Authors Note: There's something I've noticed that I find very curious. I get approximately the same number of reviews for every chapter, but hardly any of the reviews are the same, save a few continuous reviewers. Yes I notice you and appreciate you very, very much. It just makes me wonder if I'm gaining and losing different fans every chapter I post, or if most people simply don't review every one.

In any event, I think I got carried away with this chapter, so I'm sorry if it's boring. Not as many events took place as I wanted. But that's alright… It has Kenny. : )

As always, thanks guys.

Chapter 9- Stupid

Stan falls asleep after about two hours of on and off waterworks, and I fight my own sleepiness with tremendous difficulty. Cuddling up with him has me more relaxed than I've ever felt before. At the same time, I don't want to miss one second wrapped up with him. I want to savor it, because I know I'll never feel this whole again.

By eight o'clock though, I know I need to pry myself away. Mom had left for Washington D.C this afternoon to protest a new bill being passed that legalized pot in Colorado. When the mayor wouldn't listen, she decided to take it to the White House. Dad went with to make sure she didn't cause a repeat of the Canadian war she'd started when I was eight, and that left Ike all alone. Although I was sure he would be fine, I wasn't willing to take any chances. He may be a "genius" but he was still only nine. I thought about dragging Stan back with me, but didn't think waking him up was such a good idea. I had a feeling he'd only have some sense of peace in an unconscious state, and at the moment I had him in an amazingly deep sleep that I didn't want disturbed.

I close my eyes, hugging him to me before carefully untangling myself from his clinging arms and legs, then slide out from underneath him, moving so slowly it takes a full six minutes before I completely free myself. I hesitate at the bedside, one corner of my mouth twitching into a smile as I watch him nuzzle his face in the pillow, like he had kept doing to my neck. I lean down and drop a light kiss on his exposed right temple.

"Love you." I murmur against his skin, before somehow finding it in myself to walk away. I hesitate after I close myself out of his room, leaning back against the door and sighing.

I can smell him on my clothes, feel the tears that dried on my throat. I press my fingers to it, clenching my teeth, trying to hold on to the feeling I get when he touches me.

"Oh… God, Stan," I breathe longingly, fighting against everything I am not to go back in. I must be crazy to leave. When am I ever going to get the opportunity to spend all night actually sandwiched between Stan and a mattress again? I can still feel the weight of his body pressed against mine, his breath against my skin. My eyes slip shut as tingles start forming below my belt line.

"How's Stan?"

"Jesus Christ!" I jump violently at the sound of Sharon's voice, facing her with a hand to my frantic heart. "Shit," I breathe wildly. "I'm sorry."

At first I'm not sure if I'm apologizing for cursing in front of her or for the deliciously wrong things I want to do to her son. But she smiles, and I know she doesn't know what I'd just been thinking anyway.

"Did you work things out?" She rephrases her question.

"Uh, well," I let out another breath, trying to calm my nerves. "He didn't really… say anything, exactly, but I think me and him are gonna be okay."

She nods, looking satisfied, though still anxious somehow. "He's just so… miserable. I don't know how to snap him out of it."

"Don't worry. He's gonna pull through this." I reassure, all the while hoping to God I'm right, that I can help snap him out of it.

She touches my chin in a motherly way, smiling softly, and I realize I'm taller than her now. I wonder when that happened?

"I was getting a little worried for a while. I knew this break-up was coming, but you hadn't been coming around often and I worried he wouldn't have anyone to help him. But here you are." She gives my nose a single pat with her index finger. "He's very lucky to have a friend like you."

"Wait, you knew they were going to break up?" I continue at her nod. "How?"

"Woman's intuition. I could tell by the way Wendy…" She trails off, gives me another smile. "Well, I could tell. Just remember not to let girls get between you two."

My eyebrows are knit up in confusion. She lost me at "woman's intuition".

"Are you leaving already?"

Movement catches my attention and my eyes flicker behind her. I can see the blue lighting of the TV flashing from down stairs, and I know that Randy's home from work. I'm just glad he didn't walk in on us; he's kind of homophobic, though I know not completely. He tolerates, but I wonder how tolerant he'd be if he knew what I thought about Stan. Would he stop me from hanging out with him?

"Kyle?"

"Sorry," I look back at Sharon, shaking off the bad feelings. "Yeah, I am. Ike's at home by himself."

"Oh, that's right." She flings her hand in the air, then sets it on my shoulder and starts guiding me downstairs. "Sheila's off to the White House again. If you boys need anything, you just ask."

"Thanks. I'll be back tomorrow after school." When we reach the living room, I glance at Randy in the artificial glow of a ballgame. He gives me a nod and tilts his beer toward me.

"Hey Kyle."

"Hey, Mr. Marsh." I say, watching as he sucks on the neck of the bottle.

He looks like an older version of Stan with a mustache, and the similarity bothers me, because I know it goes a bit further than the dark hair and magazine worthy smile. Especially with Stan so depressed, it makes me worry about the ample supply of alcohol he keeps around the house.

But Stan is better looking than his dad and, I hope, smarter in his choices. He's been smarter with practically everything else in his life. If not, he knows I'd kick his ass in a second, and I'd expect the same treatment from him. I won't let him let this mood consume him. No matter what.

I smile back at Sharon.

"See you tomorrow." I say, and step out the door into the softness of twilight.

----------

Ike is set up at the kitchen table when I get home, pages of homework strewn out in front of him. There's a calculator in his left hand, which he pounds an equation into with the eraser of the pencil he holds in his right.

"Hey, Kyle." He says without looking up.

I throw the refrigerator door open and pull out a carton of milk. "The 'genius' is actually using a calculator? Holy fucking Mother of Christ."

He rolls his eyes, tossing his pencil onto the stack of papers. It rolls off and hit's the floor. "Don't tell Mom."

"You think I give a crap?" I scoff. "Me and Stan would still be in the fourth grade trying to memorize times tables if it weren't for calculators. And so would Cartman, for that matter, since his fat ass cheated off our papers."

I reach for a cup to pour myself a drink, but pause when my hand touches it. I look at the milk, shrug, then take a direct swig. What the hell? Mom's not home to bitch at me for it.

Ike smiles up at me and tosses down the calculator, which lands with a tiny smack and stays put. "How is Stan anyway?"

The refrigerator clicks shut as I turn toward him and wipe the liquid white arch off my upper lip. "How'd you know I went to see him?"

His grin widens a degree, practically splitting his face in two. "You have your soul back."

My hand reaches instinctively to my face, resting on my cheek just below my eye.

"Here, look," He grabs the shiny, silver sugar bowl on the table and holds it out to me, which I take curiously.

My reflection is horribly misshaped because of the bowls' roundness, but I can still see exactly what he means. My eyes look like sunbeams; aglow with a fire and happiness.

I set the bowl down carefully, feeling guilty about it. Only a twisted fuck would be practically glowing with life when their best friend was suffering as badly as he is. But I'm not happy about that part; I'm happy just to be near him again. That makes it sound less-selfish, but I wonder if it really is.

"What happened that he didn't come back with you?" Ike presses. He's trying not to sound eager, but I see through his façade. He's such a nosey little shit.

"What's it matter to you?" I counter, and don't even wait for an answer. "Did you have dinner?"

"No. Didn't notice it got so late. Mom made some noodley thing again and said to make you heat it up later."

My stomach rumbles, I give it a pat. "I guess it's later."

I find the container and pry the lid off. A putrid scent wafts up to greet me and the lid drips with the trapped steam that formed when it was fresh. I feel my stomach convulse as my hand snaps up to cover my mouth and nose. "Ah, sick, dude! It smells like someone's old gym sock died in it."

Ike laughs and I shove the lid back on, flick my wrist, and send it sailing to the back of the refrigerator. When I turn back to my brother, he's covering his mouth with his hand; habit from so many years trying not to piss Mom off by laughing at something she'd consider insulting. I don't suppress my snicker.

"Pizza?"

"Pizza." He lowers his hand, smiling openly now.

We argue for ten minutes about whether or not it should have pineapples, and I win, because that's extra sugar I don't need or want. Putting chunks of something sweet and juicy on your pizza is just plain gross anyway But when I order, I feel bad that he doesn't get what he really wants just because I happen to hate it, so I decide to be nice and get a side of them so he can put the stupid things on his own damn slices.

The phone rings the moment I click it off, and I fully expect it to be the pizza place already screwing up somehow. Or possibly Mom and Dad, "checking up" on us, because I'm fifteen and a half, so I'm still a fucking baby and can't look out for myself.

"Hello?" I bark, already trying not to snap in behalf of my own defense. There's silence and then a slight rustling on the other end.

"Hello?"

"…Why'd you leave?"

My breathe catches at the tiny sound. I glance across the table where I sit with Ike. He stares back curiously. My heart picks up again, and I clear my throat.

"I'm sorry, Stan." I find my voice after a moment. "Ike was all alone so I needed to come back. I wanted to bring you with me, but you were so tired, dude. I didn't want to wake you up."

He's quiet again, but I can hear him move into a different position on what sounds like his bed. I can hear springs creaking under his weight.

"I'll be back tomorrow, after school." I rush, hoping he doesn't think I just abandon him or something. "Are you coming?"

He takes a deep breathe, pauses; I imagine that he's closing his eyes, squeezing out tears. His voice cracks on the single word, "…No."

I expected that answer, but I still feel disappointment. School's an even bigger bitch without him there. I twist my finger into my shirt, looking again at Ike, wishing I could leave and feeling bad about wanting to at the same time. It's not that I want away from my brother; he's an awesome kid. It's just that what I do want is laying in his bed right now, wondering why I'm not with him. And right now, I can't help but wonder why not either.

I wet my lips, trying to speak; trying to get the image of lying in bed with him out of my head. I want it so damn bad.

"Yeah, I figured." I respond, suppressing the longing in my voice. But Ike snickers, and I know I haven't fooled him. I shoot him a look that only makes him laugh again.

I turn away, dramatic and huffy as always, but make sure my voice is soothing for Stan. I want to tell him I'll be right over. More than anything, I want to be there for him. I bite my lip, twisting my shirt some more. My stomach is exposed.

"Try to get some more sleep, alright? I'll come straight over tomorrow."

Damnit! Why do I have to be so fricken responsible all the time? Or better yet, why'd mom have to leave me home to baby-sit again? I'm not the one who adopted a kid. She should be watching him.

There's crackling on the line; phone static, then Stan's broken voice, "…Kay."

And the line goes dead.

Slowly, I pull the phone away from my ear, staring at it clenched in my pale hand. I want his voice back.

"Kyle?"

I don't answer right away. I'm too focused on this feeling dizzying through me; this feeling that's just so utterly Stan.

"Kyle?"

"What?"

The feeling slips further away.

"You can go." Ike tells me, sounding wise and understanding beyond his years, just like everything else about him. I turn back to face him. He offers a soft smile. "I know you really want to be there, and he needs you right now. I'll be okay by myself."

"You need me, too." I remind him, taking extra care not to sound resentful about it. For the most part, I'm not.

"Not like Stan does. I'm not wallowing in pain like some sort of carbon copy Goth." He gets up and starts clearing off the table.

I shake my head. "Wait… how do you know this stuff? Seriously, Ike, you're like some kind of voodoo mind-reading freak, but those people are fakes."

He sets the last of his books aside, then gets back into his chair, folds his arms across the table and gives me the most serious look he can muster. "I know lots of things. Lot's of things I'm sure you don't want anyone knowing. Not even Stan." He stabs his chest with his fingers. "But I know."

My lips part slightly, startled by that information. The first thing that comes to mind is Cartman, and the horrible, disgusting thing I had done with him.

"That's not funny." I want to call bullshit, but my heart is pounding deep inside.

Ike's cute smile comes back into play, and he drops the scary, corrupt little kid from a horror movie act. "Yeah, I know. But I really do know things. It's simple to figure out if you pay attention. Like that thing I know about."

"Okay," I shift uncomfortably, running my hand over the lump my wallet is making in my pocket. I'm fully prepared to pay him to keep quiet about Cartman, although Ike's never been one to blackmail or manipulate. I simply don't want him talking about it to me either. I'm doing everything in my power to never, ever think about it again, and maybe someday when I'm old, it'll be the first memory to go. "What is the this thing you know?"

"If I tell you," He bargains. "Will you tell me that I'm right?"

"No, because what if you're completely wrong?" I propose. I don't condone lying, but I'm also prepared to do that under the circumstances.

"I'm not wrong."

"Then why do you need me to tell you that you're right?"

Ike clicks his tongue, trying to keep his frustration level down. He's always been better at that than me. "Because you need to confess. You'll feel better when you do."

"What am I confessing?" My heart kicks up again, making my body feel hot with dread. I'm still holding on to the sliver of hope that maybe it isn't Cartman at all.

The breakfast table is small, fitting only four around its square perimeter, so when Ike leans forward as far as he can go, his face is only inches from mine. I feel his breath hit me as he speaks, "Confess that you have a big, huge, colossal boner for Stan."

We stare at each other for about five seconds, his words hanging thickly between us. And then, without warning, a fit of laughter bursts from my chest, making Ike's face screw up in confusion. I laugh even harder, clutching my sides, feeling relief spill out of me like a hole in a water balloon.

"Jesus, Ike." I croak through hilarity. "You've been talking to Kenny lately, haven't you?"

He looks down at his hands, smiling almost criminally. "He called while you were out."

I gain some control over my amusement, relishing in my thankfulness that he apparently has no clue about Cartman whatsoever. It was comforting to know he was, in fact, not a psychic of some sort.

"So admit it." He pries. "You're gay and you like Stan."

The funny thing is that nothing about him seems accusing or critical. He seems genuinely encouraging; excited even. Which really makes no sense when you think about it. Shouldn't he be ashamed to have a queer brother?

"Why should I?" I challenge.

Ike huffs and rolls his eyes. "I love you Kyle, but you're stupid."

My forehead creases. "Hey-!"

"You are." He cuts me off, and I wonder how he can insult me like that without sounding insulting at all. "I thought you and Stan were boyfriends since my earliest memory. I didn't exactly understand 'boyfriends', but it was the same sense that you have about your parents. You know they're 'together' even if you can't fully grasp its meaning. It was only after I got older and I understood more that I realized you weren't." He shakes his head, clearing it.

"And that made everything so confusing to me. Nobody could see what I plainly could my whole life. And this is coming from the mind of a child. A pure mind that hadn't been altered by society. I didn't know what gay was, I didn't know any of the ethical reason people think it's wrong. I just knew what was there, what was right."

I blink. I've never seen him more serious about anything before. He really thought we were boyfriends. Me and Stan. I'm not sure yet what that realization is making me feel.

"You and Stan go together like everything that's meant to go together: The moon and the stars, the waves in the ocean, the clouds and rain. Peanut butter and sour cream." I raise an eyebrow at this last comparison. He continues.

"It's like holding two magnets together, but not quite close enough to let them click.You're so in love with him I can barely stand it. I don't know how you can. And that's why you need to admit it, out loud, in the open, to another human being. If you don't take the first step, you'll always be circling around each other, drawn together by magnetism, and never able to click."

Silence ensues. I stare at the table, picking at the sleeve of my shirt as Ike's intense stare bores into my forehead. I hate having a genius for a brother. Or maybe it's because he is a kid, and things are still so less complicated to him. I wish I could see everything with such black and white starkness. In fact, I wish the whole world could.

The doorbell sounds, and I rush to get it, glad for the momentary interruption. I pay and tip the delivery guy, who looks too old to still be doing this, and bring the pizza back to the table. Ike remains silent as I open the box and pass the container of pineapple chunks to him. He accepts it without a word and continues to watch me.

I grab a slice of pizza and take a bite, looking around while I chew. Looking everywhere, that is, except at Ike. I swallow and take a sip of my diet Root Beer. He's still staring.

"What?!" I demand wildly.

"Admit it."

"You… I don't see how that will do any good." I point out. "Stop being a little shit, and eat the goddamn pizza."

He pulls a string of cheese off the box and shoves it into his mouth with all the frustration I'm feeling inside. "It'll make you feel better. Why don't you want to?"

"Because it's none of your business!" I cry. "And because you're nine!"

He frowns at me. "Age is just a number. You were smart when you were nine, too."

"And I'm a dumb ass now, right?"

"You are when it comes to accepting yourself."

Did I mention that I hate having a genius for a brother? I sigh, setting my pizza back in the box, since we were too lazy to pull out plates.

"It's not like I'm asking you to tell mom and dad, just say it to me."

"Will you tell them if I do?" I wonder aloud.

"No."

"Will you tell them if I don't?"

"No."

I take a breath, staring again at the table; at the blue and white checkered tablecloth with the embroidered cherries all over it. I did want to tell someone. My only other option besides Stan had always been Kenny, but Kenny couldn't be trusted not to make a joke out of it. A perverted joke, to be more specific. I'd been putting off telling him for that reason alone. But this realization was killing me. I trusted that Ike wouldn't tell anyone. I had told him secrets since he was a baby, but only then because he couldn't tell anyone. This time, part of me really trusts that he wouldn't tell anyone. He was a great keeper of secrets. I feel my stomach tighten with apprehension and suck in a breath.

"I'm gay." I whisper, mostly to myself.

Ike pokes my arm. "I'm sorry?"

"I'm gay." I announce, louder this time.

"And…?"

"And…" I swallow, bewildered at how dry my throat has gone already. Ike is literally on the edge of his seat, eyes wide, determined not to blink. I don't think he's breathing. "…I like… Stan."

Color returns to Ike's face; he breathes. "Say it again." His voice is relieved and laced with joy.

I take my soda can between both hands to feel it's coldness. The aluminum is sweating. I think I am too. "I'm gay… and I like… Stan."

"Again."

"I'm gay… and I like Stan."

"Again!"

"I'm gay and I like Stan."

"Again!"

I look up this time, directly into his eyes. "I'm gay and I like Stan!" I shout. "I'm gay and I like Stan!! I'm gay and I like Stan!!! I'M GAY AND I LIKE STAN!!!"

My voice bounces off the walls, filling the whole house with my announcement. Sweat beads my forehead, and my hands are shaking from the tension that had built me up to this point. But Ike is beaming brighter than a shooting star, and the only thing I can feel now is relief and a sense of empowerment.

"I'm gay and I like Stan! No!" I shake my head, smiling manically. "I love Stan! I want Stan! I have a huge, colossal boner for Stan!"

But then I realize that Ike is peering over my shoulder, his expression wide-eyed and twisted into what I can only describe as a silent, "Oh, shit."

My spine stiffens, the tiny hairs on my arms standing on end out of reflex. Ike's jaw is practically hanging on the table. My initial fear is that Mom and Dad walked in the door, but I quickly snub that idea. Mom would be shrieking in shock by now, if not for finding out her son is a homo, then she would for talking like that in front of Ike, who she still believes doesn't even know what a curse word is, let alone a boner. Which couldn't be further from the truth.

My second fear is even worse than the first: Stan himself.

My heart beats faster. "He's standing right behind me, isn't he?"

"No, but I am."

I spin toward the familiar voice, knowing who it is without even having to do so. Kenny stands in the kitchen entryway, his expression torn between shock and amusement. Butters is (once again) at his side, looking about as comfortable as a straight dude at a gay bear fair.

"Oh… hamburgers." His voice trails through the stillness of the house.

"Hi, guys." Ike attempts to return some sort of normality. I turn to glare at him.

"Keep Ike busy," Kenny gives Butters a gentle push toward the table, then grabs my arm and rips me out of the chair. "Come on."

Kenny is stronger than he looks. He forces me out the backdoor and flings me into one of the three matching chairs lined up along the deck, then spins another to face toward mine, takes his own seat, and stares at me expectantly.

I stare back. "… So what are you and Butters up to?"

"Apparently not the same thing you and Stan have been up to!" He blurts.

I cross my arms and look upward, admiring the sky.

"Kyle!" He yelps.

"We haven't been doing anything like that, Kenny, okay?" I throw back. "That was the first time I even admitted that out loud."

"Then it's true?" He's still practically shouting in my ear. "You have a boner for Stan?! You're Ga-"

I slap my hand over his mouth, glaring daggers into his eyes. "Would you please stop yelling like that?"

Kenny pries my palm away. It makes a noise like a wet suction cup. "You're gay?" he hiss-whispers.

"Well…" I scratch the side of my nose, turning over the official word in my head. "I'm gay for Stan."

"What like… you wouldn't bone me but you would bone him?" His blatant question makes my cheeks flame. "And if you can't bone him than you're back to chicks?"

"No!"

"Oh, you would bone me?"

"Kenny!"

He laughs heartily, perversely. Then leans into my ear. "I'd bone you too, Ky."

"Fuck you, Kenny! This isn't funny!"

"Yeah, it is." He laughs.

I get up to leave, but he grabs my arm and tugs me back down. "C'mon, I've had my suspicions for a while. I just thought I was being a sick bastard like usual, I didn't think I was actually right."

"Well, congratulations. You've figured out my darkest secret. Thank you very much, you fucking dick!"

"Fuck, Kyle, calm dow-"

"If you tell Stan I'll personally send you straight to hell!" I grab a fistful of his shirt pull him toward me. His eyes widen, then squint with his smirk.

"Relax," He soothes, sliding his hands up my arms. "I won't tell him. If you fuck me."

I shove him away. "What!?"

"I'm kidding," He laughs. "You do have a hot ass though."

"That's it. I'm leaving." I decide, done with his bullshit. This is why I didn't want to tell him.

"Hey, I'm sorry Kyle." I pause halfway to the backdoor, keeping my back toward him. He takes his cue to go on. "I know this can't be easy. I mean, especially with a mom like yours and a homophobic asshole friend like Cartman…"

I face him again; he's standing right in front of me, eyes rueful. I have to forgive him. That's the thing about Kenny; he's somehow got everyone wrapped around his finger. Even Cartman, to a certain point.

"I'm not ready to tell everyone. Especially not Stan. This could ruin our whole friendship."

"Stan isn't like that." Kenny jumps to his defense. "You being gay wouldn't change his opinion of you."

"But if he knew I was gay for him, things could get really awkward between us. And that could ruin our friendship."

He closes his mouth, unable to argue my point, then sighs. "I won't tell anyone, Kyle. But I want you to know it doesn't bother me. We're still friends. I'm here for you, and I'll be here for you when you come out to Stan. And Stan will be there for you when you come out to your parents."

I feel another weight being lifted from my shoulders. Two people now officially knew about me, and both of them were still by my side. Ike was right; I needed this. More than I knew. My heart lightens.

"…You and Stan have always been so close, maybe you could even convert him and then-"

I fling my arms around him and we both topple over into the grass.

"The hell?!" He squeaks, but I ignore him and squeeze his body against mine. I love Kenny.

"Damn," He wheezes, trying to suck oxygen back into his lungs. I pull back and he smiles up at me. "I haven't even gotten this much action with a girl. Maybe you'll convert me, Kyle of the hot ass."

And then, because he's stupid, I smack him.

-------

To be continued…

-BratChild3