Chapter Two: Blood

"Kenny!"

Stan fell to his knees almost immediately upon opening the door, turning Kenny over so he could see if he was alright. He was pale, and when Stan bent down to listen to the boy's breathing it was shallow and weak. Immediately overcome with worry, Stan picked the tiny blond up, cradling him in his arms. Kenny felt like he was half frozen, and Stan knew he had to get his friend inside.

It wasn't the first time Kenny had shown up injured at Stan's doorstep. Way back in elementary school, back when they'd just been kids, Stuart McCormick had beaten his youngest son so badly he'd nearly died. Everyone knew he got rough when he was angry and drunk (which was almost always), but the incident had opened Stan and Kyle's eyes, and ever since then, Stan had made sure Kenny knew he always had a place at the Marsh house when he needed it. Kyle had offered as well, but it was always Stan that the boy went to, and Stan had to admit that this fact made his ego swell. He'd come to take his role as Kenny's protector and caretaker very seriously.

What really concerned Stan was that Kenny had passed out before he'd even gotten inside. That had never happened before, and he'd seen Kenny through some pretty difficult stuff. It was lucky for Kenny that he was tiny, somehow even lighter than he looked, and that Stan was strong, the star of South Park High's football team. Stan could easily carry him inside, although he couldn't help cradling the boy against his chest as he did so. He loved having Kenny close to him. As he shifted his friend in his arms so he could close the door, he pressed his face into his messy blond hair and took a deep breath. Kenny always smelled good, like sex and sweat and this one specific cologne, but when Stan took in his scent he pulled back almost immediately. There was something wrong, something foreign lingering on his friend's skin.

He carried Kenny upstairs slowly, trying to be careful with him. He couldn't tell how badly his friend was hurt just yet, and he was horribly afraid of hurting him even further, but he had to take the risk. When he got upstairs he carefully lay Kenny on his bed and sat beside him, unzipping his parka so he could try to wake the boy up. He'd never seen Kenny pass out from pain alone before, but he saw swelling in his wrist immediately, and couldn't stop himself from wondering how many other injuries he had.

"Kenny, hey, Kenny, it's Stan," he said, trying to wake the boy up by stroking his cheek. "I need you to wake up," When he didn't wake up, Stan tried tapping his cheek a little harder, but he was afraid to touch him any more than that without knowing what his injuries were.

When his friend didn't wake up, Stan jumped off of the bed and reached for the first aid kit he kept underneath it, trying not to panic. Kenny was going to be okay, he had to keep telling himself that. Kenny was always okay.

He fished around in the first aid kit for something he could use, until he found one of the little packets of smelling salts he'd stashed in there, just in case. Kyle had called him a dork when he saw them, but they could come in handy. He cracked one open and waved it under Kenny's nose, and suddenly found himself looking into a pair of very pretty, very confused-looking blue eyes. Stan could feel the relief washing over him when he saw Kenny awake. "Hey," he murmured, running a hand through Kenny's hair in what he hoped was a comforting gesture.

Kenny groaned in response, the confusion in his eyes melting into contentment as his friend came into focus. He seemed to be having trouble keeping his eyes open, however, and they quickly fluttered close again. Stan felt his heart race suddenly and he reached out to shake Kenny's shoulder. "No, no, c'mon, dude, you've gotta stay with me so I know you're alright," he said quickly. When he touched him, however, Kenny shrunk back, crying out in pain.

"Shit!" Stan pulled his hand back like he'd just stuck it into a fire. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't know!" He looked at Kenny, panicking now, trying to figure out what to do.

Eventually, he settled on stroking the boy's hair again, something he knew wouldn't hurt his friend. "Kenny?" he asked hesitantly. "Please, just open your eyes, I need to know you're okay. I need you to talk to me so I can help you. I promise I won't hurt you again, Ken. You're safe, it's okay."

It felt like ages before Kenny opened his eyes again, but when he did, Stan could have melted with relief. "Hey," he said softly. He was trembling, but he looked back up into Stan's eyes. It reminded him a little bit of the time Kenny had overdosed on percocet and nearly died. He was always nearly dying.

"Hey, Ken, you drugged out?" He asked, keeping his hand on his friend's head. Kenny twitched like he was about to shake his head but had decided against it, and mumbled "no." Stan believed him - there was no reason not to, Kenny never lied about his drug use, not to Stan. It was too dangerous to hide it, and Stan had already proven himself trustworthy when Kenny had overdosed. It did, however, bring up a lot of questions about the boy's condition.

"Where's it hurt?" Stan asked, and Kenny winced as he murmured "everywhere," in response. Then he took a shallow breath, closed his eyes like he was trying to concentrate, and said "left wrist, left shoulder, right side." Stan nodded, carefully pulling the boy's parka off and folding it neatly aside. "Can you tell me what happened?" He asked, hoping he could just keep Kenny talking. It made him nervous when his friend got quiet.

Kenny didn't answer at first, as Stan tried to examine his wrist without hurting him even more. It was visibly disfigured, like the bone had been twisted out of place. Somebody had done this to him, this hadn't been an accident. "No," he mumbled eventually as Stan started to look at his shoulder. It didn't look broken, just bruised, but it was really almost impossible to tell without an xray. He could see by the bruising around his ribs, though, that at least one of those was broken. Kenny was delicate, even if he didn't like to admit it. His bones were so easy to break.

Stan had the sneaking suspicion that he should probably take Kenny to the hospital. He was great at treating his friend's normal injuries, the cuts and bruises and even the occasional broken bone. But he had so many injuries he could barely move, just like back when they were kids and he'd been beaten almost to death. It scared him, and he just wanted to know that Kenny would be okay. But he knew his friend wouldn't agree to the hospital - Kenny hated hospitals, he was always convinced they were going to kill him. He'd have to do his best to treat Kenny on his own, or at least clean him up and stabilize him.

"You can't tell me or you don't want to tell me, Ken?" He asked, climbing off the bed and digging through his first aid kit for the materials to make a split. The broken wrist seemed to be causing him a lot of pain, and he had a feeling that if he could stabilize that, moving Kenny would be a lot easier. Kenny seemed barely conscious of what he was doing. "Don't wanna," he mumbled. "Not sure it would come out if I tried."

Stan couldn't help but feel a little hurt by that, that there was something Kenny wanted to keep secret from him. Then, however, it just made him worry. What could be so bad that Kenny didn't want to tell him?

When he finished tying the makeshift splint, he squeezed Kenny's good hand to get his attention. Blinking his eyes open, he glanced up at Stan with a tired expression. "Sorry, Ken, you can sleep once I'm done with this, I promise. I just want to make sure I get everything wrapped up." He said in what he hoped was a reassuring tone. "I'm fine," Kenny grumbled. "Just dizzy." Stan frowned, not sure he believed him and not sure he liked the idea of 'just dizzy' even if he did. "I need to take your shirt off, okay?" He asked, anxious. "I'm going to have to put some kind of bandage for your ribs."

Kenny nodded slightly, closing his eyes again as Stan started to carefully pull his shirt off. He was surprised when he was able to pull it past the boy's injured shoulder, but it did look like it was at least two sizes too big for him, so he had that going for him.

Kenny fell asleep while Stan was looking up how to wrap a bandage for his ribs on his phone. He could tell by the soft, shallow breathing that Kenny was actually asleep, not unconscious again. He'd take that much, he decided, and started to pull the boy's pants off so he could wash them. He'd gotten really good at getting bloodstains out of clothes since he'd started taking care of Kenny.

When he looked at his friend's pants, however, he froze. He was expecting a little blood, just because there was always a little blood on Kenny's clothes. But not this. There was blood all over the inside of his pants. He'd been bleeding.

Stan tried to keep himself from panicking as he woke Kenny back up. "Dude, dude, you're bleeding, why are you bleeding?" He asked, almost afraid to look for himself. Kenny thought for a moment, and then he just mumbled "yeah."

Stan wasn't satisfied with this answer. "Dude, you didn't tell me you were bleeding this much! What happened, doesn't it hurt?" He asked, frantic despite his efforts to stay calm. Kenny closed his eyes again and mumbled "doesn't really hurt much anymore. And it's not like you can bandage my asshole."

Stan could feel his hands shaking, and it took several deep breaths before he felt in control enough to ask his friend again "Kenny, dude, what the hell happened to you?"

Kenny scowled in response. "The fuck do you think? You're not this dense, Stan. Don't act it," he grumbled. Stan frowned. No, he wasn't dense, he knew what this pointed to, especially with Kenny trying so hard to dodge the subject. He just didn't want to believe it.

He put the pants aside with the parka, and looked nervously at Kenny. "Ken... I... do you want to get cleaned up? Before I finish bandaging you? I could bring you over to the tub." Kenny opened one eye at that, and then he nodded. "Please," he mumbled. "All I can smell is... gross."

He said 'gross' like he'd been about to use another word but changed his mind, but Stan decided not to push him. He'd been through enough that night, justice would have to wait until tomorrow. Instead, he just nodded, and then carefully picked Kenny up off of the bed. The boy nestled his head against Stan's chest, and Stan was sure it was because he was too out of it to know what he was doing, but the gesture made his heartbeat quicken anyway.

He turned on the shower, and while he was waiting for the water to warm up tried to carefully remove Kenny's bloodstained boxers. Kenny didn't put up any resistance, but when Stan got him naked he curled up against him, trembling. Stan stroked his hair, trying to comfort him. "It's okay," he said softly. "Nobody is going to hurt you here."

He lay Kenny down in the tub and pulled down the showerhead so he could start washing him off, trying to avoid touching him more than he had to. It wasn't like he hadn't seen his friend naked before (just about anyone who'd partied with Kenny before had), he just looked so vulnerable like this, it made Stan nervous to even touch him.

When he'd finished cleaning Kenny up, he wrapped the tiny boy in a fluffy, oversized towel, hoping the fabric would be comforting to his friend. Stan had noticed that whenever he got upset, Kenny hid inside his parka. He was hoping the big towel would have the same effect as he carried him back to his room and lay him back on his bed. He'd fallen asleep again, and Stan was torn between wanting to let him rest and wanting to keep him awake so he knew he was okay.

The athlete decided at least to let Kenny sleep while he finished bandaging his chest and getting him dressed. It would be easier if he could sleep through as much of the pain as possible. Stan was going to have to try to get ahold of some pain medication for him, or the next couple of weeks were going to be torture. If his bones even started healing. He'd have to try to talk Kenny into letting him take him to the hospital once he was more conscious. He didn't want to do it before getting Kenny to agree, he was afraid his friend might not trust him afterward. Kenny had the strongest fear of hospitals he'd ever seen. He was pretty sure the boy would rather die than go.

Laying there in a clean pair of pajama pants, his wounds carefully bandaged, Kenny looked too peaceful to wake. Stan just wanted to let him rest. He sat on his bed beside Kenny, stroking his hair and just watching him breathe. He was still afraid that any second that gentle motion of his friend's chest would just suddenly stop.

Stan shook his head. No, that was crazy paranoid talk. Kenny was beat up, that was for sure, but he wasn't dying. He stood up, grabbing Kenny's clothes. He had to distract himself, and doing laundry would at least get him out of the room and thinking about something else.

He tossed the parka into the washing machine, but as he was checking the pockets of Kenny's jeans he noticed something odd. There was orange dust all over his pants. Like cheesy poof dust. But that didn't make sense, because Kenny never bought snack foods like that. He couldn't afford them, and even if he could, he hated cheesy poofs.

But they knew at least one person who didn't, who even now in high school always had orange fingers. Stan suddenly remembered that awful foreign smell that had been on Kenny. His friend had been right, it had smelled gross. Gross like Cartman's terrible hygiene. He didn't doubt Cartman was capable of something like this. It had to be him. Of course, only Cartman could be this cruel to somebody everybody liked.

Stan felt like he was going to be sick - he'd always had a weak stomach. He took several deep breaths, and then took out his phone. He had a call to make.