Chapter 1: The Drive

Everyone in this story is around 16-17

Style Pairing, don't like it, don't read.

Stan's POV:

I launch the pickup backwards out of the driveway and send it flying down Lemon Street, not caring how fast I go or which lane I'm in. The tires screech as I make turns without stepping on my brake.

It's a miracle that I'm getting away with this, and I thank my lucky stars we aren't in Denver. It's two-thirty in the morning and it appears Officer Barbrady couldn't be bothered patrolling tonight. It wouldn't have mattered though, nothing is going to get my foot off the gas pedal until I get Kyle to the hospital.

As I merge onto the 51, I take a look at my Super Best Friend.

"Hey Kye, are you hanging in there?"

The best he can do is let out a pained grunt in reply as he clutches his chest in agony.

"Listen dude, don't you worry about a thing, we'll be at the hospital in a few minutes and they'll help you."

I hope my words got through to him but I'm not sure what I could say really, I'm not the one in danger of going into cardiac arrest. I look at him again, his hands and feet are shaking miserably, and he's been reduced to tears.

I only contemplate the risk of driving with one hand for a moment before my left hand grabs Kyle's, and our fingers interlock. The shaking subsides a little bit, meaning I've succeeded. A little bit.

I hear somebody honking at me as I cut across three lanes to make my exit. I kick myself for almost missing it but I need to stay focused.

Luckily, the parking lot isn't too crowded and I manage to get a spot right in front.

"Alright Kye, we're here, can you walk?"

Kyle just shakes his head.

I nod and get out of the car, walk over to his door, open it, and pick him up as carefully as I possibly can. Thankfully, my Super Best Friend is quite light and this isn't too difficult.

I barge in with Kyle in my arms and announce that he's close to a heart attack. A team of medical assistants immediately rushes up to us with a stretcher. I hand Kyle over as he's gently laid down on the stretcher. I yell to let Kyle know I'll be staying here and take a seat at the mostly empty waiting room. There's some news story on the TV about a shooting and I just try to block it out. I really, REALLY don't want to hear the word "death" right now.

After the most agonizing wait of my 16 year old life, a doctor approaches me with a half smile.

"I have good news, we have calmed your friend's symptoms and the danger has passed. He will be okay, thanks to you getting him here so quickly."

I breathe a gigantic sigh of relief. My world won't end tonight, my SBF will survive.

"Still, he's in no condition to go home yet. He's still recovering from the pain and we must determine the cause so we can prevent him from having future attacks. I would say he will likely be released tomorrow afternoon."

"Thank you so much doctor... oh crap! I need to call Kyle's parents!"

"Already done, they are on there way. You've done your job Stanley, we will take care of it from here. You should go home and get some sleep."

"No."

"Sorry?"

"I won't leave him tonight!" I stated emphatically, "I WILL be staying until he's released."

The doctor seemed taken aback, this was probably more than a bit unusual for him.

"...Very well Mr. Marsh. We have a sleeping bag that you can use in his room if you'd wish, but you must not wake or disturb him. He is hooked up to a heart monitor and needs plenty of rest."

I agree to these terms and sleep takes me as soon as I crawl into the warm blanket.

—-—

(Kyle's POV)

The last thing I remembered was Stan's voice telling me he won't leave me, and then I blacked out.

Or at least, I wish that was the last thing I remembered.

The rubber restraints that crossed my chest on the stretcher turned to chains, and the surgeons turned to soldiers. I was brought into a chamber when I finally connected the dots.

This wasn't an operation, it was an execution.

Before I could begin to process how or why anything was happening, I was roughly yanked to my feet and forced up a wooden staircase.

I turn my head to get a look at the brute forcing me toward my doom. There isn't a single sign of remorse or sympathy on his hideous face. He's only about 3 inches taller than me but his muscles are popping out of his shirt, and he's wielding both a battle-axe and a heavy shield. I'm half-aware at this point that I am not in reality right now, but that doesn't make the slap to the back of the head I received for not moving fast enough hurt any less.

I can only stare straight ahead in horror as a noose is roughly tightened around my neck. I'm about 20 feet above ground and the only things below me are the ground and a disgusting cluster of people screaming for my death.

It's right then that a horrible thought crosses my mind: I won't die, but I will suffer from this hanging until I wake. I go into a complete panic as I'm shoved off the edge towards my incredible suffering, but right before I reach the end of the rope, I hear an odd sound.

A zipper.

How could I have possibly heard that in this dream? This is clearly before anything with zippers was invented and-

Just like that the dream ends and I'm back in my hospital bed. The zipper I heard was Stan, unzipping his sleeping bag in my room.

His sheer presence spared me incredible pain.

I'm too exhausted to speak, but I silently thank him in my heart as I peacefully drift back to sleep.