South Park © Matt & Trey

At first I felt grief and confusion, then anger and pain, but as time went on I just had a bitter feeling towards you.

You walked away from me; rejected the help I could have given you.

Why did you cast me aside? How could you cast me aside so easily?

I needed to understand, but I couldn't come up with a reason as to what gave you the right to act like I was just another faceless student in the halls.

Then you came back. I had lost you for an entire year, and then you came back to me.

I didn't want to fight with you, but I had a lot of pent up anger, you have to believe me. I

didn't understand, but now I do. It was probably the kindest thing you've ever done...

and the stupidest.

-.-.-.-

I don't remember much about what happened after Kenny left me in the snow all alone, afraid, as that one sentence swirled around in my brain. I really don't, but I do remember finding myself at the Broflovski's house, just staring up numbly. It was three in the morning, no one would be awake and I was still a little drunk. I hadn't even been there in over a year, and I doubted Sheila and Gerald would have been impressed with my sudden presence at such an hour. Ike most probably wouldn't care, though.

But they didn't matter, anyhow. All I needed to do was climb up to the second story in order to reach my destination. Fuck, how did I do it all of them other times without falling? I had even done it completely pissed on numerous occasions, and the only thing that was stopping me at that moment was inexperience. I hadn't had any need to do it in over a year.

Ahh fuck it. If I died trying, it would only be a matter of time before I saw him again, anyway.

...way to keep positive about the whole ordeal, Marsh...

The next thing I knew, I was on the roof... well, most of me was. It's probably best if don't really expand on it, since I'm still at a loss as to what actually happened. But when I pushed on the window a little, I realized that it was locked. It never occurred to me that the window being locked was a possibility.

So there I was. Half on the roof, and half not, a little tipsy, and unsure how to get down since I couldn't even remember how I got up there; I was screwed. Until I realized that I could tap on the glass, that is. Maybe he would still be willing to talk to me, even though I totally didn't deserve it.

I heard some shuffling on the inside, before a light turned on, and, a few seconds after, the window was opened revealing a semi-conscious, confused looking redhead, "Stan? What are you doing?"

"Uh... No clue, to be honest," I forced out, as I practically fell into his room. It still looked the exact same as it did the year previous. Same posters, same decor... There were even the same photos, most of them were just the two of us, but there were more with Kenny, and even Cartman. Some had Craig and his gang in them. It was... endearing. I finally turned to the pale faced teen, who was rubbing his eyes and yawning quietly; I must have woken him up, "Please don't tell me that it's true,"

"Huh?" His green eyes were dulled, and he looked like he was about to fall asleep, but he forced a casual smile anyway, shutting the window tightly before turning back to sit on the foot of the bed with wobbly, unco-ordinated steps, "What am I denying for you?" He asked, sounding a little more awake than earlier.

Suddenly, my hands seemed like the most interesting thing in the world as my heart rose to my throat, "Kenny said... He said that you were dying, because of some sickness you had. Tell me that it's not true, please, just tell me that it's not true."

"Oh," He yawned again, rubbing at his eyes, "Well then, it's not true."

I smiled, completely relieved, "You really mean it?" He stayed silent for a few moments, and his sleepiness had nothing to do with it, I realized upon noticing him trying to avoid my gaze, "You're not dying are you? Kyle...?"

"We, er, need to have a talk," he pat the bed a few times, encouraging me to sit by his side, and when I did he didn't look in my direction, just yawned once more as he shook his head a little, trying to think properly. I felt completely nauseous. "You remember how I had to go out of town, but I wouldn't tell you where, both a week before, and a day after, we last spoke?" I could barely feel myself doing it, but I nodded, "Well, that 'mystery place' was a hospital with the best doctors in the area. I had been feeling a little under the weather with some symptoms that showed it was more than a common cold. The doctors at South Park brushed it aside as purely puberty, so I decided to go to a higher source a few weeks later, when my chest aches were crippling, and my nose bleeds had become a lot more frequent. They said I had-"

"I don't want to know," I whispered, eyes filled to the brim with tears, although he was mostly emotionless, "I don't want to know what's killing you, dude..." If I knew I would probably be constantly looking it up on the internet, reading about how he was going to die, reading about all the pain he had been suffering alone.

Kyle nodded feebly, finally looking at me with large eyes, "All you should know is that it's rare, and, well, there's no known cure. All that they can treat are the symptoms. There's nothing that's going to put an end to this, Stan. Th..." tears spilled, rolling down his pale cheeks, "That's why I left. The doctor said that I would probably only have two weeks before it would take me, and I would die. I thought that it would be best that you didn't know, if I just died with us still being, us. But after the first week, I couldn't handle it. I was keeping such a big thing from you, and I couldn't tell you because it would ruin everything. At times I would forget completely, but then the realization that I was dying would hit me full force. I couldn't handle it, dude... I just couldn't. It was selfish of me to leave you with nothing more than a note, but... I thought I only had a little less than a week left."

I wiped away my own tears, just as he did himself. He was laughing bitterly, and then sighed after a little sniffle, glancing up at the ceiling as I looked at him closely. Despite the paleness of his skin, and the heavy bags under his eyes, he still looked the same, which was comforting. "Why did you let me hit you, dude?"

"You needed to," He shrugged, taking a deep breath, "It's not something that I couldn't handle, anyway. If I thought that your hits would have killed me on the spot, I wouldn't have instigated you to do it. You'd probably blame yourself, even though it would have just been bad judgment on my part." He shrugged again, "It took away a lot of your fight to get all that off your chest, and it wouldn't have felt right to just unload all of this stuff onto you like that. I don't know, you were vulnerable, and that's when you need me most, therefore, the most forgiving state you would have been in. I'm a terrible person, aren't I?"

Kyle surprised me with a grin, nearly making me gag from the whole situation, "Why are you not, you know?! Why are you acting so chill about this? You're dying, how can you be laughing when your life is going to be taken away completely?!"

His smile faltered a little, but he watched me knowingly, "Because there's no way I can escape the outcome, Stan. I'd rather not spend my last moments of my life fearing death, when I could accept it and be happy while I can. You know? I've had plenty of time to be in denial about this whole thing, to just lay numbly, wondering when my final breath is taken. I just want to find at least a bit of enjoyment before I go."

"Why now?"

"Because, I'm now positive of when I'm going to die," He explained gently, "The doctor said a different amount of time, but he's fucked me over enough with the dates, and I decided that I was smarter than him, and more knowledgeable. So I ran tests on myself, and came to the conclusion." He smiled, standing up with his back to me as he took a few steps forward.

I didn't want to yet know his conclusion, so I asked him something else first, "How long has he known?"

"Who? Kenny?" Another slow, deliberate step was taken, he seemed to be heading towards the door at an incredibly slow pace, not that it bothered me or anything, it was merely an observation, "Well, I wanted you to be the first to know, Stan. I really did. But you went home after our confrontation at school, and I decided that I'd need a bit of a hand getting you to talk to me. So, yesterday after school ended. He reacted... oddly." He took a few more steps in silence, until he was at the bedroom door, hand raised a little uncertainly, "I've never seen him so..." I didn't catch the words he spoke.

"How long?" I could barely ask it, and it felt like my heart had completely stopped and my body had turned to stone. The way his arm dropped to his side and how he turned his head a little to look at me with that quiet expression didn't really give me much hope.

"I've only got seven days, Stan."

Fuck.

"I didn't want to spend my last few days being hated by my best friend, which is why I'm asking for a week of your time. I need normality, for things to be like they were before all... this. Just pretend to be my friend again, despite all I've done to hurt you. It's a big ask, I know."

I smiled weakly as he turned back to stare at the door, "I don't wanna pretend, Ky... I've missed you."

Kyle finally turned off the light, and I heard the shuffling of his feet as he walked toward his bed, climbing in and pulling the blankets over his body. Through the darkness, lit up only by the moon, I saw him look at me expectantly, and I thought that he was going to ask me to leave. Instead, he lifted the blankets, inviting me under to share the warmth. Huddled together, nose to nose, just like old times. Although, unlike the old times, where he would complain about the smell of alcohol on my breath, he just smiled and whispered into the silence, "It'll all be OK,"

I woke up to the smell of coffee, which was good, and bright sunlight which streamed into the room, which was not good. Sitting up proved effort since my head was aching horribly, more likely due to stress than an actual hangover. There was a blurred figure across from me, close to where the light was coming in, and it took a few moments of dreary blinking to be able to see who it was.

"K-Kyle?" I stammered out dumbly, and he looked up, smiling a little. It was silent for a few moments, and I was certain that I was still asleep; why else would I be in my old friend's room, and why else would he actually be smiling at me? I went to move myself, only for a particularly powerful dagger to be thrown straight through my head. I most definitely was not asleep.

He looked amused as he stood up from his chair, picking something up from his desk. I wasn't sure if he was real or not, until he handed me the warm cup filled with a brown liquid that smelled strongly of coffee. I brought it to my lips, watching Kyle hesitantly as I slowly drank the hot, sweet tasting drink. "We don't have coffee, so I went down to Tweek Bros while you were still sleeping," He said gently, shuffling through his draws until he found a packet of Panadol and handed it to me, quickly adding, "For you headache. A-and I made you some breakfast for when you woke up. It's downstairs, still warm."

"You're trying too hard..." I mumbled finally, as the headache began to subside and I started to remember the events of the night. "You don't have to try and make up for anything, dude. If anything, I owe you." It made me feel horrible to have him treating me so highly, even after I walked away from him as he was choking on his blood; with a reasoning that was entirely my fault. I couldn't believe I dumbly trusted the new kid after what he did to Kyle, all because I was vulnerable.

There was a quiet laugh, which surprised me, as did most things the red head did, "If I was trying too hard there would be rose petals scattered across the floor, and some random guy in the corner playing the violin, and I would wake you with a kiss!" The biggest change I would begin to notice was how much more Kyle would smile and make silly little jokes like that, and how much less he would allow things to affect him. It was like his sickness made him invincible, and now that we were together again, like we always used to be, nothing could stop him.

"I have to admit I'm kinda disappointed that you didn't go all out, now." I joked along with him, although it was obviously a lot more forced. How did he act so... normal? I was having a hard time not focusing on the fact that he was dying, but he carried on as if nothing was wrong, and as if the last time we spoke like this wasn't over a year earlier. He could tell that I was struggling to adjust, and I have to admit that, although a little off-putting, his eager and laid-back attitude really helped make me believe like things might just turn out okay. Even if I knew that it wasn't the case.

He pouted, pretending to be upset with his decision, "I'm real sorry, Stan. But hey, there's always tomorrow?" Kyle then beamed, pulling on my wrist to make me stand up, careful that the hot coffee didn't spill everywhere. He seemed excited, but I couldn't tell if it was for my sake or if it was genuine excitement, "So, breakfast! I made it myself, and, since I haven't cooked anything in ages, I hope you don't mind being my guinea pig, or lab rat depending on how you want to look at this." He was barely taking a breath in-between each word, and it sounded more like gushing than actually talking, not that I minded of course. He had been on his own for so long, whereas I still had Kenny and Cartman there to keep me sane. "Also, I didn't want you to suffer with Ma's healthy, tasteless crap she calls food, so I even raced to the store to get decent stuff." It was like he was making up for lost time.

However, if the way he spoke wasn't enough proof, the breakfast he had made certainly was. "Uh, Kyle... How many people are you feeding?" For what I saw that morning was surely enough food to feed an army, and not just any army, but an army of Eric Cartmans. It was horrendous. It didn't seem possible. He had done this all while I was asleep? It's barely ten in the morning now, and the shops don't open 'til seven!

"I didn't know what you'd feel like," He admitted with a sheepish grin, pulling out a chair for me at the dining table, "And I didn't know how hungry you'd be. Think of this as making up for the lacking rose petals and violinist." He joked, pushing me in when I hesitantly sat. "Did you want more coffee? I can go get you some. Oh! I got juice, too!"

"Sit." I had to force the word out, overwhelmed by his enthusiastic energy. He was far too lively to be the Kyle Broflovski I knew, and I'm not saying that the change was unwelcomed, it was just... unusual. But I knew what he was doing. He was trying to fill in the silence; he was trying to stop me from thinking long enough to change my mind. He knew that I knew what he was doing, and he looked genuinely embarrassed for a few moments, apologizing quietly as he sat to my side. "You didn't have to do all this, you know. I mean, the coffee itself was more than good." I smiled at him, to show him that I was going to stay, "You said you needed me, so just me be needed, alright? Don't try to bribe me."

"It's not-" He cut himself off, suppressing a small, sheepish smile, "Alright, maybe just a little. And maybe I did go overboard. Just a little. Sorry, alright? Don't kill me; I've already been scheduled for an appointment!" He cracked up at his own joke, but it just made me feel worse. But what was I expecting? It was good that he had accepted his fate, really! But it was still made me feel uneasy to watch him laugh about his certain death. But just as quick as it started, his laughter stopped, and he looked highly apologetic, "I'm sorry, dude. I forget you've only known for a few hours. It's just... I accepted this whole thing a while ago, and I need to remember that you necessarily haven't."

I stared at my hands, guilty to have been the reason his good mood was brought down so quickly. But he was waiting patiently for anything I might have had to say on that subject. "I'll get used to it, don't mind me." But I doubted that I would, despite all that had happened, he was still my best friend, and I didn't want to watch him die, knowing that there would be no cure. There would be no way to save him last minute. I only had a week before I lost him again. It wasn't fair, though. I needed more time.

"Hey," He said softly as he gently rubbed my back in comfort, it was then that I noticed I was crying. I was okay. I was okay. I had to be. I had to show Kyle that I could be like him and put on a brave face, that I could accept the oncoming death. I had to prove that when I looked at him, I wouldn't automatically wonder if he was wrong, and his final breath was just seconds away, not days away. He just had to believe that when I looked at him, I saw him as he was, and not him as some frail, dying teen. Even if I didn't believe it, even if it wasn't true, he just had to believe it true. "Stan, all I asked for was a week of your friendship, for things between us to be like they used to. Asking you to accept everything that you've been told is not what I ever expected. It would be very wrong of me to throw this on you and demand that you deal with it. If you're in denial, be in denial. I'd rather it be now, when I can help you through it personally, than when I'm already gone."

"I'm fine," I forced out with a wavering grin, and he clearly didn't believe me. "I don't want to bring you down, you're so happy." I sighed, and smiled, a real smile this time, at the look he was giving me, "It's... It'll be OK, Kyle. Really. Everything's just so sudden."

He beamed reassuringly, "Now eat, my child, eat. After this we play the good Samaritans and give food to the poor! This week's contestant is;" He thrust his hands up into the air, laughing with a high spirited humour, "Kenny! Yaaaaay!"

Getting to Kenny's certainly was an adventure on its own, as there was a lot of food, and we had to wrap everything up and put them all into a wheel-barrel which was warmed with blankets. Kyle refused to drive, saying that it was barely a five minute walk, and the fresh air and exercise was a lot better than wasting away brain cells and becoming fat and lazy by driving around everywhere.

When he spoke it was still gushed and excitable, and he was curious to know which college I was going to, and what I was studying, he seemed pleased at my answers, almost as if he had already guessed and been correct. I guess it made him happy to know that I was still mostly the same Stan Marsh as I was last year. He told me that his father had expected him to become a lawyer, but confessed that, if anything, he wanted to be a scientist so he could wear the dorky looking lab coat and goggles. His catchphrase would be 'FOR SCIENCE!'

He asked me about how things were with Wendy, and if I had my sights set on someone new. Actually, he asked a lot of questions, but tended to try and avoid asking about my home life, the closest he got to touching that subject was asking about Shelley who was out of state living with her boyfriend as they went to college together.

But we had arrived at Kenny's rundown house in no time, and even though I was honestly a little scared, I put on a brave face for the merry looking teen who knocked on the door with a hum on his breath. "Kenny!" Kyle grinned broadly, wrapping his arms around the blonde when he had opened the door, a little surprised. I'd be lying if I didn't admit to being a little jealous. "You look like you've just woken up."

"I've been playing superhero all night," Kenny admitted as he pulled away from the hug, wearing a tired and small, but happy smile, "But look at you, all rainbows and ponies and all that fucking soppy shit. You look real good." Kyle beamed, twirling himself on the spot as if to show himself off flamboyantly, and Kenny wolf whistled, "Damn, dude. How much per hour?"

"I think I could cut you a deal," But then his bright green eyes turned to me, and his smile dimmed a little as he cocked his head a little. I could feel the blonde's tense blue eyes burn into me, he was pissed, and he had every right to be since Kyle wasn't punishing me in any way, despite the fact that I had left him choking in the snow. After a few moments of silence, the redhead had poked me, feigning innocence as if I hadn't just watched him do it, "So, anyway..." He cleared his throat a little awkwardly, before smiling warmly at our other friend, stepping out of the way a little to show off the very big wheel-barrel, "Many thanks, happy Hanukkah and merry Christmas! A-and, happy birthday and any other occasion! We bring you enough food to last you and your family a week!"

My heart ached. That's how much longer he had to live. And even though Kenny looked extremely grateful, and Kyle was extremely proud of himself for cooking everything, it didn't dim the sickening feeling any less. They exchanged words and joked a bit, but I didn't pay attention. I couldn't pay attention. No matter how hard I tried to forget, the truth was right there in bold, unignorable text. My best friend was going to die. And I'd never get to see him again.

God was playing a cruel, twisted joke.

I had lost my bestest friend in the entire world, left with nothing but a crummy little note, his blank stares whenever I tried to approach him, unanswered calls or texts and a young Canadian boy who was probably paid to tell me his older brother wasn't home. Then he came back, and even though I hated him, I was glad. Glad because I had missed him, glad because I had missed his company and the way he looked at me like he knew me. I was glad for many reasons. But he was going to be taken away again, permanently this time. What if he had have died with me hating his guts? What if I had found out, while he was dead, that he had been avoiding me all that time because he was dying?

Kyle didn't deserve to die.

If anyone did, it was me; I should have seen all the signs. He was my best friend, I should have known. I should have realized when he got upset about one of my comments on our last night together, and if not then, the note's content and how he went about his departure should have been proof enough. "Stan?" It was him, he was worried. I didn't want him to worry about me. He should have been worrying about himself. It pissed me off that he didn't put his declining health into consideration, but I forced a smile at him. He didn't smile back. "Let's go," He tugged on my wrist, urging me to walk with him back in the direction of his house. I hadn't even realized that Kenny had left, and the food filled barrel wasn't even outside anymore. There were a whole lot of things I didn't realize. "You remember how we watched the High School Musical trilogy back when we were about 9 or 10?"

I sent him an odd look at his strange choice of topic, "Yeah?" Of course I remembered, not that I wanted to of course. It was humiliating, one of the stupidest ideas I'd had to try and win Wendy Testaburger's attention and affection. One of, not the. But looking back on it now, it had kind of been fun, just the four of us guys choreographing some gay little dance as we sang. Humiliating, pointless and gay, but it had been fun. Sort of.

"You remember the song in one of the movies?" He smiled a little, eyes trained forward as he walked evenly beside me. Was he being a smartass? There were three movies and there were like a billion songs all together! How was I supposed to know what he was referring to when I had a one in a billion chance to get it right? "What time is it, Stan?"

"Summer time?" I asked hesitantly, unsure if that was the answer he was looking for, and a little ashamed to have remembered the catchy song. His smile widened a little knowingly, and he chuckled quietly, letting me know that I had guessed correctly.

"Exactly."

That confused me. What did he mean 'exactly'? It wasn't Summer. The snow that thickly covered the ground and crunched under our feet, the small and delicate snowflakes that danced down from the sky and the numbing chill that bit savagely at exposed skin was proof of that. I laughed a little, he had lost his mind! The cold must have gone to head, making him delusional! He joined in laughing with me, laughing harder when I tried, and failed, to ask him seriously "Doesn't this heat just wanna make you want to go Starks Pond for a nice, rejuvenating swim?"

"I'm sure we could take a detour, dude," He said in a much more convincing tone than mine after he had finally managed to calm down his laughter into snickers. We stopped at his door, and that was when I suddenly realized what he had done. I was miserable, stuck both between the horrible past, and the daunting future, but he had made me forget and allowed me to enjoy the present, if just for a little while. He caught my gaze as he unlocked the door, smiling innocently as he knew perfectly well that he had been caught out, "May I help you with something, Stan?"

Kyle was a much better friend than I.

"Don't," He said in a low, pained voice as he gently pushed me inside, out the cold. "Don't look like that." I was quiet, unsure of what he meant and a little afraid to ask, but followed him up the stairs to the room. It was a little awkward in the silence as he rummaged through his draws, mumbling a little to himself until he finally spoke aloud, "You haven't grown much, have you? I mean, you look about the same height, but unless I pull out a tape measure I won't know for sure." He paused to turn and look at me with the big smile of his, "And we both remember what happened the last time that happened."

I did smile back at him, although sheepishly, admitting that I had only grown an inch or two and was about to ask why when he thrust some clothes into my chest. Not just any clothes but my clothes. From a year ago. Since we spent so much time at each other's houses, we tended to keep a set of clothes at the other's house, and suddenly I felt guilt guilty. He really kept my stuff? He thrust a new toothbrush on top of the small pile I already had. "As much as I love your alcoholic smell, I don't think anyone else does quite so."

The bedroom was empty when I got out of the shower, fully dressed in clean clothes that still fit as well as they had when I first wore them, and took a chance with venturing downstairs, only to regret it immensely. There stood Sheila and her bright, fire truck red hair, looking as domineering as always, and before I could return to safety she had spotted me, and immediately rested her hand on my shoulder in a way that might fool someone into thinking she just wanted a friendly chat. But I knew better. I knew that I was her prisoner. "Stanley," She began in that shrill voice that might have been one of affection. I couldn't tell the difference between her tones, they all sounded belittling, loud and annoying. "It's been so long, I haven't seen you in ages." She might have put emphasis on the 'ages', but one can't be certain.

"Ma, leave him alone." Kyle sighed in mock irritation, a smile still lighting his face, "He didn't come here to be interrogated, so go ask Ike what he did Tuesday night with his friends or something." He usually did that, shifting her attention onto something else that would pique her nosy interests. Unfortunately it was his brother who tended to get most the heat, although the young Canadian was always much better at lying to his mother than poor Kyle who believed strongly in honesty.

"It's not interrogating," Sheila assured her son, hand still resting on my shoulder, "But I've already checked in on Ike, so, young man. Would you like to join us in our fight against Fanta being produced?" Did I want to join their crusade? FUCK NO! Did I have a choice? FUCK NO! But Kyle quickly took the bullet, saying that I was too busy with college and whatnot. "Oh, Kyle! Isn't it a shame you both can't go to the same school,"

"I told you ma, I don't want to be lawyer." He grumbled, rolling his eyes before grinning, "There's a consultation in two weeks' time for the school I really want to go to, because they let people join late, and it would really be very awesome if you could let me borrow the car to drive there!" He cooed, batting his eyelashes persuasively, and I froze. Was he lying to his mother or was he lying to both me and Kenny? Kyle, who was honest to the point of brutality in some cases? Kyle who stuck firmly to his beliefs? He wasn't stupid enough to lie to Kenny and I, but lying to his mother was a death wish! "You're no fun, ma." I was snapped out of the worrying thoughts by a pouting boy. Since when the fuck did he pout? "I can't believe I was talked out of driving and talked into helping Aunt out."

Sheila tsked, and turned her attention back onto me, but I was still frozen. Kyle had lied. Kyle never lied. If he did, he'd be eaten alive by his guilt, and would end up confessing. "So Stanley, I can barely remember the last time I saw you. You look healthy, much unlike my poor boubie this past year." Her son looked like he wanted to stop her, but I urged her on, curiously. I wanted to find out who Kyle was lying to, and why. "He's been so sick, the doctor said that there was no chance of him surviving, but now, a year later, my dear boy tells me he's getting better!" She removed her hand from my shoulder, petting the younger Jew's hair as if in appraisal, the look in his eyes was guilt, pure guilt, and I felt guilty myself. "I knew the doctor was wrong, we Broflovski's are the fighter type, and no illness is going to kill us quite that easily! I just really wish he wasn't surviving on his medication right now. Just one missed dose and my poor baby could be taken away from me forever."

"Ma..." He whispered, looking like he was about to cry before he glanced at me with a weak smile, cleared his throat and grinned at his mother again, "So, does this mean I can borrow the car in a fortnight? I really wanna go because they let us put on lab coats and goggles in the orientation!" His grin didn't disappear when she firmly told him no, and that he was to help his aunt, and his grin didn't even disappear when his mother had left the house with a few parting words. "It was worth a shot. C'mon Stan." He tugged on the sleeve on my jacket, but I wouldn't budge. Finally, his grin disappeared. He wouldn't meet my eyes, "I-I'm sorry. If she knew the truth she'd lock me up in the hospital simply so I could live an extra day or so. I want things to be normal again."

"Things aren't normal anymore, Ky..." I croaked with a sigh and he frowned defiantly, causing me to think for a few moments that he would protest, but he didn't, "You're sick, so things aren't going to magically going to be fine, no matter how much we want them to be. So, just... Come clean now. Please. What else is there?" If he wanted me to stay he had to be honest with me, not that I'd even think of leaving, of course. So that point was probably void. But still.

He hesitated a little, "I thought that mentioning the fact that missing a day of medication would kill me would have been a little overwhelming, so I figured that I should save you the stress." He shrugged, tugging on my sleeve again, "And, uh... Although I'm not in any way contagious, it's probably best we don't have sex or any of that shit everyone thinks we do." He was grinning again.

We were standing at the bus stop, something we hadn't done since early high school. I didn't quite understand why we were here until I asked the question hesitantly. No matter what happened, Kyle said, we would all be standing at the bus stop, unscathed, and ready for whatever our wacky, shithole town had to throw at us next. He said that he'd like to think that having the four of us standing at the place which usually stood for a new beginning would be a good way to symbolically start afresh. I light heartedly called him a fag, because it's what I would have said in normal circumstances. He grinned, happy with my half-assed insult.

It was when Kenny showed up that things took a turn for the worst. He was still glaring at me for what I had done last night, and I knew it would take a while before he forgave me, not that I wanted him to. But nonetheless I cringed in his presence, the cheery redhead either didn't notice the obvious tension, or didn't want to press on it. It was probably the latter.

It wasn't the glaring, or the way Kyle tried to remain oblivious that made things turn to shit. It was when Kenny decided that he had had enough of watching me cower, wanting me to step up and be punished for my actions. He didn't believe that I genuinely wanted to be there, he was suspicious of my actions. There was something about death that made the blonde unlike himself; it was an incredibly touchy subject for him. "So Marsh," He began not unkindly, "left anyone behind to die, lately?" He said it so casually, and that just made me feel worse. I bowed my head, because, honestly, what could I say to that? 'Nope, just Kyle'?

"Hey," Kyle said in an innocent, yet obviously forced merry voice as he raised one of his hands to show a small, but very detailed snowflake, "Look at this one. You'll never find one like it. Isn't that cool?" A second one fell beside it, "Wow! Look at how unalike these badass motherfucking snowflakes are! Doesn't this just amaze you?!"

"What amazes me is how big a dick Marsh can be." Kyle tried to hint at Kenny to drop it by talking really loudly about snowflakes and a whole bunch of boring facts about them that he pretended to find interesting. "No one gives a fuck about the God damn snow, Kyle!" He snapped roughly, "Show Marsh what he did!" Kyle hastily shook his head, refusing, brows furrowing. "Show the fucker what he did to you!" Kyle shouted out his refusal, Kenny scoffed, "Grow back your spine, Kyle! Show Marsh what he did!" Again, his demand was refused.

"Show me."

He looked taken aback at my quiet comment, but stayed firm, "No, Stan! I'm not going to show you! Kenny, drop it!" Kenny didn't drop it, no. He decided that if Kyle wasn't going to willingly show me, it would be followed through with by using force. It was startling to see how easily he managed to hold back our dying friend's arms, who, by the way, was kicking and shouting profanities, and even more startling was how effortlessly he managed to unzip the thick coat, and pull up his shirt to reveal a flat black, blue and purple stomach, a black and blue shoulder and, worst of all, his chest which was painted in a dark bruising that looked more black than anything, and extremely painful.

It had all been my fault. I had hit him. I had let that fucking new kid hit him. Kyle could have died because of me! I wouldn't have gotten the chance to be his friend again! Realistically, no matter how hard I tried, if Kyle kept harassing me to be forgiven, I would have most probably caved in. I was a coward. An asshole, a dick, a horrible person, a coward- "Open your fucking eyes Marsh! Are you fucking proud of yourself?"

I snapped then, "Yes Kenny! Is that what you wanted to hear?! I am so fucking proud of what I did to my best fucking friend?! This is exactly what I fucking intended?! Do you want more?! I'm so fucking glad that I pretended to like that fucking short, annoying asshole to get back at Kyle, and I would oh so gladly do it again?! Is that what you wanted to fucking hear?! Or did you want more?!" I bit down on my tongue, calming myself down with a huff of breath, but I wasn't finished yet, there was still more, although I wasn't shouting anymore, "I deserve to be hated, not forgiven, I know that. But this is not what I wanted, alright? I can't fix this, but with whatever crappy God that is watching this as my witness, I will do something, anything, to make damn sure that this thing we have here isn't broken."

"You're such a fucking fag, Stan." He commented with a lazy grin, setting down the frazzled and extremely pissed off looking Jew who looked ready for blood.

"I know."

"What the fuck is wrong with you, you fucking asshole?!" Kyle shouted, hands clenched by his sides as he stared venomously at the blonde; this was the first time I had seen him pissed since he first approached me yesterday, and knowing Kyle, that was a very shocking feat considering all of the fucked up shit that had happened in such short amount of time. "I said NO!" He threw a hard punch at Kenny on the word 'no', and the blonde stumbled a little, wincing although overall fine with the hit. "I told you NO last night, and I told you NO today but you don't fucking listen!" With each harshly emphasized 'no', another punch was thrown. But then he turned to me, just as pissed off as he straightened his shirt and zipped up his jacket. "You! You're just as fucking bad! Don't you dare fucking blame this on yourself you fucking dick! I don't care what Kenny says, because I made you hit me! You haven't done anything wrong besides do what I wanted you to do! I wanted you to move on without me and get a new best friend ...granted it was a horrible choice of friend, considering you don't even like him... and you did! I wanted you to hit me, and you did! I wanted you to be my friend, and you're here, aren't you?!" His features softened as he quietened down, "If you keep looking at me with that lost puppy expression of yours I'm going to have to castrate you. It's really fucking sad, Stan." He hugged me after that, burying his face into the crook of my neck, and much like our last night, I wasn't sure if he was crying or not. "Really fucking sad..." He probably was.

It was then that Cartman showed up, and it was a surprise that we heard his voice before he heard the loud, heavy crunching on his feet, "Aw, how cute! The hippy and Jew-rat decided to become fuck buddies again! And by 'cute' I mean completely fucking disgusting. Get a room, fags." Cartman had been distraught with the Jews disappearance, even though he originally claimed to enjoy it, as there was no one anywhere near as fun as to pick on. When Kyle left, he completely ignored the large boy's insults, comments, threats and overall presence.

The redhead pushed away from me and grinned at the intruder in a genuinely bright mood, much unlike what it was three seconds prior, "Aw, Cartman! You're just jealous that you're missing out on all of the lovin' going on here!" He proceeded to latch himself onto the teen, snuggling himself into the cushiony fat that encased his body like a protective bubble, a sight which frightened me, "but it's OK because there's enough to go around; even enough for you."

The brunette pushed away the skinny boy, flushing angrily as he hurled at least a dozen insults in his direction in the one breath, and, believe me, when you're as fat as he is, you don't really have that much of a breath to start with. "McCormick's the last straight man standing, huh?" Kenny commented almost smugly over the top of the much heavier voice. "Stay the fuck away from me Kyle! I like vagina! I fucking like that shit so don't touch me with your cooties!" With a quiet thud they were both on the ground, I was a little awkward, unsure and afraid, and Cartman was downright disgusted, looking a little green in the face as if he might have thrown up.

He didn't.

Before it could get too bad, Kyle was already on his feet with a large smile, asking what we should all do. But, what could we do? That was the first time in a long time that the four of us had gotten together, and Cartman clearly wasn't even notified of the reasoning, notS that he cared enough to ask of course, telling us to screw ourselves because he was going home. I think Kyle was the one who thanked him for being so generous and letting the three of us hang out at his place to play games and sponge off of him. Despite his protesting, the four of us were soon in his lounge room.

I think it would have been around that time, when Cartman was yelling at Kyle breathing his Jew germs into the air, that my phone had vibrated in my pocket. I didn't even remember putting it in there, less than an hour prior, but apparently I had, and now the new message was confusing me. It was from an unknown number, and I tended not to give my own contact details, but this person seemed to know me. Stanley! Lst nite waz crzy fun, m i ryt? Dnt worri bout tht a-hole, if ur still bothad by it I cud tak ur mind off of it. U, me & a moo-v bout 2 cowboiz?

Honestly, it scared me a little so I decided to ignore it, stuffing the mobile back into the pocket of my jeans to see that the blonde had raised a brow at me, in a curious amusement, but didn't comment on it, "I guess I should apologize about earlier, dude, or else I'll be slaughtered for it," He said instead in a low, but most definitely not threatening voice as he wore a kind smile, "But when it comes to death I lose most of my senses, and couldn't remind myself that you're Stan Marsh and you're a fucking pussy who wouldn't be able to stick around Kyle in his situation just to make him suffer before he dies." Was he... Was he forgiving me? I wanted to protest, tell him to be mad at me! It was my fault! It was my fault! "I'm not saying I don't want to kick your ass for last night, but I'll probably take my anger and frustrations out on that stupid little kid."

Again, my phone vibrated in my pocket, and I took it out with a frown. "Sorry Ken," I paused our conversation to read the message. R u still sleepin? or do u hav a kila hedake lyk me? lol. I jus woke up n thort ud b up n fyn bi now lyk evry otha tym u hav a hangova. lol, ill cum 2 ur place now wiv tht moo-v n sum coffy n brekki 2 briten ur dai! Xoxo ...I was honestly growing a little afraid by this mysterious person, and daren't reply despite the fact that they would be going to my house. Fuck. "Uh..." I looked up and forced a weak smile at Kenny, "Dude, you have every right to be mad, and Kyle, most definitely does. I really just want someone to punch me in the face."

The blonde chuckled, shaking his head and saying that he'd gladly do it for me if it wouldn't piss Kyle off, and took a rain check. He was about to continue when Cartman burst into loud, obnoxious tears, throwing his head back and crying for his 'mewm' pathetically with a bright red face. Kyle turned back and glanced at up wearing an innocently sheepish grin, "I may or may not have shown him a picture of me having sex with his mum, and I may or may not have told him that he were going to get married, and I would become his father, and I may or may not have told him his mother was converting to Judaism and he'd no longer be able to celebrate Christmas and he'd have to eat everything kosher." Kenny begged to see the photo, and burst into laughter at how well it had been doctored, but pointed out to me the small tell-tale signs that it wasn't actually real. The worst part was that it really was Lianne Cartman's naked body in the picture. How disgusting. "Eric Theodore Cartman!" Kyle finally snapped in mock seriousness, struggling to keep the laughter from his taut voice, "Since I am going to be your father you're going to have to take all your problems up with me! No more of this 'mummy' business, young man!"

Stanley? Ur dad say u ddnt cum home lst nite? were r u? r u ok? I m srsly woried 4 u. plz ansa, i m relly panikin rite now. fk. Stanley plz tell me ur safe. fk. did he cum 2 tak u awai bc he waz jelus? fk i m so sori, ill fkn bet his ass nxt tym i c him. hope ur ok. if u dnt reply i will call the pigs 2 fnd u! I had to put a stop to these creepy texts before the mysterious sender calls the cops and reports me missing, what the fuck? I quickly called the number, mumbling to Kenny a small apology as he caught my action.

They picked up immediately, "YOU FUCKING ANOREXIC FUCKING LOWLIFE ASSHOLE!" Suddenly the room went silent, everyone startled by the loud tone of the caller who must have been shouting into the microphone, "I WILL FIND OUT WHERE YOU LIVE AND I WILL SLIT YOUR FUCKING THROAT FOR WHAT YOU'VE DONE TO STANLEY! NO! I WILL PULL ALL OF YOUR INTESTINES OUT YOUR FUCKING ASS, AND JAM MY HAND DOWN YOUR THROAT AND RIP YOUR FUCKING BLACK HEART OUT FROM YOUR CHEST!" I paled. "THAT'S JUST FOR KIDNAPPING MY BEST FRIEND AND IF I FIND OUT YOU'VE LAID SO MUCH AS A FUCKING FINGER ON HIM I WILL TIE YOU TO A CHAIR IN MY BASEMENT AND TORTURE YOU FOR DAYS ON END AND HAVE A BLACK GUY WITH A MASSIVE COCK FUCKING ASSRAPE YOU SO HARD AND FOR SO LONG YOU'LL HAVE HIS CUM COMING OUT FROM YOUR MOUTH! I'LL CUT YOUR FINGERS OFF ONE BY ONE WITH A FUCKING BUTTER KNIFE AND IF ANYONE TRIES TO FUCKING SAVE YOU I WILL FUCKING HANG THEM TO WALL WITH NAILS AND FORCE YOU TO TORTURE THEM! STANLEY IS MINE YOU FUCKING SICK FUCK! HE'S MINE AND ONLY MINE! SO STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM HIM! IF YOU GIVE HIM BACK NOW I MIGHT GO EASY ON YOU!" Finally there was silence, but I was going to hurl everywhere.

Kyle took the phone from my hand, rolling his eyes but obviously unthreatened, "Hi little firecracker," He practically cooed, earning a snarl from the other end, "What did I say about his name? Four letters, not seven. You really need practice little guy; Stan. So, uh. What makes you think I kidnapped him? Well, I mean, obviously I did and he's passed out in my bed right now, until he wakes up and I can do stuff to him that will leave him begging for both mercy and more. But, you know, what was the first clue? There are plenty of people in South Park who'd want to kidnap him, so what makes me so special, my iddy biddy flame?"

Heavy breathing is all that can be heard on the other end for a few moments, but then the screaming threats stream through again, "YOU'RE JUST FUCKING JEALOUS THAT ME AND STANLEY ARE IN LOVE, AND YOU HATE THE THOUGHT THAT HE MIGHT FIND ENJOYMENT IN FUCKING SOMEONE BETTER THAN YOU! THE THOUGHT OF HIS DICK IN SOMEONE ELSE SICKENS YOU BECAUSE YOU KNOW YOU'LL NEVER GET THE CHANCE TO HAVE THAT BOND WITH HIM NEVER, EVER, EVER!" It was then that I puked all over Cartman's floor. I'd rather not think of having my dick in the new kid, let alone Kyle. "SO HOW ABOUT THIS YOU FUCKING SPINELESS FUCK; YOU AND ME?! I WILL FUCKING BEAT YOUR ASS UNTIL YOU FALL UNCONSCIOUS THEN I'LL TIE YOU UP IN MY BASEMENT, KILL YOU SLOWLY AND THEN STANLEY AND I WILL MAKE LOVE OVER YOUR DEAD BODY." Kyle laughed, completely amused and entertained, and I puked again, the mess on the floor growing. "I MEAN IT YOU FUCKING SICK FREAK! STARKS POND RIGHT NOW, I'LL BE WAITING FOR YOU TO SHOW UP."

"Can I at least have sex with Stan's unconscious body before I go?" He burst into laughter, not even paying attention to the next stream of threats that echoed through, "I'll be there, little firecracker. Don't you worry your pretty little heart." Kyle hung up, with a joyful sigh, and was about to hand me the phone when he noticed the bile by my feet, "Holy shit, dude!" Cartman began to whine again, only to be shut down by his 'new father'. Kenny stood up and headed straight for the front door.

"Starks Pond, right?"

Then he left. I wanted to follow him, but I couldn't leave my friend behind with Cartman. Obviously I stuck around, until the Fatass' insults directed at Kyle caused me to punch him in the face, the redhead appeared a little startled, but the amusement had not once left his face. "So... We should probably head back, huh?" It pissed me off how easily he was able to take the horrible comments in his stride, when only a year ago they would cause him to throw a 'bit' of a 'tantrum' until he punched the brunette himself.

So that was when we were walking along the streets, both wearing opposite expressions as the snow fell from the sky. "Hey Stan," Kyle finally spoke up, only wearing a small smile instead of his beaming one, he seemed worn out and tired, his breaths more forced and uneasy, "could you teach me to play the guitar?" It was an odd and sudden request, but I didn't dare refuse it. "Thanks. You're like the best in South Park, and I wouldn't dream of being taught by anyone else." He hummed a little as we came to a stop at the front of his house, "You know it's like 5:30, right?" I didn't, and even though the sun was already beginning to set, I hadn't put two and two together. "Ma's pulling an all-nighter for her new campaign against Fanta, dad's out of town on a business trip and Ike will probably be with Filmore. So we'll have the place to ourselves, and you won't be interrogated." He paused, stepping inside as he thought for a moment, "Can you believe we're eighteen? I mean, you'll be turning nineteen soon, but wow. We're so old."

His house felt different to when it did in the morning, I'm not sure if it was just my nerves or if there really was something up, "Feels like it's been longer," I commented casually, "I mean, it felt like we were in the fourth grade for over a decade. But South Park has always been fucked like that." Kyle hummed his agreement, his hand hovering over the landline as he suggested that it be the fact of how eventual those years were. I agreed, but it still felt like it took ten years just for my ninth birthday to follow after my eighth.

Most of the next events blurred together, probably because of how overwhelming everything was, I was blinking a lot, I remember that much, trying to force myself that what was happening, really was happening. Kyle would laugh when I went longer than seven seconds without blinking, although he was clearly nowhere near as bubbly and energetic as he had been in the morning. We ate pizza for tea, watched reruns of Terrance & Phillip, and had idle conversation as Kyle seemed too worn out to fill in the silences that he would have had he more energy. Occasionally I would ask a little about his sickness, and occasionally he would assure me that I was spending too much time worrying and not enough time just enjoying the moment.

He was right, of course, but I worried because I cared. And, if I was being honest, at the moment he looked sick; he looked like the dying teen he was. The bags under his eyes were dark and heavy, seemingly more noticeable underneath the fluorescent light, his skin looked more like a deathly pale rather than an it-snows-every-day kind of pale, his thinness became more obvious, but at least he wasn't skin and bone, and it was easy to see how much effort everything took for him to accomplish. When he yawned for the first time, I suggested we turn in early but he send me an odd look, instead saying that he would like for me to start teaching him how to play the guitar. "Can't be much harder than Guitar Hero," he had said with a secretive grin.

Ike had a guitar, Kyle told me, and we could use that one for the time being, but before we were able to head upstairs the front door opened and there stood a blonde, an unlit cigarette being fiddled with between his lips, "Thought I might come past with the news myself," He said, sporting a particularly large bruise on his cheek and a still bloodied split lip, "He wasn't happy that I was there, which is why I've been 'spared' and he decided to go 'easy' on me. I really suggest you keep away from that kid, Kyle, I know he's only short but I could barely overpower him," He laughs a little bitterly, "Stan, that boy definitely has it good for you. I wouldn't be surprised if he had a shrine dedicated to you or some freaky fucking shit like that."

"I don't see why," I commented quietly, trying not to say anything about the state of his clothes and how ripped and torn and bloodied and wet they were, with large gashes and dark bruises coating his skin while a shoulder sat at an awkward angle, probably dislocated. If Kenny, Kenny fucking McCormick, returned like that after a fight, barely managing to keep the upper hand, it was clearly evident that the single punch he had thrown at Kyle the previous night was nothing compared to what he could do. So why me? Why did this new kid decide to become so infatuated with me that he felt it necessary to try and kill my closest friends to keep me with him, despite the fact I obviously tried to keep a distance, and rarely spoke to him?

He seemed annoying and clingy in that faggy way that Butters was, but a lot less likable. Who would have guessed he'd turn out to be so God damn fucking psychotic?

"I'm glad you're OK," Is what Kyle whispered with a small, sad smile, resting a hand on the blonde's shoulder, before pulling him in for a gentle hug, "and I am so, so grateful for what you did." Not knowing what else to do, and getting caught up in the moment, I threw my arms around the pair of them, apologizing repeatedly for the mess I had gotten us into us. It was a sad moment, but it felt nice just to be able to hug it all out then and there.

Kyle was dying. Kenny was almost defeated. The new kid wanted those closest to me harmed or dead. Everything was completely my fault. Stan Marsh had failed everyone. again.

"You wanna stay the night, Ken?" The redhead asked almost delicately as he began to break our three-way hug, "We can patch you up, tuck you in, read you a bedtime story..." The blonde laughed a little, shaking his head a little, saying that he needed to go see Karen and make sure she was safe. Safe. What a funny word considering the state he was in at that moment. I said a few words to Kenny, although I can't exactly remember what they were, but he gave me his signature crooked grin, saluting us on his way out. "He's such a strong person," Kyle told me quietly, "Even though he's so hurt, and he has his own dramas to deal with, he'll make sure everyone around him is protected. Kenny has always had this aura of invincibility about him, so I'll know he'll be fine Stan. Despite the severity of his wounds, he's always been strong, and will be better again in no time."

He sounded so sure of himself, so positive that everything would be fine, that Kenny's injuries were nothing to be concerned about while he still had his incapability to be brought down.

Kyle yawned again, it was pretty late and the day had been so eventful. I quickly locked the front door before guiding my friend up the stairs and into his room where he practically collapsed onto the bed. He grumbled whenever I tried to coax him out of his clothes, in true Broflovski fashion, and it made me smile that underneath all that high energy and illness stress, his little quirks were still there. So, like I usually did when he passed out, I forced him out from the clothes he had been wearing, righted him in the bed and pulled the blanket up around him securely.

Walking slowly, thoughtfully, I turned off the light, briefly wondering if tonight would be our last night. I pushed the thought aside, putting my complete trust into my best friend. He'd wake up tomorrow. He said he would, and he said he'd wake up the next day, and the next day, and the next day! A week. I had a week. He wasn't going to die any sooner, or any later. I had a week. The thought wasn't comforting, but at least I knew he would still be there tomorrow.

I pulled myself under the blanket with him and he shifted a little so he was facing me. Dreary and half asleep already, he tried to force his eyes open, going cross-eyed in the process, but, like in the early hours of that same day, he smiled and whispered into the silence, "It'll all be OK,"