When emergency vehicles neared, Kyle knew he would be in the way.
He regretfully left the boy's side and wandered to the curb to sit down.
As a crowd of medics clustered around Stan, Kyle felt sick.
He turned his head and threw up into the gutter.
Overwhelmed with emotion, the young boy began to cry.
The medics worked frantically to stabilize him before transferring him to a stretcher and loading him into an ambulance that raced off toward the hospital.
A police officer walked over the boy crying on the curb.
"Hey, champ; are you hurt at all?"
Kyle shook his head.
The man sat down next to him and placed a comforting hand on his back.
"They're going to do everything they can to make sure your friend gets better," he reassured.
This did not make Kyle feel any better.
"What's your name?" He asked.
"Kyle," he hiccupped.
"What's your last name, Kyle?"
"Broflovski."
"And what's your friend's name, Kyle?"
"He's not just my friend!" Kyle snapped, "He's my super best friend!" He cried harder, "His n-name is S-Stan… Stan Marsh… He's – He's 10 years old and he has asthma…"
The man nodded at a fellow officer nearby to find and notify Stan's parents.
"Can you tell me what happened, Kyle?" He asked after the boy had calmed down a little bit.
"I'm not sure…," Kyle sniffled. "We were just riding our bikes on this side of the street and that – he pointed angrily at the SUV – car just came up from behind us out of nowhere… I was on the half of the sidewalk closer to the houses… I just got caught off guard and fell into the yard… Stan was on the half closest to the street…," he wiped his eyes.
"Thanks, Kyle. You've been a big help. We'll call your parents and have them come down here to pick you up, okay?"
Kyle nodded as the officer stood up.
"She's going to get in trouble for this, right?" Kyle gritted his teeth as he stared in the direction of the driver, his gaze filled with hatred.
"Yeah, it sounds like she will be getting in a lot of trouble."
"Good," Kyle responded spitefully.
The rest of that day was a blur. He remembered his parents pulling up to the accident scene and the shower of hugs and kisses that ensued. He remembered begging to go to the hospital to see Stan. He remembered "Everything will be okay…" He remembered numbly lying on his bed crying into his pillow, thoughts of all the good times the friends had together in his head.
A telephone ringing snapped Kyle out of his trance.
He was in his pajamas and it was dark.
He rolled over to look at the clock on his nightstand: 2:28AM.
His heart dropped.
Kyle quietly walked down the stairs and stood in the entryway to the kitchen listening to his mom talk.
He could see her face pale, "Alright… We'll be there soon, I don't think Kyle's sleeping anyway," she solemnly sat the phone down and turned around.
"Who was that?" Kyle beseeched his mom.
"It was Sharon…," she cleared her throat, "She thinks you might want to go see Stan for a little while…"
"Is he awake?!" Kyle's voice was filled with excitement.
"No, bubeleh… Sharon – She just thinks you might want to go see Stan for a little while…," she reiterated, clearly upset.
"…Can we…?" Kyle looked at the ground, speaking quietly.
"Of course we can…," Sheila attempted to smile, "You grab your shoes and a coat and I'll start the car, okay?"
Kyle knew this was serious – very serious.
He slipped on a pair of shoes and pulled his jacket over his pajama top before heading out to the car.
The ride to the hospital was completely silent.
Ten minutes earlier.
The emergency room doctor walked out of a room and approached the pair of distraught parents sitting in the waiting area.
"Mr. and Mrs. Marsh?"
They nodded.
"We've managed to stabilize your son, for the moment but the trauma he sustained in the accident was severe. We transferred him to the ICU; he's in critical condition and we have him heavily sedated. In addition to multiple lacerations and bruises Stan suffered a fractured left tibia as well as a fractured right radius. Head and neck trauma was also sustained in the accident though, as far as we can tell, the risk of paralysis is low. In addition, he fractured three of his right ribs which led to the puncturing on his right lung – we have him on a ventilator. More seriously the acute trauma led to some internal bleeding. We're not manned or equipped to perform the surgery required to alleviate this bleeding so we will be transferring Stan by air to the Children's Hospital in Denver… The helicopter should be here shortly… We're doing everything we can to make sure Stan pulls through but his chances are low… I'm sorry…"
Upon entering the hospital and meeting up with Stan's parents in front of the ICU room, hugs and tears followed.
The feeling of numbness returned to Kyle.
"They'll be flying him to the Children's Hospital in Denver pretty soon to do a surgery to deal with some internal bleeding," Randy spoke as he held his wife.
The group slowly entered Stan's room; they stopped just past the door.
The room was dimly light and had no windows.
The walls were dotted with various medical instruments, outlets, and many equipment docking ports.
There was a bright red crash cart in the corner of the room closest to the door.
The hospital bed was against the wall on the far side near the middle of the room.
The IV pump on the left side of his bed was adorned with three bags of liquid with tubes coursing to multiple thick needles covered by tape inserted in his scraped left arm.
Near to that a vital signs monitor stood beeping and flashing near-critical values of heart rate, oxygen saturation, respiration, and blood pressure derived from the finger clasp on his left hand and the blood pressure cuff on his right arm.
To the right of the bed there was a larger machine hooked to an oxygen port on the wall. An accordion-like inflation manifold steadily rose and fell along with the young boy's chest. Two thick tubes ran from this machine to the convergence point of the endotracheal tube inserted in his mouth.
His upper head was wrapped in gauze; fresh blood was beginning to soak through.
His neck was braced.
His right forearm, left lower leg, and chest were all heavily bandaged.
Kyle could not believe this was actually happening.
Less than half a day ago they were both laughing and riding bikes talking about what games they were going to play tomorrow.
Kyle looked helplessly up at his mother.
She turned with the Randy and Sharon and escorted them out of the room.
For a moment Kyle just stood there, unsure of what to do.
He decided to approach his super best friend.
As he neared the boy Kyle could see his eyes were closed and his face was sickeningly pale.
"Stan…?" He whispered, praying for a response.
Nothing.
"Stan… I don't know if you can hear this but please…," more tears welled in his already bloodshot eyes, "Please don't die…," his voice was shaky. "If – If you die I'll have to deal with Cartman all the time by myself…," he forced out a quiet laugh, "You wouldn't do that to me, would you?" Tears fell from his cheeks.
"I love you, dude…," he placed his hand on top of Stan's, "You're more of a brother to me than Ike… Please…"
Sheila walked back into the room and grasped Kyle's hand, "We need to go, sweetie. They're here to take Stan to the other hospital."
As she led him through the door he looked back one last time at his super best friend.
