omg. so for like the ultimate majority of you who were terrified by that last chapter... there isn't anything that frightening anymore. Of course, looking at the dream sequence will make you think that I'm lying, but trust me on this one. It does get downhill from here. Sorta.

Token and Cartman, believe it or not, will become major parts in this story. You'll see soon enough.

Thanks to the fourteen reviews for last chapter. Well appreciated.

I'm faced with a dilemma... how is my writing style? Should I write simpler, less complex? Or more like this? Or something else. The story's for you; tell me how I can improve and appeal to a larger audience... and stuff.

Advertisement? Read cjmarie's Skeletons in the Cupboard Tend to Come Out. Great story.

It didn't really matter to Stan anymore. He wasn't sure how long he remained on that wall. It had felt like days passed; Stan didn't even feel like he was exaggerating. It seemed like forever, regardless, and Stan could do nothing to pass any time. It also didn't help him much that the view wasn't changing at all; his eyes grew weary of the wooden walls, and there wasn't even an open window to watch the area outside. There was almost no noise, which made the situation even worse. Basically Stan was left to himself, and the painful feeling of unwanted boredom filled him.

He wasn't sure if anyone was going to find him. Someone would know he was missing by now, but would anyone know where he was? Stan himself didn't even know that answer. He wasn't even sure if he was even in South Park... Stan wondered how Wendy and Cartman were getting by, and if they would ever be caught for what they did. He also wondered who the third person had been, the person who he had never figured out during the whole event. He sighed; if the two were caught most likely the third person would be too. Even with this he did not feel secure... ANTIGSA was going way too far, and if only Stan could get out of this position he would go do something about it.

But no matter how much he would think of his plans after being set free his mind was still stuck on what had happened. There was still a boy in front of him, on the table, and beyond dead. Stan was assuming that the electrical current was still running through him. Stan argued that it wasn't fair, how he could not do anything, nor could he say anything to him. Did Clyde even know that Stan truly loved him? Sure, he didn't seem like it all the time, especially how he had been debating between Kyle and Clyde. Clyde had asked him knowing that Stan liked Kyle at the time. He was okay with going out with Stan, even if the boy was still skeptical towards seeing Kyle and Kenny together. He knew all of this, and didn't mind. He had been forgiving, very forgiving, as Stan had noted. Clyde was the last person who deserved death, and Stan knew it. And now he felt extremely bad for how he viewed Clyde over the time period they were together.

Just as Stan began to try and take his mind off the horror and sadness that threatened to overwhelm him he began to hear noises. He could hear the faint sound of voices, most likely from outside. He felt like yelling to let them know that he was there, but a handkerchief was still inside his mouth, which made his mouth rather sore. He was also scared that it might've been Cartman and Wendy returning. He thought about what to do, and after a few minutes of thinking he decided that he would rather take that chance. His voice was rasp, yet with all his strength he yelled as hard as he can, and though the handkerchief cushioned most of the noise there was still enough sound to be heard. Stan paused in his yelling, and then after gathering more energy he yelled once more. He could now hear the voices getting louder, probably closer, and with one last struggle he yelled again. He felt like he was screaming his lungs out, and by the time he had finished the door widened. The blinding sunlight met his eyes, forcing him to shut them close.

"He's over here," muttered a foreign voice, and soon the sound of heavy boots entering a wooden floor followed after. Stan squinted through the brightness of the light, though he didn't really need to see what was happening to realize that someone - some people - had finally found him. He smiled gratefully to himself, allowing himself to close his eyes as the police officers did their best to get Stan out of there. The key to the lock was not found, and so Stan had to wait a bit longer as people tried to get him off.

The euphoria of being released sank in as a cloud, preventing all other factors from being seen. He was led out of the building, and he had been too excited in being able to walk that he had temporarily forgotten the more traumatizing things of his experience. Instead he was led away by a rather tall female officer, through a thick blanket of snow, and into a car.

"Watch your head," said the officer, and Stan complied. She shut the door after him, patting it tight as she walked to the other side and entered into the driver's seat. Stan shivered slightly, and the officer, who noted this, quickly did her best to start the engine and turn on the heater. "It's a good one hour drive from hear to South Park," she said slowly as she kept her eye on the road, "and so within that time you can ask me any question you need an answer for. I'll do my best to reply."

And it had been over the next hour, on the car ride home, through snow and foreign environments, that Stan learned of what had happened to him. He had somehow managed to land himself in a log cabin in the wilderness of Denver's outskirts, miles upon miles away from Stark's Pond. He had disappeared on Wednesday, and as Stan soon found out he had been gone for three whole days; he had been found on the fourth day, and though he had just been found he was sure that his parents would still make him go to church. The conversation had been both relieving and yet painful, and many times Stan had refused to answer the officer's questions. He was traumatized, and yet he wasn't; he could still carry on basic daily functions, yet a mere mention of what he had gone through seemed to pose a problem.

This problem, of course, would present itself quite frequently that day, and the next. For Stan's sake his parents did not bring him to church, and Stan knew that by doing this his parents had avoided chaos. The whole day he had locked himself in his room, trying his best to not think of the events. Yet as he immersed himself with popular internet sites his mind could not be diverted successfully.

Clyde...

He was gone. As much as Stan didn't want to admit it, he was... well, gone. As Stan had left the cabin he had not wanted to see him... yet whether he saw him didn't determine his mood. He would be saddened by Clyde's death regardless. No amount of happiness could truly shadow his grief, and Stan could not ignore that fact.

Clyde...

Yes, he was gone. Stan couldn't stop thinking about it. He knew he was dead, yet somehow he couldn't drop the matter. Sure, deaths by nature plagued the conscious of any given person, yet... to this magnitude Stan could not comprehend. As he had been released from the cabin, Stan did not seem to think of Clyde's death, yet it was now that he couldn't stop thinking of the matter. Stan opened browsers, attempted to type something, and merely closed them once more. He stared at the blank screen for a long time, unsure of what to do. He looked around at his walls, and almost everything he saw seemed to link back to the idea of Clyde's death...

Clyde...

Stan mumbled something under his breath, but it had been neither important nor audible. Dying seemed to be a new concept to Stan, though he had pondered over it many years ago when his grandfather had purposefully wanted to do the same thing. Yet even as the death of Clyde seemed so dooming Stan wondered if it really was an end. It was hard to think of different ways in viewing death, especially since grief overtakes the mind more than logic does. Yet Stan wanted to believe that it was not the end... that Clyde's life had not ended... that it was not over...

...Through me, I might die... but it is by you that I will continue to live...

"Stan?" He could hear the steps enter his room... he could hear a boy walking softly to him... yet Stan did not respond. He continued to watch the desktop of his computer, making no movement to even acknowledge Kyle's presence; there was still a part of him wishing that Clyde would say hello. "Stan, it's me, Kyle."

Silence.

"Come on Stan, say something," continued Kyle. "I mean, I just want to know if you're okay... I was worried about you, dude. Like... you just left my house on Wednesday night... without saying anything to me. I know I treated you harsh that day, and I wanted to apologize for that. But you had us all worried... me, Ike, and Kenny. Even worse when you didn't show up the next day!

"I wanted to apologize if there's something I did that you haven't forgiven me for yet. I'm sure that whatever it is that happened is bothering you right now, and so if I did anything wrong I want to say I'm sorry. I don't want you to hate me..."

Silence. Stan could hear Kyle clear his throat, and he could almost sense the boy fidgeting in nervousness. Still Stan did not move or speak, and still Kyle made unnecessary noises to break the silence. For several minutes it had been like this, and after a few minutes Kyle had called quits; one of the two would have to stop playing his game eventually.

I... choose to... not abandon... those I love... And as he heard Kyle's footsteps slowly creak their way out his door, Clyde's words began resounding in his brain. It was Clyde this, Clyde that... and even though Stan wished that the boy were still there he still could not deny the care that others who loved him offered. He sighed, turned to the departing boy, and parted his lips to make a very low noise. It wasn't quite comprehensible, yet it had been enough to catch the boy's attention. Kyle smiled and stopped walking away.

"So you're responsive, at least?" Kyle said with a smile. Stan got up from his computer chair and laughed, walking up to the boy and embracing him slightly.

"It's been a rough time..." muttered Stan, and Kyle only embraced him tighter.

"You'll live through it," said Kyle. "Whatever happened I'm sure things can return to the way they were-"

"No Kyle-" Stan interjected, but Kyle merely continued.

"I've learned from you that things do get better, and I'm-"

"No Kyle, it won't."

Silence. Kyle stepped backward from their embrace, looking at Stan curiously. It appeared to Stan that no one had yet told him what happened to Clyde, and Stan was in a huge internal debate as to if he should be the first to do so. There was that feeling of obligation that Stan should be the one to do it, yet at the same time Stan wasn't sure if he was mentally capable of doing it. The cigarette, the knife, the volts of electricity... it still scarred him...

"Stan?" Kyle's worried voice once more.

"It'll never be the same again." Stan's emotionless response. "...You can't raise people from the dead."

The conversation was left at that.

- - - - - - - - - -

Kyle had slept over that night to comfort Stan. Stan claimed that he did not need it, yet both of his parents knew better. Mrs. Marsh had called Kyle's mother to bring clothes and other toiletries, and within thirty minutes his mother had come. As Stan had suspected she began to inquire about his disappearance, and she felt partially responsible for the occurrence because she had been the one to let him go. Stan assured her that it was his own decision and that she was not responsible for anything; she let the matter go and returned home.

It had been like the night that Kyle had invited himself over. Darkness surrounded the two boys as they lay across Stan's bed so that Stan was on one end and Kyle on the other. A silence enveloped them, above the large comforter that already accomplished this task. There wasn't much to say, nor was there much to do. Frankly put, the only thing that Kyle could really say was what Stan had missed in school, and even then he could only update him in English and French (though the latter a little less accurately).

Clyde... No, Kyle. He was talking to Kyle, not Clyde. Stan knew there would be a time to grieve for him... there would be a time where he could sit down and let go... but it couldn't be now. Why grieve...? He's not gone...

"Are you ever going to tell me?" Kyle asked in the darkness. Not helping, Kyle...

"Probably," muttered Stan. "I don't think I can... really..."

"I get it," said Kyle. Another silence occurred, something that Stan knew he would have to get used to again, and then; "you're the only one who knows about it..."

"I'll give in eventually," muttered Stan. "Don't worry about it..." Revenge filled Stan's head as he thought of Wendy and Cartman... how were they faring through this? Obviously they had come back Thursday for school... naturally they knew the whole time where he was while everyone else was clueless as to where to come into the overdue rescue. How could Wendy have been so harsh... to have gone so far as to kill anyone who was with Stan...? And who was Cartman to agree to such cruel punishment... technically, if Stan remembered correctly, the eighth amendment protected a being from cruel and unusual punishment. And killing Clyde definitely qualified as cruel...

But he's not dead... he lives through you...

"I'm sure you will," said Kyle. "I just glad you're back, safe and sound." And as Kyle finished the night off with this sentence Stan could only shut his eyes in pain once more. He was always the one to suffer, as he had argued so many times before... Stan hated how things were beginning to play out, and even though he was grateful he was unharmed Stan could not understand why he was able to live the experience harm-free, while Clyde took all the suffering and died. It would be a thought he would ponder over for the rest of that night, and it would also be the reason he would not sleep.

It was well past four in the morning when Stan, sitting in fright at the edge of his bed with a pillow tight in his embrace, realized the answer. Clyde had received the torture because he loved Stan, and because he had received it back. This was known to Stan. But why had Clyde endured all that suffering, continuing to hold back, and not give in? Why was he being similar to Giles Corey in The Crucible, who withstood torture until death in order to benefit those close to him?

Clyde wasn't ready to let down those he loved. And now, Stan was not yet ready to give up for the people he loved... those people around him... and the people he held in his heart.

Chapter 23. Omg finished. That took too long to write. But now I'm going back to Hope (the parallel story to this, in Kyle's POV), until I write at least three chapters of that. So... be sure to check me out over there too. In the meanwhile though review this chapter, PM me for questions, and all that great stuff.

Oh, and help me with that dilemma I had, mentioned in the author's notes at the beginning of the chapter.