A/N2: If I was waiting this long… wow.

A/N: … er, hey everyone. Guess it's been… at least a year? More? Less? No idea. Either way, I'll be shocked if anyone's still reading this. I confess that I lost some of the drive for TLG, personal life, school and a near-fatal car accident got in the way. I wasn't as happy with this chapter as I would have liked to be but in order for the future plans to proceed, some of the boring stuff is essential. Weird tie in, right?

Anyway, to anyone reading, I hope that some sort of pleasure is derived from this, and my deepest apologies for vanishing off the face of the planet.

Disclaimer: I imagined that I owned South Park. Imagination Land lied

"Stan? Stan?"

The sky was a blend of peach, orange, green, and grey.

Stan closed his eyes, groaning slightly as they reopened to the mass. Less sky, more definitive features. Prolonged nose, hazel eyes-

"-mn… Kyle?"

"He's up, you guys!"

Hands moved behind Stan's shoulders, a firm brace as the boy was pulled into an upright position. Sounds came, a jarring melody of voices, scuffling, stomping, God knew what else.

"… the hell happened..?"

"Dude, you like, totally passed out."

"Yeah, ha, what a wuss," Cartman snorted, half-laughing.

"Shut up, fat ass," Stan retorted. His eyes fell shut, fists bunching and rubbing over his eyes before they reopened to the world again. "… where's the bus?"

"Oh that?" Cartman replied, as if it were the most simple question ever.

"Yes, that. Where the fuck are we?"

"We left last night. Drug your sleeping, pussy-ass with us-"

"That's not the problem – the hell are we?"

"… we're… not quite sure," Kyle replied, a hand extended. Stan realized then that Kyle was taller than him, much taller.

And then he realized he was sitting on the ground.

Gripping Kyle's palm, he pulled himself upright, reaching for his friend's shoulder to steady himself. "Shit, dude… you look really bad," Kyle murmured.

The group seemed to have come to a stop, and Stan counted heads – a melancholy had settled among the boys.

It hit like a ton of bricks.

"Holy shit, Kenny!"

"Huh?"

"Kenny! Kenny, we left him behind!" Stan panicked. "Smelling corpse or not, we shouldn't have done that! We need to go back for him-"

"What the hell do you mean I smell? Fuck you."

The boy spun around, jaw slacking. "KENNY?"

And sure enough, he was there – complete, no tears in his clothes, no hair stained red, no mangled corpse. No pungent odor of decaying flesh.

Just… Kenny.

"Oh hey, Kenny, what's up?" Kyle greeted.

"… this is so seriously fucked up," Stan groaned, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. "I really need to move to a new town."

"So, where are we going?" Craig asked.

"Well, f-fellas, I'd say we-we try to find a telephone wire and f-f-f-f-fooo, f-f-f-foooo, f-f-f-follow it back to the mainland," Jimmy suggested.

"Yeah, because that always ended well in fiction," Stan muttered.

An hour passed, or two or three – without a watch, the concept of time gained or lost wasn't feasible. There was only the sound of the leaves crunching beneath their footsteps, some of the nonsensical chatter between the team, Cartman farting in Kyle's general direction.

"I think we're lost," Clyde observed, studying his surroundings.

"Shut up, Clyde," Cartman said. "We are not lost."

"We seem pretty lost."

"We are NOT lost, God damn it!"

"Then do you know where the hell we are?" Token interjected, eyes narrowed.

Cartman looked from left to right, seemingly startled by the question before he proceeded, "Of course I do, but why should I bother telling you? Why don't you go harass the Jew?"

"Shut up, fat ass!"

"Suck my balls!"

Kyle grunted, head turned aside. "I fucking hate Cartman," he muttered to Stan, but Stan wasn't paying attention. His eyes were fixed on the ground, watching as the sky seemed to get dark casting black shadows over his converse.

He wanted to stop; his feet were aching.

"Are you as hungry as I am?" Stan asked his friend; verbal answer wasn't given. There would only be the rumbling of stomachs.

"All right, everyone, listen up!" Cartman called as he stood, facing the group. Tall, massive, intimidating. "It seems our rations are low so we have no choice left. We need to kill Kyle and roast him on a skewer."

"What?!" Kyle squeaked.

"Dude, we're not killing Kyle," Stan said.

"But he's the most logical choice. All that vegan crap he has means he's not contaminated and he'll taste better than anyone else. I mean, if we killed Kenny he'd be nothing but maggots because he's poor."

"Fuck you, fatass!" Kenny swore, hoodie pulled away from his head as he yelled. It was then that it came. Its wings unfolded, covering the ground in dark shadows. A humongous vulture dove to the ground, massive talons grabbing Kenny by the back of the hoodie, yanking his screaming form up into the trees.

"KENNY!"

The horrific screeches of the baby birds pierced through the air and, one by one, bones fell to the Earth, shattering upon contact. Crunched.

The group stared.

"So as I was saying, we need to kill Kyle because he's Jewish-"

"CARTMAN, YOU FAT FUCKING PIECE OF LARD! KENNY DIED AND YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT KILLING ME?!"

"Sometimes we gotta take one for the team, Kyle."

And sometime we'd need to think about what the fuck was happening, Stan thought. As the team continued on their trek, Stan paused to recollect the bones. At least his family could have something then, a little reminder of who he was.

"We need a new strategy," Token had suggested once they slowed and set up a second camp. Craig got the fire going after a few tries with matches and turning down Cartman's suggestion of using fart gas to make it ignite. They agreed that again turns would be taken to watch the fire through the night, to keep the warmth when it was time to sleep, Tweek and Craig offering for the first shift, Kyle and Stan the second, and so on.

"Hey, Stan?"

"Yeah?" Stan settled on the ground, arms crossed beneath his head for a pillow.

"Are you mad at me?"

"Huh?"

"You're acting funny."

"Just tired. Hungry."

"Oh. Okay."

"… yeah."

"Good night, Stan."

"Night, Kyle."

Stan's eyes were the first to fall shut. He had thought he might have been dreaming when he felt additional warmth on his back but, reopening them and looking over his shoulder, he found his friend lying there, back to him. He gazed at Kyle for a few moments before he rolled to face his back, arm wrapping around Kyle's waist.

For warmth, he'd use as an excuse. His excuse.

But Stan had no reason for Kyle taking his hand and squeezing it, fingers intertwining with it as he held it to his chest. Stan couldn't think of an excuse for why his heart drummed so fast, or why his breathing aligned with Kyle's. They were so perfect, would be so perfect.

But they were different.

Stan was gay. His friend was not. And even if some of the others experimented, people couldn't just decide who they liked, who they didn't, and change things. Kyle could no more like him than he could no less like Kyle.

He nuzzled closer, and Kyle squeezed his hand tighter. Over the top of Kyle's head, before Stan closed his eyes, he thought he saw Clyde watching by the flickering, slowly dying fire. Sometime he would apologize for snapping at Clyde. But not then. Not when he could embrace a few hours of closeness, where he could pretend Kyle was his, really his. Not just his friend.

Thanks for sticking with me. To be continued…