'd finally graduated grade twelve not too long ago and Bebe was hosting a huge party for their classes. Of course, there had been alcohol and Stan got to drinking. He imagined he must have made such a fool of himself in front of them because even Eric looked disgusted when he'd seen them the next day. He'd wanted to apologize, but he couldn't bring himself to take a step forward. Instead, he'd just watched as Kyle gave him a disappointed look and walked away.

From then on, he decided to stop holding back. If Kyle was so disappointed in him, there was no chance things would go back to the way they used to be, right?

He felt tears well up at his eyes again. He just couldn't believe Kyle was dying. His best fucking friend was dying in some hospital bed and he couldn't even bring himself off his ass to go see him because he was too embarrassed. What the hell kind of friend did that make him? An incredibly shitty one, he'd bet. Even Eric Cartman had probably visited Kyle once or twice. "I'm so pathetic," he wailed. He wanted to see Kyle again, but he didn't want to see him strapped up to machines and high from meds. He was still just a kid! Kids shouldn't be locked up in a hospital room. They should be running around freely without a care in the world.

He didn't admit it often, but he always wanted the best for Kyle. He was so young and had such a bright future that Stan was sure he would go far. But... instead, he was going to die.

He recalled a few Christmases ago, when Kyle had asked Stan to meet him at Harbucks. He walked over in the snow, bundled up tight and curious as to what it was that Kyle wanted. When he arrived, Kyle waved his hand happily and motioned for him to come over to the seats he'd saved. "Stan, I know we don't usually exchange gifts anymore, but I found you something I thought was perfect."

"Hm, what is it?" Stan asked curiously.

"Take a look yourself!"

So he did. "It's pretty big," he chuckled as he unwrapped it.

"Yeah, well," Kyle rubbed his head, "I thought you could use it."

It was a guitar. A beautiful wooden guitar. "Wh-what... Dude, are you serious? Didn't this cost you a load of money?"

"Actually, not too much," Kyle smiled. "In any case, I remember you telling me that you wish you had your own. I thought you could make something beautiful. I'd also like to hear you play sometime! And who knows, you might even like to join Kenny at the coffeehouse."

"Dude... this is seriously awesome of you. Thank you so much," he gently set the gift down on a table and pulled Kyle in for a tight hug. "You rock."

Kyle laughed, "No problem, dude."

Stan had played the guitar tons of times after that and it had been great fun. He and Kenny played nights together at the coffeehouse an he'd even composed his own songs a few times. He remembered how excited Kyle looked whenever he would make a new piece.

He glanced to the corner of his room. Since he'd become an alcoholic, that poor guitar had only been collecting dust and had become nothing more than a part of the room. He couldn't remember the last time he'd played something.

He slowly pulled himself off the floor and dried his tears. He reached out for the guitar, gently picking it up as if it would crumble if he was too rough. He walked back over to his bed and sat down, setting his hands on the strings to get used to the feeling again. It really had been far too long. He hoped he hadn't forgotten, but as soon as he had a song in mind, he began to play like old times. Slowly strumming away, he closed his eyes once more, trying to forget for a moment, how horrible his life turned out to be. How horrible he had made it become.

Moments later, he stopped playing. He glanced at the guitar and images of Kyle flashed through his mind. He missed his friend so fucking much it hurt. It hurt to remember. It hurt to keep playing, so he stood back up and laid the guitar on his bed, turning and running into the bathroom. He stared at himself in the mirror. His hair was disheveled, his eyes red from crying and his face was sickeningly pale. It was summer, but he'd spent most of the time inside, alone.

He looked down and watched as his tears fell into the sink. He turned the tap on, not wanting his family to hear him cry anymore. "Shit, I messed up... I messed up bad," he hugged himself tightly.

"I'm sorry, Kyle. I'm so sorry."