Warnings for this chapter: Implied/referenced child abuse/pornography in the past. Nothing graphic, but still worth the warning

Stan was panicking like he had never panicked before. He might have even been hyperventilating. But he couldn't tell that for certain, his mind was too harrowed. He didn't even know what he was thinking, his brain flashed from worry to worry so quickly he couldn't keep up with his own thoughts.

Stan somehow managed to make it back home despite his paranoia. It was a struggle to remain cognizant, but he pushed himself to run two miles back to his house, panicked and disoriented, but very much conscious.

The first thing Stan did after kicking open the door to his house was run up to his bedroom to grab his phone.

He had been stupid enough to leave it behind when he went to Bebe's party, and was now paying the consequences for his mistake.

Stan didn't really have a plan, he was too unnerved to come up with a proper one. All he knew was he was going to start by calling Kyle. He was aware that Kyle had his phone taken away, but there was no harm in trying, right? Then he could call other people who were at the party, maybe even Kenny, Ike, or Kyle's parents, or anyone who might have any information at all.

After finding his phone tossed down on his bed, he frantically called Kyle's number and waited for a response, his anxiety climbing with every ring.

Stan had no leads. None whatsoever. He had ideas as to what might have happened to Kyle, but they all terrified him.

There was the chance that Kyle went home, but Stan hated that idea. Kyle was so hesitant about going home throughout the entire party; it just didn't reside well in Stan's stomach to think about him going back to that prison on his own free will. It didn't make sense. Kyle wouldn't torture himself like that, would he?

There was, of course, the possibility that Kyle didn't willingly go back home. Perhaps Ike or even Gerald had been waiting for him outside, ready to take him away, just like how Stan always feared.

But of course Stan had to imagine an instance even more bloodcurdling. There was a slight prospect that Kyle wasn't at his home at all, that he could have been taken away by some other miscreant against his will. Kyle could have been kidnapped.

There were so many more possibilities, so many more heartstopping things that could have happened to him.

If there were any non-dangerous possibilities, Stan couldn't tell. His brain was still clogged from thinking properly, he was laboring under sinister delusions like wildfire and he couldn't think properly. He earnestly felt like he had a concussion or something similar.

When no one answered the phone, Stan started crying.

He called Kyle's number a second time, and it was only then that Stan noticed the piece of paper left on the edge of his bed.

Sniveling and wiping his face, Stan read:

Dear Stan,
We would have called you but I saw you left your phone at home. I'm very sorry we're leaving in such a haste, but it's an emergency.
Because of the Corona-virus, your sister was kicked out of her college dorm. She and everyone in her building are being evicted because all colleges are closing. She didn't call until just today, but apparently she's been sleeping in her car, and she gave herself the flu because it's so cold at night.
Your father and I are going to take her home. But because of the virus, we don't feel comfortable taking a plane, so we will have to drive. That means we will be gone for at least a few days. Maybe an entire week.
I'm so sorry to leave you like this, Stan, but sometimes life is full of emergencies that you can't escape. I am putting my faith in you to take care of the house while we're gone. Please be responsible and do the right thing. Under all circumstances, do the right thing.
Again, I apologize for the suddenness. I love you, son. Please call me when you see this message.
Love, Mom.

Stan's waterworks were on full power now, not just because of what his mom wrote, but because of everything. He cried like a little kid, shamelessly, all alone inside his bedroom. It was all too much. It was all overwhelming. It felt like he was drowning.

Just as he was about to call Kyle's number again, the doorbell rang.

Perplexed, Stan looked at the clock on his phone. It was barely five in the morning, and it was Saturday. No one in their right minds would be at his house at this hour when his parents weren't home.

Despite his better judgement, Stan pulled back the curtains of his bedroom window so he could see who was at the door. And when he did, he swore he felt his heart stop beating.

He opened the window and called down to the sidewalk, "Kyle?"

At his shout, Kyle lifted his head to meet his gaze, where Stan could now see that he was red in the face, like he had been crying, too. He was still dressed in black slacks and Butters' coat, but now additionally wore his green ushanka in the crisp wind of the early morning. He stood out there in the cold, shivering and trembling, his eyes wet and rubbed raw.

Stan's whole body went numb. He had anticipated that when he saw Kyle again everything would be okay, and everything would feel safe again. Instead, there was this awful gut-wrenching feeling frothing inside of him.

Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

"Kyle?" he called out again.

The boy in the ushanka was shaking like a leaf. With a trembling voice, he only responded with: "Can I please come in?"

Stan was quick to let him inside and take him up to his bedroom, helping him up the stairs and assisting him onto his bed. Even after he covered him in blankets, Kyle was still shivering, so Stan sat down close to warm him. He nestled up next to him, their shoulders pressed against each other, their thighs brushing slightly.

Kyle wiped his nose with the back of his hand, "Stan, have you been crying?"

"Yeah, have you?"

"Yeah."

"Kyle, I-" Stan took a shuddering breath, his voice still shaky from his sob-fest, "-I got really, really scared when I didn't see you outside the party… I'm so sorry I left you out there, you must have been even more scared than I was. I'm really sorry."

Instead of saying anything, Kyle just pulled back his sleeves and presented his wrists.

Stan took a sharp inhale, the back of his throat clogging up at the horrible sight. Kyle's pale skin was practically rubbed raw. There were distinct red marks where the zip-ties left angry impressions, and there were so many tugs and nicks that it looked like rashes were starting to form.

"Oh, God," Stan whispered, "Oh, God. Kyle, that looks terrible…"

"It is…"

"Does it hurt?"

"A lot."

"Why'd you pull so much?"

Kyle went rigid, "What?"

"Why'd you pull so much? If you didn't pull, you wouldn't've cut yourself up like that. You should have just stayed there. You would have been fine… Oh, God, Kyle, that looks awful," Stan winced just at the sight, "Why do you always have to hurt yourself? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, I guess," Kyle sniffed, hiding his hands back under the blanket, "Ike put some Neosporin on it and he made me take a few medicines. He put some bandages on, too, b-but I took them off, don't get mad. They got itchy."

"Was he the one who took you home?" Stan asked, his mind still reeling at the scene when he left Kyle back in the parking lot, strapped to a van in the dead of night.

"No. Leslie did. She, um…" Kyle shuddered, "You dropped your keys when you-... You know. And, like, half an hour later she came outside, and she saw me, and-... Yeah. She, um, she drove me home. She's really nice to me, and, well-... You know. She was pretty freaked out. That's an understatement, I'm sure, I just don't want to speak for her."

"So what happened?" Stan pressed lightly, "Did she, like, take you away, or-?"

"Well… I don't know how to tell you this, but I wanted to go to her house."

"...But you didn't."

"Of course I didn't," Kyle sniffed, "Imagine what her parents would think if she brought home a random boy with bloody wrists when it was, like, four in the morning. Plus, I- I knew you'd get mad."

"Yeah, I'd get mad," Stan said dubiously, "I've never been to her house before, I don't know if it's safe or not."

"Yeah…" Kyle said. He deflated beneath the weight of the blanket, "Yeah, exactly."

"So what happened?"

"She had a pocketknife in her glove box. She used it to help me out of the ties. Then she drove me home."

"You didn't want to go home, though," Stan said as softly as he could.

He rested his hand on Kyle's back. He was aware of the bruise, of course, but he placed his hand up high, hoping with his entire being that he was touching a safe spot. When Kyle didn't flinch at the touch, Stan exhaled a sigh of relief and rubbed his back to comfort him.

"I didn't," Kyle admitted, "But how was I supposed to explain that to her? She was being so nice..."

"Nice," Stan repeated, "Unlike that North Park boy, right?"

Kyle shuddered again, this time placing a hand to his forehead, "Please stop talking about him… I don't care about him, okay? That was a one time thing. I don't- Let's please not fight about him anymore."

"I never meant to fight with you," Stan whispered, soft-pedaling. He studied Kyle's body language and the way he folded in on himself, his frown deepening. Stan's gut clenched when he saw the boot around Kyle's ankle, and remembered the five block distance between their houses, "Wait a minute… Did you walk here?"

Kyle nodded hesitantly, almost like he was embarrassed to admit it.

"Oh my God…" Stan wasn't even mortified. He was just deeply saddened, "Why would you do such a thing? I would have picked you up if you only called."

"I don't have my phone," Kyle hiccupped, "And I just- I wasn't thinking clearly. I didn't really know what I was doing. I just needed to get out of there…"

"...Kyle?"

Kyle pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders, "I shouldn't've come here."

"What are you talking about? Of course you should have, you're welcome here, always. You're safe here," Stan assured, gingerly stroking that safe spot on his back.

"I shouldn't've come here specifically, I really should have gone somewhere else-"

"-Kyle-"

"-I wasn't thinking when I left," Kyle winced as he tightened his grasp on his forehead, "I know that's so unlike me. To just not think. I was being stupid, I just-... I just needed to get out of there."

"Why?"

"Stan, I don't think I should-"

"-You can tell me," Stan said softly.

Kyle looked at him meekly, his green eyes watery around the edges when he confessed, "Something bad happened..."

"Bad?"

"Yeah… Something bad happened."

"How bad?"

"I'd say pretty goddamn bad, but I don't know, that's just my stupid opinion."

"Does this have anything to do with Ike having that conversation with your parents?" Stan asked, rubbing that safe spot on Kyle's back in support.

"Yeah, he- um," Kyle sniffled again, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand, "May I have a tissue, please?"

"Oh my God, of course!" Stan almost cried, "You silly thing, of course! Why would you even ask? Yes, of course. Hold on. Just a sec."

He unwrapped himself from the blanket to run to the bathroom, where he ended up grabbing the whole box.

When he returned, he found that Kyle was not sitting on the bed anymore, he was now lying down on the floor. But the image didn't scare Stan, not like it had back at Tegridy Farms, because Kyle was conscious and he was lying face-up, wrapped up in the blankets.

Maybe Ike hadn't been lying when he said that Kyle lied on the floor a lot at home.

Stan got down on the floor next to him and handed over the box of tissues.

After wiping his nose, Kyle set a tissue aside and looked up at Stan's popcorn ceiling. His eyes were red and watery when he gave a gyrated sigh and said, "So, um… Remember how this week at school, we only ever saw Ike that Monday? Like, he was supposed to share our lunch block. But we only saw him that one time, and that was it."

"Yeah, I loved it," Stan smiled.

Kyle didn't laugh.

"I'm sorry. I was trying to lighten the mood. Please tell me what happened."

"I- I don't know if I should."

"I'm listening."

"You never listen."

"But I'm listening."

"You never listen."

"I am listening, I'm listening right now! I really want to help you. I love you, man, I'm listening."

Kyle gave a weak smile. Stan couldn't tell if it was forced or genuine. Kyle just looked really tired.

So Stan alleviated him the best he could by smiling back. Sincerely.

Kyle nodded, taking a breath before he said, "So, um, apparently he was spending his lunch breaks and all his free time taking a bunch of tests. The tests he didn't get to take all year 'cause he didn't start as a senior, he was catching up on all of those. So, um… On Friday he got some results back and, um-"

-Kyle shuddered. He looked like he was about to start crying again, but he managed to spit out, "Ike won valedictorian."

Stan's jaw dropped.

"He, um-... He won valedictorian. He took the test, and he got a really high score. The highest score of anyone in Colorado ever, actually. He won. So Wendy's s-salutatorian now. Which means that I'm-…" Kyle bit down on his chapped lower lip, "-I'm not anything anymore."

"Oh, Kyle," Stan whimpered. He wished he were more eloquent. He had no idea what else to say besides: "I'm so sorry."

"And so he tells my mom and dad, he tells them about what he accomplished and they were so proud of him. They love him so much. A-And then Leslie drops me off, so I walk in through the door and I see them, and I see the way they look at me," Kyle sobbed, clutching his forehead in his hands, "And I know it's stupid to hate disappointing your parents, I know it's stupid, but I hate it, okay? I do. I hate it. I hate the way they look at me when I make them mad, a-a-and then I get in trouble, and I just- I can't, okay? I can't!"

Stan rolled to his side on the carpet floor, "Did you-... God, I don't know how to ask this without sounding like an ass. You know, I've wanted to talk about this for days now, but there was never the right time. I just- Kyle, did your parents get mad and beat you?"

Kyle still had his hands locked onto his forehead. He was clutching it tightly, manically, almost as if he feared it would fall apart if he let go. He sobbed again when he answered, "They got mad, yeah. They got really, really mad. Especially my dad. And I just- I hate it when I make them mad. I hate it!"

"But did your dad beat you?"

"No."

Stan sat up from the floor, "Kyle, I don't know where this habit of lying came from, but you need to stop covering for him if he-"

"-Shit, Stan! Listen to me!" Kyle sobbed, his tears flowing like a hydrant, "My dad's barely ever home, okay?! He's distant! He-He's just been going through a lot lately. He lost his job, so he's at home all the time now. So he just drinks, 'cause he has nothing else to do..."

"Wait, your dad got fired?"

"Laid off, yeah."

"What, seriously? The last time I saw him, he said he was only taking the day off!"

"I think he's in denial," Kyle sniveled, "He got fired. His firm let go of, like, half the workforce because of COVID. The stupid government still hasn't given him his unemployment benefits. S-So he's been really stressed. And I think the bus accident might have pushed him over the edge… I'm not used to seeing him so much during the day, so it's kind of weird for me, too. I feel really bad for him, I do, b-but it's not like there's much I can do..."

"Damn," Stan was practically speechless, "Damn, I'm real sorry, Kyle. Wow. Um. Are- Are you guys doing okay? Like, do you need money or something? I'm sure my parents have some to spare-"

"-No, we're good on money," Kyle let out a sad laugh, "We're fucking Jewish. You know we have plenty in the bank. Thank you, though."

"Of course, Kyle. Anything for you."

"Thanks…"

"You're welcome… So, like," Stan felt like his stomach was doing somersaults, "Your dad doesn't abuse you, then? Only your brother?"

Kyle let go of his forehead now, "Ike? He's fourteen."

"So?"

"So? He can't do anything."

"He gives you illegal drugs."

"...I didn't know you knew about that."

"He drugs you."

"He- He doesn't."

"He drugs you."

"No, he doesn't, Stan. He only-" Kyle went still.

Stan's heart stopped, "What is it?"

"Never mind."

"Kyle."

"I'm serious. Never mind. You don't listen to me. There's no point anymore," Kyle sat up from the floor, awkwardly arching his back as he struggled to sit up properly, "I knew I shouldn't have come here. I fucking knew I should have gone somewhere else, but I just didn't trust my gut and I-"

"-Kyle, where are you going?" Stan cried, his breath hitched when he watched Kyle stand up from the floor.

"I don't know why I thought you'd be different today!" Kyle cried, limping towards the bedroom door, "You're different now than how you were before! You can't even let me emote without assailing me and my family, I don't understand why you-"

-Stan slammed his bedroom door shut before he could leave, "Kyle! What're you saying?"

"It's like you don't care about real life anymore! You- You're just trapped in some fucked up, delusional world you've created, and you can't accept reality!" Kyle screamed in a fiery passion, "You can't accept the things you do to me, and you can't accept the things I do on my own accord! It's like you-"

-Stan made a move to reach out and grab him, but Kyle reacted unexpectedly.

Kyle collapsed.

He dropped down onto his knees on the carpet floor, clutching his stomach as he vomited. He was conscious, but he was barely apperceptive. He convulsed as he hunched over, purging up mountains of bile.

Stan gagged at the stench but nonetheless, he got down by his side. Once again, he lifted a hand out to touch Kyle as a way of comfort, but he just flinched away.

"Please, stop-!" Kyle coughed, twitching and spazzing, "P-Please stop! I hate it when you touch me, I hate it! Y-You're not nice anymore, Stan! P-Please stop. Please stop…"

He hacked up again over the carpet, making Stan wince in pity when he realized that Kyle was vomiting nothing but stomach acid.

"Kyle, have you been eating at all?" he asked delicately, keeping his hands to himself, "That's just bile…"

Kyle coughed again, wiping his mouth. He shook his head, "No. Not- Not really…"

"Why not?"

"Don' wan' eat food that'll make me p-puke… I hate puking…"

Something sunk inside Stan's chest.

"You've been puking a lot lately," he said gingerly. He sat with his legs crossed.

"I've been stressed a lot lately…"

"You never used to throw up this much before, even when you were stressed out."

"Well, I've been sick, Stan," Kyle sobbed. He sat up, wiping at his face with some of the tissues, "God, I'm a mess. I've been sick, I've been stressed, a-and I've been really scared, and a lot has happened to me in the last few days, Stan… it- It's so- It's just-"

"-It's just a lot to process, right?" Stan proposed.

"Yeah…"

Stan almost moved closer to him on the floor, but decided better of it. He remained seated placidly when he asked, "Do you really hate it when I touch you? I noticed you've been a little finicky when I do lately, but you never said anything about it, so I just assumed you were fine. I thought maybe you were only sensitive after DKA or something."

Kyle didn't answer. He just kept wiping at his face disgustedly, keeping his gaze low.

"Kyle?"

He winced at hearing his name, but didn't say anything at all. He just dropped the tissues in his hand and let them fall to the ground.

"Kyle, why're you going silent on me?"

"There's no point."

"What do you mean 'there's no point?'"

"There's no point in trying to talk to you anymore. You don't listen, you just get upset, and then you do something crazy like make me puke or tie me up to a van," Kyle said defeatedly. He held his forehead in his hands again and bore down on his hold, refusing to look Stan in the eye.

Stan felt his spirits dampen inside of him. It was as though Kyle's words brought him down and tore him apart from the inside. He swore he could actually feel his heart melt, dissolving into wishy washy pieces that weighed down his chest.

"Oh, Kyle," Stan started, his voice distorted, "I'm sorry."

"About the van?" Kyle sniffed, grimacing as he looked down at his injured wrists, "You're only sorry that the ties cut me up, and that Leslie took me home. You're not sorry you did it."

"No, I'm sorry," Stan pleaded, "About- About everything."

Kyle met his gaze now.

With a sinking feeling residing inside him, Stan noticed that the fire in Kyle's eyes was completely gone. His jade-colored irises were so void of vitality they looked like they had been dead for years. They were clouded, hopeless. And it broke Stan's heart to see from the outside.

"Everything, huh?" Kyle repeated. He shook his head, "That's a lot, you know."

"I know," Stan swallowed, the back of his throat slippery and vile, "There's- I didn't-... I- I never meant for any of this to happen. I was only ever trying to be your super best friend…"

Kyle sighed, "Dude…"

"I know, I'm sorry, I just-"

"-We're still super best friends…"

Stan paused.

"I'm sorry, what?" Stan asked, his heart already starting to skip beats. He didn't even know if he heard correctly or incorrectly, but he felt himself already ignite into excitement.

"... Well… I think friends are hard to find in general. Best friends are almost impossible to come across. Super best friends, though, they've got to only come once in a lifetime. I don't-" he laughed sadly, "-This is gonna sound dumb. I don't think our friendship is something we can just walk away from. I mean, after everything we've been through…"

"...It's a lot," Stan offered a small smile.

Kyle gave a small one back, "You're right. It is a lot."

"I'm really, really sorry, Kyle."

"...Okay. I think I can forgive you," Kyle wrapped his arms around himself, "But you need to make some changes. And I'm sick of saying that, Stan. I want this to be the last time I have to say it. I really need you to do this for me, dude."

Stan's mouth went dry, "I will. I, uh-... I want to hear what you have to say."

Kyle tilted his head to the side, some red curls draping over the side of his face prettily. He looked Stan's face up and down before he softly asked, "Are you gonna go crazy and try to grab me again? I don't- I don't know how much more of that I can take."

"I'm going to listen," Stan pledged, "I swear I am."

"Stan, I mean it," Kyle puled earnestly, "I really don't think I can take much more of your… unexpected behavior. We're already at the point where it's making me physically sick. I can't take- I-... I think if it happened again, I'm going to break down. And I'm serious about that."

"I'm listening. I want to let you talk, right here, right now, you say everything you want to say. And I'm not going to say a single thing until you finish. I won't even open my mouth."

"You promise?"

"I'll do you one better. I swear. On my life and yours," Stan vowed, "Now tell me everything."

For the second time that day, Kyle's reaction was completely unexpected.

Kyle started bawling. He tried covering his eyes with his hands, but there wasn't any point, because Stan could clearly see the tears that erupted like rivers as he cried.

Stan panicked. This wasn't right at all. Kyle was not a regular crier, not at all, but this was now the third time he was in tears just today, and Stan didn't know what to do. He had thought he just made everything okay between the two of them, but now he wasn't so sure.

"Oh God," Stan choked, "Oh God, what'd I do, Kyle? I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to upset you, I was only trying to show you that I'm going to listen this time… Oh, God, I'm sorry. Kyle, I'm sorry, what'd I-"

"-No!"

Stan was caught off guard when he realized that Kyle was smiling through his tears.
Kyle was blushing, tears streaming down his face, but he was smiling when he said, "God, shut up, you stupid brute! I'm fucking- Shit, don't be sorry, I'm sorry!"

"Why are you crying?" Stan asked, his hysteria far from alleviated.

"I don't know! I- I just didn't expect you to be so-... I don't know! I don't know, I don't know," Kyle cried and whimpered, rubbing his face with his hands. He threw himself against Stan, who quickly moved to comfort him.

Stan held him gently, very much conscious of his vulnerable state, and did his best to be soothing in his hold.

Kyle actually responded well to the physical contact, much to Stan's delighted surprise. He crawled in closer, clasping his arms around Stan's breadth and holding onto him like he was scared. Stan could feel him trembling against his chest, so he drew him in closer, wrapping his arms around him like there was no tomorrow.

"Stan, you're my super best friend, you know that, right dude?" Kyle murmured. His words were half malformed because he had his face pressed against Stan's chest, but the candor in his voice was so evident that Stan felt his heart soar all the same.

"Yes, of course, Kyle," Stan said back, "I'm listening. You can tell me everything. I won't say one word."

Kyle sniffed, "Where do you want me to start?"

"Wherever makes you comfortable."

Kyle whimpered for a while longer. He took his time to collect his breath and get his breathing to return to a regular rhythm. Stan didn't rush him. He just held him close and let him take his time.

When Kyle was ready, he took a deep breath and started to speak, his voice growing stronger and surer with every word, "So, um, you already know pretty much what happened last night. The guy and I kissed. I know we shouldn't have, I know it jeopardized my health, but I couldn't help myself, okay? I'm sure that sounds pathetic. Feel free to bash me for being a simp by the end of this. But I just really wanted it. ... That-"

He shuddered in Stan's arms, "-That was my first kiss. My first real one. I liked it. … But then you went all berserk and you scared everyone. I understand why you did what you did, dude, but it was just- You crossed the line. Everyone was so… startled. So I tried to get us to leave. I, um, I had Kenny take the guy to the hospital. So if you didn't see either of them when you ran back inside, that's why."

Stan didn't say it out loud, of course, but he wished that Kyle had told him that before he wasted several hours rummaging through that hotel while his super best friend was still outside in that parking lot. But he just kept it as a mental note to himself.

He just rubbed that safe spot on Kyle's back, silently urging him to go on.

"And so you went back to the party to look for him, I guess. I, um, I don't know how long you were in there, but you didn't come back out before I left. Leslie found me, like, half an hour after you went back inside," Kyle sniveled, "At least, I think it was half an hour. It could have been longer or shorter, I don't really know for sure. It- It just- It was just really dark. And kinda cold. And really scary. I was really scared, dude, and I know how pitiful that sounds. I know you wouldn't scare me on purpose, b-but you did something absolutely crazy… I don't-... Please never do that to me again. Please. I mean, I'm sure my wrists will heal, but just the memories, Stan... I don't even know what was more terrifying: the fact that I was tied up to a van all alone in the dead of night or the fact that you thought it was okay to do that to me…"

Kyle looked dazed for a moment, before he snapped himself out of it and went on, "Anyway, Leslie came. I don't know what the hell was running through her head when she found me, but I'm not going to lie, I didn't give her much to work with. I was really quiet. I didn't really tell her what happened or answer any of her questions. I was probably being a really shitty friend. Which sucks ass, you know? Like, I was trying so hard to be her friend again during that dance… I really missed her over the years. A lot. I just wanted to reconnect, but I feel like I might have blown it…"

He took in a shaky breath but pressed on, "But she was really nice. More nice than she probably should have been. She got the fucking zip-ties off and drove me home. That was the last I saw of her. She went back to her house, I guess, and I went to mine. A-And when I walked in, and my family was in the kitchen. I think my mom was making a cake for Ike, even at that hour. And they didn't even have to say anything, I just knew from the way my mom and dad looked at me that I did something w-wrong. They-... They told me that-..."

Kyle took his arms away from Stan in a quick jerk. He slammed his palms into his forehead and cried, "God, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Stan, this- This is just hard-..."

Stan wanted so desperately to reach out and comfort him, but he knew Kyle didn't want it. He was already so troubled, and he's made it clear his problems with touch.

So as much as Stan hated it, he just had to sit back and clench his jaw shut while his super best friend tried to hold himself together just in front of him.

Kyle took a few deep breaths. He kept his hands firmly against the sides of his forehead when he pushed on, "Ike got valedictorian. I- I could tell that he was proud of it, and really, he should be proud. I wish I could be proud of him, too. But I could tell that he also pitied me. I mean, he just looked so condescending. And that's hard, you know? That's just h-hard coming from your little brother. B-But to be fair, he was trying to be supportive of me, he was trying to not rub it in. He-He doesn't really do that. It's not really his thing to try to pick someone else up when they're down, s-so I really appreciated it, actually. But- But with how proud Mom and Dad were, it still hurt. A lot. They were so fucking proud of him… And so disappointed in me. And mad at me."

Kyle took his hands away from his forehead to wipe at his face, which was ridden with tears and mucus. If he even remembered that a box of tissues lied at his side, he didn't utilize it. He just used his hands to wipe away all his misery, and then he lied back against Stan's lap, looking up at him from below.

"Before you ask," Kyle visibly swallowed, "No, they didn't 'beat me.' Your words. Not mine. They've been going easy on me since the bus accident. And Ike-"

-Kyle started gagging, his body seizing upward from Stan's lap.

Stan lurched out to help him, preparing for Kyle to throw up. But as soon as he started, he stopped, and Kyle settled back down defeatedly.

"Sorry, dude, I don't know what that was about. Maybe I was gonna p-puke, I don't know," Kyle shuddered again, "Ike exaggerated. That time at the farmhouse? When he said that he'd be fine if I get beaten when I get home? That was an exaggeration; he was upset, so he made some stuff up. My parents have never beaten me. I've gotten slapped, sure. Roughed up a few times with a shoe or a belt, once even a clothing hanger. You know. Little things like that. But only when I fucking deserved it."

Stan released an audible cry.

Kyle's attention snapped upwards.

Stan covered his mouth with his hands. He hadn't meant to make a single sound. He swore he would let Kyle have this moment. But he couldn't help himself. He was unhinged. He was absolutely devastated. And what was even worse on top of all of this was Kyle's bleak demeanour as he opened up. It was like he didn't even care that he was confessing his worst private horrors.

"I'm sorry," Kyle said softly, "I know you're sensitive about all of this. I shouldn't say it so boldly. But I- I deserved it this time… I let them down. I didn't give them anything. I-"

-Kyle gagged like he was going to vomit again, but just like last time, he didn't.

A filled silence floated through the bedroom, Kyle rested on the floor, his head in Stan's lap as they looked in each other's eyes, the both of them still beside the repulsive stomach acid on the carpet.

There were so many things Stan wanted to say. On the inside, he was seething and frothing with words of malice, words of outrage, but most essentially, words of apology. If only he could speak, he would ramble, and cry, and scream, and shout until he couldn't think of another thing to say, all the while Kyle would be safe in his arms.

But he couldn't. He couldn't speak. He swore he wouldn't on his life and Kyle's life.

So he remained stoic. He just held Kyle and wordlessly puled for him to go on.

"I don't think my parents abuse me," Kyle sniffed, wiping at his nose with the sleeves of Butters' coat, "N-Not really. My mom- um. T-The thing at the doctor's office with my back injury? I think she just didn't want to waste any more money on me. You know how my family is with money, and that day she already paid for the ambulance, the X-rays, the cast, and that was j-just a lot. It was a lot. They, um. M-My mom and dad don't really like to spend money on me. Finances are a privilege. You have to earn them. That's why Ike-... Well, I don't know if you've seen his room. He, um, he has nice things. He's earned them."

Yes. Stan has seen Ike's room, and he was aware of all his expensive possessions. The sight of Ike's bedroom had startled him, but not to the point where he wanted to ask questions. Stan should have known better.

"Yeah, so, my dad made that rule, that finances are a privilege," Kyle sniveled, readjusting his position in Stan's hold, "He, um, you know he's the only one who works in my family. H-He's the one putting food on the table. So what he says goes, you know? He doesn't beat me. He just, you know, hits me. W-When I've done something wrong. Like when I didn't get valedictorian, and when I got back from Laramie, a-and today…"

Kyle took a deep breath, "To be honest, I don't fucking blame him, though. I showed up at our doorstep in between four and five in the morning without telling anyone where I had been or why I was home so late, a girl they didn't even remember was the one who dropped me off, and I came home all panicked with my wrists jacked up. I-I probably scared the shit out of them. …or maybe not. They were drinking wine and making a cake for Ike. So they were busy, I guess, they- they might not have noticed… Sometimes I feel like they don't care."

Stan hugged him. He didn't know how Kyle would react; he could have exploded into hysteria for all Stan knew, but he needed to hug him.

Kyle yelped, but only at the suddenness of the gesture.

He quickly calmed down and returned the hug, leaning into the embrace and releasing his tension.

"Thanks, Stan," Kyle sniffed.

"Anything for you," Stan said. He gulped when he remembered he wasn't supposed to talk at all.

Kyle must have seen the panic in Stan's eyes, because he instantly soft-pedaled, "Hey, it's okay, Stan. I- I think I'm done anyway. Thanks for listening, dude."

"Of course, anything for you," Stan repeated.

"I mean it, thanks for listening. You don't- You don't really do that. Especially recently. So I appreciate it."

"Do- Do you-" Stan stammered. He pulled back from the hug to try to look at Kyle, but he found himself blubbering like an idiot, "Would you hate it if I asked a few questions? I mean, I don't have to if you don't want me to, I just- I don't know. I guess I was just wondering if-"

"-Go ahead, Stan," Kyle assured softly, "You've been really patient. I think you deserve it at this point. It was probably really crappy of me to throw you under the bus with all of that. I'm sure I wasn't making a lot of sense; questions are probably warranted."

"Do they-" a lump rose in Stan's throat, "Do they do anything else to you?"

Kyle blanched ghost white.

"What is it?"

"My, um," Kyle took a shaky breath when he confessed, "My dad takes pictures of me sometimes."

"Pictures?" Stan's gut twisted, "You don't mean-"

"-Yeah," Kyle wrapped his arms around himself and looked away, "N-Not all the time. I-It's not really a regular thing, he barely ever does it, actually. But still, um, he's d-done it before. He- um. Yeah…"

"Oh, God."

"Yeah."

Stan couldn't believe he was stupid enough to not see it before. Gerald Broflovksi was the same villainous man responsible for the Skankhunt42 crisis, an event whose aftermath still plagued the town to this day. He was an Internet predator, and that had been proved several times in the past. But still he went around town like everything was fine, like he had two halves of himself: the small-town simple man and the Internet evildoer.

Not to mention, there was that awful memory that remained in Stan's head when Gerald had almost hit him, but he didn't for reasons unknown. And then there was that destitute look on Kyle's face when he said his dad was "up late last night;" Stan hadn't thought to ask what he was doing when he was up late. And what was worse was that scene in the dining room; Gerald was standing there hunched over, his hands macabrely squeezing Kyle's shoulders, while Kyle was just staring at the ground, as if pretending everything was okay.

Why had Stan not picked up on any of the signs sooner?

With the stench of bile protruding his nose and the godforsaken illicit memories flashing through his head, Stan tried to process the fact that somewhere out there, someone owned images of his super best friend. Exploited. Susceptible. Underage. Naked.

Stan felt like he was going to vomit, too.

"Kyle, I'm so sorry."

"Don't say it like it's your fault."

"It almost is," Stan felt himself tearing up, "I was so worried about you this week, I-I was doing everything in my power to protect you. But I still didn't even know how bad you had it. I thought I was keeping you safe, but I just… Kyle, I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," he fake-smiled, "You've done plenty."

It went unsaid that Kyle's statement was a two-edged sword.

Stan wiped at his eyes furiously now. He was close to crying and he loathed it. He was a constant crier, that was something unavoidable, but now was not the time to let go. His super best friend was here in his lap, more open and more weak than he had ever been before. If anything, Kyle should be the one crying, while Stan should just sit here and be his anchor.

Kyle must have noticed, "You can cry if you want to, dude. I'm not gonna judge."

"No," Stan pulled him in closer, locking his arms around him protectively, "No, I'm not gonna. I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," Kyle whispered.

All of a sudden, Kyle felt really, really small in Stan's arms; worryingly small. It could have been because they were now in their own ne plus ultra, or alternatively because he had underestimated just how ill Kyle really was.

In either case, Stan was petrified with woe. He was practically tormented with regret because he had failed; he had failed to protect him. Even after all the laughs they shared, all the late night texts, all the trials they faced, and all the promises Stan made, he still managed to lose sight of the only thing in his life he wanted to keep safe.

"I'm gonna do better," Stan said, his arms around Kyle's body unrelenting.

"Good," was the only thing Kyle said.

"I'm gonna protect you better. And I'm gonna treat you better, so no more zip-ties, or touches that you don't like, or anything like that."

"...Stan?"

"Yes? What do you need?"

Kyle's green eyes were glazed over, his mind clearly elsewhere. He was leaning with his whole body against Stan's chest, letting himself be held in warmth and security. Kyle yawned softly before whispering, "I opened up… so you have to go to counseling now, okay? It was our deal."

Stan went still, "Kyle, I-"

-It was then that he noticed that Kyle had fallen asleep in his arms.

It was endearing at first, but then Stan recalled the fact that Kyle hadn't slept a wink since the hotel; not Bebe's hotel, the hotel back in Laramie.

As he slept, Stan took the time to scrutinize the bruises still prominent on his face, the foundation makeup starting to smudge away. He could see the blackened marks around the base of Kyle's skull. These gut-wrenching blemishes were normally covered up by his hair or hat, but here they were on full display as they sat holding each other next to a pile of vomit and bile.

The guilt Stan felt was indescribable. He had felt guilty several times before, but not like this. This kind of guilt was too much, he couldn't take it.

And he wouldn't take it.

Stan was going to do better. His mom told him to do the right thing. And he would.