Disclaimer: South Park is not mine :O

Author's note: Happy Chanukah!

And sorry for spelling or grammar mistakes...

Four Days

Friday Morning: Guest

When Stan woke up, the first thing he was aware of was the fact that Kyle wasn't lying next to him anymore. He panicked and sat up, wondering whether Kyle woke up and left, possibly hysterical and delirious again. That is, until he heard the soft crying coming from the direction of the bathroom.

Stan got up and walked out, noticing the light that was coming from the kitchen downstairs. He remembered he left it on when he left the house for the shopping-center earlier, meaning the electricity was back. Stan tried the phone on the small table next to his parents' bedroom, but it was still out.

Stan walked to the bathroom and opened the door, turning the light on. Sure enough, there was Kyle; his pajama shirt tossed on the tiled floor and his arms hugging his stomach area, tears streaming down his face.

Kyle turned his gaze towards him, pale. "Looks like the electricity is back…" Stan said, and Kyle yelled at him to fuck off and not look at him. It wasn't often that Kyle cursed him like that, and Stan was somewhat hurt, but he let it go, understanding the condition that Kyle was in.

He turned off the light and crouched next to Kyle, stroking his red hair. "Is that better?" he asked, and once again Kyle told him, though not so loud this time, not to look at him. Stan pulled him into a tight hug and let him cry on his shoulder, noticing the hotness of Kyle's forehead against his own cold neck, and he was silent, rubbing his sick friend's back.

"Look at what they've done to me…" Kyle sobbed.

"Shh…" Stan soothed. "It's all right now…" he said. "I won't let them get you again."

"Don't you see?" Kyle screamed and pulled away, and Stan found himself feeling quite sad at this fact. "They're everywhere! Everywhere! Wherever you don't look! They're there… lurking in the darkness and just waiting for a chance to attack! There is the kind of Cartman, and there is the kind of… those people."

As Kyle kept on with his outburst, Stan couldn't help but wonder. Except for Cartman, Kyle never experienced anti-Semitism, and now after only one incident-

No. His line of thought was wrong. It wasn't just "one incident"; it was a terrible and brutal attack, meant to kill his best friend. If Stan wouldn't have got there when he did, he was positive he would have lost his friend to the gale and snow. No wonder Kyle was being paranoid.

"I will protect you…" he said quietly. "Don't cry…"

But Kyle kept on saying that they were everywhere, that no place was truly safe. Stan thought that he thought that because South Park was a little town, where everyone knew everyone, and there he goes one night and almost gets killed for his beliefs. But still, Stan thought that Kyle was acting just a little too paranoid. At most, he thought, he should be scared of the people, who did this to him, not of… everyone. Could what those people have done to him been so terrible, that something within his psyche snapped?

They saw a lot of people being killed when they were children in elementary school, they witnessed lots of craziness. Kyle even got beaten up once for not acting like a fag. This shouldn't have made him act like that, that incident. Then what…

He had only his underwear on.

Stan froze. Just… what was that thought? He gulped, and looked down at his sobbing friend. No way… if he had them on, that means they never got them off, which means they never did anything…

He could have gotten them back on himself before he lost consciousness.

Stan shook his head, refusing to believe. Now he was being paranoid himself. "Come on, Kyle," he said quietly and helped him up, supporting his back as he escorted him out of the bathroom and back into his bedroom. He helped him lie down on the bed. "You're sick. Let me get you some medicine, and then go to sleep. You'll feel better when you'll wake up." When Stan was about to leave, he felt Kyle tugging at his shirt.

"Don't go…" the Jewish boy begged with teary eyes. "I don't want to be alone, please!"

Stan frowned. Kyle was acting strange indeed, even for this kind of attack. Sure, it could be because he was sick at the moment, but still…

Stan sat down on the edge of the bed and returned to play with Kyle's hair- and act he had found somewhat enjoyable. It didn't mean that he was a stupid fag, of course. He liked to play with his own hair sometimes, and he was pretty sure that that didn't mean anything.

"I'm going just for a minute, dude. I'll be right back," he said.

Kyle shook his head and gripped Stan's hand. "A minute is enough for them to…" then he trailed off and looked away. He left Stan's arm, almost violently, and then covered himself up and turned to the side, sulking.

"Kyle?" Stan asked quietly, unsure as to how he should react. "Are you okay, dude?" he asked, and was about to pull the covers off of his friend, but Kyle told him to go.

Stan frowned, withdrew his hand, got up and left to get some medicine.

The medicines were in the small cabinet in his parents' bathroom. He pulled out various packs of various pills, wondering why the heck would they posses something like a pill against hemorrhoids in their house when none of the members of his family have ever got it, until he pulled the pack of those yellow pills against fever and aches.

He smiled as he retrieved the small pack and went back to his bedroom, only to find out that Kyle wasn't there any longer. "Kyle?" he called, looking around, but no one answered him.

He walked slowly through the hall so he could hear any sound that Kyle made, which would pinpoint his current whereabouts. He found him in the bathroom, eventually- his shirt once again tossed aside, his eyes once again shut and leaking, hugging himself once again and telling Stan to fuck off and not to look at him. And Stan sighed, helped him up once again, and this time, he didn't leave his side until he was sure his friend was sleeping soundly.


It became some sort of routine, even though only about six hours passed since Stan found Kyle in the bathroom for the first time that morning, when the sun rose. Stan would wait until Kyle fell asleep, then he would go downstairs to eat, watch TV or do whatever, and when about half an hour later he would go up again to check on Kyle, the Jewish red head would not be there. Stan always found him in the same position on the same spot in the bathroom, as if his memory was erased when he fell asleep, and when he woke up a short time later he found those engraved swastikas anew.

When Stan would help him up time and time again, he found it somewhat strange that at times Kyle accepted his supporting touch, at times even welcomed it, and at other times he would try to push him away.

Of course he would push you away, you idiot. He just had been rap-

No! And even if so, why would he accept his touch at times?

Because he's sick, you idiot. He needs some support.

He shook his head, driving away those thoughts. He was currently sitting on a chair near his bed, one leg over the other, as he watched Kyle sleeping and the sunrays becoming brighter as the day progressed. He told himself that he would not rise from his seat until Kyle woke up, and Stan would make him go to sleep before his friend could go to the bathroom to cry again.

Kyle seemed to be sleeping soundly, and didn't show any signs of waking up… or living. Well, aside from that slow rise and fall of the blanket, but other than that… not a sound. Stan guessed it was because of the pill he finally remembered to give to him.

Stan ran his fingers through his black hair and sighed, feeling at loss. He really had no idea what to do once Kyle woke up again after getting enough sleep. He couldn't make him sleep forever, after all. He figured it would have been easier if Kyle just talked, but… Kyle only wept, and wept, and wept… and cursed him, too, but that didn't count as talking.

But what if what happened to Kyle had been so terrible, that he wouldn't be able to talk about it? Ever.

Stan frowned at the thought, but figured he'd just have to wait and see. A rustle of cloth was heard, and Stan was awakened from his thoughts to the sight of Kyle moving so that his face were now facing the ceiling, an act which caused the blanket to almost fall off.

Stan smiled and stood up, lifting the blanket and covering Kyle, making sure to tuck the blanket around him. This was Colorado in the winter, after all. He stood there and watched his friend sleep for a few more moments, and, feeling somewhat father-like, he bent down slowly and hesitantly and planted a light kiss on his forehead, hoping it would make Kyle having pleasant dreams instead of nightmares. And when the touch was made, Stan felt his feelings swooping him, and he wrapped his arms around Kyle's back and lifted him from the mattress, hugging him tightly to his chest and feeling his own tears coming to his eyes. He shut his eyes and a sob escaped his lips. He tightened his grip on his friend, not caring if he would wake up in the process. "I won't let them hurt you ever again," he said quietly, his voice quivering. "Ever again…"

After about a minute, Kyle still didn't show any signs of waking up, and Stan found it quite weird, considering he woke up every thirty minutes or so before. He assumed it was because his tiredness finally kicked in, and now he would get that sleep he deserved.

The doorbell made him jump. Who was it at the door? He didn't remember inviting anyone…

He caressed Kyle's cheek gently - promising him once again that he would protect him – before rushing downstairs to get the door. The one at the door rung again, making Stan curse under his breath. If the hug didn't wake Kyle up, then the shrill ring was sure to do so. He grumbled and opened the door, wondering whether he should yell at the person behind it for being so loud (even though they really didn't do anything…), but found himself at a loss of words when he realized just who that person was.

Oh, fuck…

"Hey, Stan," the person said, pushing his way around Stan and into his house. "You have anything to eat? I haven't eaten a thing since morning! I was at Kenny's house, and you know just how much food that poor family have." And without waiting for an answer, he went into the kitchen and searched the cabinets for any kind of food.

Fuck, fuck, fuck…

"Say," the person said after fishing out a chocolate bar and gobbling it down. "Wasn't Kyle supposed to be here? I haven't seen him yet, I thought you'd be playing with your Playstation or something…" the person looked around, searching for the Jew. "Or was he being Jewish and stood you up?" the person chuckled after saying it, which – under current circumstances – made Stan angry.

"Cartman," he hissed. "What the fuck are you doing here, fatass?"

The fat boy blinked in confusion. "Shut it, shit-face. You invited me."

He had? "When?" he asked, trying to remember, without much success.

"On Wednesday," Cartman replied, resuming his search for edible things. "You said you've got a new game for Playstation, and that you have the whole house for yourself, so…" he took a small bag off of his back and laid it on the table, pulling out a tape. "I've got us some treats for the night, if you know what I mean."

Stan resisted the urge to kick the fat boy in his nuts. "Yeah, but did I specifically invited you? Told you to come?"

Eric Cartman blinked in confusion once again. "No, not specifically… but I can take a hint. Kenny said he'd stop by later tonight." And before Stan had a chance to argue, Cartman fired yet another question. "So where is that stupid Jew?"

"He's upstairs, sleeping," Stan answered, his tone of speech low, almost threatening.

"Sleeping?" Cartman seemed to be taken aback by this. "It's almost one and he's sleeping? What did you two fags do all night to make him so tired?" and again, before Stan could argue, Cartman continued. "But I guess that since he's a Jew, it explains it."

Stan had to resist the urge to kick him once again. "Must you be here?" he asked.

"Why, yes. Of course," Cartman answered mockingly. "You want me to leave? Why? You have some unfinished business with your boyfriend upstairs?" he nodded his head in the direction, and Stan clenched his fist.

"Fatass," he cursed. "Look, Kyle's sick right now, so I'd really appreciate it if-"

"What's all the commotion about?" a new voice entered the scene, and the two boys turned around to face a flushed Kyle leaning against the wall. Stan paled, surprised to see him out of his bed and not in the bathroom crying for a change, and Cartman smirked.

"Hey, Jew," he said. "I hear you're sick?"

"Cartman, please-" Stan tried, but it was too late.

"What, those Jewish germs finally got the best of you or something?" the fat boy asked, and before he could laugh and wait for a smart-ass retort from Kyle, his airways were suddenly blocked as the Jewish boy attempted to strangle him.

"I dare you to say that once again, fatass!" Kyle yelled into his ear. "I dare you to say it again!"

Stan tried to pull him off, but Kyle freed one hand from Cartman's neck and pushed him away. "Don't you see, Stan?" he asked. "This how it starts! This is how all of it starts!"

Cartman, seeing that only one hand was holding his neck at the moment, took advantage of the situation and pushed Kyle away. "You crazy Jew!" He screamed, his voice almost inaudible, and then he coughed. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?!"

"Shut the fuck up!" Kyle hollered, tears springing to his eyes. "Don't you dare get on my case ever again!"

"It's only the truth!" Cartman retorted, his voice still off somewhat, and in response a hand collided with his cheek.

Kyle went silent and blinked. So did Cartman. Both of them turned their eyes to see Stan standing in front of Cartman, his hand posed up high and his eyes glaring. "Shut the hell up, fatass." He hissed. "Just shut the hell up…"

"So I take it you don't want to play now?" Cartman asked after a short moment of silence passed between the three, and the urge to kick him finally get the better of Stan, and his leg collided with Cartman's fat leg. "Ey!" the fat boy shouted. "What did I do?"

"Come on, Kyle," Stan said, holding Kyle's shoulder protectively. "Let's go see if your fever went down…" and so, they turned around and left, leaving Cartman in the kitchen alone.

"Oh, well," Cartman shrugged, and then smiled, opening the fridge and taking out the ingredients for a sub sandwich.


To Be Continued…