A/N: A couple of previously unplanned dramatic things happened in this chapter, so I didn't quite make it to the night school introduction, but that will definitely be in the next chapter. Thanks so much for the reviews, and for reading!


On Valentine's day Kyle was fifteen weeks pregnant and miserably ill, but he dragged himself to school anyway. He'd had headaches, ligament pain and swollen gums since week twelve, and he hadn't let Stan see him without a shirt on since week thirteen. Depending on Kyle's mood, Stan was allowed to reach up under Kyle's shirt and feel his soft chest, but he never made it down to the beginnings of the bump without Kyle yanking his wrist away.

"It's just fat," Kyle would insist, scooting away from Stan angrily. "You're not going to convince me it's not disgusting. Unless you've been secretly attracted to Cartman all these years."

Stan had tried everything to convince Kyle that he looked nothing like Cartman, who had already gained about thirty pounds, or even like Clyde, who'd put on about half that. Craig and Butters had both been underweight before, and now they just looked more healthy, particularly Craig. Kyle looked a little plump, especially around his jaw and his waist, but Stan liked it, if only for the ability to squeeze things that couldn't be squeezed before. He couldn't keep his hands off of Kyle's ass, and when they were in bed together he was constantly trying to sneak them up under Kyle's shirt.

"Here," Stan said, parked in Kyle's driveway in the morning before school. He rooted around in the backseat until he came up with the box of sugar-free chocolate caramels that he'd gotten for Kyle, a particularly good brand of fake candy for diabetics that he'd ordered two weeks ago. "Happy Valentine's Day," he said, leaning over to kiss Kyle's cheek as he passed it to him.

"Oh, God," Kyle said. "I can't eat these. My teeth are killing me."

"Your teeth?" Stan said.

"My gums, whatever. Brushing is so fucking painful. It's torture to be this sensitive, it's like, everything hurts." Kyle tore open the chocolates, brushed aside the brown paper covering them and took a deep breath. "Jesus, they smell so good," he said, sounding like he might cry.

"Ice cream," Stan said, backing out of the driveway. "I'll get you some ice cream instead."

"I'm so fat," Kyle said, touching one of the chocolates. "I promised myself I wouldn't sit around saying that, but it's all I can think about - it's not just how I look, it's how I feel, like this liquid-filled blob. And this is only the beginning!"

"I got you other presents," Stan said. The chocolates were still open in Kyle's lap. "And I'll - we'll do whatever you want in bed, okay?" He reached over to stroke Kyle's neck with the backs of his fingers, keeping his eyes on the road. The weather was bad, the sort that should be endured from the comfort of a bed.

"We always do whatever I want in bed," Kyle said. "Why - why are you getting me presents? Why haven't I gotten you anything? Because I'm the girl now? I totally forgot today was Valentine's Day, I'm sorry. I can't even think anymore."

"You're not the girl," Stan said. "I'm just more of a cheesy present getter. And it was jerky of me to get you chocolates, I'm sorry."

"It wasn't jerky," Kyle said. He popped one in his mouth. "I'll just suck on it until it disintegrates," he said.

"I could chew some up for you and feed them to you, bird-style," Stan said. Kyle made a face.

"Don't make me lose my appetite," he said. He began to chew, tentatively. "These are really good," he said, reaching over to rub Stan's leg. "Thank you. Oh, God, though, the pain. It's like getting a blow job while sitting on hot coals."

At school, the nature of the rumors about the pregnant boys had begun to change. Stan wasn't sure if Cartman and his betting pool were to blame, or if the sudden weight gain of certain members of the senior class was all the evidence people needed to begin whispering and laughing under their breath when Stan and Kyle walked through the halls together. It was agony not to have any classes with Kyle, and Stan worried about him throughout the day, afraid that he might be bullied. Kyle had begun wearing baggy clothes. They were Stan's clothes, mostly, and Stan usually ran out of clean shirts and pants by Thursday. He'd noticed that Kyle was stealthily wearing his underwear now, too.

"Meet me at my car during your lunch period," Stan said when they were parting for home room.

"Won't Kenny and Butters be there?" Kyle asked.

"Not today," Stan said. He bent down to kiss the bridge of Kyle's nose. "I'm taking you out to lunch for Valentine's Day, alright? It's your second present."

"Oh." Kyle sighed. "Not to be a dick, but can't we just go out for dinner? I'm really tired, and I was going to study for that trig test at lunch."

"I made you a picnic, though," Stan said. All the stuff was in his bag, Kyle's latest favorite foods: chunks of canned pineapple, bloody slices of roast beef on sunflower bread with cheddar and extra mayo, and cheesecake flavored Jello pudding cups with gooey fake cherry topping. All easily chewable.

"A picnic?" Kyle seemed as if he couldn't decide how to feel about that: touched or exasperated. "It's like thirty below out, dude."

"We could eat it in the car," Stan said. He stepped a little closer, shielding Kyle from prying eyes, though the fact that they were pressed together against his locker was hardly inconspicuous. "You know, it's not fair. Sometimes me and you should be the ones having sex in my car."

Kyle moaned and let his head thunk back against the lockers. Stan wanted him all the time lately, especially when Kyle was dressed in Stan's clothes, sleeves hanging over his hands and pants dragging on the floor. Today he was wearing Stan's Colorado Eagles shirt, a gift from one of Shelly's former boyfriends who had played goalie for the Eagles.

"I'm so tired, dude," Kyle said. "Can you just sneak into my lunch period and eat with me while I go over my trig stuff? I didn't get to review as much as I wanted to last night."

There was something accusatory in that. They'd had sex the night before, as usual, during what was nominally homework time, and Kyle had been irritable when he woke to find that Stan had let him sleep for an hour. Kyle was normally a light, efficient sleeper, but lately he was dozing off as soon as his head touched Stan's shoulder and staying under even while Stan had conversations with Ike or answered his phone to tell his mother that he'd be having dinner with the Broflovskis again.

"That's good, too," Stan said. "Whatever you want."

"It's just-"

"No, dude, it's okay, I get it."

"I should give you all the sex you want as a gift to you," Kyle said, yawning. Stan laughed, though this statement made him nervous. They used to be on the same wavelength in terms of how often they wanted sex, which was anytime they could fit it into an at least semi-private moment, but in the past few weeks Stan had gotten the sense that Kyle was less interested. The night before Kyle had mostly just lay on his side with his eyes closed, moaning softly while Stan fingered him. Stan had been afraid at one point that Kyle was drifting off to sleep, but when he removed his fingers Kyle whined and pressed back against him, begging.

In study hall, Stan sat with Token and Craig, which had become regular. The Pregnant and Pissed Off Society had yet to meet again as a group, but there were splinter groups forming. Stan had a standing Sunday afternoon meet-up with Kenny and Wendy, who got high and complained about Cartman, respectively. He was lab partners with Cartman in chemistry, and he liked hearing that Cartman was doing okay, if only to pass that information on to Wendy. Kyle had several classes with Butters, who seemed to be outdoing Kyle in terms of wan exhaustion. Whenever Stan saw Butters in the halls he looked as if he was on the verge of sinking to the floor and curling up to sleep.

"Got big plans for Valentine's Day?" Stan asked Token and Craig when he sat down with them.

"Marsh," Craig said. "You would buy into that corporate hoax."

"Are you referring to Valentine's Day or, like, love?" Stan asked, unperturbed.

"God," Craig said. "That word." He looked especially miserable, wearing a gray hoodie with no visible high-end logos, slouched down with his chin in his hand.

"I'm gonna make dinner for Clyde," Token said. "French toast. That's all he wants to eat lately."

"Kyle's really into red meat," Stan said. "He used to like his steaks well done, I'd always make fun of him for that. Now he wants everything practically raw."

"That's dangerous," Token said, sitting up straighter. "The bacteria-"

"We know that," Stan said. "He doesn't actually eat things raw."

"He shouldn't even be eating deli meat," Token said. "I saw him with roast beef the other day at lunch."

"Wait, why?" Stan asked, his heart speeding up a little.

"There could be bacteria on the slicer thing," Token said.

"God, fuck, you two." Craig put his head down on his folded arms and moaned. "Shut up about this shit."

"Have you still not been to the doctor?" Stan asked, snapping his pen against Craig's wrist.

"I've been," Craig said. He lifted his head, his eyelids heavier than normal. "They did the thing."

"The thing?" Token said.

"The x-ray thing."

"It's not an x-ray, Jesus," Stan said. "You can't get x-rays when you're pregnant."

"Whatever." Craig rubbed his hand over his face. "The thing where you can see it. I showed the picture to Tweek. He flipped out." Craig smiled, and Stan couldn't tell if he was being cruel or sentimental. "He said it looked like an alien for sure."

"But the doctor said it looked normal, right?" Token said.

"Yes," Craig said. He looked back and forth between them, pulling the sleeves of his hoodie over his hands. "Also, a girl. Probably."

"Whoa, shit!" Stan said, bouncing a little. "That's crazy - they could tell? Last time we went they said they weren't sure."

"Same here," Token said, looking at Craig somewhat skeptically. "When did you go?"

Craig groaned. "Yesterday," he said.

"Congratulations, dude," Stan said. Craig gave him a humorless stare.

"I don't like girls," he said.

"Don't be like that," Token said, whacking his shoulder. "That's your daughter."

Craig closed his eyes, let out his breath, and put his head down again.

After study hall, Stan was heading to History and fretting about cold cuts when he saw Henrietta Biggle trying to get to her locker, obstructed by two younger girls on opposite sides who were laughing together while wielding balloons and flowers, trying and failing to fit any of it into their lockers. Henrietta was hanging back and looking defeated, her hand clawed around the strap of her shoulder bag.

"Hey," Stan said. She turned to him and flinched.

"Oh," she said. "Hey."

"All this shit's pretty annoying, huh?" he said, gesturing to the balloons, which were thumping against each other like heavy bubbles. Stan liked most of the trappings of Valentine's Day, but the balloons seemed more about advertising a relationship than exchanging a meaningful gift, and there was something sad and wasteful about cut flowers.

"If I'd have remembered what day it was I would have stayed home," Henrietta said. "Actually, like, fuck this. I'm out of here." She turned away from the spectacle at her locker, and Stan followed her down the hall.

"I kinda feel like skipping, too," he said. "I was at least gonna ditch my third period and take Kyle to lunch, but he's not big on skipping."

"Sucks for him," Henrietta said. She walked out the back door and held it uncertainly. Stan slipped outside with her.

"How are you doing?" he asked when they were alone out in the cold. He wondered if her coat was in her locker.

"Fine," she said. She touched her stomach. "My parents haven't even noticed yet."

"Noticed - oh." Stan eyed the pudge at her stomach, which was bigger than it had been at the start of the school year. "Haven't you been to the doctor or anything?" he asked.

"Wren took me to Planned Parenthood," she said. "I'm eighteen, so. Anyway. They told me it's a boy."

"Congratulations," Stan said. "Who's Wren?"

"That kid with the red in his hair?" Henrietta pointed to her own hair to indicate where the red streak was.

"Oh - oh yeah. Cool. I mean, that was good of him."

Henrietta actually smiled at little, or anyway, her lips twitched.

"He's not the father," she said. "The father's this total asshole who left town as soon as I told him."

"Oh." Stan took off his sweatshirt and held it out for her.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"You're shivering."

She hesitated before taking it, and she wrapped it around her arms like a muff instead of putting it on.

"Thanks," she said.

"No problem." Stan was ready go to back inside, but she seemed lonely and lost, and like she wanted to say something.

"Is Kyle one of the pregnant boys?" she asked.

Stan had no reason to confide in her. They'd never really been friends, just company for each other's misery, and he didn't know if he could trust her with this secret. He also didn't know how much longer he and Kyle could attempt to keep what was going on a secret from anyone.

"Yeah," he said.

"I thought so." Henrietta looked away. "How's, uh. How's that going?"

"Okay," Stan said. "His gums hurt. Did you get that?"

"A little." She shrugged, still avoiding Stan's eyes. "Mostly I'm just fatter than ever and crying all the time. It sucks."

"Kyle's been crying, too," Stan said, though he didn't do it frequently. When he did, it was memorable, enough to soak the front of Stan's shirts. "And, uh. Gaining weight."

"What are you guys gonna do?" Henrietta asked.

"I don't know," Stan said, honestly. Though the reality of the baby was physically unavoidable at this point, Stan had checked through Kyle's pregnancy organizer for any indications that he was making plans and schedules for after the birth, and there was nothing, aside from some notes about losing weight and taking testosterone supplements. They still hadn't made a list of baby names. "How about you?" Stan asked.

"I'm keeping it," she said. "I know it's stupid, but, like. Whatever. It's what I want."

"It's not stupid," Stan said. "Look, um, I gotta go. Class, and stuff."

"Right. Thanks for the sweatshirt. I'll bring it back tomorrow."

"Yeah - okay. No problem. Happy Valentine's Day," he added, probably unwisely. He was glad he'd said it when she smiled.

This was Kyle's lunch period, and Stan went the long way to the cafeteria, steering clear of the Pre-Calc class he was supposed to be attending. Kyle was at their usual table with their usual guys: Cartman, Butters, and Kenny. Stan was surprised to see Tweek sitting with them, and for a moment felt betrayed, as if they'd all agreed to replace him with Tweek since he'd been shuffled into a different lunch shift. He knew that Kenny and Butters were rarely ever at lunch, and imagined Kyle sitting there with only Cartman and Tweek for company, miserably enduring their various outbursts. Stan had been eating with Bebe and Wendy. Bebe had finally accepted that Wendy had gotten Cartman pregnant, and had a thousand questions about it all the time. Wendy was usually quiet and morose, and Stan did the best he could to answer what he was willing to.

"What's up, dude?" Kenny said when Stan approached the table. "I thought you needed your car today?"

"Change of plans," Stan said. He sat down beside Kyle and gave him a quick hug around the waist. Kyle was already eating, which was annoying, since Stan had told him he brought food.

"That's okay anyhow," Butters said. "I had some chocolate this morning so I'm feeling kind of peppy." He grinned tiredly at Kenny, not looking particularly peppy. "I think I can make it through the school day without my nap."

"Nap?" Kyle said. "I thought you guys - er?"

"It depends on the mood," Kenny said, giving him a look. "Ooh, Jello," he said when Stan began unpacking his picnic.

"That's for Kyle," Stan said, sliding one of the Jello cups over to him. Kyle already had a brownie with pink sprinkles on his lunch tray - the school's idea of a festive Valentine's Day treat. "I made you this sandwich, too," Stan said, taking it out. "But Token says you can't eat cold cuts. Is that true?"

"I'll eat it if Kyle can't!" Cartman said, reaching over Kyle. Stan moved the sandwich out of his grip. Kyle was staring at it longingly.

"Well," Kyle said. "Technically-"

"Dude, how many subs have I gotten you since we found out?" Stan said, moving the sandwich further away from him. "Shit!"

"I've been fine!" Kyle said. He frowned, getting red. "I mean, I didn't know at first, but then I thought, how many sandwiches did I eat before I found out? And then Terrell said these babies probably have some kind of superhuman immune systems, since none of them have had any issues yet-"

"He said they might," Stan said. "Not 'probably.' And I think he was joking."

"So, whatever, Jesus," Kyle said. He tore the foil off the Jello cup. "Take something else away from me, great."

"Why can't he eat deli meat?" Tweek asked. He was holding what looked like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and he had yet to take a bite of it.

"There could be bacteria on the slicing thing," Stan said. "Apparently."

"Shit," Kenny said. He put his hand on Butters' back. "Did you know that?"

"Yeah," Butters said. "My doctor gave me a big list of things not to eat."

"That's good," Kenny said. "My mom drank like a fish and smoked like a chimney for three months before she realized she was gonna have me."

"That explains a lot," Cartman said.

"At least she was smoking cigarettes instead of crack," Kenny said. "We've all seen what sort of offspring that leads to."

"My mom did not smoke crack while she was pregnant, Kenny!" Cartman said, loudly enough to make the girls at the next table laugh. Stan had not missed this overly familiar scene at all, aside from eating with Kyle, though that was stressing him out at the moment.

"Dude, careful," Stan said when Kyle started in on the brownie. "Your blood sugar."

"God, I'm so glad we're eating lunch together for Valentine's Day," Kyle said, throwing the remainder of the brownie down. "It's so fun."

Cartman took the brownie from Kyle's tray and ate it in two bites while Stan and Kyle stewed in angry silence and Kenny and Butters exchanged a look. Tweek was tearing his sandwich into little sections, trembling.

"Tweek," Stan said. "Did your mom drink coffee when she was pregnant with you?"

"Gah - I don't know!" Tweek said. "What are you saying?"

"He's saying you twitch like a crack baby," Cartman said.

"I can't help it!" Tweek said. He threw down the sandwich bits and grabbed at his hair. "I just want to be sedated until Craig has this baby! It's too much fucking pressure, and I don't know what to do!"

"Is Craig treating you any better?" Stan asked. He was watching Kyle stab tater tots with his fork, gutting their hot white innards before eating the crunchy parts.

"C-Craig treats me fine!" Tweek said. "I'm lucky he's not pressing charges, shit!"

"What would the charges be?" Kyle asked. "Letting him fuck your ass?"

"Dude, Jesus!" Stan said while Tweek spazzed, putting his forehead on the table.

"What?" Kyle said. "Craig is the one who walked down Cartman's basement stairs shouting about how he's the top."

"Stop talking about gay sex, goddammit!" Cartman said, pounding the table with his fist. "We have a rule!"

Everyone fell silent, as if no one could think of anything but gay sex to talk about. Stan set the illicit sandwich down on the table, his stomach grumbling. He'd made a generous sandwich and cut it in half, one half for him and one for Kyle, but he felt that eating it in front of Kyle would be rude, even though this left him with only pineapple chunks for lunch.

"How are you holding up?" Stan asked Butters, who was eating grapes as Kenny carefully peeled them.

"Oh, I'm good," Butters said. "Gettin' some weird food aversions, though."

"The peels make his teeth hurt," Kenny said. Stan frowned as he watched Kenny painstakingly peeling the next grape. Kenny continued to seem eerily calm about all of this, and to laugh dismissively when Stan asked him about his night job.

"I'm having food aversions, too," Kyle said. "Like this disgusting - ugh, I can't even look at it." He put a napkin over the lumpy white potatoes he'd extracted from the tater tot skins. "I only want sugar and red meat. And fried things," he said, eating another tater tot hide.

"I meant more like, your parents," Stan said to Butters. "How's that going?"

"Oh, well." Butters and Kenny exchanged a glance. "Fine."

"They told him he's doing chores for two now," Kenny said.

"They are paying for everything," Butters said. "Their insurance doesn't cover, um. Boy pregnancy."

"Isn't your doctor working for free?" Kyle asked. "Mine is all excited to be allowed to get near this thing."

Stan wilted. Kyle hadn't called the baby a 'thing' in a while.

"Yeah," Cartman said. "Mine's working for free, too, as long as he can take all the pictures he wants. And I told you, dumb shit, you should have gone on Dateline and made bank with me."

"They only paid you five thousand dollars," Kenny said. "And don't call him a dumb shit unless you want-"

"What, Kenny?" Cartman smirked. "You're going to harm an innocent pregnant person? Really? I didn't think you had it in you."

"I'll remember all the beatings you earned after you're no longer in a delicate condition," Kenny said. "Believe me."

"Butters, seriously," Kyle said. "Who is your doctor that he's not willing to study an extremely rare condition free of charge?"

"W-well," Butters said.

"It's that Catholic hospital in Breckenridge," Kenny said. "They treat him like he's possessed, like he's pregnant with the Antichrist."

"Now Kenny," Butters said. "They're just tryin' to help."

"Are they really making you do chores for two?" Stan asked. "Because, man. You look pretty worn out."

"I'm okay," Butters said, looking down at the grape in his hand.

"He's exhausted," Kenny said. "I know you pervs think we go out to Stan's car to screw, and sometimes, okay, yeah, that happens, but mostly he just sleeps. I feel like shit waking him up to get him to class, but his parents told him they'd send him to St. Benedict's if he starts missing classes."

"What's St. Benedict's?" Tweek asked, bringing his fists to his chin with dread.

"A monastery in Snowmass," Kenny said.

"Jesus!" Tweek said. "That's fucking hardcore!"

"Wait," Kyle said. "Hang on. If you guys are just napping, why does Stan's car always smell like sex?"

"Oh geez," Butters said, cringing.

"Dude, seriously?" Stan said to Kyle.

"I guess you're just imagining it," Kenny said. "That, or my spunk has a certain staying power, in terms of clinging to the environment it's been released in."

"Aw, sick!" Cartman said. "Thanks, asshole. I just lost my fucking appetite."

"Uh, you've already finished your lunch," Kenny said, pointing to his tray. "And half of Kyle's."

"I was gonna go back for another brownie!" Cartman said. "I'm eating for two, okay?" he said, coloring and looking around the table as if everyone was staring at him judgmentally. No one was; they'd become indifferent to Cartman's appetite long before his pregnancy doubled it.

Stan tuned the rest of the lunch conversation out, his stomach growling as he contemplated the still-wrapped sandwich. When lunch was over, he pecked Kyle on the cheek, got an irritated look in return, and dashed down to the alcove in front of the auditorium to devour the entire sandwich. He felt guilty after doing so, as if he'd flipped Kyle off when his back was turned.

"So what are you doing for Valentine's Day?" Stan asked Cartman in Chemistry, where they were making rock candy. Their experiments had been decidedly tame since it was revealed that at least one of the students was pregnant.

"Valentine's Day is for chumps," Cartman said. He sounded less certain of himself than usual, and when he looked at Stan blankly from behind his lab goggles, Stan was nervous about what he would say next. "My mom's making an Oreo cheesecake," he said. "We're gonna eat it together."

"Cool," Stan said, holding Cartman's gaze uncertainly. Cartman looked down at their beakers.

"It's not cool, Stan," he said. "I should be out, uh. Partying. Getting wasted. Scoring chicks."

"That's not generally what people do on Valentine's Day," Stan said.

"Whatever," Cartman said. "That's when chicks are most susceptible to my charms. When they're all lonely and shit, because everyone else is walking around with 'somebody wants to fuck me' bouquets. But nobody wants to get with this shit. Look, look at this." He pulled the collar of his shirt over to show Stan something underneath. A strap. Stan's eyes bulged before he could collect himself enough to be tactful.

"Is that-"

"It's a bra, Stan!" Cartman said, putting his shirt back in place. "A fucking bra. Because they hurt, okay? Jesus, I'm so fucking miserable. And Wendy won't even talk to me." He was starting to cry. Stan stared at him, aghast, and looked to the front of the room, hoping their teacher would notice and take action, but she was helping Kevin Stoley harvest his crystals.

"Dude," Stan said, touching Cartman's massive back. "It's okay."

"It's not okay," Cartman said. "I th-thought I could maybe get by on the single father thing, you know, with chicks and stuff?" He sniffled and wiped his hand across his face. "But I'm so fucking hungry all the time, a-and I'm turning back into a fat piece of shit like I was when we were kids!" He started wailing properly then, pressing his palms into his eyes. Stan glanced at the rest of the class. Everyone was staring.

"Does he need a moment?" their teacher asked. Stan couldn't tell if she was annoyed or sympathetic. He realized he was rubbing Cartman's back and heard a few people start to laugh into their hands.

"Just - yeah," Stan said, guiding Cartman around their lab table. He was crying hard and shamelessly, his hands covering his face as he launched into a reedy whine thing that Stan hadn't heard him do since they were kids and Kyle slapped him on the basketball court. "Just a minute," Stan said as he walked Cartman out of the classroom.

He took Cartman down toward the vending machines, then realized that might trigger his food-related anxiety and brought him around the corner, into the corridor that led to the dedicated football workout room. As senior varsity, Stan and Cartman both had the code to unlock the door. Stan brought Cartman inside and flipped on the light.

"Dude," Stan said when Cartman sat down with his back to the wall near the door, sobbing into his hands. "Are you seriously surprised that Wendy doesn't want to talk to you? You said a lot of horrible shit about her. On TV, too."

"I didn't use her name on Dateline!" Cartman said, lifting his face. Unsurprisingly, he was an ugly crier. "And I don't want to feel this way about her, okay? It fucking sucks, literally, she's a succubus, sucking my fucking blood out, but the spell is strong, Stan! It's making me want her around all the fucking time!"

"It's not a spell!" Stan said. "You love her, okay? Maybe. She told me about the Grand Canyon, dude. About Arby's."

Cartman was silent for a moment, wide-eyed. He sniffled.

"She did?"

"Yeah. And haven't you noticed how distracted and morose she's been lately? She's worried about you, dude." Stan suspected that she was actually more worried about the idea of an infant she had somehow made with Cartman being brought into the world, but part of that worry had to do with how Cartman would handle it, probably.

"Why should I listen to you?" Cartman asked, scowling. "She's probably still hung up on your twink hippie ass. She's probably just pissed off that you knocked Kyle up instead of her."

"Wendy doesn't - dude! Stop trying to protect yourself by acting like an asshole! Look where it's gotten you."

Cartman started wailing again, and Stan rolled his eyes, looking up at the ceiling.

"I hate this," Cartman said, blubbering. "I hate having these fucking tits. I hate estrogen. I hate women, for doing this to us! Especially Wendy."

"Women didn't do this to us," Stan said. He sat down on one of the weight benches, across from Cartman. "You and Wendy both made the choice to sleep together. I know you think it's not fair that you got pregnant, but would it have been fair if she had, if you guys didn't want that? Why didn't you use a condom, anyway?"

"Because I'm a virgin, you cock," Cartman said, glowering. "Or, I was. And she was, too."

"Seriously?" Stan wasn't sure why he was surprised. Wendy had dated a few guys during high school, but she'd never gotten too serious with anyone. "But virgins can still get pregnant. Wendy knows that."

"She said she was on the pill!" Cartman said. "For fucking cramps or some nasty chick shit like that. She'd been on it since she was fifteen, she said. Probably fucking lying about that, too."

"Wendy wouldn't lie about something like that," Stan said. "Do you want me to text her and tell her to come here, to talk to you?"

"Fuck no!" Cartman scrambled up and wiped at his face. "I don't want that bitch seeing me like this. She'll think she won!"

"Stop talking like that!" Stan said, standing. "I know you don't believe what you're saying, and you're sitting here crying in front of me, so you can drop the act."

"It's not an act!" Cartman said, shouting. "She's a bitch, dude! I'm in love with a total bitch!"

His face went white when he heard himself say so. He turned around put his forehead against the cinderblock wall, moaning.

"Only because of a spell," he muttered.

"Right," Stan said. "Well, look. You guys have to talk sooner or later. Why not invite her over for cheesecake?"

"Fuck you," Cartman said, still facing the wall. "She wouldn't come."

"I think you'd be surprised," Stan said. "I mean, did you think she'd come with you when you said you were going to steal Mackey's car and go to Arby's? Huh?"

Cartman was silent. He lifted his forehead from the wall and half-turned, staring at the workout room's ratty carpeting.

"I thought things were turning around for me that night," Cartman said, and Stan knew he was talking about Bebe's party, when Wendy had pulled him over to dance.

"Maybe they were," Stan said. "You know, you're gonna have a kid. I know your mom will help, and I think Wendy will, too, but you're gonna have to grow up a little. Or a lot."

"Bitch, please," Cartman said, scowling. "I'm way more mature than you."

"Right," Stan said. "Let's go back to class-"

"No, I'm seriously!" Cartman said. "You don't know what I've been through! I've been living in hell for four months! Five more to go, then they slice us open and hope we survive, great. You don't even know what the other half of your gay ass sixty-nine of a relationship is going through."

"Kyle?" Stan frowned. "Yeah, I know I can't relate exactly, but I've been there-"

"Been there, okay," Cartman said. "You and Kenny are fucking psychotic. And at least Kenny doesn't try to hide how freaking happy he is about all of this."

"Have you and Kyle talked about this?" Stan asked, horrified by the thought. "About me?"

"Who is he supposed to talk to?" Cartman asked. He wasn't even gloating, just earnestly enraged. "Butters is too busy sucking Kenny off in your car, and Tweek doesn't know shit from shinola about anything. Who does that leave, Clyde? We all know Kyle hates Clyde."

"We - no, he doesn't!" Stan said. "You don't know shit about Kyle, or me! I'm not happy about this!"

"Are so! Kyle said you cried when you found that faggy little baby book that Butters bought for him."

"He told you about that?" Stan stumbled backward, almost tripping over the weight bench. "Butters bought him the book?"

"He got one for all of us," Cartman said. "Even fucking Craig. You seem surprised, Stan." Cartman smiled, finally gloating. "It's almost as if you don't know as much as you thought you did."

"Fuck you!" Stan said. "I came here to comfort you - why are you being a dick?"

"Because Wendy sucked yours when we were thirteen! I'll never forgive you for that, you undeserving hippie prick!" Cartman was trembling with rage, but he smiled when he saw Stan's expression. "That's right," he said. "Wendy told me all about how she broke up with you because you wouldn't return the favor."

"Ah-" Stan sat down on the bench again, feeling like he'd been socked in the gut. "I'm gay," he said helplessly. "That was when I knew-" The fact that Cartman had been told about this was like realizing that he'd been walking the halls at school naked for years.

"Me and Wendy have talked about a lot of things," Cartman said. "Kind of like me and Kyle. So why don't you go tell someone else to grow up, asshole, because I'm doing it, duh."

Cartman left the weight room, and Stan lingered, dumbstruck. The longer he sat there in the stale sweat-scented air, the angrier he became. He dug out his phone and typed a text message to Wendy:

If Cartman tries to get you to hang out with him tonight, don't. It's a trick

His thumb hovered over send for a while, but he couldn't bring himself to pull the trigger. He deleted the message. It wasn't really Cartman he was mad at, and he supposed Wendy had a right to tell people what had happened between them that day, since Stan had run over to Kyle's house in tears and told him everything immediately afterward. Kyle had listened quietly, sitting Indian-style on his bed, Stan on his knees across from him. When Stan was done, sniffling and wiping at his eyes, Kyle had grabbed Stan's face and kissed him.

"Yeah," he'd said when Stan kissed him back. "You're gay."

Stan left the weight room, trying to keep that memory firmly in mind as his sense of betrayal and humiliation grew. Kyle had complained to Stan that lunch was terrible without him, but apparently he'd been sharing some serious shit with Cartman while Tweek sat there twitching, listening in and possibly repeating all of it to Craig.

The weather had been warmer for a few days, though still not warm, and it was sleeting when Stan and Kyle headed out to Stan's car for the drive home. Kyle was ranting about something that had come up in his AP Psychology class, which he hated even on a good day, because apparently it was just a bunch of pricks sitting in a circle and puking out their extremely biased opinions one at a time while the teacher sat in silent observation.

"Do you hate Clyde?" Stan asked when they were in the car. Kyle was already picking through the chocolates, which he'd left on the passenger seat.

"Clyde?" Kyle said. He popped a chocolate in his mouth. "What's he got to do with anything?"

"Cartman told me you hate him," Stan said. He started the car, his heart beating faster. He wasn't sure how much of what was said in the weight room he wanted to discuss today. He didn't want to ruin Valentine's Day, which was stupid, because so far it was nothing more than a sleety Tuesday during which he'd found out that cold cuts might be baby poison.

"Cartman?" Kyle said, his voice obscured by chewing. "Why was he talking about who I do or don't hate?"

"He was wearing a bra," Stan said, and Kyle laughed so hard that he had to wipe chocolatey drool onto the sleeve of his coat. "It's not funny," Stan said, and this made Kyle laugh harder.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Kyle asked. He was still laughing. "A bra? Did Wendy tell you this?"

"No, he showed me. And I'm kind of surprised this is news to you."

Kyle boggled at him, the mirth draining from his expression. "Why?"

"Because apparently you told him that I cried? That day? Over the book? So why wouldn't he show you his fucking bra strap? He didn't seem shy about it in the middle of Chemistry."

"I didn't say you cried," Kyle said, but he was turning red. "I said the fact that you got that emotional over me keeping track of what I'm eating kind of freaked me out."

"Well, whatever," Stan said, glowering at the windshield and squeezing the wheel with both hands. "Sorry I fucking care about our child."

Calling the baby 'our child' felt wrong somehow, and it silenced Kyle, his chewing stilled. Stan heard him swallow after a few heavy seconds.

"You're mad about the cold cuts," Kyle said.

"No," Stan said. "But - yes! How could you keep doing something that you knew might hurt the baby?"

"It's not like I was intentionally eating cold cuts as often as I could!" Kyle said. "Just, sometimes I would look down and think, oh, there's a sandwich in my hand-"

"You want to give it up for adoption," Stan said. "Just say it."

"I don't!" Kyle said. "I fucking hate the idea of someone taking our baby and - and, just, having it. It's ours!"

Stan turned to stare at him, stunned.

"But I don't want to deal with it, either," Kyle said. "You know? Everything we'll have to give up - I wanted to have this awesome college experience with you, and this whole amazing life, and I thought it was so kind of great that we're both guys, because that way we could wait until we're thirty-five to decide if we wanted to adopt, or whatever, and not have to worry about the fertility issues-"

"So what are you saying?" Stan asked. "You're gonna give it up or you aren't?"

"I don't know!" Kyle said. "But it's all I think about, okay, and I don't want to talk about it, because you'll get upset and make me feel like shit for not knowing."

"No, Kyle-" Stan reached over to touch his shoulder. Kyle wouldn't look at him, his jaw clicking as he chewed up another chocolate. "Are your gums feeling better?" Stan asked.

"They still hurt," Kyle said. He sniffled. "But it's Valentine's Day. And these are the really good sugar free ones - from Alma?"

"Yep. I ordered them."

"I know you did." Kyle swallowed the chocolate and turned to kiss Stan's fingers. "I'm sorry I told Cartman about the book - thing. It's just, you know how I can't resist bragging about shit to him."

"Bragging?"

"Yeah, that was part of it. 'Cause Wendy won't even look at him without getting spooked and dashing off like some deadbeat dad. And you're sitting there crying over a baby name list that we haven't even made yet. I mean, I probably tried to frame it like I was complaining, but I guess it was more like I was rubbing his face in how invested you are."

"That was kind of a dick move," Stan said. "He busted out crying in Chemistry today. Over Wendy."

"Holy shit," Kyle said. "It was an act."

"No, I think it was real. Like I said, he showed me his bra strap."

"I can't handle this bizarro world shit," Kyle said. He more ate chocolate and sighed, settling back against the passenger seat. "Everything's fucked up beyond belief."

"Me and you aren't," Stan said, hopefully. Kyle was smiling when Stan glanced over at him.

"You make me want to be cautiously optimistic," Kyle said.

"Is that your Valentine to me?" Stan asked. "That'd be pretty good, like, written on a big paper heart, in sparkle letters."

"Oh, shit," Kyle said. "I didn't get you anything."

"It's okay."

"No, no, it's, um." Kyle sat up straight again, sliding the cover onto the chocolates. "We could make a list. If you want. Of names."

"I don't want that to be some gift from you to me," Stan said. "Don't force yourself to do it if you're not comfortable."

"It's not that I'm not comfortable," Kyle said. "It's just that I have a hard time thinking of what happened to me as a person. And I can't think of names. Like, where do you even start with names?"

"Elway," Stan said.

"Huh?"

"That's how I think of the baby," Stan said. "Like, my nickname for it."

"Elway. Really. As in John?"

"No, Kyle, as in the Steakhouse."

Kyle laughed, and there was something carefree in it that made Stan feel like he'd just hoisted a car over his head. You make me want to be cautiously optimistic. That had always been what he'd wanted to do for Kyle.

They went to Stan's house, where Stan had all of the ingredients for the dinner he was going to make for Kyle. Stan's parents were getting ready for their Valentine's dinner. Happily, it was in Denver, at some fancy restaurant. They made Stan take a few pictures of them in their dress-up clothes before they left, and Kyle sat watching this from the living room couch. There was a fire going, and a half finished bottle of wine in the fridge that Stan knew he shouldn't touch, but it had been a long day. He poured himself a glass once his parents were gone.

"Do you care?" Stan asked as Kyle came to join him in the kitchen.

"What, that you're drinking?" Kyle asked. "I'm not jealous, if that's what you mean. Just don't get drunk."

"I'm only going to have one," Stan said. Just the smell of the stuff made him long for a Sunday afternoon with Kenny, beer after beer with no judgment, at least until Wendy showed up.

"Uh-huh," Kyle said, watching Stan drink.

"Have you thought of any more names?" Stan asked when he had dinner going, noodles boiling and sauce simmering.

"What, other than Elway?" Kyle said. He'd insisted on helping and was mostly just sneaking bites of the ingredients while he watched Stan work. "How about Bennigan?" he said. "Or Morton? If we're going for a steakhouse name."

"Ha," Stan said. Kyle put down the cheese knife and wound his arms around Stan's waist, kissing the back of his neck.

"Or is it just football player names I should be thinking of?" Kyle said. "Peyton, Brady - Brett's kind of cute."

"What if it's a girl?" Stan asked. He was keeping his eyes on the near-boiling pasta, annoyed that Kyle wasn't taking this seriously. He wanted more wine.

"I think Brett is pretty cute for a girl, actually," Kyle said. "Oh, God, what if it is a girl? I don't know anything about them. The only girl I know is my mom."

"Craig's having a girl," Stan said.

"What? Really? How do you know?"

"He told me today. They had the ultrasound yesterday."

"You talk to Craig?" Kyle said. He slid around Stan and leaned against the counter. Stan raised his eyebrows.

"You talk to Cartman," he said. "Why can't I talk to Craig? And do you seriously hate Clyde?"

"Dude, what is up with this Clyde thing? Not really, but so what if I did?"

"I don't know," Stan said. "Forget it. It's just something Cartman said. Like, as if he knows you better than I do."

"Are you being fucking serious right now?" Kyle said. "Cartman knows me better than you do? You're worried about that? Wow."

"I'm not worried! It's just that you guys are going through this thing that I can't relate to. The body changes and stuff."

"The body changes." Kyle snorted and rested his forehead against Stan's shoulder. "God, Craig and Tweek with a daughter. I guess she'll be well dressed."

"I hope that you don't think I'm over here assuming that I know how it feels," Stan said. "I wish I knew how it felt. I wish we could trade off, you know, one day at a time. I hate it when you have something in common with other people and I don't."

"Hence my hatred for Clyde," Kyle said.

"What?"

"Football!" Kyle said. "And I don't actually hate him. I'd just sit there boiling with rage when you guys talked about football and I couldn't chime in without sounding like I didn't know what the fuck I was talking about."

"Well, now he's pregnant and I'm not," Stan said. "So you've got your common experience with Clyde to hold over my head. Your turn."

"Oh, thank God, at last," Kyle said, laughing like he had in the car, like things were okay. Stan leaned over to kiss him.

They ate dinner on the couch, a blanket over their laps, and Stan ordered an On Demand movie, knowing that his parents would thrash him later for the six dollar fee. The movie was worth maybe three dollars, but it was nice, watching it with Kyle cuddled up against him after Stan had cleared the plates. When the movie was almost over Stan began initiating seductive maneuvers, licking at Kyle's ear, teasing the lobe between his teeth and tongue before going for the sure thing, that soft spot behind Kyle's ear that always made him gasp. Tonight, he grunted.

"Hang on," he said. "This is getting intense."

Two characters were having a fight onscreen, throwing dishes. Stan watched for a moment, then slid his hand down under the blankets, casually resting his palm over Kyle's heartbeat. He squeezed his fingers in just a little, then a little more, until he was shifting under the blankets to accommodate his erection, because he was holding one and it was so soft.

"What are you doing?" Kyle asked.

"Huh? Nothing." Stan considered releasing the boob, but that would be conspicuous. Kyle stared at him while he fidgeted. "I've just got a boner," Stan said. He brought Kyle's hand to his lap. "See?"

"Dude, I'm trying to watch this."

"I know! I can wait."

They both stared at the TV for a few seconds, Stan's fingers tensed and beginning to ache, his other hand still holding Kyle's palm against his crotch. He wanted to buck his hips, but Kyle hadn't even gripped him.

"How can you be turned on by how I look right now?" Kyle asked. "It's only going to get worse," he added before Stan could reply.

"No," Stan breathed out, wanting to put the weight of his hardon into his words. He pressed Kyle's fingers in around it to demonstrate. "You look so good, dude."

"Don't fucking tell me I'm glowing."

"No," Stan said. "You're not."

Kyle laughed. "You're obsessed with my fat," he said. "It's disturbing. How long have you had this fetish?"

"It's not fat," Stan said. "It's - it's - padding. And I've only had it since you've had it. The padding, I mean. I only like it 'cause it's on you."

"Oh, God." Kyle closed his eyes and let out his breath. "I can't believe I'm about to do this, but you've been really sweet today, and that dinner was so good, thanks. I was going to offer to do the dishes, but, fuck, I don't feel like it. I'm so tired. So." He shifted a little, pushing his shoulders back. "You can suck on them."

"Wha - them?" Stan's eyes went to Kyle's chest. Kyle was in no danger of needing a bra, and unless his shirt was tight the padding on his chest was no more noticeable than the softness at his jaw, but there was definitely enough there to suck on, and Stan had definitely thought about it.

"Yes, them!" Kyle said. "What do you think I'm talking about, my balls? Just be careful. They're insanely sensitive."

"I know," Stan said, his voice shaking. Kyle laughed.

"You're making me feel like you really wanted a girl all along," he said.

"No," Stan said, rubbing his face against Kyle's, his hand roaming freely over Kyle's chest now. "No, I want you, dude, I want you so much."

"Stan," Kyle said, and the tone of his voice implied successful seduction. Stan went for Kyle's neck, sucking gently, practicing. Kyle sighed and slid an arm across Stan's shoulders, applying a bit of pressure, as if he was as eager to get to the next stage as Stan was. Stan pulled the collar of Kyle's shirt down and licked into the hollow of his throat.

"You taste different," Stan said, whispering this against Kyle's neck as he reached down for the hem of his shirt.

"Different from what?" Kyle asked.

"From before, you know." Stan sat back, pushing Kyle's shirt up just a little. He was still mostly hidden under the blankets. "Can I take it off?"

"Yeah," Kyle said. "Just - don't be shocked."

"Dude, I'm not gonna be shocked."

Stan peeled Kyle's shirt off carefully, not allowing himself to look until he'd tossed it to the floor. Kyle kept the blanket over his belly and sat up straight, his nipples dark and pointed. Stan stared openly for a few moments, concluding that Kyle's chest, or maybe just Kyle, generally, should always be viewed by firelight. Stan's hands shook as he guided Kyle down onto the couch and crawled on top of him.

"They jiggle," Kyle said, his voice pinched. "When I run. I can feel it. My ass, too."

"Dude, shh," Stan said. "Don't be hating on them." He cupped the left one carefully, thumbing Kyle's nipple, watching his pupils fatten and his shoulders twitch. "They're sensitive, remember?"

"Asshole," Kyle said, smirking. "Ah-"

"Is that good?" Stan asked, circling the nipple slowly with his thumb, barely touching. "Too much?"

"Nuh, s'good," Kyle said. His eyes fell shut, and he let out a choppy breath. "Stan."

"Yeah?"

"Your - mouth, okay? Just, softly."

"Okay," Stan said, kissing along Kyle's jaw. "Just tell me if it hurts."

He felt like they were losing their virginity to each other all over again as he kissed his way down Kyle's neck. He went for the left one first, since he'd prepped it with this thumb, and snugged his hand to the new padding over Kyle's ribs as he carefully ran his tongue around his left nipple. Kyle sighed and gripped a handful of Stan's hair.

"Yeah," he said, whispering, and Stan took that as permission to begin sucking. He took in as much as he could, just a small diameter around the nipple, and rubbed his cock on Kyle's thigh when he moaned, his hand tightening in Stan's hair.

"That feel good?" Stan asked, looking up. Kyle nodded, his eyes still closed, and Stan moved over to the other nipple. Kyle's moan was louder this time, more reckless, and Stan sucked a little harder in response.

"Fuck," Kyle said, panting. "Fuck, Stan."

"Mhmm?" Stan pulled off just enough to look up at Kyle, his lips still pressed to Kyle's skin.

"Nothing - ah. Could you do that, um, while you fuck me? Suck on them while you're in me?"

"Fuck yes," Stan said, tearing off his own shirt.

Stan was getting Kyle ready, fingering him and sucking him and about to lose his shit while Kyle pulled on his hair and whimpered with need, when his cell phone rang down on the floor, from the pocket of his discarded jeans.

"Fuck, sorry," Stan said. "Thought I'd turned it off."

"Doesn't matter," Kyle said. He was breathless and pink cheeked, so ready; Stan couldn't believe they'd waited this long. "Please," Kyle said. Stan was already slicking himself, nodding. He was just lining up when his phone finally stopped ringing and Kyle's went off, hanging from the end of the couch in Kyle's pants pocket.

"Shit," Stan said. "Do you think-"

"No, fuck, it doesn't matter," Kyle said. "It's probably just my mom being a bitch about - something. C'mon, please. I'm so-"

"I know, shh."

It somehow seemed like it had been a long time since they'd had sex. Possibly it had just been a long time since they'd had sex by firelight, or since their bare chests had pressed together when Stan slid in. Kyle's eyelids got heavier and his pupils darker, and he was rubbing his nipples as Stan sunk into him. The sight was somehow even better than the feeling of that softness and those hard buds on his Stan's tongue. Kyle's nipples, lips, everything about him seemed swollen with readiness, and Stan was going to fuck him so hard, so well, but then the land line started ringing.

"What the fuck?" Kyle said, his eyes clearing a little.

"It's just -" Stan said. He dipped down to kiss Kyle, trying to ignore the shrill sound of the house phone. "Telemarketers."

The answering machine picked up on the other side of the den, and Stan had to pause all current activities as his mother's voice filled the room, telling the caller that they'd reached the Marsh residence and to please leave a message. As soon as she stopped talking and the beep sounded, Stan was kissing Kyle again.

"Hey."

The shaky voice on the line made both of them freeze.

"Um. I'm sorry to, like, bother you guys on Valentine's Day or whatever." The voice choked off there, pausing for a shuddering breath. It was Kenny, and Stan had never heard him sound like that. "I'm just, I'm, uh. I'm down by the meat packing plant on Blake Street, and, um. Some guys chased me here, I'm kinda fucked up. I was gonna just - kill myself, whatever, but I don't want to do that to Butters right now." He broke off there, crying, and Stan slid out of Kyle.

"Fuck," Kyle said, sitting up as Stan dashed for the phone.

"Kenny?" Stan said when he'd grabbed the receiver.

"Oh, hey." Kenny sniffled. "Sorry, just. Shit got kind of fucked up, and-"

"What - wait, just wait there," Stan said. "Why are you - kill yourself, why would you-"

"I won't," Kenny said. "Just come get me. Could you please come get me?"

"Fuck, dude, of course! We'll be there in ten minutes."

"Kay. Thanks."

"What the hell happened?" Kyle asked as they hurried to dress, their erections still sinking.

"I don't know," Stan said. "I've never heard him talk about killing himself, shit. That's not like him."

"He must be high," Kyle said. "Goddamn him. C'mon, let's go."

The streets were mostly empty, everyone firmly ensconced in their Valentine's Day plans. The sleet had transitioned to a dusty, glittering snow, and the streets were slick with ice. Both of them were quiet as they drove toward Blake Street, and when Stan reached over to settle his palm over Kyle's belly, Kyle didn't push his hand away.

"I shouldn't have brought you," Stan said. "He said some guys chased him."

"Like I was going to let you rush into battle with 'some guys' by yourself," Kyle said. He put his hand over Stan's as they pulled up to the hulking, deserted meat packing plant.

"I don't see him," Stan said, letting the car idle near the gated entrance, which was locked for the night. Even the streetlight reflected in the icy asphalt seemed menacing, and Stan wished again that he hadn't brought Kyle. Something thumped against the back of the car and they both shouted. It was Kenny, trying to open the locked back door. Stan flipped the lock open and scanned the lot again as Kenny climbed in. He didn't see any guys around, but his stomach dropped as soon as he saw Kenny.

"Fuck!" Kyle said, ripping off his seat belt. He hurtled into the backseat to tend to Kenny, who was bloody and beat up, wincing as he clutched his right arm to his chest.

"Go," Kenny said to Stan. "Let's get out of here."

"What happened?" Stan asked. He locked the doors again and turned the car around.

"Who did this?" Kyle asked. He was clutching Kenny against him, his fingertips hovering over the cuts on Kenny's face.

"Some guys," Kenny said.

"What guys?" Stan asked.

"Nobody," Kenny said. "Customers." He laughed unhappily and leaned into Kyle's arms. Stan looked into the backseat as they turned off of Blake Street, and met Kyle's eyes in the rear view mirror. Kenny was starting to cry again, in pained little jerks.

"Shh," Kyle said, petting his hair. "You're okay. We've got you. We'll get you to the hospital."

"No hospitals," Kenny said. "Please, I can't. I don't have insurance, and they'll think my dad did it, child protective services will start sniffing around, I don't want Karen going through that again-"

"How badly are you hurt?" Kyle asked, attempting to examine him while still holding him. "Did they break bones?"

"What were you selling?" Stan asked, and Kyle gave him a look.

"Nothing," Kenny said. "Nothing, nothing."

"It's okay," Kyle said.

"It's not," Kenny said. "I just want to get him away from them, before they do something, they're gonna do something."

"Who?" Stan asked.

"Butters' parents!" Kenny said. He lifted his head and wiped blood and snot from his face. "I need money, I need to protect them."

"You need to protect Butters' parents?" Kyle said.

"No! Them! Butters and Aragorn."

"Aragorn," Stan said, deadpan, pretty sure now that one of the reasons Kenny didn't want to go to a hospital was because he was high.

"That's what Butters calls the baby," Kenny said. "Don't worry, though, okay. I'm not actually gonna let him name him that."

"Oh, Christ," Kyle said, pulling Kenny's head down to his shoulder. "Just relax, okay? Let me see your arm."

"It's just a sprained wrist -ah!" Kenny hissed when Kyle examined it. Kyle sighed.

"I can treat this," he said. Stan was tempted to laugh, but he held it in. Kyle was always jumping at the chance to play the pre-doctor role. "Let's go ahead and elevate it," Kyle said, guiding Kenny's hand up onto the back of the seat.

"Fuck, you guys," Kenny said, after they'd been riding for a few minutes in silence. "I'm sorry I messed up your evening."

"Don't worry about it," Stan said. "We're just glad you're okay."

"Whatever you were doing, you're not doing it anymore," Kyle said. "Right?"

"Right, but-"

"No buts!"

"How am I supposed to get money?" Kenny asked. "How am I supposed to save him, and take care of the baby, and-"

"Butters is smart," Kyle said. "You don't give him enough credit. He's going to be eligible for scholarships, maybe not need based, but I've been researching this stuff and there's money available for single parents, especially if they're good students like Butters. You can stay with the baby while he's in class, alright?" Kyle patted Kenny's knee. "And when he's home from class, you can work to support them. It's not going to be glamorous or fun, but you guys are going to figure it out."

"They want to give my baby away," Kenny said. "Those fucks. And turn Butters into a monk. Can you imagine him in burlap robes, silent for days at a time, no sex? He's so fucking good at sex, you guys, he's so responsive, he's sensual-"

"Oh, my God," Kyle said. "Stop."

"Seriously, dude," Stan said.

"I'm just saying, it'd be a fucking waste." Kenny sniffled. "He's not meant to be locked up."

"He won't be," Kyle said. "He'll find the strength to stand up to them, you'll see."

"I don't know," Kenny said. "They're hating on him pretty hard right now, for disobeying, for embarrassing them. They're making him clean their toilets, scrub the fucking floors. His little fingers are always raw." Kenny started crying again, and Kyle hugged him, shushing him.

"Why did you say you were gonna kill yourself?" Stan blurted, his voice breaking. Kyle gave him another admonishing look. Kenny shook his head.

"I didn't mean it," he said. "I was rambling, I-"

"Don't ever think like that," Stan said. "Ever."

"Stan just means that so many people love you," Kyle said. "You must know that."

"I do," Kenny said. He put his head on Kyle's shoulder and moaned.

Back at the house, Stan's parents still weren't home. Kyle took Kenny into the downstairs bathroom and cleaned him up while Stan prepared an ice pack for his sprained wrist. He lingered in the doorway after delivering it, watching Kyle work. Kyle was talking to himself the whole time, prissily cleaning each cut before bandaging it. Kenny caught Stan's eye and grinned.

"You scared the fuck out of us," Stan said, touching the toe of his boot to Kenny's.

"Sorry," Kenny said.

"Stan, go make him something to eat," Kyle said. He kept looking at Stan like he was making Kenny answer too many questions too soon. Stan departed to the kitchen. He fixed two plates, in case Kyle was still hungry.

"What's this?" Kenny asked when Kyle brought him into the kitchen.

"It's just pasta with cream sauce and chicken," Stan said.

"It's really good," Kyle said. "Keep that wrist elevated." He went to the fridge and got Stan's mom's bottle of Cranapple juice. Stan ducked behind him and grabbed the wine.

"Oh, shit," Kenny said when he saw it. "Lay some of that on me."

"No," Kyle said. "It will thin your blood. Here, have some juice."

"Aw, Mom."

"Shut up," Kyle said. He sat down beside Kenny and applied a heaping portion of paremsan cheese to the other plate before digging in.

Kyle had permission to sleep over on a school night due to it being Valentine's Day, which was not an annual thing. Stan supposed Sheila had thrown up her hands and allowed it since they were already in a family way. They hid Kenny up in Stan's room when Stan's parents got home. He'd gotten quiet and shivery after eating; he still seemed spooked. Stan loaned him some pajamas and pushed him into the bed when he mumbled about being fine with the floor.

"Those guys aren't going to come after you again, are they?" Stan asked when Kenny was lying between him and Kyle, all three of them staring at the ceiling.

"No telling," Kenny said. "But that was the whole idea of selling my folks' rock. Making enough money to get the hell out of Dodge. I got too many enemies here, man."

"You were selling meth?" Kyle said. "When you got beat up?"

"Yeah," Kenny said, mumbling. Kyle sat up on his elbow and stared down at Kenny.

"Jesus, that's a relief," he said.

"Kyle," Stan said. Kenny just laughed.

"I'm serious," Kyle said. He dropped down to hug Kenny's shoulders. "Don't - don't despair. Don't resort to desperate things. Maybe you have a lot of enemies, but we're here, too, fucker. In Dodge."

Stan spent his post-Valentine's Day bedtime listening to Kenny's snoring and Kyle's nose whistling. At one point he could hear his mother squeal with laughter from down the hall. He wondered if he would ever get the hell out of Dodge himself. It wasn't quite Dodge, as long as he had Kyle, but it wasn't Fort Collins, or that little apartment they had picked out by campus, something that would have been far enough away from their parents and their childhood friends to feel like a new start.

He didn't fall asleep until three o'clock in the morning, and when he did he dreamed that Kyle gave birth to a football and blamed Stan, for deciding to call it Elway.

"But you wouldn't pick a name!" Stan said, in tears as he watched Kyle cradling the football. The nurses had wrapped it in a pale blue blanket. "You wouldn't pick!"

"Just promise you'll never throw him," Kyle said, cuddling the football against his chest, possibly trying to encourage it to breastfeed.

Stan promised.