AN: Wooo, sorry it took longer to get this chap out than anticipated...school's a bitch, and college transfer applications do not help at all. Btw, yeah, school work got totally ignored today in favor of reading and writing this :-p Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter (and all of the others), it really makes my day and it's helpful to know at least some of you are still enjoying the story so that I know I'm not screwing it up too badly. Enjoy!

I don't own SP

"Everybody says it's just like Robin Hood

I move like a rat, talk like a cat, sting like a bee

Babe I'm gonna be your man

And it's plain to see you were meant for me,

Yeah I'm your toy, your twentieth century boy" - 20th Century Boy, Placebo

Was is going to snow?

The sky overhead was dark and murky, the moon and stars concealed by low-lying clouds. Stan's breath hung above him as he craned his neck up to look; it was only mid-November and already thirty-two degrees, it didn't bode well for his hopes of a snow-free football field.

Great. Just in time for Homecoming. He frowned.

The leash in his hand jerked to and fro slightly as Sparky sniffed at the lamppost base beside him. Stan's gloveless hands were beginning to become chapped from the cold; he gave a little shiver.

"Come on Sparky, just pick damn spot and piss already," he jerked the leash in hand as he whined to the old dog. "It's fucking cold out."

Sparky gave Stan a lazy "ruff", but didn't stop his sniffing, momentarily more interested in the smells of previously passing dogs than in pleasing his owner. Rather suddenly though the old mutt picked up his head and let out several excited, joyous barks, pulling slightly on his lead.

"Sparky, stop barking," With a groan and numb hands Stan jerked on the leash, but the dog's attention was elsewhere; Sparky's tongue lolled out as he panted expectantly. Stan squinted past his dark bangs into the distance, but was blinded by the glow from overhead. He tried raising a hand above his eyes and finally caught sight of the shadowed figure moving towards him.

"Oh, hey Kenny. Skip today?" the usually parka-ed, and occasionally truant, boy was for once wearing a coat, one so old that it must have originally belonged to his father, but his face and shaggy head of hair were unmistakable.

Stan was greeted not by Kenny's voice, but instead by a rather hard punch to his arm.

"Ow! What was that for?" Stan quickly switched the leash to his over hand, allowing him to shake his now dead arm.

"Fuh luun ditta uh?"

Kenny was speaking so quickly that for the first time in as long as he could remember Stan had no idea what Kenny was saying.

"What?"

"Fuh luun diita uh!" Kenny sounded just as garbled, now only more irritable.

"Ken, I still can't hear you."

The blonde forcefully pulled down the scarf covering his mouth with a gloved hand. "Goddammit Stan, 'How long did you know?'!"

"Oooh," understanding dawned on Stan's face, "Know what?"

Kenny was gritting his teeth, looking like he wanted to slap the answer out of Stan, he continued through a clenched jaw, "How long did you know about Kyle?"

"Know what?" Stan frowned at Kenny at his accusatory tone, "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Don't fuck with me Stan, I'm not in the fucking mood for it." Kenny pointed a finger at Stan like a threat.

"Kenny," Stan barked; he brought himself to his full height and pulled his shoulders back. The next words he spoke were slow and deliberate. "Kenny. I have no idea what the fuck you're talking about. What do you wanna know about Kyle?"

"You knew Kyle was gay didn't you? You knew it and you didn't tell me! You both didn't! How long did you know Stan?" Kenny was jabbing his finger into his friend's chest as he spoke, a lifetime of friendship rendering Stan's power of intimidation rather powerless.

Stan's body slackened slightly; he fell back and looked down to Sparky, who had returned to sniffing happily and lazily at the lamppost. He jiggled the leash absentmindedly as it twitched at Sparky's movement. His eyes flickered down as he calmly picked at imaginary jacket lint. Only a few seconds had passed in real time, but each one came and went by in agonizing eternity. Even if he didn't really owe it to Kenny, he'd have to tell him something. Stan knew he couldn't stall forever...though it was an appealing idea given his options. Either Kenny would be pissed off, and given his actions lately, wouldn't quit bothering him about it until he caved or he would tell Kenny something, anything, and Kyle would bitch and give him the cold shoulder for anywhere from a few days to a few weeks...or either one might attempt to settle the problem with a good old-fashioned beat down.

Stan wished he didn't have a leash in his hand; he really, really wanted to rub his temples right now.

"Why do you think I know what you're talking about?" Though his tone was calm and nonchalant it did nothing to soothe Kenny's obvious wounds.

"Don't give me that fucking bullshit Stan! You goddamn know what I'm talking about!"

Stan sighed. Kenny was quick to get pissed over things he had invested interest in, always had been, but the guy was obviously close to his breaking point. Whatever exactly was going on between him and Kyle, the possibilities of which were too terrifying to contemplate, Kenny had definitely used his day "off" from school to stew over the matter. Despite his initial curiosity South Park High's resident quarterback wished that he really was too oblivious to notice anything wrong between his two friends.

Maybe I can get out of this easy. He could hope so at least.

"Kenny-"

"Don't fuck with me Stan. I mean it."

Or maybe this would be a little more difficult.

Kenny's tone was enough to stop Stan. Kenny may have been doing everything the wrong way, but it was clear how badly he needed answers. Knowing Kyle as well as he did Stan could guess just how equally stubborn and obnoxious Kyle was being with whatever was going on between the redhead and the blonde. So now Kenny had apparently been reduced to this, a voice that both promised a threat to their long friendship and a plea based on that friendship.

Fuck. Kyle's gonna be a bitch later...too bad it's his own damn fault...not that he'd fucking admit it. Goddamn super best friends.

"Thirteen."

"What?" Whether Kenny was surprised by the word was hard to say, maybe he hadn't been expecting an answer at all.

"I've known since we were thirteen Ken."

"What? Man, are you fucking kidding me?" The shock and desperation that had briefly allayed Kenny's anger had lost their effect; the blonde haired boy looked fairly pissed again...at least if the way he was gripping the sleeves of his coat under his crossed arms were any indication.

With a small sigh Stan rolled his shoulders. The air felt even colder now and his hands were already raw and red; he sensed a long conversation that he didn't want to have. He had to wonder how much of this was his beloved, meddling girlfriend's fault.

"Can we at least finish this inside dude? My fingers are falling off and my fucking feet are numb."

Kenny didn't answer but gave a stiff nod in reply. Stan gave a jerk on the leash and Sparky stood from where the had been laying on the cold concrete, as if the old mutt had gotten bored with the mundane existence of teenagers and their dramas. The trio took off, looking from a distance like some oddly comical troupe. Stan and Sparky led the way, owner half trudging, half limping out of a stressed sort of resolve and numbed toes and dog waddling behind slowly with age. Kenny remained a few feet behind him, marching behind the leaders with an awkward stiffness that was decidedly the antithesis of Kenny's normal cocky sauntering steps. The only sounds that emanated from them as they walked were the those of their shoes slapping against the sidewalk and the jingle of Sparky's dog tags against the leash.

The walk back to the Marsh house only took two and half minutes, but it seemed to go by far too short and far too long. Despite Kenny's demand for information both teenagers seemed ill-at-ease with what the divulging of such secrets would entail. Stan's hand struggled to turn the door knob, he felt nearly sure that even the blood in his hand had been frozen solid; finally, however, the door creaked open under his ministrations and closed with a loud click after Kenny entered his humble abode. Kenny, who was normally at ease enough with the Marsh residence to let himself in unannounced, seemed too agitated to do anything useful. Stan bent to unhook Sparky from his lead and hung it on a hook by the door. Freed from the parameters of his leash and owner Sparky trotted up the stairs with renewed vigor, now leading the way for the two awkward teens who now obediently followed the mutt.

By the time Stan and Kenny had reached the threshold of Stan's bedroom Sparky had already acquired a comfortable spot on Stan's pillows. When the two boys entered the room the dog let out an over dramatic "woof" and laid his head down, looking more hangdog than one might have thought possible, especially for a mutt as idiotically happy as Sparky normally was.

"Sorry Sparky, no treats," Stan reprimanded as he closed the door, already aware of the dog's tricks, but gave him an affectionate rub on the head as he passed, assuaging the dog's keening whine of response.

With hands now burning as they warmed up to the room Stan pulled off his cold jacket and draped it on the back of a desk chair, which he promptly decided to drop himself onto.

"Sit Ken."

For the first time Stan realized just how badly Kenny reeked of smoke; it was nearly enough to gag him. He was tempted to spray his deodorant through the room just to cover the smell, but something told him that Kenny was testy enough to take offense to the gesture and frankly, despite probably being able to take Kenny down, he really didn't feel like getting into a fight that would get him A) grounded for life by his mom and B) destroy half his stuff.

Kenny stood immobile against the back of the bedroom door, hands jammed deep in jeans' pockets, as if it was his first time in the room and not his, at least, millionth time there. Mechanically the sinewy blonde moved to Stan's bed and slowly sat down, bent over his widespread legs with his forearms resting on his knees.

Cue awkward silence.

"So..." Stan prompted.

"So." Kenny responded.

Cue even awkwarder silence. Despite the freezing temperatures outside and the closed window Stan could almost swear he actually heard crickets.

Thump, thump, thump, thump.

Okay, so no crickets, but Kenny's jittery toe-tapping seemed to fill the sentiment just as nicely.

Stan watched Kenny expectantly, waiting for the boy who had previously been so eager to wring the information from Stan physically and violently to begin the conversation, but the blonde haired one remained silent, staring down past the carpet and into space.

Stan could only stare at his friend as he tried to work the problem out in his head. What the fuck is going on? I mean, no one told Kenny...but come on! There is no fucking way he is this surprised. So what's the big fucking deal?...did Kenny wanna hear all the details or something? Aw, sick man! Can't let brain go there...don't want to be scarred for life...but that would make sense...kinda...I mean, it's Kenny, right? And they give me shit about Wendy? Jesus fucking Christ this is fucked up beyond belief.

"Stan," Kenny paused as he whipped out a small cardboard box with shaking hands.

"Dude! You can't smoke in here, my mom will fucking kill both of us!" Stan looked at the cigarette in Kenny's hand with no small degree of surprise and horror, as if its mere presence would act like a siren alerting his mother of its existence in her home.

"I fucking know that Stan!" Kenny snapped. "I'm not going to fucking light it alright?" He placed the cigarette in his mouth and held it between clenched lips. He started playing with the pack, obviously worn from much handling despite it nearly being full. This was definitely not Kenny's first cigarette of the day...or night.

Stan raised an eyebrow. "Fuck Kenny, how many have you smoked today?"

"Suddenly interested in my welfare Stan? What're you now, my mom?" The reply came out as a sneer, filled with an irritated bitterness. "So, how the fuck did you know about Kyle? What, he confessed his gay love for you or something?"

Kenny's words were bitten out at Stan. Actually, Stan was pretty sure that if Kenny was an animal he would've been bitten already or mauled to death. Whatever had started Kenny's anger it had now all been turned on Stan and if Stan didn't know any better, and thank God he did know better, he'd say Kenny sounded like Wendy during one of her sporadic fits of insecure jealousy...the kind of fit that usually meant Wendy accusing him of something he not only hadn't done but had no knowledge of.

Hmm...actually this was exactly like that.

"What? No! God, why does every one think Kyle and I are gay for each other?" It wasn't the first time he'd heard such a comment, but Stan still swallowed a little to keep the bile in his throat down; he had no problem with Kyle being gay, but...yeah, sex with his best friend-slash-brother from another mother made his dinner want to revisit his mouth for a round two.

Normally Kenny would have remarked that it was because they actually were gay for one another, but tonight his attention had been diverted. Tonight, Kenny instead looked surprised and eager; he leaned toward Stan now and studied him with rapt attention, searching his face to confirm Stan's assertion as truth.

"How did you know then?" The question was one of skepticism and persistence. Now Kenny's seriousness was official, Kenny lack of expletives made Stan certain.

Though he really wished Kenny would act more like his usual disinterested self; he started to feel heat creep up his neck as he mulled over his next words.

"Uh, well, I kinda...walked in on him." The red heat crept from his neck to his face as he mumbled the last words.

"What?"

"I said, 'I walked in on him'." God his face was burning now. Stan squirmed a little in his seat.

"Walked in on him doing what?" Kenny kept pushing, "Watching gay porn? Jerking off? Singing show-tunes? What Stan?"

Kenny was leaning past his knees toward Stan, impatiently awaiting the answer. Stan spoke about his ginger-haired friend gingerly, as if it left a bad taste in his mouth.

"I walked in on him..."

"Yeah..." A blue eye twitched beneath a blond eyebrow.

"I walked in on him making out with a dude." He cringed as he completed the thought. Ugh, not a memory he had ever wanted to relive. There was a reason he and Kyle had agreed to forget it'd ever happened.

"What? When? Who?" That last part seemed to be of the utmost importance to the still eye-twitching blonde; he was tearing the cigarette pack into nearly infinitesimal pieces.

"When we were thirteen. You know when Kyle was studying for his Bar Mitzvah? You know how his mom made him study with that other kid? And they studied, like, all the time? They didn't just study the Torah...Aw man, now I can see it in my head again! Don't look at me like that Ken, you don't know what I saw! There were hands places and oh God I never want to see that much of Kyle ever again!" Stan shivered at the thought. Stan was so caught up in trying to erase the image of his best friend's half-naked self that it took him a few seconds to realize that something was off. When he finally opened his eyes he came to discover what exactly that thing was.

Unsurprisingly that thing turned out to be Kenny.

Apparently very literally.

Kenny's eyes were staring hard at a spot on the wall, but Stan had a feeling it was rather at something that wasn't there. Either that or Kenny was pondering something very deep about that John Elway poster. He had a feeling it wasn't that.

Stan stared at Kenny the way his blonde friend was staring at the wall, trying to somehow see through bone and brain to the gears of the thought machine in Kenny's mind. In the case of Stan Marsh, however, he seemed to get the same results as if he had been staring at a wooden door behind a brick wall behind steel reinforcements inside of a titanium lined vault. While Stan was deep in his thoughts, pressing his own ineffectual empathic gears to the max Kenny's own mind had already milled the next step in the equation.

"So," The teen's voice came out composed and monotonous as he spoke around his cigarette. "Has Kyle gone out with anyone?"

A crease formed on Stan's forehead as he furrowed his brow. "I dunno dude. I don't think so. Wait, why?"

Stan's question was answered with another. "Has he fucked anybody?" Kenny's voice was decidedly calm; he pulled the cigarette from his mouth and began to roll it between his thumb and forefinger.

"Aw Kenny! Come on! I don't wanna to know if he's fucked anyone. Jesus dude, why the hell would you ask that? Wait, no, I don't wanna know. ...Are you okay Ken?"

Kenny, who had still been staring at someplace beyond Stan's four walls with a clenched jaw, stood. "Fine." He wrapped the scarf around the bottom half of his face as he threw it over his shoulder. A small white tip fell from Kenny's hand as he moved.

"Holy shit, is that from your cigarette? You sure you're okay dude?" Stan looked incredulously at the filter that now lay on his carpet.

The only answer Stan received was the sound of his door. While the raven-haired football player had been looking at the evidence of Kenny's inner workings the skilled delinquent had vacated the cloistered realm of Stan's room. Kenny's skilled abilities in making a quick escape were in full swing tonight; as soon as Stan processed the sound of his bedroom door it echoed again. No sooner had Stan moved to his window than he saw the outline of his friend's body illuminated by the glow of his houselights and then suddenly vanish in the darkness of the trees.

How the hell does he do that? Stan shook his head; he would never understand how Kenny was able to move so quickly and silently when the guy was frequently the most vocal pervert and bum in South Park High School.

Kenny's silhouette long gone Stan staggered over to his bed and fell back on it. Two large fingers rose on either side of his head to rub at his temples. He hadn't been sure how much he had wanted to know before and now was no different. He wasn't sure if knowing more about what was going on between Kenny and Kyle would scar him for life or help them solve whatever the fuck the problem was. It really wasn't helping that everyone else seemed to have a better idea than him...and no one was going to let him in on the big secret, Kyle and Kenny included. Even Wendy had refused to tell him what she knew...although for some reason Kenny seemed to now be a "girl" in her mind, thus creating a sort of secret pact that allowed her to keep all information passed between her and Kenny from her boyfriend's prying curiosity and not-so-subtle pleading.

He could always ask Cartman...No. No, Cartman may have been otherwise preoccupied lately with obtaining a car or whatever other scheme he'd been wise enough to keep him out of, but asking Cartman would probably make matters worse not better. Even more so in the case of Kyle.

Shit. The same Kyle who would almost certainly soon find out that he had shared the little story of his first, incredibly awkward, gay experience with someone else. Not only someone else, but someone else who he seemed ready to spontaneously strangle as of late.

Aw fuck. He was going to have to pull out a lot of "super best friend" cards out for this one and that would still involve Kyle bitching for days, if not weeks. Nice going Marsh. Just jump in the hole next time, save the time digging. Maybe he'd be lucky and everything would work itself out now, he wouldn't have to get more involved in a ever increasingly confusing situation, and everyone could go back to being normal and not completely pissed off.

Yeah, and maybe Cartman would stop calling Kyle "Jew" or "fag" and he would be crowned valedictorian and Kenny would commit to celibacy.

A cold nose pressed into his neck. "At least you don't have problems Sparky," he sighed. The dog panted and gave a sloppy lick in the affirmative. As Stan wiped the slobber from his skin a familiar scent wafted up to his nose, one he thought had left with his blonde friend.

Stan looked down to his right to see the comforter was littered with shredded bits of roasted tobacco leaves; a look over the side of the bed confirmed that the carpet below had received a similar treatment. For a second a brief concern came to mind that, call him crazy, maybe, just maybe, Kenny wasn't as alright as he had claimed. This brief concern was quickly overlaid by the realization that if his mom smelt the odor of tobacco in his room before he could clean it he was going to be on the receiving end of a rather painful punishment.

"Goddammit Kenny." With an aggravated sigh Stan rose to retrieve the vacuum; he had cleaning to do...and friends to not think about.

On Friday November 18th, at approximately 11:30 AM, one day before the football homecoming game and six days before the most amazing, awesomest day of feasting and propagandized gluttony, also known as Thanksgiving, Eric Cartman was greeted by a rather amusing sight as he entered the cafeteria: Butters trying to take control of a situation.

Butters fucking-rainbows-and-puppies Stotch trying to force Jewfag and Po' boy to stop being douchebags and actually say two words to each other.

On one side of the table sat Kyle, arms crossed and hat tightly jammed down on his head as though he had recently tugged rather hard on the ear flaps. On the other side sat Kenny, one leg over each side of the hard bench seats and looking away at a wall clock while fiddling with the pack of cigarettes concealed in the front pocket of his parka, badly pretending that Butter's words had fallen on deaf ears. Butters, meanwhile, was seated no more than a foot away from Kenny, leaning alternately toward the taller blonde and the redhead across the table while his arms and hands continued to flail and gesticulate frenziedly.

And every time Butters began to berate one of the teens the other boy would watch surreptitiously. Eric snorted.

Alright, it had been funny, and he'd gotten more than his share of laughs out of the past few months, but this was just getting pathetic. Well, more pathetic. More pathetic than usual for Jewfag and Po' boy anyway.

And it was time someone actually did something about it.

He was goddamn tired of everyone pussy-footing around those two like...well, pussies. So they were being all angsty and tormented by their gay little feelings. He rolled his eyes; boo-freaking-hoo. Normally this would've only created more amusement for him, but the two had become so wrapped up in their own stupidity and it was taking their attention away from some very important people.

Himself, namely.

It wasn't that he wanted in on their fagtastic action, holy barfing crap no, but he did want his friends back. Kyle was hardly any fun to argue with anymore, flying from physical rage to cold indifference and obliviousness without his usual antagonistic charm. And Kenny with balls bluer than the deep blue sea? 'nuff said. However fucked up his interpretations of friendship might have been Eric Cartman valued his friends...in his own way...and he was getting extremely irritated with being ignored more than per usual. He seemed to have lost all ability to piss any of them off enough to garner their attention and that was pissing him off. Big time. Fuck, no one had even ragged on him when his "new" car turned out to be a used minivan. The soccer-mom kind.

Unlike all of the idiots that surrounded him Eric Cartman knew completely well what was going on between his Jewish and poor friends; he had from the beginning. Obviously some kind of challenge had spurred Kenny onto the idea of conquering Kyle, and said conquest, despite so obviously wanting to participate in crazed monkey sex with their blonde companion, was such a stubborn fucking mule that he couldn't possibly let that happen, so he refused. And then, since they were both such idiots, they continued to push, on Kenny's side, and be wishy-washy, Jewfag, and both bitches seemed a whole fucking lot of sand in their vaginae.

Oh yes, he was as astute as Mr. Pussy-whipped was oblivious to the current state of affairs. And as he strode toward the table it became even clearer just how much everyone else was in the dark.

"-on long enough. Come on fellas, you've been friends for forever and it's just stupid if you two are too bull-headed to stop fighting with each other and just be friends again."

"Shut up Butters. These stupid assholes were dumbasses before and they'll stay dumbasses afterward; doesn't matter if they fight or not." A pair of blue eyes and a pair of green stopped glaring in opposite directions to glare up at him. Neither one said a word though. Dear God it was worse than he'd thought. They needed to fuck the sand out of their vaginae and fast.

"Eric, I don't think that's helping," Butters turned to frown at him as he took a seat on Kyle's side of the table. "They just need to remember that they were friends before this. Everyone's tired of them fighting. Especially me and Stan."

"This isn't Barney Butters. Let the two little bitches bitch it out if they want to. That's how it is with their kind. Oh, well, I guess you'd know that too, huh Butters?" He tossed a chip into his mouth.

Butters' face began to flush from his cool remark. But Butters wasn't the only one; Kyle's cheeks had begun to color with anger, as Eric had anticipated, but Kenny was the one who looked uncharacteristically more pissed at the comment. It was mildly surprising, but very amusing.

"Lay off Butters fatass," Kenny all but snarled.

"Oh, I'm sorry Kenny, I didn't realize Butters was your butt-buddy of the week. I didn't mean to insult your girlfriend," he said with mock sincerity.

"Stop it Eric! You know that's not true and you don't need to make things worse. And I don't need anyone to stick up for me. Since you can't stop all being assholes I'm going to sit with people who don't feel like acting like total douchebags." With that Butters stood and marched over to the table occupied by Craig's gang, taking a seat on Tweek's vacant side.

Eric just rolled his eyes as the blonde settled down into his new seat. "Jesus, what a freaking pussy. Right?"

The question was met with silence; Kenny and Kyle both sat with bodies angled slightly away from the table, glaring into the distance as if to prove their indifference toward each other by putting all of their energy into a concerted effort to ignore the other. How fucking pathetic was that?

And more than their pathetic-ness, what the fuck?

"Hey assholes, what the fuck am I? Thin air?" He waited, and waited...and waited...and still Kyle said nothing.

Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me.

"Hey! Stop ignoring me, ass-!"

"I'm going for a smoke," Kenny muttered rather loudly to no one, standing and giving a head jerk to someone across the room. At his own table Craig stood and, slightly, less rudely excused himself as well. The two teens made their way to the doors together in silence.

Irritation nearing a peak Eric turned back to his one remaining target, "Goddammit Jew, you-!"

"I'm going to the library." In much the same manner as their blonde friend had departed Kyle stood and gathered his backpack and books, his eyes never raising up to meet Eric's as he made his solemn exit to the hall.

Now alone and seething, with no one to take it out one, Eric Cartman hissed out angry breaths between clenched teeth. Those goddamn fucking fags! Idiotic douchebags, every single one of them! Oh yeah, shit was going to go down and it was going to go down hard. He was going to resolve this and he was going to do it Eric Cartman style; may God have mercy on their everlasting souls.

The next few minutes were spent in contemplative, albeit vengeful, silence. With crossed arms and a sharp frown Eric debated whether to seek revenge or help his friends...or seek revenge through "helping" his friends. He was completely unaware just how many outsiders would have viewed his three separate tactics as being nearly the same in his case. In was in this state that Stan Marsh found him as he stumbled into the cafeteria panting and looking up at the wall clock.

"Oh man, sorry I'm late guys," he called out as he hurried toward the table unseeingly. "Wendy wanted to talk to me about stuff and then Coach grabbed me, oh yeah, Cartman, we've got a double practice today for homecoming," he looked down as he sat and rummaged through his bag to pull out his lunch and looked back up at the wall clock. "Damn, only twenty minutes left. Hey Kyle, can you look at my math for me? I asked Wendy, but...hey, where is everyone?"

Eric shot Stan a glowering look, but said nothing. Stan turned his attention to his singularly present friend. "Dude, Cartman, where is everyone?"

The only reply Stan received was an irritable, "Fuck off Stan," as Eric shoved away from the table and stood to leave. Hoisting his bag onto his back he made his way toward the hallway doors with a furrowed brow. He looked down at his watch; he had plans to make and less than twenty-four hours to formulate and set them into motion. He had some diabolical planning to do and he needed either solitude or help to do it; somehow he doubted Stan would be willing or able to do the latter.

The only thing he heard as closed his distance to the doors was a baffled question.

"What did I do?"

AN: And the tension continues to build! Don't worry people, it'll break real soon, I swear to god I'm not going to beat the dead horse any longer than I already have. Hopefully I'll have the new chap out soon, but I forewarn that school is a bitch, big time. I hope you're enjoying the story, I love feedback!