Warnings for this chapter: slight referenced/implied child abuse/pornography again. Though this time, it's very brief and near the end :)

From the second he woke up, Stan knew he was in for a tough day. Going back to school after a long weekend was difficult enough as it was. But add that to his countless fears and anxieties, in addition to the looming unknown of the day ahead, he knew he was facing a recipe for disaster.

His car was still on the side of the road, walking was impossible considering Kyle's foot, and riding the bus was out of the question for obvious reasons. So that meant after a tense breakfast and getting ready for the school day, they had to rely on someone else to drive them to school.

Kyle had suggested they ask Kenny for a ride. Stan was opposed to the idea and asked Clyde Donovan to take them instead, who immediately gave them a positive response.

From Stan's perspective, Clyde seemed a little too excited to drive them to school. He assumed it was because Stan had been out of school and ignoring his texts for two weeks, and now out of the blue, he was asking for a ride. It might have been a little unfair to just abuse Clyde's friendliness like this, but Clyde didn't seem to mind. He just looked happy to do them a favor.

Stan rode shotgun while Kyle sat in the backseat and Clyde drove. The car radio was playing some vulgar rap music that was probably culturally inappropriate for Clyde to enjoy, but Stan didn't address it.

"So," Clyde said halfway through the drive, "Bebe's party was kinda fire, huh?"

Kyle and Stan exchanged a look.

"Uh, until the end," Clyde coughed, "But, uh, before that it was pretty dope. Was that your first party, Kyle?"

"Yeah," Kyle said from the backseat, a ghost of a smile playing at his lips, "And I agree with you. There were definitely some parts that were great."

Stan needed to change the subject, "Clyde, the other day Craig was texting me some crazy stuff about a football game we have coming up. Was he just messing with me, or-?"

"Oh no. Yeah, we have one," Clyde said, pulling into the next lane to make a right turn, "Thursday night at our home stadium. But, like, the guys and I 've talked to coach about how you… haven't been feeling well lately. So, like, if you don't want to come, dude, by all means, take a load off. Token will fill your spot."

Stan crossed his arms, "Token sucks at quarterback."

"Yeah," Clyde chuckled, "The dude can't communicate. But, like, seriously, dude, if you don't feel like coming, you're all good. The guys and I are worried about you."

"Yeah, yeah, I've heard it all before," Stan readjusted his trademark blue and red hat on his head, "But why do we have a game? We're off season. And this one just shows up out of nowhere?"

"Nah bro, this is just a charity game. Remember, we usually have one once a year around this time."

Kyle peeked his head in between the front seats, "What's a charity game?"

"Oh, they're so much fun," Clyde checked the rearview mirror, "It's like our school and another school get together for a scrimmage, but we treat it like a real game. And we even get the drumline and the cheerleaders out, and the stadium seats are usually packed too. Even concessions are going. So, like, it's pretty much a real game except it doesn't count for anything on the records."

"You're missing the most important part, Clyde," Stan said, "All the money we pull in for the whole night, from both sides, goes to a charity of choice. We do a different charity every year."

"Yeah, it's pretty fire. Looks fuckin' hot on our resumés for college. It's like, 'Yes. I did donate a kazillion dollars to starving children. Thank you for noticing.'"

Kyle gave a half-smile from the backseat, "That does sound great."

"Oh, and it's deadass fantastic for picking up girls. Ladies love that kind of stuff. Especially that year we donated to animal rescue. You know how excited girls get about baby animals."

"Oh God," Stan laughed at the memory, "Don't remind me of that year."

"Nah, Dude, it was great. Our dms literally exploded with a thousand texts a night. I've never felt so handsome in my life."

"Stan, how come I never knew about charity games before?" Kyle asked, "I come to all of your games in the main season. But I never knew about this stuff."

"Well, usually they're a few weeks earlier," Stan explained, "Around the same week you're studying for valedictorian. So, like, you wouldn't make it. So I never bothered asking."

"Oh," Kyle was silent only for a second, "Can I come to this one?"

Clyde grinned, "Does that mean you're coming, Stan?"

"Geez, guys, I don't know," Stan rubbed the back of his neck, "Do you think I should?"

"Do you want my honest opinion?" Kyle asked.

"Well, I wouldn't want anything else."

"I think you should. You're usually happier during game season, and we've proven that exercise helps you clear your mind. Plus, it would probably be really good for you to get together with your teammates again."

"And for a little cherry on top, it's for a good cause!" Clyde said as he pulled his car into the school parking lot.

"But it is your choice, Stan. It's whatever you feel like doing."

Stan sighed, "I don't know. I'll think about it."

"Bet," Clyde parked the car near the front and turned off the engine, "Just know the guys and I are thinking about you, and we hope to see you there Thursday night. But if you're not, it's cool, we get it."

"Alright," Stan stuck out his hand, "Thanks for the ride, man."

Clyde shook it back, "Any time, brother. I have to bounce, I'm late for a club meeting."
He tossed a ring of car keys to the boy in the passenger seat, "So sorry, but I gotta go, dude. I'll get back to you later. Just do me a favor and lock up the car when you're done."

"Sure thing."

"Alright, bet. See you later, Stan," he smiled, and then gave a wave to Kyle, "And nice seeing you still alive, too, dude. Come to school more. We miss seeing your pretty red hair!"

And with that, Clyde made his exit, leaving the two of them alone together in the car.

Stan's eyes flicked up to Kyle in the rearview mirror when he asked, "This is your last chance to back out, Kyle. We can go home right now if you want."

As soon as the words left his mouth, Stan couldn't help but notice the similarities of this conversation to the one they had before Bebe's party, when Stan offered Kyle a bail-out before they went in.

Kyle must have noticed the similarities, too, because he went pale almost instantly. He searched around the backseat of Clyde's car until he found a varsity sweatshirt, and he pulled it over his head. It was monstrously large on him and it made him look even smaller than he already was, but nonetheless he put it on.

In an extra precaution, Kyle pulled his green ushanka down a little further to cover his red hair.

Then he met Stan's gaze in the rearview mirror and said, "No. I want to go to school."

Stan sighed, "I was worried you would say that."

"Stan?"

"No, it's okay," Stan grumbled, unlocking his seatbelt, "You're right. Let's go."

The morning was relatively calm. Key-word: relatively.

The halls carried a sort of uneasy atmosphere, not just for Stan, but for all of the students, it seemed. Everyone at school had been at Bebe's party, and nearly everyone was in attendance for the excursion near the end. It was no understatement that that fight was not a normal one, and it left an eerie lingering impression on the students as they struggled to make it through the Monday morning.

When people passed Stan and Kyle in the halls, they either stared or ran away. That was just something that Stan had to accept.

Just like Kyle had said before, all of this would pass. Eventually.

But the morning was calm in the sense that no brawls broke out, no gossip emerged, and no trouble arose. Believe it or not, even Eric Cartman wasn't a total pain in the ass. He was as crude as ever, but he somehow kept his insults comparatively less degrading as he normally did; which thankfully put Kyle at ease after a while. Even the teachers were lenient and the classes were easy. Stan sat through all of his morning classes without getting stressed over the material, which was incredibly surprising in a magnificent way.

The morning was also calm because a certain blue-eyed blonde boy in an orange parka kept his distance.

Kenny McCormick had been standing right at the school gates the second the school opened.
He had never been one to be early before. He was always the fashionably late one. Kenny once actually showed up in class with less than one minute until the end of the school day; he didn't even decide to take the day off; he just showed up with thirty seconds on the clock, apologizing for oversleeping, sitting for twenty seconds, and then going home at the dismissal bell.
But he was early today. His intent was clear.

Kenny kept a respectful distance, though- which Stan had to admit he greatly appreciated. Even though Kenny's concern was overbearing, he was in no way posing a threat. He stayed out of the picture when it was clear he wasn't wanted and he kept his head low every time Stan looked at him.

Kenny didn't take his eyes off of them at all. He may have managed to keep a distance, but he didn't look away once. He didn't even blink. He just watched them with those overbearing blue eyes, looking after Kyle with sincerity and dread, while he stared Stan down with hateful glares.

But at least he stayed away. Stan had to appreciate that.

Ike was also surprisingly not present. Stan had thought that Ike would be the one waiting for them at the school gate, not Kenny. Maybe it was just because Stan was in lower-level classes than him, but for whatever reason it was, Stan didn't see Ike at all this morning. And he loved it.

Though Stan knew it was too good to be true to believe it would stay that way for long.

Ike Broflovski finally made his appearance during Stan and Kyle's study hall.

Kyle had been engrossed in some sort of computing assignment while Stan watched him work in fascination. In his mind, Kyle looked like a hacker in one of those movies. All he needed was a headset. They were both so enthralled by what they were doing-Kyle computing and Stan watching Kyle computing- that they didn't realize Ike had entered the library until he was right in front of them.

The moment Ike came into the picture, Stan bristled, though kept his mouth shut for Kyle's sake.

Ike didn't even flinch. Without asking permission, he put his satchel down on their work desk and started filing through it.

Kyle pushed his computer aside, "Hey, Ike. Is everything okay?"

Ike responded by taking out a small tube from his satchel and holding out his hand expectantly.

Kyle was hesitant.

"Wrists," Ike commanded, motioning with his hand.

Reluctantly but surely, Kyle pulled back the mountainous heaps of the varsity sweater's sleeves so Ike could rub some Neosporin on his marred wrists. It was obvious from the strain in Kyle's face that it hurt for Ike to touch them, but he went on rubbing the ointment despite that.

"Cut it out," Stan snapped, "You're hurting him."

"I'm helping him," he corrected, "Maybe you should give it a try sometime."

Stan growled.

"I have to say, Marsh, I'm surprised you actually allowed him to come to school today. I knew you would show eventually, but I didn't think you would come so soon."

"I'm gonna pummel you."

Kyle promptly changed the subject, "How are Mom and Dad? Are they scared? I should've left a note."

"Yes, you should have," Ike took a seat at the table, all the while still smearing the medicine on Kyle's wrists, "They're more infuriated than they are scared. It's not like you to run off, Kyle."

"I couldn't help it. I got really mad. I don't know, I was just really upset. I didn't know how to deal with it."

"Why didn't you just take your anger-management meds?"

"I don't know, I just- I didn't want to."

"Was it because Marsh drilled into your head that he doesn't want you to take medicine, and so you obediently followed his command without a second thought?"

"No, Ike. I just didn't want to be knocked out, God. I wasn't really thinking clearly. I was upset and I didn't want to be knocked out."

"Hm," Ike noted. He turned Kyle's wrists over in his hands, "And what time did Marsh kidnap you from your bedroom and stash you away at his house?"

Kyle stared in disbelief, "Ike."

"I'm only asking the time, so that I can get the timeline in my head properly ordered."

"I didn't kidnap him," Stan spat.

Ike paid him no heed. He was looking at Kyle, his lips drawn into a thin, white line. Ike gave him a condescending look, scrutinizing his face, before saying, "You look gaunt."

"Gee, thanks. So glad you outclassed me in both academics and in the looks department," Kyle huffed, pulling his wrists away.

Stan couldn't help but be amazingly proud. Kyle had been hiding in his shell for weeks now, and he seemed to actually be coming out. Defiance was kindling in his fiery green eyes, and it warmed Stan's soul.

He smiled to himself. It went unnoticed by both Broflovskis.

Ike pulled his wrists back, "I didn't mean it as an insult. I only meant to address the fact that you're practically emaciated."
To prove his point, he wrapped his hand around one of Kyle's wrists, demonstrating that Ike's thumb could reach every one of his fingers with a gap still present around the thin wrist.
With that black-hole quality sinking into his dark eyes, Ike asked, "So has Marsh been starving you? It's only been a few days and you're already more skeletal than when I last saw you."

"Shut up, damn it," Kyle tugged his wrists back. He pulled the long sleeves of the sweatshirt down to cover them up, "And don't pick on Stan."

Ike snorted.

"I mean it, don't pick on Stan," Kyle defied, "He's been great. And he didn't kidnap me. I went to his house on my own and he's been looking after me."

Ike rolled his eyes, "Sure. You, an underweight, injured, ill convalescent walked five whole blocks in the Colorado winter to meet your deleterious vampire boyfriend when it was still dark outside."

"Yeah. Exactly."

"Are you lying to me?"

"People don't lie to you, Ike," Kyle sighed, pulling the sweater sleeves down further, "It's sort of an unspoken rule in this town."

Stan cut in to defend him now, "He's telling the truth. He came to me, and I've been looking after him. I think he's doing better and better each day, and to be honest, so am I."

"Hm."

"And for the record," Stan went on, "He's going to be staying with me for a long time. A long, long time. I know everything that's going on under your roof now, and unlike you, I actually have a heart and I'm not going to let him go back to that ever again."

"By keeping him to yourself? That hardly seems just."

"I'm protecting him."

"You're indoctrinating him. Look at him, he's paltry."

"Right, right," Kyle snapped, "Let's just all talk about him like he's not even here. Let's fucking demean him even more than we already have."

At the sound of Kyle's voice, Kenny finally decided to make his appearance.
It was difficult to determine if he had been watching the whole conversation from a distance or if he was just now showing up. He approached the table with his arms raised, saying, "Woah woah woah. What's going on? What'd I miss?"

Stan groaned, "Of course you show up now."

"What's going on? Is everything okay?"

Ike rolled his eyes, "Marsh, call off your dog. Everything is fine. We're only talking."

"Shut up, Ike."

"Guys, we're in a library."

"McCormick, come take a look at my brother. Doesn't it look like Marsh is starving him?"

"I mean, a little bit. Stan, is this true?"

"No!"

"If starving him to death is your intent, just know I'll force-feed him before I let that happen, Marsh."

"I haven't done a thing to him!"

"That's a funny joke, you know that?"

Kyle pulled the hood of Clyde's varsity sweater over his face, "Goddamn it, why does nobody ever listen to me?"

Stan drew back in an instant, "Sorry, Kyle, I didn't realize you were speaking. I'm listening now. Do you want to run that by me again?"

"Stan, no," Kyle sighed annoyedly, frustration everywhere in the creases of his face, "You're not the problem here. You're fine. It's just that my brother and my other friend here are just walking up and assuming things without even letting me get a single word out."

"There wouldn't be a point, Kyle," Ike said, his tone mysteriously calming, "You've already been proselytized-"

"-English, please," Kenny cut in.

Ike gawked, "I'm speaking English, halfwit. I mean to say that my brother's been brainwashed already. Everything he has to say is in Marsh's defense. There's no point to letting him speak, because he wouldn't even speak for himself, he'd speak for Marsh."

Stan winced at his tone, and even Kenny had to take a step back. There was this horrible, piercing truth to Ike's words, they all knew it, but it was still a major blow to have him say it out loud. Some things are better left unsaid, and this was one of them.

"Ike, you're being a dick," Kyle clenched his jaw.

"I'm being reasonable."

"Doesn't mean you're not being a dick."

Ike sighed, "Kyle, there's no point to repeating the same argument twice. It doesn't make it any more valid. If you were in the right mindset, you would be aware of that."

Kyle just wrapped the sweater sleeves around himself, "Dick."

Ike took a sharp inhale, "Kyle. That's not-"

"-Dick. Dick. Dick. Dick. Dick. Dick. Dick. Dick. Dick. Dick. Dick. Dick-"

"-How am I being a dick, may I ask?" Ike kept himself under control despite his visible anger.

"'cause you're just assuming. You're not letting me speak. And when I do speak, you're not even listening," Kyle glowered, "You're just as bad as Stan used to be."

That line finally reeled in Kenny and Ike to the point where they went silent, both of them staring with unsurpassed interest. Kenny pulled up a chair and joined them at the study desk.

Ike took out a notebook now, one with a sleek, black cover that reminded Stan of his lavish bedroom. He poised a pen in his hand, ready to write, before he asked, "What do you mean 'used to be?'"

Stan gave Kyle a little nudge of encouragement, offering a smile for comfort.

Kyle offered a tenuous smile back before saying, "Stan's been great, Ike. I know you don't believe me. And I know Kenny doesn't believe me. But if you don't take the time to consider that what I'm saying might be true, you're just as bad as he was. He's doing great now, and I stand by that, and I went to his house on my own free will."

Ike wrote down some notes, not even bothering to look Stan's way anymore.

Kenny ran his hands through his hair nervously before saying, "Okay Kylie-B, I can believe that you went to his house on your own, and I can believe that you think he's doing a lot better. But you're still endangering yourself by staying with him, you know?"

"I'm really not."

Ike cut in, "You really are."

Stan butt in, "He's really not."

"Ike. Stan. Ken," Kyle pinched the bridge of his nose, "I'm fine. Stan has been good to me."

Ike started reading from a list written in his notebook, "You're diabetic. You probably still have DKA, which you need to get treated for as soon as physically possible. By staying with him, you're denying yourself that privilege."

"I don't have DKA anymore," Kyle said with a certainty that made Stan smile.

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because Stan has been good about monitoring my glucose. He works needles and readers like a pro. I've been in the healthy range for days now," Kyle droned on, "Now can we please stop talking about my goddamn diabetes? That's Scott Malkinson's personality trait, not mine."

"Hey!" Scott shouted from the other side of the library, only to be shushed by the librarian only a second later.

Stan laughed.

No one else at his table did. Not even Kenny, which was saying something.

"Even outside of your DKA," Ike went back to his list, "Your ankle is broken, your wrists are cut, and you're covered in bruises all the time. Marsh is responsible, we all know this. How can you justify staying with him under these circumstances?"

"And his back," Kenny cut in, biting his cheek.

"Kenny, no-"

"-What do you mean, 'his back?'"

"It was the most god-awful sight I'd ever seen with my own two eyes," Kenny's blue eyes darted in between the three of them nervously, "I came by Stan's house yesterday to check on them, and I found them in the bathroom with Kyle's shirt off and I saw his back. It was- Just awful. God, it was awful. I don't even know what Stan did, but it looked really, really bad."

"That's because Stan didn't do it," Kyle said, "That was from the bus accident."

Kenny looked like he had been slapped across the face, "...oh."

Kyle and Stan gave each other slight smiles, before Kyle went on, "It's okay, Kenny. Thanks for your concern. But Stan had nothing to do with it and he doesn't deserve that kind of accusation."

"But- Uh… Really? Are you sure?"

Ike flipped his notebook shut, "Yes, he's right. I've seen it. This one we can't blame on Marsh, it was all the bus's fault."

Something churned in Stan's gut.
He felt his palms go clammy when he asked, "What do you mean you've seen it?"

Stan's question went unnoticed by the other three.

Kenny was still flabbergasted, while Ike and Kyle were engaged in some kind of poker face battle.

"He's excused from your back, but that doesn't mean I'm letting Marsh off the hook, Kyle, we both know he's guilty of more. For instance, how do you explain what happened to your wrists?"

Kyle's foot started tapping underneath the table, "Nothing."

"What happened there is not 'nothing,' Kylie-B," Kenny said gingerly, "The sight of 'em alone just about gave me a heart attack. Tell your brother what you told me when I asked you that same thing."

"What?" Ike's eyes narrowed, "What did you tell him, Kyle?"

The redhead looked to Stan for support.

"Don't look at him, look at me. What did you tell him, Kyle?"

Stan put a fist on the table, "He told Kenny the truth. That's what he told him."

"Go take a walk, Marsh. Isn't that what athletes are supposed to do when they get capsized?"

"He told Kenny the truth! And I'm gonna stick up for my super best friend. Why do you have a problem with that?"

"Don't answer for him," Ike then turned back to his brother, "Kyle. What happened to your wrists, and what did you tell McCormick?"

Kyle tugged on Stan's shirtsleeve, "Stan, could you-"

"-Don't let him answer for you. I'm only going to say that one more time," Ike was more stern now, "Kyle, explain this instant."

Even though Clyde's oversized sweater sleeves were already hanging several inches off his arms, Kyle pulled them down even further in anticipation.

"Kyle."

"I did it. That's what I told Kenny, and that's the truth. What happened to my wrists is all my fault and I accept responsibility for that."

Stan gave his shoulder a squeeze to comfort him. Kenny noticed the gesture, and rewarded Stan with a nasty glare, but the quarterback didn't let it bother him. He would bolster Kyle up until the end of the world if he had to.

Ike was eerily impassive, "You expect me to believe that?"

"Yes," Kyle was incredulous.

"You expect me to believe that you cut your own wrists?"

"Well, it wasn't like that. But sort of, I mean-"

"-You expect me to believe that you're suicidal?" Ike demanded, his voice thundering through the library.

All eyes from across the whole room riveted to their table, a few mouths dropping open, as everyone stared in horrible stupor. The murmurs started almost instantly, but still kept to an eerily quiet level. Not even the librarian dared to speak up; she looked nauseated to the point that she was green in the face.

Ike and Kyle were staring each other down from across the table, their stares impenetrable. Ike was apathetic in every sense of the word, his dark, ominous eyes languid and grim. The way he looked at his brother made Stan want to throat-punch him; it was like he was debasing him by his eyes alone.

But despite the steely pressure, Kyle managed to hold his ground.
That was until Kyle's green irises flicked to the side, noticing a certain dark-haired girl with a yellow headband from across the library.

Stan watched a lump rise in Kyle's throat. He almost choked on it.

"Leslie," he called, shooting up from his chair.

Leslie had a hand over her mouth as she shook her head.

"Leslie, it's not true! Hold on!"

The girl just kept shaking her head, whimpering now. She let out a soft cry from behind her fingers, and then dashed out the library doors. They went clang as they closed, before the library was surrounded by an uncomfortable silence yet again.

Kyle looked dead on his feet. His arms hung limp at his sides, his stare lost and empty. Engulfed in the oversized sweater, he looked feeble and diminutive, too.

Stan felt something eat at his heart as he tried to comfort him, "Hey, Kyle. Come sit back down. It's okay."

"There goes whatever chance I had at being her friend again," Kyle said, not even blinking.

"Kylie-B, it's okay. Girls are just sensitive to this kind of thing. She'll be fine," Kenny tried to smile.

"Your friends are right," Ike nodded, "It's not your fault. Sit back down and we'll discuss as we were."

As he stood there, Kyle raised his hands to his forehead, "I'm not-... I'm not suicidal..."

"There we go. See? I knew I would get the truth out of you. You're not suicidal, which means you didn't cut your wrists, which means Marsh did. End of story. That wasn't so bad. Now, was it Kyle?"

The redhead just went on staring at the door, his forehead clamped between his hands.

"Kyle," Stan lightly tugged on his long sweater sleeve, "Come sit back down. It's okay. Leslie'll get over it."

Still, he was despondent.

"Oh come on, Kyle," Stan urged, "Why do you care so much about what she thinks?"

"Damn it, Stan, I don't know," Kyle sniffed, "Maybe because I wanted to believe I could socialize with anybody outside of the three of you? Maybe because I wanted just a pinch of normalcy in my life? Maybe because I actually thought things would be okay again?"

"Okay okay okay, hold your horses," Kenny said sweetly. He approached Kyle and fondly sat him back down in the chair, "Sounds like we kinda wound you up tight, Kyle, huh? Sorry about that, dude. Do you- Do you wanna, like, talk? Or something?"

"Not with the three of you," Kyle shook his head, "I love you guys, really I do, but you're pushing me to my limits. And I fucking grew up with Eric Cartman on my heels my entire life, so you know my limits are pretty high up there."

"Kyle, I'm sorry. Really, I-"

"-It's just when the three of you get together you turn it into a blame game. You're all always blaming each other for things that have to do with my life, and my life only, and you use it to belittle each other! Why? I don't get it. I really don't."

Ike pointed a pen at him from across the table, "I intervene because I care. I predict McCormick does it for the same reason, but you know very well Marsh does it for his own benefit. He's selfish, manipulative, and he wants you for his own, as if you're an object to be sold."

Kyle swallowed, "That is not a fair comparison."

"You don't even know what I'm comparing him to."

"Yes, I do. I'm not stupid. You may think I am, but I'm not."

Ike sighed as if he were bored, running a hand over his face, "I never said you were stupid, Kyle."

"You don't need to say it! It's written all over your face!" Kyle cried, "And Stan doesn't objectify me!"

In a quick, darted move, Kenny stepped in between the two raising his arms defensively, "Okie dokie! There we go. That's enough now. Why don't we all just take a deep breath and try to be nice?"

"Nice, huh?" Stan asked, crossing his arms, "So you're actually going to be nice to me now, Kenny?"

"No, not to you, dude. I'm talking about them."

"But I've tried to be nice!" Kyle cried out above them, a desperate quality to his tone that could shatter someone's heart.

Stan softened, "Kyle?"

"I've tried."

Stan softened even more, "Kyle…?"

"I've tried," Kyle said shakily. The fire in his eyes was finally ablaze, but despite that he was shaking like a leaf, "I've tried so fucking hard to be nice! To all of you! You guys dis me because you say I'm 'not myself' anymore, and that I 'don't stand up for myself,' but I can't stand up for myself when you guys are breathing down my neck all the time! I can't speak my mind without offending one of you! Every time I try, you just get upset and tell me I'm delusional or I'm confused. So of course, I stop standing up for myself eventually. But can you blame me for that? It gets pretty sick and tiring being told you've been brainwashed again and again and again."

Ike took another sharp inhale, "Kyle. You misunderstand what-"

"-Especially you, Ike, I've especially tried to be nice to you!" Kyle cried. He was now vibrating so much that Stan feared he would overexert himself and collapse, but Kyle pushed on anyway, "Do you even know how hard it is to try to congratulate you for valedictorian, when you know how hard I worked for it?!"

Ike stiffened, "No, I don't. And I apologize that you were punished because of my achievement. But honestly, Kyle, I don't think that's the real issue right now. I think there are much more essential matters on the table that need to be addressed."

"Like what, Ike? What could possibly be more essential than the fact you stole my dream away from me?"

"Why, your best friend's unyielding infatuation with you. He's obsessed with you, and he's going to hurt you."

Stan stood up from the table, preparing his fists, "That's it."

Kenny got ready on defense, "Stan, no."

"I'm gonna kill him."

"Stan, no!"

"This right here!" Kyle shrieked, nailing the palms of his hands into his forehead with so much force it looked like he was hurting himself, "This is what you do! You blame Stan for stuff he hasn't even done and you talk about him like he's some kind of sociopath!"

Ike was astonished, "He was the one who just said he was going to kill me!"

"He cares!"

"Not about you!"

"He cares more about me than you do!" Kyle whimpered, dropping his hands from his face weakly.

For a second, it looked like Ike was actually remorseful.
But a second later, Stan blinked, and Ike was stoic again. He stood from the desk, "Kyle."

But the redhead was done debating, Stan could see that from a mile away. His knees were shaking and his breathing was uneven, his face red from all the yelling. Kyle threw a weak, halfhearted gesture Stan's way, "Stan, let's go… 'm done. Don't want to be here anymore..."

"But you never cut class."

"I am today."

"Sure," Stan said, "Sure. Okay. Sounds good to me."

"Here," Kenny took out the keys to his truck, "I'll drive you."

"No," Stan said, remembering that he still had Clyde's car keys in his pocket, "No, it's okay. We have a ride."

He made for the library door, keeping his pace slow for Kyle's sake. With the boot weighing him down and his wobbly knees, Kyle moved as if he were walking on thin ice.

The librarian didn't stop them, and neither did any of the other administrators down the corridor. Despite the obvious concern from the people around them, not one person tried to hold them back from walking past the school gate and out to the parking lot.

As soon as they were safe and secure inside Clyde's car, Kyle was the first to speak.

"I don't want to go to school anymore."

"Okay."

He fidgeted with the sweater sleeves nervously, "It's that easy? I can just say I don't want to go, and that's that?"

"Sure. Why not?" Stan shrugged before asking, "Do you think Ike and Kenny are gonna come after us?"

"Ike won't cut class," Kyle buckled his seatbelt, "Kenny might. But I think we scared him pretty good, so he might lay off for a while."

"That's good."

"I guess," Kyle frowned as he looked at his reflection in the side mirror, "I think Ike's planning something."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I don't know. He just seemed kinda undisturbed about that whole conversation."

"Oh, you noticed that, too."

"Yeah. He's definitely planning something. We should stay home for a few days."

"Good idea, Kyle."

"Thanks."

Stan was adjusting the mirrors and seats in Clyde's car when all of a sudden, he had to stop. An irking suspicion pricked at the back of his mind and entered his thoughts. Just thinking about it made him want to gag, but somehow he still mustered up the confidence to ask about it.

"Kyle?"

"Yeah?"

"Does Ike know?"

"Know about-" Kyle's eyes were wide, "-the pictures?"

"Yeah," Stan's mouth went dry, "Does he?"

"No," Kyle said, lost in a memory, "No, I don't think so."

Stan turned to look at him, resting his arm on the dashboard, "And you're sure?"

"I mean, I'm not sure sure," Kyle looked away, "But I'm pretty sure. He's never brought it up once. He treats my dad the same way he always has. After they started happening, nothing's changed for him. So I have to assume that he doesn't know. He would do something if he knew."

"When did they start happening?" Stan bit his lip, "But you don't have to answer if you don't want to. Don't feel like I'm forcing you."

"Well, first let me reiterate that they're not regular things. They don't happen that often."

"...But still."

"But still," Kyle started playing with the sleeves of the sweater, "The- um… The first one was the night of my bar mitzvah. 'cause, you know, that day was the day I wasn't a kid anymore, you know? I was officially a man."

"Oh God, Kyle," Stan tried to swallow a lump in his throat, "That was your thirteenth birthday."

"Yeah," Kyle ducked his head low.

"I was-... I was there that day…"

"It was after everyone left, a-and my mom and Ike went to bed."

"Jesus Christ, Kyle, it was your bar mitzvah… That was supposed to be the most important day of your young life."

Kyle laughed.

Stan wiped at his eyes, "What's so funny?"

"You can't use 'Jesus Christ' and 'bar mitzvah' in the same sentence," Kyle said before he erupted into more giggles, covering his mouth with the long sleeves.

Despite the overwhelming guilt and disgust broiling in the pit of Stan's stomach, he somehow found himself laughing along to the point where he was winded by the mirth.

Stan composed himself at the wheel, "Okay. That was-... Okay. I needed that. God, I needed that."

"Me too."

"Okay. Ready to go, Kyle?"

"Yeah. Yeah, okay," Kyle was still giggling, his cheeks tickled pink, the freckles on his nose adorable.

"Homeward bound, my friend."

"Homeward bound."