Author Notes: The beginning is over!one!exclamationpoint!eleven!

I'm posting this as a gift. You weren't supposed to get this until... Tuesday evening. Haha
From now on things are going to be... not as mundane. Like I won't be describing what happens each period of the day, as I have been doing. I also hope that these chapters will be longer... can't promise that much.
I can't believe I'm on my tenth chapter. I usually give up on stories after a month or so. Hopefully this doesn't become the same thing. I wish I'd get more reviews... it's the only real measure I have as to who likes and dislikes my story... I can only tell the frequency of hits.

I'm glad I fooled someone... though most of you guys figured it out :pouts:

Myspace: I go on myspace like every ten minutes. Seriously. If you would like my myspace address, click on homepage on my profile. The URL should be jbd420ct.

Six reviews to continue. I'll make update on Sunday October 1st at the latest. Three reviews (including the six requirement) to boost the update a date earlier. Naturally, that means you get two free days if you want me to continue.

First paragraph or so courtesy of Crazy English.

Calamity.

It's a rather interesting word. It sounds very similar to calm, but lands nowhere close in definition. In fact, calamity is a synonym of disaster, a place where someone definitely will not find calm. Why would someone make such words so similar in sound if they were to mean totally different things? Ask the person who decided that people talk on the telephone, or the person who said that we play in recitals and recite in plays. English was a very odd language, even though some might choose to deny it.

So when Stan walked into the room he could only comprehend a few things. The first thing he noticed was the very bright orange in a room with white bedsheets, white walls, and doctors in white coats. The second thing he noticed was a doctor to the side, talking to someone he could not see. The third thing was what he had said, and having heard "calamity" and "calm" in the same conversation confused him in the state he was in.

He had gone running out the door not knowing what to do. How could he have forgotten that Kyle had worn an orange jacket that day? Stan had remembered staring at Kyle in French, and contemplating about how he had gotten the jacket. And yet... it had slipped his mind when he was informed of someone being at the hospital clothed in orange?

Stan knew that sulking outside the room wasn't going to help Kyle any. Yet he couldn't put himself up to seeing Kyle unconscious. He had gone through this phase before; in one of Kenny's more aching deaths, Stan couldn't put himself to staying with Kenny during his terminal sickness. But in this case... it wasn't even life-threatening, and Stan still couldn't be in the room. Maybe Stan just didn't like hospitals.

Someone had followed Stan out of the room. Stan didn't bother trying to figure out who had done so. It had probably been some doctor trying to cheer him up. He didn't want that right now. That was one of the reasons why being a doctor wasn't very high on his list. It was their job to cheer up their patients, and Stan knew how little they really meant it. Doctors went through that stuff every day, and didn't even understand how hard it truly was because they were so accustomed to it. They could only sympathize and could not show any empathy. Again, another confusing thing about English.

At first he was choleric when a hand tapped him from behind. He bit his lower lip and swiveled on his left heel, grabbing the person behind him by the collar, and pushing him to the wall. However, noticing Kenny's scared face pushed up against the wall changed his attitude, and Stan dropped Kenny back onto his feet. Before Kenny could do anything Stan turned his back against Kenny and began walking away.

"It's not your fault Stan," Kenny called out through the halls. Stan stopped walking but didn't move, and so Kenny saw this as an opportunity to continue. "Kyle and I were walking home from school when Cartman and a few other guys stopped us. They knocked me out cold. I mean, Cartman's gang pack powerful punches. Afterwards they, erm... beat up Kyle... for reasons you should already know." Kenny hung his head in dismay, not noticing Stan walking back towards his friend. "If this should be anyone's fault, it's gotta be mine."

"What fault would be yours?" Stan muttered. "You were unconscious; if I hadn't landed myself in detention I might have been able to help you."

"How was that your fault?" asked Kenny, and after saying this he realized how stupid it was to be choosing someone to blame. "Let's not worry about whose fault it is..."

"Fine," muttered Stan, shoving his hands in his pockets. "But what're we going to do?"

"The doctor mentioned some things," said Kenny. "Let's go inside and ask him. Besides, Kyle needs us with him right now." Kenny led Stan back into the room, where nothing much had changed. The doctor had finished talking with the mystery person, who was clearly Ms. Broflovski. Ike sat in a blue plastic chair beside Kyle's bed. Mr. Broflovski appeared not to be present.

Stan felt a sickening lurch in his stomach as he approaced the bed. He didn't want to see Kyle lying on the bed; Kyle didn't deserve to be there, unconscious. Instead, Stan decided to look at Ike instead, who seemed equally worried as he was, though not as cowardly.

Cowardly.

"The doctor says he'll be alright," said Ike, his higher pitched voice startling Stan for a second. By the tone of his voice Stan could tell that at some point Ike had been crying. "He only suffered some bruises. They say he should get better overnight."

"Well that's good," said Stan, refusing to stop staring at Ike. Only a little more to the right would mean...

"Well I talked to the doctor!" exclaimed Kenny suddenly, joining Stan by his side; Stan hadn't even noticed that Kenny left him after they both entered the room. "He says that a good night's sleep should be good enough. There's nothing we can really do now." Ike nodded in comprehension, and then he picked his feet off the floor and hugged his knees to his chest. Kenny sat down beside Kyle's brother and wrapped an arm around the boy.

"I'm scared," he said softly. "Kyle was a good kid, and he got beat up. When I go to high school... I'm sure everyone's gonna gang up on me. Even now... they make fun of me because I'm Canadian." Stan clearly remembered the day Ike found out that he was adopted. At first the boy threatened to find his true parents and live with them forever. But then Kyle had told him the story how he felt the same way, and as much as he wanted to disown his younger brother Ike convinced him that love was about who you cared for the most.

"Don't worry," said Kenny, patting Ike on the back. "Let's not worry about that right now. Plus I doubt that'll happen. You're a brave kid."

"And Kyle's not?" snapped Stan so suddenly that he found himself in shock.

"What? Stan, I didn't say that?" There was an awkward silence between the three boys, with Stan trying to figure out for himself why he had said that. It was then when Mrs. Broflovski decided to usher the boys out of the room, stating that there were other matters to attend to at the moment.

- - - - - - - - - -

When the three boys were allowed to visit Kyle again, they didn't waste any time into rushing to his side. The nurse had instructed them that they had until nine to talk to him and spend time with him, which gave them an hour. Stan grumbled on how little time that was, but in the end the three boys declared an agreement with the nurse.

Kyle still could not respond to them, and the three boys were continuously assured that he would be able to by morning. Stan continued to avoid looking at Kyle, which had become harder once their group had Kyle in the middle. Stan made excuses to walk around the perimeter of the room to look at certain gadgets and plaques.

"He'll be fine, Ike," said Kenny. "I'm sure Kyle will be able to get through it." Stan wondered if Kyle could hear what they were saying. Could Kyle hear his surroundings? Could he feel people touching him? The nurses had said that he couldn't respond to them. Perhaps there was a chance that Kyle knew what was happening around them.

"I hope you're right," muttered Ike. As the two began conversing some more, Stan's attention was diverted to another event. He could make out several voices, one of which belonged to Mr. Broflovski. There were several others, but they were mixed together so that Stan couldn't distinguish them.

"He's been acting really strange lately. Several days ago he locked himself in his closet..." Stan knew that to be Kyle's father.

"Has he exhibited any other strange behavior?" Stan frowned. That was Ms. Sagisak.

"He hasn't slept in ages. And he's become rather... jumpy." Mr. Broflovski, again.

"Is there anything you believe he hasn't told you?"

"What? No... my son tells us everything!"

"Well... your son was sent to my office at one point. Thought technically I am not to repeat what my clients tell me, he did say that he was planning on telling you sooner. Since this is an important situation, I am taking the liberty of quickening this notion. Your son is gay, Mr. Broflovski." Stan felt a lump grow in his throat. They knew.

"What, what what!" yelled a female voice. Definitely Mrs. Broflovski. "Our son? That's- that's-!"

"Sheila, don't be too hard on Kyle," said Ms. Sagisak, but Stan had tuned out of that conversation. His parents knew. And by the looks of it they weren't too happy. Things weren't looking too good for Kyle. With all the things going on in Kyle's life... Stan knew Kyle didn't deserve it. But his best friend not even wanting to look at him wasn't helping him either. With this in mind Stan decided to finally face his friend.

Stan vommitted.

- - - - - - - - - -

The ride home was rather difficult for the boys. The Broflovski's were as quiet as ever, and Stan wondered if they had told Ike about what they had found out. Stan looked at Kenny, who was clueless of what had happened. Kenny only continued to look out the window, and Stan supposed that he was deep in thought.

Stan stared out his own window and watched snowflakes drift slowly to the ground. They floated gently, swaying one way, and then another, and then again until they landed softly upon an old layer of snow, like apple seeds using their makeshift wings to flutter in the wind. Stan looked at the old layer of snow, which had become dirty from all the cars driving by. Soon the dirty old layers would be replaced by new layers. Almost like cleansing.

A sharp weight on his shoulder broke him from his thought. Ike had fallen asleep on his shoulder. Stan smiled, and then he shifted his weight so that Ike could better rest on Stan. Stan began to wonder how his views would changed once he learned the shocking news about Kyle that his parents had already discovered. Would all his admirations towards his older brother vanish? Stan certainly didn't hope so.

He glanced out the window again to watch the snow fall. Maybe the snow resembled a new beginning, however much of a analogy it represented. The dirty snow resembled the wretched lives that they were all living through. Perhaps the new snow would bring a fresh and clean start... a new layer of life to live on.

Stan soon found himself at his house. He gently relocated Ike's head on Kenny's shoulder, who had fallen asleep and didn't notice. He gave thanks to the Broflovskis before shutting the car door and walking to his front door. He scavenged his pockets and produced the house key. He quietly opened the front door, stepped inside, and shut the door after him.

He took off his damp jacket and hung it on a nearby coat hanger. He tapped his feet softly on the welcome mat, shaking off any snow that had clung to them, and packed them neatly to the side of the door. His mother liked order in the house, and Stan made sure he respected that.

He made his way up to his room, gaining a welcome greeting from his mother in the kitchen. He could hear Shelley from the hallway, but he didn't bother trying to disturb her; he knew there would be a consequence to pay if he did. As he entered his quarters he shut the door and undressed himself from his attire. Once he had put more comfortable clothing he turned on his computer and flopped onto his bed. Why had he vommitted when he looked at Kyle? Was it because it sickened him to see Kyle helpless and unconscious on the bed?

Or was it for the same reason he used to vommit on Wendy?

No. It definitely was not. With Wendy, he threw up whenever she talked to him; Kyle hadn't talked to him. This relieved Stan. Now all he wanted was for tomorrow to come. He wanted to talk to Kyle. He wanted to help Kyle get things back to normal. He wanted Kyle to feel safe, as opposed to watching his guard in fear of another attack on him. He just wanted Kyle to wake up.

He didn't bother trying to wake up and use his computer as he had intended.

- - - - - - - - - -

Stan's will for the next day to come hadn't prevented him from sleeping in. As much as he wanted to get up and somehow find a way to visit Kyle, his body ached for more sleep. He had even slept through his alarm clock, which he had forgotten to turn off the night before. With the glaring 11:45 in red, as well as the bright sun rays in his face, the raven-haired boy forced himself out of bed.

He found his whole family sitting at the table, minding their own business while eating their breakfast. Mr. Marsh had a beer in his hand, the newspaper in the other, and his legs partially against the table to support the newspaper's back. Shelley was listening to a CD player, and because she had it on full-blast Stan could tell that it was a Jessica Simpson CD. Mrs. Marsh had open an issue of Reader's Digest, furiously scribbling answers to a crossword puzzle.

He prepared himself a bowl of cereal and sat himself at the table. His three family members acknoledged him by giving a morning greetings, but it had remained at that. Stan stared at his cereal throughout his meal; he wasn't blessed in having something else at the table like the rest of his family.

His father had been the first to say something, and that had been when Stan had gotten up to wash his bowl. "Stan, I'm taking the boys to the hospital today. Mr. Broflovski said that he and his wife couldn't make it to the hospital and asked me to bring Kyle home for them. Would you like to come with me?" Naturally, the boy nodded.

"It must be very hard for them," said Stan's mother, nodding in agreement. "I'm sure they must be sad not being able to see Kyle."

"But isn't that kind of sad?" asked Stan. "Why can't they go to the hospital to pick up their own son?" This had been a rather rhetorical question. Stan feared the answer in his gut.

"I don't know son," said his father. "I'm sure they have good reasons. But we need to get going." He and Stan had gotten out of their seats to put on their jackets. Mrs. Marsh rose up to kiss her husband goodbye; Shelley remained seated.

"Kenny should already be at the Broflovski's," said Mr. Marsh. "This should make our job much easier."

"Right dad," Stan muttered. He glanced outside and noticed the snow.

It was fresh.

End chapter. It's the longest chapter so far, but not by much. Maybe I'll progressively grow longer. That sounds like a plan!

Self edited, like last time. Please review.