Hey dudes! It's been way too long! So I want to thank you all for your kind reviews, favorites and alerts. You honestly have no idea how happy they make me! I can't believe how any of you read this little story! I was only planning for a one-shot... but I wanted to learn a bit more about what's going on in pretty little Stan's head.

The next thing I was aware of was my own voice, screeching a filling the brim of the house with audible horror. I felt my throat split in two with the force of my scream and right when I thought it might crack and ooze enough blood for me to choke out of this nightmare, Stan clamped his palm over my jaw.

I herd the clank of metal against the ground as Stan dropped the gun, and his other hand coming up to sport my mouth in it's new closed form. For a brief and terrifying second, I was horrified that he might turn his homicidal tendencies to me. His eyes looked darker than normal, and they lacked that playful innocence that was always present. I missed him that way; this new Stan was different and dangerous.

"Kyle, shut up," He hissed into my ear. "I'm going to get you out of this," His arms snaked around my arms, I gasped for air, and Stan gave my body a tight squeeze. "I love you, and I promise I won't let anything happen to you," he rocked me against him for a few seconds, and I was too shaken to do anything other than shiver in his grasp.

In those blissful moments, while completely engulfed in the presence of pure and innocent Stan, everything seemed normal. Stan was just cradling me because I'd fallen off my mountain bike while we were camping like in fourth grade. Or we'd just awkwardly fell asleep watching another marathon of Terrance and Phillip.

"Now go to my desk and get out a sheet of paper." Stan ordered, never missing a beat. I obeyed, mostly because this new Stan terrified me too much not to. I tried not to look at the mangled body at the foot of Stan's door and instead focused on the task at hand. Paper and pen. I took them out, finding the materials easily because Stan's house was basically mine. I knew everything about him and his life. Well... I thought I did.

"Now write a ransom note." Stan then demanded, rising from the floor and going to the closet. He pulled out a suitcase, tossing in random clothes.

"Stan... they'll know..." My voice sounded much weaker than I imagined and I tried to cough in order to clear it, but that only made my insides rip apart further.

"You think Officer ButtBaby will care?" I could tell he rolled his eyes at that, even though his back was turned to me and I had mental blinders to avoid seeing anything I wouldn't be able to erase.

My hand shook as I uncapped the pen, and placed it firmly on the sheet of notebook paper. For I few seconds I leant all of my weight on the object, as if that could carry the burden of being Stan's Super Best Friend. But all that accomplished was staining my perfectly crisp page.

I rubbed my finger against the blot of ink, trying to smudge it off. Instead I smeared it against my thumb and along the margin of the paper. In the back of my mind I registered Stan saying my name, but I couldn't tell if it was my imagination of life. In face, it all seemed like a dream.

The pen seemed to be a thousand pounds, but I forced it to bend to my will. I didn't pause, even though I consciously had no idea how to start such a threatening letter. As I scribbled worlds without much thought, I noticed that the police probably wouldn't be able to recognize my handwriting anyway. My entire body convulsed.

I've taken the boy and killed the family. His friend is with him. For 50 million dollars I will return.

Short sweet and to the point. Good enough. The bail was too high for anyone to pay, there was no motive that could pin anyone, and not even a hint as to what was going on. But then again, how could I tell them what was happening if I didn't even know?

I supposed my blinders were on so well that I didn't notice where Stan was until I herd the thump of a body. It wasn't the hard hit that came along with a death, but more along the line of a sack of flour being flipped over.

"Got the keys and a few hundred cash. We'll have to go through the bank to get whatever's on the cards." He explained, and I reflexively turned to him.

Blood doesn't look like it does in movies. It's darker. Dead bodies can't be caught taking small secret breaths, and then walking home to their children and lovers.

My stomach twisted and I vomited next to Stan's bed. He came over, rubbing my back as I coughed and sputtered. I emptied my stomach a second time when I realized the same hand that was now trying to calm me had been playing with a corpse.

"Come on babe," Stan linked his around my waist and pulled me beside him. The note fluttered to the ground, but I didn't have time to pick it up. My legs were too thick and trunk-like to walk, so Stan had to wrestle me through the door. I supposed I hadn't made it any easier when I refused to walk by the bodies of my second parents, but I made up for it by keeping quiet. I didn't yelp when the suitcase collided into my shin, and I didn't even gasp when Stan got aggravated and hit the side of my temple so hard it broke the skin.

Hey guys! This was originally going to be a one-shot, but I got a lot of reviews asking for a second chapter, and I was a bit curious myself as to what Stan would do next! I'll continue this, mostly because I like writing something so creepy and dark... how sick does that make me?

Which reminds me, this story is going to get heavy. Obviously, there's already character death, abuse and suicide mentioned. And it's the second chapter. If it's going to bother you, I suggest another story.

Otherwise! Thanks so much for reading! Please review and let me know what you think!