Chapter 11- Apple Jacks.

There was warmth burning next to him. Not the kind of warm that makes you feel sticky and heavy, but the good kind of warm, the cuddly kind of warm. It gave him goose bumps and sent a shiver up his spine. Though he was relishing the feel, he was perplexed. He had only remembered feeling this kind of warmth once; A long time ago when he had scraped his knee and his mother had cuddled him until the tears went away.

No one had ever cuddled him since then. No one would want to. So, why would it be warm now?

He shifted slightly, trying to wake up fully but unable to do so. That was another thing. He had never slept through the night before. Ever. He was always haunted by evil and torturous things in his dreams, things that prevented him from waking to the sound of morning doves, and instead to the sound of his own screams. But, now, he had been sleeping deep. So deep, he still couldn't pry his eyelids open.

With a content and sleepy moan, he moved closer to the source of the warmth and snuggled against it.

Stan…

He could smell Stan, something an awful lot like flowers. It made him smile. Smile and open his eyes to a room just starting to show off the blue-ish hue of a new morning that hadn't quite reached dawn. A deep yawn engulfed him, breaking way to a smile when he caught sight of his own personal heater; Stan, curled up and facing toward his window. It was a shame, Butters thought, that he couldn't see his face, but the adorable sight of his dark hair tousled and tangled was good enough.

He was restless, he realized, and confirmed his suspicions when he glance at the bright green numbers on Stan's alarm clock. No wonder he felt like he should get up.

He cast another glance at Stan, clanked his knuckles together, huffed, and turned to his side. Maybe if he got more comfortable he could fall back to sleep. Facing toward Stan would make him feel more comfortable.

He turned again.

"Butters," Stan groaned into his pillow. "What the hell are you doing?"

He was put off for a moment at the unexpected voice, but his heart quickly settled. "I-I can't get back to sleep." His explanation was pouty.

"Why the hell not?"

"Heck, it's already six o clock."

Stan faked sobs in frustration. Who the hell got up at six o clock in the morning on purpose? This kid was more of a freak than they ever gave him credit for. "Lay. Be still." He commanded.

"Aren't you gonna- gonna get up?" Butters asked, innocently enough, but not enough to fade Stan's frustration.

"Is it light outside?" He questioned dully, not even bothering to pry his eyelids open to check for himself.

"W-well, not exactly-"

"Then no." Stan cut in.

"But-"

"Dude, we can still sleep in another hour. Why would you want to get up when you don't have to?"

He balled his fists, rubbing his knuckles together anxiously as he spoke. "I always get up this early. Otherwise my parents will think I'm lazy."

"Do they get up this early?"

Silence enclosed them for a moment before Butters answered. "No," As if he had just realized this for the first time.

"We can sleep in another hour," Stan assured, retaining every ounce of irritation. "That's when my parents get me up."

Butters sigh was silent as he stared up at the ceiling and waited for what felt like a million years to either fall asleep or for the clock to strike seven.

The seconds felt like hours.

He bit his lower lip, glanced at the boy beside him and sighed, not so silently this time. To Stan, he sounded like a steam engine, loud and annoying, breaking his early morning quiet and preventing him the extra sleep he desperately needed after the less-than-restful night he had.

He squeezed his eyes tighter, forcing himself to not yell out at his guest, who seemed to have taken a keen liking to tossing and turning in his bed. It felt like he was trying to sleep on a sail boat in the middle of a storm. With every movement he tensed more, until finally… it stopped.

Now it was too still.

His eyes popped open, only to find Butters leaning over him, peering down with those wide, childlike eyes of his. "Oh, good, you're up." He remarked cheerfully, a smile smoothing over his face.

Stan sighed, looking heavenward. "What the hell could you possibly do for a full hour while you're waiting to go to school?"

Butters sat up fully, crossing his legs Indian style. "I-I like ta eat cereal and watch cartoons, mostly. A-and sometimes, if it's not to cold, I'll walk to school instead of taking the bus."

It was stupid to ask this kid anything, considering he never shut-up as it was, but Stan's brain was out of service until approximately seven-thirty a.m. every morning, except on weekends when it didn't function until nine or ten, and found himself asking, "Why?"

"Because then I don't have ta find somewhere to sit." He explained. "Sometimes Tweek lets me , ah, sit with him. But mostly, I just get pushed from one seat to another 'til we get to school."

Stan felt his stomach burn with acid, and was fully reminded of Butters sudden burst of true confessions the previous night. He felt himself caving in to Butters innocent charms, and with a sigh, reluctantly agreed. "Okay, Butters. Let's eat cereal and watch cartoons."

"Oh boy!" He hooted, and bounded out of bed with all the energy of a two year old.

Stan, on the contrary, had steps to getting out of bed.

One; Sit up.

Two: Stretch and yawn.

Three; Throw off blanket.

Four; Swing one leg over the side of the bed.

Five; Swing second leg over the side of the bed.

Six; Slide off and stagger out the door, scratching your stomach on the way.

Seven; Separate each step by at least one minute.

On this particular day, as he slid off his mattress, so did a photo. It caught him in the middle of his second yawn as it fluttered to the carpet. He peered down at it, and there, looking up at him, was the picture of him and Kyle, forever frozen in a lip lock.

He swallowed back a lump of emotion that had welled in his throat, and slowly retrieved it. In the privacy of his own room, when his head was clearest, he could admit that in the picture the kiss did look awfully real.

Too real.

It made his stomach clench up, a whirlwind of emotions beginning to roar and rage through him. He felt jealous. Jealous of himself for kissing Kyle. Jealous that the person in the picture would be that way forever, and for him it had to end. He felt sick. Sick that he could still remember the taste of that kiss, and sicker that he wanted to taste more. And he was angry. Angry at the boy in the picture for looking so calm about it, for not knowing that that was the start of everything going wrong. That from there on end, he would feel a twinge in his heart whenever he saw Kyle…

"Stan?" Butters voice called softly, followed by the mellow creek of the door being pushed open. "Are you gonna come down?"

"I'll be right there." He promised absentmindedly, stuffing the image into the elastic band of his pajama pants. He quickly blinked away tears. "I need to take a shower first."

It was only half-truthful. In reality, he knew he needed to release another round of sobs, or he would never make it through school.

………

He came down the stairs with droplets dripping from his wet bangs, feeling every ounce of misery he did the previous day, only tenfold. It seemed he became more confused with every passing moment.

He loved Kyle, that much was simple. He always had, as a brother and his very best friend. As the person he knew would always be there for him. As the person he would give his life for if luck wasn't on their side. And he knew that Kyle loved him the same way. There was a fine line between love, love, and lust, and judging from recent experience, he was suspecting Kyle might in fact be invoking all three in him.

"Hey, Stan," Butters greeted, pausing to laugh at the brightly colored cartoon before adding, "Want some cereal?" He held his spoon out, dropping a soggy Apple Jack into his lap. His head snapped down, taking in the orange circle, surrounded by a ring of milk, that now resided on his pants. "Aw, it's all gooey." He complained as he picked it up.

Stan cracked a smile, not being able to help himself as he sat beside his new friend and accepted a bite of "gooey" cereal. "Good." He decided out loud, and grabbed the box between them. He felt like Cartman, digging his hand into the box and stuffing sugary O's down his throat to try and keep his mind away from Kyle and the new emotions wavering over him. But, it was working, and keeping the tears down was all that mattered to him at the moment.

"It's my favorite kind," Butters informed, smiling so cheerfully it made Stan's heart ache.

The unfortunate bastard was happy about cereal, for Gods sake. And they thought Kenny was deprived…

"I-I never get this kind." He continued, oblivious to Stan's sudden interest in everything he had to say. Normally, Stan wouldn't give a crap, and though Butters knew that he didn't, he would always go on, talking mostly to himself. "Cause my parents say that it- it'll rot my teeth." His eyes were blank as he stared into his bowl of milk, only a few spoonfuls of cereal left.

Stan stopped chewing the cereal in his mouth. "You okay, dude?"

He looked up, smiling despite the sadness in his eyes. Gray- blue colored. Like a cloudy sky, and every bit as animated and lively as a summer storm.

"I don't w-wanna go ta school." He admitted, his voice dropping a few more notes before adding, "I don't wanna be alone again."

Stan absorbed this, taking two more slow chews of cereal. It tasted foul. "You wont be." He grinned at Butters uneasiness. "You have me now." His heart throbbed painfully at the way the blonde's eyes lit up.

"You mean it? W-we're real friends, now?"

Stan nodded slowly. "Real friends now." He swallowed back nausea with his mouthful of dry breakfast and allowed himself to be hugged, knowing full well Butters was inevitably his replacement Kyle. And that made him feel sicker than sick.


The sky was swirled with gray that day. It created an almost eerie reflection of the way Kyle felt inside. Cold, desperate, alone. Calm anger, right at the surface but holding back, ready to release at any give moment.

His eyes were haunted as they searched the dreary heavens, almost as if he were looking for an answer to Stan's behavior. A reason why.

Sometimes there wasn't an answer. At least not one clear enough to find. They had cut class a few days before, and had fun. Like old times. And when they split, Stan was fine. He was normal. He was… smiling.

It made his heart hurt and his fists clench bitterly. He could hear Cartman's repulsive cackle echo through his head, the words he dreaded, but feared may actually be true…

Stan is going to ditch you….

Stan is going to ditch you….

Stan is going to ditch you….

He squeezed his eyes closed against the pain and breathed deep the slow gust of wind that picked up for a moment, making the leaves shiver before slowly dying out again.

"You're just asking for it."

He dropped his head, but his eyes remained closed as he whispered, "Kenny, not today."

"No, dude, really," He droned, sizing up his friend with growing enthusiasm. "Damn, you're so hot when you pout like that."

"I'm not pouting."

"Makes you look so fuckable."

With an angry grunt he turned to face the other direction, offering no further conversation. He was already pissed off enough without Kenny hitting on him today.

Fuckable, He thought bitterly. God damnit.

"Do you need a hug?" Kenny asked, mimicking a frown as his hand inched up Kyle's arm. He immediately received a Thwack! on the wrist. "Crap!" He yelped, pulling back and cradling the abused hand. "God damn, Kyle, what the hell?"

"Just leave me alone." He murmured, head hung low.

"Aren't you coming to school?" He never got an answer, but instead was interrupted by laughter approaching.

Both friends looked up, Kenny with obvious interest, Kyle not so much, and were greeted by the sight of Stan and Butters walking side by side, talking in hushed voices and laughing amongst themselves. Kenny's first reaction was to look at Kyle, who now wore a heartbroken expression as he watched the two boys in the distance draw closer.

Stan was the first to notice they were being watched. He came to an abrupt halt, eyes locking with the green of Kyle's. His smile, thoughts, heart, and breath stalled. In that moment, it seemed the two were the only people alive, and everything in their world was frozen in time.

Kenny gauged each of the best friends carefully as they stared at each other with identical expressions, impossible to figure out what emotion lay behind it, until after only a few seconds, Stan broke away without a word.

Kyle groaned mournfully and covered his eyes with his hands. Kenny placed a ginger hand on his shoulder and looked toward Butters, who stood frozen, unsure what had just happened and what he should do about it. Kenny allowed a moment to absorbed the wide, innocent gaze. It hypnotized him, mesmerized him, like a spell he wanted to be under. A lovesick smile drew up his face, although it couldn't be seen. He let out a sigh, nudging his chin in the direction Stan had gone. Butters gave a grateful smile and traced Stan's footsteps.

Kenny's eyes roamed his body as he walked away. That nervous, giddy blonde was hot ass, and seemed to be getting more irresistible every day. Kenny noticed this of course, but never actually considered just how fucking fuckable he was until gym the previous day. Normally he watched Stan, but yesterday his eyes were glued to Butters. Or, rather, the loose towel that had been draped around his hips. Not only that, but his smile. That shy, sweet smile that was practically Butters trademark.

He gave another sigh and turned his attention back to the matter at hand. "Kyle," He started, using his "real" concerned voice and of course using the opportunity to caress his neck and shoulder. "If it's bothering you that much that he wants time away from you, make him give you a reason."

"No," He shook his head and pulled his hands away from his face. "If he doesn't want to be my friend anymore, than fuck it. Who needs him anyway?"

"You need him, obviously." Kenny observed, gaining a stinging glare. "It's true. He hangs out with Butters for one day, and you're a wreck."

"I'm not a wreck!" He yelled, startling Kenny with the intensity. "I'm fine. I'll be just fucking fine, you'll see!" He paused, giving a determined glare for effect before storming away, leaving Kenny frozen in place.

"God, damn he's a sexy bastard!" He shouted his sexual frustration to the surrounding trees before breaking into a run to catch up.


"Hello there, children."

"Hey, Chef."

"Hey, Chef." Kenny echoed, slightly late in response. His eyes had been locked on Kyle all day, and lunch was no exception. The Jew was still pouting, still bursting with explosive energy, and that turned Kenny on to no end. It made school a whole hell of a lot more interesting, that was for damn sure. It was practically the only time he has been too pre-occupied to pay attention when the teacher was going on about female anatomy.

"Kyle, where's Stan?" Chef voiced his curiosity.

"Stan who?" He growled.

Chef's eyebrows shot up. "Uh oh."

"Stan's banging Butters now." Cartman explained simply. "He can't be bothered with whinny, diabetic Jews anymore."

"Shut the hell up, you gigantic fat fuck!"

"Don't call me fat, you fucking Jesus killer!" He emphasized each word.

"Whoa, whoa," Chef intervened. "Now, tell me what this is all about."

"It's all Cartman's fault because he's a big, crusty asshole!" Kyle announced.

Cartman sighed calmly. "Kyle's just pissed off because he isn't getting sex anymore, plus he's still on his period."

"What do you mean anymore?" He demanded, completely sidestepping the period remark. He had been at it for two weeks. "I've never had sex to begin with!"

"Maybe that's your problem." Kenny opinionated.

"I don't have a problem!"

Cartman placed a hand to his ear and rubbed mercilessly. "Excuse me, but you seem to have a problem controlling your god damn screaming habit!"

"Oh Lord, what did you do this time, Eric?" Chef inquired.

"I haven't done anything to these assholes!" He defended.

"He teased Stan continuously about having a boner for me, now he wont talk to me anymore!" Kyle counter corrected.

"God damn, boy, can't you stop being a little shit for one day?"

Cartman scoffed. "And be a pussy like these guys? Fuck that shit."

Chef scooped a heap of pudding on his tray and pointed away. "Take your food and get out of here, so I can talk to the children without you pissing them off more."

"No hair off my dick." He remarked as he walked away. For once, he couldn't care less about the food on his tray. He was far too interested in finding a better dessert. Wendy. She wasn't hard to find. She had decided to sit alone today, her face buried in a book that probably had something to do with school.

He approached her nice enough, with a stupid ass smile and everything. It took a few tries of him walking toward her table, and turning away, trying to thing of exactly how to word what he wanted without making her run away again, but also, not in a way that would make her think he actually had a heart or anything.

He cursed himself silently at how nervous he felt, wiping his slick palms on his pants.

"No." She said flatly, her eyes never leaving her book.

"God damnit, I haven't even said anything yet!"

"It doesn't matter, Cartman." Wendy spat. "I don't want to hear you, I don't want to see you, I don't even want to look at you."

"That's tough shit, isn't it?" He asked, sitting across from her at the table she resided at. "I have a proposition for you."

"Jesus Christ." She rolled her eyes, going back to her lunch that consisted of a peanut butter sandwich and fresh strawberries. She popped one into her mouth, chewing carefully and pretending he wasn't there.

"Here's what I was thinking-"

"Not listening." She informed irately.

"I swear to God, Wendy, if you-" He broke of his sentence when she peered up at him, eyes the color of the Caribbean. "God damn hippie," He growled to himself. "Just-" He gave a sigh. "Just hear me out, okay?"

She ran her tongue over her lower lip, thoughtfully considering this offer. "If I do, will you leave me alone?"

"Yes."

"And never, ever bother me again?"

"Yes."

She folded her book neatly in her lap, laced her fingers on the tabletop, and blessed him with those eyes again. "You have my undivided attention and exactly two minutes to convince me that you deserve more."

"Sweeeeet." He remarked, knowing full well he was a good manipulator and an even better negotiator. "I understand your deep, undying loathing of me comes from your connection with Stan, who's connected with Kyle, who I want to kill. If I could somehow reverse this useless cycle by tolerating them, then maybe your loathing will in turn, change to love."

"Bull crap." She stated.

"God damnit!" He quickly changed back to his business tone. "Perhaps if I were to… God forbid, apologize in your company-"

"No."

He slammed his hands onto the table, a colorful string of curses flowing easily through his lips. She never even flinched.

"I'll tell you what I want."

He eased up immediately, his interest piqued. "Go on,"

"You restore Stan and Kyle's friendship, and I'll go on one date with you." She offered.

"Really?" He asked, completely stunned. "All I have to do is get the fags back together?"

"And stop calling them that!" She demanded. "That's the whole reason this started!"

"But, I can call them assholes?" He asked.

She pursed her lips. "I don't like it, but-"

"Deal." He agreed. "Don't worry, Wendy, I'll fix everything."

…………………..

"Children," Chef started sympathetically seconds after Cartman had walked away. "Sometime when people say somthin' over and over 'gain, you start to believe it. You say Eric's been screwing with Stan's head, tellin' him all kind of crazy things that are probably scarin' him shitless. Sound to me like Eric's teasing hit too close to home, now he's backin' away, afraid someone might fine out."

Kyle stared back, mouth agape. "You think Stan has a boner for me?"

Kenny's eyes shifted hastily, feeling guilty for knowing the truth about Stan when even his best friend didn't. It made him uncomfortable, guilt being a foreign emotion to him.

"No, no. I'm not sayin' that." Chef corrected, holding both hands out in a 'stop' gesture. "I'm sayin' that it's possible. And even if that's not the reason he actin' so funny, you need to make him talk to you, cause it might be somthin' worse goin' on with him." There was a pause while he plopped tapioca pudding on their trays, Kyle considering, Kenny looking worried. "Now go eat your lunch, before your hot gets cold and your cold gets warm."

They walked away without a word, slipping into their usual table. Neither spoke or ate for a long time. The not-eating rare for Kenny and the not-talking rare for Kyle.

"Kyle-" Kenny began, about to explain to him that Stan couldn't help the way he felt, when Kyle broke in.

"What if something's really wrong with him?" His eyes were void of sight, empty, hollow. "What if he cuts? What if he wants to kill himself?" The worry filled his eyes and voice higher and higher, drowning out his common sense.

And Kenny blinked, perplexed at the words. The thought of Stan actually have a thing for him still wasn't logical, in Kyle's own little mind. He had completely ignored the possibility that maybe Cartman's predictions were true, and was now fully engrossed on the possibility that Stan was a manic depressive, suicidal, cereal killer. He chuckled beneath his hood. "I don't think-"

"There he is," Kyle burst out quietly, pointing behind Kenny. "Does he look insane to you?"

"He's not insane, Kyle." Kenny insisted, slightly annoyed at his overeating. He liked him better sulking. "But if you want to talk to him, you should do it now. They're gonna split." He gestured toward the door.

"Shit." Kyle cursed softly, springing from his seat. "Stan!" He called, and actually got his attention on the first try.

Kenny was quick to follow, intent on keeping Butters occupied while the other two talked. He linked his arm with the stormy-eyed angel and pulled him away gently.

"W-what's goin' on? Huh, Kenny? Are they gonna f-fight?" Butters rambled nervously as he was ushered to a table and pushed gently onto the seat.

Kenny opted to sit beside him rather then across from him, keeping their arms intertwined. He rubbed the hand that was now in his possession as he spoke. Psychical contact was the quickest form of seduction. "Everything's okay. They just need to talk about a few things."

Butters broke away from Kenny's intense gaze. "I-I'm suppose to h-hang out with Stan. He's my f-friend now."

"I'm your friend, too." Kenny promised, easing himself closer as inconspicuously as possible. His hand coasted up the fabric of Butters arm and back down to grasp his hand. "You're tense," He decided, turning the current object of his lust around and forcing him to leaned up against him.

"See, I-I don't really think that-"

"Just relax." Kenny persuaded, massaging tense shoulders. "Feels good, doesn't it?"

He had to consider it a moment. "Gee, I-I guess it kinda does." He admitted, his entire body relaxing suddenly.

Kenny smiled a big, wide "hell yes," sort of smile and let his hands roam down Butters shoulders and across his chest.

Across the cafeteria, Kyle voiced the four most dreaded words in the English language; "We need to talk."

This, of course, was double fucked up for Stan, who was not only afraid of where this talk would lead, but also the fact that Kyle's voice alone was magic, and his lower regions believed in that more than anything.

"I don't think it's such a good idea." He spoke now, backing away from his former best friend.

Kyle matched every step, neither stopping until Stan's back hit the wall. He was cornered, stuck… unable to move without having to brush up against Kyle to do it, and that idea sucked worse than tolerating his voice.

"I think it's a good idea." Kyle informed. "What the fuck is going on with you, Stan? I need you to talk to me. Just talk to me."

"Dude, I really don't think this is such a good idea." He warned, trying to push himself into the wall and disappear.

"Goddamnit, Stan!" He yelled, his hands shooting out to grab hold of the said boys shoulders and hold him against the wall. "You're not leaving until you tell me why the hell you're ditching me for Butters!"

Touching! Touching! Touching! Stan's mind screamed at him, letting him know loud and clear that his senses were fully aware of every finger curling into his upper arms. "C-can't." He choked out.

"You can't what?" He demanded, fire flicking in his emerald eyes. "I'm your best friend. You can tell me anything."

Stan bit his lip, stifling his breathing. If Kyle stepped one inch closer, he would be able to feel everything. The thought was exhilarating, making his head spin wildly.

"C'mon, Stan…" Kyle's plea caressed his ears, sending more shivers through him.

"No!" He breathed out, refusing to look at the eyes burning into his. "Fuck you!"

"Why don't you want to tell me?"

"Because I don't!" His shout overpowered Kyle's, gaining the attention of several other people. He was hard again. So hard it fucking hurt, and all it would take was one wrong movement and his cover would be blown. This time, he let his fear do all the talking. "You want the truth? Fine, here's the truth; I don't want you around anymore, Kyle! It makes me sick to be near you! I can't stand looking at you, I can't stand thinking about you, I can't stand hearing your voice, I can't stand you! I want you to fuck off and stay the hell away from me! You're not my best friend anymore!"

It was the kind of shock you receive when you've just found out someone you love died. The kind that strikes you right away, but doesn't fully register until days later. The kind that first renders you emotionless, dead yourself while you wait for the full blown effect of the heartache to consume your soul. In the blink of an eye, Stan was gone, leaving Kyle helpless and alone and emotionally dead.

Somewhere in the cafeteria, Cartman turned his startled expression from the scene that had just taken place, to the girl sitting across from him. She shook her head disapprovingly.

"Don't worry, Wendy, I'll fix everything." She quoted him sarcastically.

His eyebrows furrowed. "Son of a bitch!"


-BratChild3