Kyle was whimpering out mumbles in Stan's grasp, his eyes threatening to roll back into his head. But it was entirely too difficult for Stan to understand what he was saying. All that he was aware of was their immediate need for escape.

"-Let's leave. Let's leave right now. Quick, before they-"

-The door swung open with a dramatic thud.

At the doorway stood Sheila, Randy, and the same police officer who met them at the hotel; but that wasn't all. All around the room dozens of station workers, ranging from policemen to secretaries, were staring in through the windows. Every single one of them, the parents included, stared with their eyes wide open, almost in fear, at Stan as he held his hands around the base of Kyle's skull.

"What the hell is going on in here?!" the officer exclaimed, posture defensive and eyes wide. The officer genuinely looked like he was about to pull out his gun.

Stan took his hands away from Kyle in a fraction of a second and shot up from the seat, "Hold on a second! He's not-!"

-Catching Stan by an even greater surprise, he watched his dad throw an arm around the officer's shoulders and laugh loudly.

"Can't you see, officer?" Randy Marsh cackled with his head thrown back, "They were alone, he was holding his neck, they're both blushing all over. By God, they were making out!"

"Randy!" Sheila Broflovski squealed, her face almost as red as her hair in indisputable anger, "That is not funny! These boys are in a lot of trouble!"

"Oh, I know!" Randy laughed, hands on his hips, "My son's fucking grounded. He's in for the punishment of his lifetime. Still though, I am not going to let this slide!"

The officer was floored from head to toe, his mouth hanging open. He looked in between the parents, the kids, and his coworkers for some kind of explanation, but everyone else seemed to be just as confused. The officers and managers who had been peering in through the windows started to back off one by one, apparently deciding that this was not their place. They continued to file out until it was just the parents, the kids, the interrogation officer and the cop from the hotel in the room.

The interrogation officer was as irritated as ever, "Is an explanation worth my time or can I just leave?"

Randy shook his head, "Nah, you can go. I got this under control."

"Thank you for letting us know about our boys," Sheila added.

The officer was pleased with that. He patted the younger policeman on the shoulder, "C'mon, Skipper. Time to let them be. Case closed."

The young policeman was visibly disturbed. His hand was still nearing the weapon on his belt, and anxiousness was written all over his face.

"Sir, I don't think we can just-"

"-Skipper. Case closed," the interrogation officer said sternly.

It took a while, but the officer eventually let his hands drop to his sides. He was frowning uncomfortably, but he still tipped his hat to everyone in the room.

"Goodbye. Have a safe drive back to Colorado," he said.

He let his gaze linger on Kyle for a moment longer, before he was dragged out of the room by the interrogation officer.

Now it was just the boys and their parents in the room; no one was even looking at them through the windows anymore.

But even though the stakes died down, Stan was still overwhelmed with steaming, seething feelings.

"Hold on, Dad, let me just-"

Randy put up his hand, "-Tell me in the car, son. I don't want to waste another minute here before you make a pass at your best friend."

"Randy! That is repulsive!" Sheila hissed. She was going into her Momzilla mode, and everyone could see it.

But Stan noticed that for some reason, Kyle didn't seem to mind. He just looked happy to see his mom. That only upset Stan further.

"Calm down, woman," Randy rolled his eyes, "Or don't. Whatever suits you. I'm pretty pissed, myself. Our boys are grounded."

"So grounded," Sheila agreed, hands on her hips, "Don't you boys know we had to pay a one hundred dollar fine for you? Each?! What kind of selfish, disrespectful young men would do something as atrocious as-"
-She softened immediately when she took in the sight of her first son, her lips parting in surprise.

"Bubby, what on earth happened to your face?!"

For a second Kyle looked confused. He raised a hand to his face, only to wince when he touched a bruise. He lowered his head, apparently remembering the ugly fingerprint-shaped bruises that consumed the sides of his face.

Stan bit his lower lip when he confessed, "I don't really know where they came from, Ms. Sheila, they just sort of appeared. I think he did it to himself."

"And you didn't do anything to stop him?! I thought you were supposed to be super best friends!"

Stan wanted to curl up and die right there.

"Okay, that's enough now," Randy cocked his head towards Sheila, "It's been a pleasure to see you, dear, but I'm gonna take my boy home now and ground him."

"Same here," Sheila grumbled, "I suppose I should thank you for the ride here."

"Nah, don't worry about it. Wasn't your fault the boys ran off with your only car."

"But Dad!" Stan cried, "You don't understand, we can't go ba-"

"-Don't push me, son. Walk your keester to the car right now."

"But Dad!"

"We can talk about this in the car, Stanley. I really don't want to drag your ass in a debate while we're in fuckin' Wyoming."

"Dad, listen to me! We can't let Ky-"

"-I'll lengthen your punishment time-"

"-That doesn't matter to me! I'm trying to save my best friend, you don't understa-"

"-Don't you even know what your punishment is, Stanley?" Randy topped, "You're grounded from hanging out with Kyle for a week, and I am very willing to lengthen that time!"

That finally shut Stan up.

Sheila and Kyle were both visibly embarrassed by Randy's mood, but he didn't care that he was being a disturbance at all. He just shook his head in disappointment at his son, who stood with his head lowered.

"Okay, bubby," Sheila said gently, gathering her son in her arms, "Let's drive home now. A very nice young man gave me your dad's car keys."

Stan watched, swallowing dryly, as Kyle went off in his mom's arms. He seemed undaunted, carefree. He knew he was going back to a bad place, but he smiled anyway. Kyle was like a moth drawn to a flame.

He didn't even look back at Stan before he left.

When it was just him and his dad left in the room, Stan clenched his fists nervously.

"Am I really not allowed to see Kyle for a week?" the words were a burden on his tongue.

Randy huffed, "I'll leave that for your mom to decide. She should be coming home today."

"Oh."

For some reason, that didn't make Stan feel any better.

"It's about time we went home, too."

"Do we have to?"

"Yes. We do. You have school tomorrow."

Stan scowled.

Randy stuck out his finger angrily, "Don't give me that look! You're already in trouble, do you really want to make it worse on yourself?"

"...No."

"That's what I thought," Randy muttered. The anger in his eyes reminded Stan of all the times he came home drunk, all the times he couldn't control his temper, and all the times he took things too far. They were unpleasant memories, and they made Stan feel sick to his stomach.

"There's one more thing I got to say to you, son," Randy said tersely.

"Do I even want to know?"

"My two years of sobriety went down the drain the night you ran away. I guess I can blame myself for this, since you're taking after me, but you really hurt all the people you love. You know that, right?"

The drive home was tense. And that was an understatement. Stan felt like jumping out of the car and just running away on foot more times than he could count, but of course he didn't actually do it. He didn't want to risk fucking things up again.

His dad's words about hurting the people he loves were ringing in his head, but Stan didn't feel guilty.

It's true. He didn't feel an ounce of guilt. It wasn't even a defense mechanism or anything like that. He just didn't feel guilty.

Stan assumed this was mostly because he didn't believe what Randy said. If his dad was drinking again, that meant he was probably just saying stupid things that he didn't mean. Of course Stan knew the famous phrase "Drunk words are sober thoughts," but he didn't believe that either; after all the crazy shit Stan had spewed himself while he was drunk, he knew drunk words really meant nothing in actuality.

Nothing. Just like how he felt.

He felt nothing at all. Just like when he blocked Ike and Kenny's numbers, he had thought he would feel something, but instead he remained unaffected.

He didn't even feel anything when Randy said:

"I didn't mean what I said about you 'making a pass' at Kyle, or whatever. I know you two aren't gay for each other. I just felt like I needed to break tension back at the station. Lighten the mood a bit, you know?"

That was a little ironic, considering that the tension was much higher now than back in the station. The car ride was making them antsy. The atmosphere was so thick it could probably be cut with a knife.

It didn't help that Gerald Broflovski's car was literally right in front of them. Seriously. Right in front of them. Through the windows, Stan could clearly see the bright red hair of Kyle and his mother as they rode along in the car talking to each other.

His super best friend was riding in a hearse. Not in a literal sense, of course, but metaphorically. Kyle was riding along in a death cab, approaching his own funeral as they drove on.

Stan's worst fear was coming true. Kyle was going home to his alcoholic dad, his creep of a brother, and now Momzilla, too. And there was absolutely nothing Stan could do about it.

"I want to ram into that car," Stan accidentally said aloud.

"What's that now, Stanley?"

"I don't want to kill them or anything. I just want to ram into their car."

"That's not funny."

"I don't mean to be funny. I want to ram into their car and break it so they can't go home."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. And I'll leave Sheila there on the side of the road, take Kyle and leave the state again."

Stan expected his dad to laugh, but Randy just shot his son a sideways look.

"I thought your depression was getting better, son," he said as he drove. Stan couldn't read if he was angry or concerned.

Stan just shrugged, "It is."

"You're sure?"

"I mean, my doctors said so."

"How do you feel?"

"That's a big question, Dad."

"Is it?"

"It is for me. I don't know. I don't think I could answer it in a single sentence."

Randy scratched his mustache in contemplation, "I think you need to go to therapy again."

"Why?"

"You know why. You don't need me to answer that question."

Stan wrapped his arms around himself and looked out the car window. He tried to focus on the snow-laden trees flying by, but all he could think about was the car in front of him. Or more specifically, the one special person who was in the car in front of him.

"I don't know," Stan sighed, "I don't know. I'm just… processing a lot right now."

"Oh, okay, great, that clears everything up," Randy snorted, "You're processing things. Riiight. That's why you took your best friend and ran away in his dad's car without telling anybody where you were going or when you would be back."

"He's being abused," Stan said softly as his dad drove. He had the thought running through his head for days now, but it still felt awful to say it out loud.

Randy raised an eyebrow, "He is? By who?"

"His family," Stan said guiltily. It made him feel ashamed to disclose something so personal without Kyle's knowledge or consent, but his dad needed to know.

Randy was silent for a moment before asking, "Is that where those awful bruises on his face came from?"

"No…"

"No?"

"No. I think he did that to himself. He's going through a lot right now."

Randy drove on wordlessly for a while. He switched to the next lane and sped up so that they were now driving directly beside the Broflovskis. By looking out the window, Stan could see Kyle and his mom in deep conversation. Sheila was doing most of the talking, while Kyle listened on intently.

Stan tried waving through the window, but neither Kyle nor his mom saw a thing.

"I don't believe it," Randy said.

Stan's veins went cold, "What?"

"That kid's not being abused. There's no way in hell. We've known that family for years. We would have picked up on something. His family's too good."

Stan cringed at the very words.

"Besides," Randy went on, "'member what the two of us were talking about the other day? Maybe something just happened to him once, and that's why he's having trouble with doctors and getting over his lil' injury. He'll heal up. He's a fighter. He's just been through shit, I guess."

Stan's fists were clenching and unclenching uncontrollably.

"Do I really have to stay away from Kyle for a week?"

"It might be for the best. He's sort of a bad influence on you."

"What?!" Stan exclaimed, outraged, "How could you say that?! He's not a bad influence on me! It's not his fault any of this stuff happened! He's a good kid!"

"He is a good kid. I just think he makes you a little…" Randy circled his ear with his finger and whistled, the universal gesture for 'cookoo.'

"You think he makes me crazy?"

"Not intentionally," Randy shrugged, "But yeah. I do."

"Dad, you said it yourself, he's good," Stan urged, "He would never do anything to me. And I'm not crazy."

"Don't you remember the first time you came home drunk, Stanley?"

The sentence caught the quarterback completely by surprise. He actually felt himself jump in his seat.

"Where is this coming from?"

"I thought it had been because of me," Randy sighted, stroking his mustache, "You were fourteen years old and you were so blubbering drunk you couldn't walk four steps without falling on your face. I swore it was my fault. I thought my bad habits rubbed off on you. It wasn't until later when you were feeling better that you told me the reason why you purposefully got drunk in the first place."

"Dad-"

"-It was because you thought you failed Kyle as a friend."

"You can stop talking now-"

"-And why did you think you failed Kyle as a friend?"

"Dad, stop it."

"No, go ahead, Stanley," Randy charged, "Go ahead and tell me why you thought you failed Kyle as a friend."

"..."

"..."

"Because I accidentally made him break his science project," Stan confessed, "I wasn't paying attention, and I bumped into him, and he fell down and he dropped the project. It broke."

"Mhm," Randy shook his head, huffing in annoyance, "Don't you think that's overreacting at least a little bit?"

"Not really," Stan mumbled, "He worked really, really hard on that thing. He wanted to win first place at the science fair. He was so going to get it, too. I know he was. But then I just fucked it up for him."

"But you thought that a broken piece of cardboard and paper diagrams was worthy of getting yourself drunk at fourteen years old?"

"He scraped his knee when he fell down! I wasn't fast enough to catch him. I felt so bad. I ruined everything for him."

"Oh boo hoo," Randy rolled his eyes. He turned up the radio extremely loud, an obvious sign that Stan should shut up before he upset his father any further.

But Stan still had one more card to pull. It was a weak one, but it could definitely be convincing.

"Dad," he said, looking him in the eye, "I know you want to ground me and all, but I haven't gone a single day without seeing Kyle in seventeen years."

"I know."

"That's since we were babies."

"...I know."

"Don't you think it'll be hard for me?" Stan pressed, "And hard for him, too? I'm just cringing at the thought already, I don't even know what I would do with myself."

Randy just turned up the radio louder, saying, "Talk to your mother about it. I'm done trying to make sense of you, son."

As it turns out, Sharon Marsh didn't return home until past midnight.

Stan had spent those several hours asleep on his bed, which was a fact that upset him. He had wanted to stay up all night long in case Kyle texted him. He was full of so much angst and energy during the car ride that he expected he would be able to pull an all-nighter, and that he would be bouncing off the walls when he got home.

Instead, the minute Stan arrived home, his dad put a sandwich in front of him and left him alone. It was just one sandwich, but it was the only food he had eaten in a long time, and it immediately put him into a food coma. He trudged upstairs and passed out on his bed, still dressed in his old clothes, shoes on his feet, and phone in his hand.

He woke up sixteen minutes after midnight, when he heard his parents talking downstairs.

He didn't bother eavesdropping. He stripped himself of his shoes, jumped out of his clothes and hopped into his pajamas before his mom could see him. He lay his phone on his nightstand and scrambled to get back under the sheets before she walked in.

Sharon Marsh was tired and aged, but she smiled when she opened the door to see Stan messing around on the bed like a fool.

"Sleeping well?" she asked bemusedly.

Stan couldn't help but blush, "I was. Then I just woke up, I guess."

She walked around his room a bit, inspecting it like only a mother would. She wrinkled her nose when she approached the laundry bin, but didn't say anything.

Sharon sat down on his bed lightly, and Stan moved to make room.

"Hi, mom," he said.

"Hello, Stan," she ruffled his hair, "I'm sorry to wake you."

"It's fine," he didn't say it out loud, but he really missed these hair ruffles, "How's Shelley?"

"She's doing really well in school. And she's popular, believe it or not."

"Huh. Who knew."

Sharon just rolled her eyes, "Be nice to your sister. She misses you, you know."

"She does? I thought she wanted me dead."

"She didn't say it, but I could tell. She misses you," Sharon stopped ruffling his hair now and put her hand on his, "I missed you, too. I'm glad to be home."

"Yeah. I'm glad you're home, too."

Sharon looked at him sweetly, switching her gaze in between both of his eyes. She went on doting on him and holding his hand before she took a breath and said, "So your father told me a lot of crazy things."

"You know him."

"I do know him. That's why I think I'd like to hear the story from your perspective. Would you tell me?"

Stan rubbed his eye, "Do I have to? It's late, and it's been a really long past few days."

"I mean, I'd really like to know," Sharon said softly, weak in her tone, "But if you're not up to it, I suppose I understand. We could always talk about it in the morning."

With a heavy sigh, Stan stared at the clock on his phone screen, "It is the morning."

Sharon was quiet before she asked, "Stanley, why did you steal a car and go to Wyoming?"

"I didn't steal a car, first of all," Stan grumbled, repositioning himself in the bed, "My car died on the side of the road, I don't know if Dad told you that. But I needed to take Kyle away from his house so I borrowed Mr. Gerald's car and left."

"Why did you have to take him out of the house? Your dad told me he had a broken foot."

"A broken ankle, yeah, he was hit by a bus. And I needed to get him out of there. He's being abused, Mom."

Sharon soft-pedaled in a second. She squeezed Stan's hand tighter before pursuing further; "Kyle's being abused?"

"By his family, yeah."

"Well… I always knew his mom had a scary temper, but I never-"

"-I don't think it's his mom. Might be. I don't know. I hope not. But right now it's just his dad and his brother."

"Gerald always seemed too… remote to be involved with his family," Sharon contemplated aloud, "From my perspective, at least. And, isn't his brother still a kid?"

"Yeah, but he has the mentality of an adult. He's a certified genius. He has resources. Also, he's just a lot bigger than Kyle."

"Stanley," Sharon was struggling to keep her composure, "That- This is a very serious accusation you're making."

"Are you saying you don't believe me, either?"

"I'm not saying that. I'm just saying that this isn't something we can take lightly," she furrowed her brow, "Are you sure, Stanley? We've known them for so many years…"

"I'm positive. There's no doubt in my mind, Mom."

Sharon was visibly disturbed. Even in the darkness of Stan's room, he could see her discomfort clearly.

That's why it caught Stan by surprise when she said:

"Okay…"

His heart skipped a beat, "Okay? Really? You believe me?"

"I don't know," she admitted, deep in thought, "I don't want to jump to any conclusions without knowing anything. Do you have any proof?"

"Proof?"

Something wicked churned in Stan's gut when he realized he didn't have one solitary scrap of proof.

That morning with drunk Gerald in the kitchen, and the way he put his hands on Kyle's shoulders; that wasn't proof. Stan had left before anything bad happened because he was told to leave. Ike's bag of smuggled sleeping pills was back at the hotel in Laramie. The only injuries Kyle had were from the bus accident and the ones on his face.

Stan lowered his head, "No. I don't."

Whatever glint of belief Sharon had for Stan's case, it died right then and there. Stan knew just from the mere look his mom gave him that she stopped believing.

It deeply angered him when she went on speaking motherly, like everything was okay.

"Well, Stanley, that was a very chivalrous thing to do for him," Sharon praised softly, "I'm glad you care about your friend so much, I really am. It makes me proud that you want to take such good care of him. You'll make a fine husband and father one day."

"Mom, why don't you believe me?"

"I'm not saying that," Sharon said; though she was absolutely saying that with her eyes.

She stroked his hair lightly, motherly, and Stan started to grow irritated.

"Stan, let's just be on the lookout for now, okay? Let's not jump to any conclusions from now on."

"So I'm supposed to sit idly by and not do anything?"

"Not steal a car again, that's for sure."

"Mom. I hate this."

Sharon pulled her hand away, "Just look out for him. From a distance. I know with his broken foot-"

"-Ankle-"

"-that he's probably not going to go to school for a few more days-"

"-And he got real sick."

"What?"

"He got real sick. He got diabetic keto-... keto-all... God, what was it called?"

"Not diabetic ketoacidosis, I hope?"

"Yeah that. He got that. He got real, real sick."

She took a breath, "That is a very, very terrible disease, Stan. It's just awful. Surely he didn't-"

"-He did. I was there," Stan shuddered at the memory, "I think he's really bad at taking care of himself in general so his health was bound to worsen eventually. But it still really, really sucks, Mom. With both his sickness and his family life at home, I do my best to take care of him, but it's like everybody wants me to stop."

"Well..." Sharon started, noticeably saddened, "Okay. This is all very, very unfortunate. I feel sorry for him. I really do. I think you should continue to take care of him, Stan, but don't jump into anything. I know he probably won't be at school for a few more days, so for now, try sitting back and just looking out for Kyle until you have any proof, okay? Then we can pick up this conversation again."

Stan rolled his eyes and flopped back down on his pillow, "Let me get this straight. You want me to just watch my super best friend? Even though he needs my help. You just want me to sit back and watch."

"Until you have proof, yes. You might surprise yourself; you might not even get proof of abuse."

"Mom. I hate this."

"You know the law," she said tersely, her agitation beginning to reveal itself, "Innocent until proven guilty."

"...Fine."

"Good," Sharon said, though from the look in her eyes, Stan could tell that she wasn't exactly satisfied. She was starting to get irritated too, and Stan could see it.

He turned over on his pillow, "Mom, do I really have to go a week without seeing Kyle? Can't you just take my phone or driving privileges away?"

"It's just for a week."

"But we haven't been apart one day in our entire lives… Not one day. Not even when we moved to Tegridy Farms, I still saw him at school and on the weekends."

"Exactly why you need to get away from him for a while. If I didn't spend some time away from your father every once in a while, I would have filed for divorce years ago."

"But Mom," Stan felt like crying, "I really, really hate this."

"Well, I hate it when your father drinks, but you don't see me complaining," Sharon snapped.

Stan winced at her sharpness, "Did- Did he really-?"

"-Start drinking again? Yes, I believe he did."

"It's not-... I-Is it my fault, Mom?"

"No, sweetie, no," Sharon soothed. She laid down on the bed next to her son and rested her head on his shoulder.

It was embarrassing, Stan had to admit, but it was so comforting. So Stan leaned into the embrace. It would be humiliating to say out loud, but Stan really did miss his mom while she was away.

"It's his own fault," Sharon went on, playing with Stan's hair, "He was upset and just didn't deal with it properly. He should have known better."

Stan sniffed, "Yeah. I guess."

"Hey, Stan?"

"Yeah, Mom?"

"Your dad said something about going back to therapy again."

Stan could tell that his mom was trying to look him in the eye, but he pretended not to notice. He stared at the overhead popcorn ceiling and tried to count all the ridges.

"Yeah," he whispered in the dark, "He said I should."

"Do you want to?"

"I don't know."

"You know, there's no shame in going back for a few more sessions. There's nothing wrong with that."

"I know, Mom, I know, I just-" Stan took her fingers out of his hair and squeezed them in comfort, "I don't think it's what's best for me."

"Why not?" her hazel eyes were wide open with compassion. Stan could tell that she was eating up every word of what he was saying.

"I just can't focus on me right now… Does that make sense? I just- I'm not in the position where I want to worry about myself. Just not right now. Therapy might be good later, but I just- For now, I-"

He broke off. He couldn't find the words to express what he wanted.

But Sharon seemed to understand, "You want to worry about Kyle right now, don't you?"

"Yeah," he admitted, "I mean, I'm fine now. Really. I'm okay. I just want to fix this situation with him first, then go back to working on myself."

"That's-" Sharon took a shaky breath, "That's very sweet, but it's not wise."

"You do it all the time," Stan said.
He knew it would get her where it hurts, but he needed to say it.
"Mom, you were unhappy for so many years. You're probably still unhappy now, but you just don't show it. You always put me and Shelley first, and you let Dad get away with things to make him happy. I hardly ever see you do anything for yourself."

Sharon took her fingers out of her son's hand and stood up from the bed. Without facing him, she said, "I'll ask you again in a week if you want to go back to therapy. Until then, just think about it."

"Okay."

"Okay," Sharon whispered. She softened when she turned around and bent down to kiss his forehead, "Goodnight, Stan."

"'night Mom."

"You are going to school tomorrow," she instructed as she started to leave his bedroom.

Stan pulled his pillow over his face, "Yes, I'm painfully aware."

She bit her lip. She almost looked nervous when she bid him good-night again. This time, Stan didn't respond. So she left.

Stan didn't fall asleep right away. He didn't want to sleep, so he stayed awake watching music videos on his phone for a few hours. By the time he was done, it was around three in the morning.

Kyle had yet to send him a single text, and that made awful thoughts pray on his mind. He had no idea what kind of punishment Sheila intended when she said she was grounding her son, but something told Stan it was worse than troubling. Just thinking about all the heinous possibilities of what could be happening to him put Stan in agony.

It was terrible, but Stan realized he never once asked about what happened when Kyle got in trouble before.

When they were younger, he used to get in trouble all the time, not because he was a bad kid (really, he was the best behaved out of all of them), but because his parents were extremely strict. Kyle was punished often, but for some reason that never raised alarm bells for Stan before. He never thought to ask about it.

He recalled the night of the valedictorian announcement, when Kyle was crying in the bathroom. He said he was going to get in trouble. For being the second smartest student in their entire graduating class, he was going to get in trouble. He was so afraid that he started crying.

And yet, Stan was still never privy to Kyle's troubles. He never took a hint.

Now Stan was overwhelmed with guilt.

His head started spinning with worry when he realized that Kyle still had not texted him anything. This was not okay. This was agonizing.

Stan had to go check on him.

He got up from the bed, still dressed in pajamas and barefoot, and ran down the stairs like a shot. He was nearly floored when he saw his parents, both of them, seated on the couch in the front living room watching TV.

"Where do you think you're going, Stanley?"

Stan blinked, "Kyle."

"Uh huh," Randy rolled his eyes. He wasn't only annoyed, though. Raw anger was fuming off of his entire body.

"Wha- What are you guys doing awake?"

"We thought you might run off. Son of a bitch."

Stan swallowed. His body was completely still, but his mind was spinning too quickly for him to understand his own thoughts. The adrenaline shooting through his veins was making him uneasy.

Sharon frowned, looking her son up and down, "Go back to bed."

"Mom, please."

"You have school tomorrow. Go back to bed."

"Don't try jumping out the windows either, Stanley," Randy added, "I got a new lock thing installed while you were gone yesterday."

"Dad-"

"-I'm done with you, son. Go back to bed."

Stan did. But he didn't sleep a wink. His stomach was full of knots and his mind was full of godforsaken thoughts of whatever hell Kyle could be going through. He stayed on his phone the entire night until morning, shooting texts of concern to Kyle constantly, even though he didn't get a single one back.

He even made the risky move of unblocking Ike and Kenny, but they didn't respond to anything he had to say either.

By the time his phone finally gave in from all its efforts and died, the sun was already shining through his windows.

It was Monday morning. He had to go to school. This was going to be the first day in his entire life that he wasn't going to see his super best friend.

It took his dad two years to relapse from his estrangement with alcohol. How long- or how short- would it take for Stan to break from his separation with Kyle?