Stan slowly began to open his eyes, still in a daze and last remembering being brutally shoved aside by that drunk fat man. He could feel his head pounding from the inside, but managed to relax slightly when he carefully felt the comfortable wide bed he was laying on. With his eyes still only half-open, he caught the attention of a silhouette at the end of his bed, as the large rounded figure slowly walked towards him.

It spoke: "Ha. Looks like you're awake now, son."

It took almost a minute longer before Stan was awake and composed enough to slowly reply, as he quietly asked the most generic question possible: "Wha... what happened?"

Assuming that the boy was now well enough to hear the story, the figure explained: "You were out for some time and lucky that I came across you when I did. I'm not sure what you had done, but I found you on that incomplete housing development a few minutes from here. Knocked out cold in the middle of nowhere, I've never seen anything like it."

After hearing an unintelligible groan from the child, the man continued: "Luckily for your sake I happen to be a doctor, so I brought you straight home and gave you a thorough examination. Three bruises on the back of your head, a black eye, and a slightly strained lower back. I'm not surprised that you were unconscious for at least 6 hours since I found you."

Still speaking quietly, a worried Stan stuttered out with fear: "So why didn't you take me to a h-hospital?"

"My boy, it is on the other side of town. My home is closer, I have more than sufficient examination equipment and drugs in here for your case and I am currently on a week-long leave from work, I don't want to have to go back there on my day off. I am more concerned about you right now, though. How are you feeling?"

Stan groaned: "Well I'm awake now I guess. My head hurts like hell but I can probab- HUH?," he exclaimed as he peeled away the bed cover, but quickly threw it back on after noticing that he was wearing nothing but his underwear.

The smartly-dressed man in front of him chuckled, rambling on: "Don't be shy, boy. I told you I had to give you a full examination while you were unconscious, and your clothes - rather odd fashion sense for this time of year I might add - were quite muddy after your obvious accident, so I have put them in my washing basket, plus I didn't want to take any chances with layers of constricting clothes when it came to you recovering and regaining conciousness. Trust me, I'm a doctor. That was quite the extra shock for me, though, never in my career I have seen anyone wearing blue underwear before, whatever next? That's an unusual name you have by the way Hanes, why did your parents choose it?"

Forced to focus on the last few words, an agitated Stan corrected: "Wait - my name is Stan. Stan Marsh. 'Hanes'? Where did you get that ide-oooohhhh," he added after glancing downward and realising the nature of the discussion.

"My apologies, Stan, but I must say that makes your fashion choices all the stranger, if that were even possible."

Getting slightly irritated and remembering the other point of discussion, Stan angrily asked: "Wait, that doesn't change the fact that you completely undressed me. You sick bastard. I don't know who the hell you think you are but where I come from-"

The man quickly interjected: "And where might that be?"

"Er... Colorado," was the dazed but swift reply from the black-haired boy.

"Wow. Then you are quite some way from home right now. Whatever are you doing all the way out in Rhode Island on your own? Spooner, by the way. My name is Dr. Gerhard Spooner."

'Spooner', Stan thought to himself, pretty sure that it was the name of the street on Stewie's address when he visited this morning. It was at that moment that he finally took notice of his surroundings, in what appeared to be the sort of guest room that his grandparents might have in their house, although it seemed to be a bit 'older', yet looked 'fresher' at the same time. He brushed the thought to one side as he addressed his next question to the doctor: "Wait a minute. Did you say I was unconscious... on an unfinished housing development? Why were you there, and how did you find me in a place like that?"

A reluctant Dr. Spooner attempted to answer, explaining: "Ah, so many questions. There I was, tying a rope to one of the housing frames, minding my own business... when I looked across the street and saw a body collapsed in the housing frame opposite. I got down there and had a closer look, and all I could see was you, a blue backpack, and what must have been your coat and jacket with a hood, which I found strange especially considering the good weather we've been having. The bag was making an odd beeping sound, so I threw it away as far as I could. I also had to check that you were still breathing, although I found it odd that you were due to the large pile of excrement next to you. Every doctor knows that voiding your bowels is the last thing that you do before you die."

The middle-aged man continued: "After that, I just loaded, you, your jacket, and coat into my car and brought you here. I have to say that I'm glad I personally oversaw your recovery in more ways than you can imagine, I... was starting to lose my passion for medicine. Anyway, I feel somewhat responsible for ensuring that you get back to your full health, and you are welcome to stay at my house for as long as you need. Try to rest up for a few hours, I am just heading into town to buy groceries and parts for my latest project, it's not for you, but I am trying to build my own design for an x-ray machine. Oh, and of course I need to pick up some clothes for you to wear while the others are being washed."

Avoiding the more disturbing thoughts, and trying to piece together the events that led up to his unconsciousness, Stan's brain clicked with fear, as he questioned: "Machine?... Machine!? Hang on a second, when the hell am I?"

"Stan, I believe the question you should be asking is 'where the hell am I?'. But I suppose jogging your memory can only be good for your recovery, so right now it is *checks watch* 1:21 pm on Thursday the 24th of August, 1939."

"1939!?" Stan had to exclaim to ensure he was not hearing things.

"Yes! Please keep that train of thought going if you can. Try and re-stimulate your brain a little. I need to go now though so just try and relax and maybe get some more sleep. I would go to the toilet in there as well since you haven't obviously been for a while, and I could guarantee that you were going to be a bit thirsty after you came around so there is a glass of water on the side there when you need it, but please just avoid moving around too much where possible."

With more important thoughts spinning around his damaged head, Stan muttered: "...kay."

"Okay? Good. Goodbye for now Stan, I'll try not to be too long. Just stay relaxed as I will need to perform routine injections when I return," the doctor said before closing the door behind him.

The final statement could not have put Stan more on-edge, although thinking about it he felt it was likely to have happened at some point considering the type of person his 'rescuer' was.

Following at least part of Dr. Spooner's advice, he soon slowly made his way to the en-suite bathroom, where he caught full notice of himself in the mirror, and while he couldn't see any marks on his bare back, he did not miss the fact that he now sporting a pair of bandages around his head, a black eye, and perhaps more worryingly, the lack of his signature blue-and-red hat. Muttering to himself on the way out of the bathroom about how he would at least be taking that kind of news better than his best friend Kyle would, Stan crawled back into the king-size bed and tried to relax his throbbing head and aching back.

This would not be an easy task with the words '1939' and 'injection' still fresh in the memory, though, and while he had a natural curiosity and adventurous attitude towards leaving the guest room and exploring the doctor's house, his tiredness, current lack of clothes, and fear of worrying even more about his possible surroundings were the factors that kept him firmly in the comfy bed. Trying to fill his mind with 'just a dream' thoughts, the 10-year-old attempted to fall back to sleep and closed his eyes, hoping that the next time he opened them, they would be looking at the face of Stewie Griffin, his parents, or anyone else that would make him feel like he was in familiar territory. Even Cartman would do.


A/N: Okay, that's another chapter down, I'm sure you can predict whether or not it's 'just a dream'...

As before, the next chapter name will be decided by a vote on my profile page to give you a further hint of what's to come, so your choices are 'The Time Traveller's Lies' and 'Could Be Worse'.