AN: We give you a taste and then we seemingly vanish…yeah, sorry about that. But we ARE still writing this story, and enjoying every minute of it! Life's just been really crazy for the both of us, and we're just trying to settle it all down. We'll never stop writing, because it's what we both love to do, so no worries there! Anyway, enjoy chapter 2!

Parauni

Chapter 2 - Forgetting the Orange Juice

Kyle's cell phone ringer is what woke us up the next morning. It was about six in the morning and it was his mother demanding to know where he was. It was then that it occurred to us that he hadn't even left her a message about his whereabouts on a school night. The events with Stan completely took over our thoughts, so it really wasn't surprising we forgot about a little thing like checking in with his mom. I could hear her bitching about how irresponsible he was, and that the second he got home, yadda, yadda, yadda. Kyle just dropped his phone beside his head and let her rant, but eventually she realized he was being unresponsive and demanded his explanation. He merely passed the phone over to me before turning over.

I gave him a depressed look before taking the phone. She wasn't happy to get me, but unlike Kyle, I didn't let her go on and on and was quick to inform her of what happened. She got quiet after that and listened, while asking a few questions about Stan and how we were holding up. She still pointed out that we should have called, but that's Sheila Broflovski for you. Eventually she let us go when I told her we were going to be heading to the hospital. I didn't give her time to complain before hanging up and turning off Kyle's phone.

"Hey," I said over to him. "Should we get going?"

Kyle was quiet for a second, still facing away from me before he ended up nodding and sitting up. We changed, gave a hello to my bewildered parents, gave no explanations, and headed straight for the hospital. But the second we arrived in the waiting room we were in the previous night, we noticed that neither of the Marsh's were there, and the receptionist wouldn't give us any information about Stan's condition.

We were at a loss then. We were in yesterday's clothes, neither of us had bothered with hair or showers, and if I looked anything like Kyle, I must have looked a mess. Kyle called Stan's house, but no one picked up. We honestly could do nothing but go home and wait for a call from his parents. So after all that, the disappointment of learning nothing, still having to be kept waiting for answers, talking with Kyle's goddamn mother, all I could do was drop Kyle off at home.

"Want to stay over?" He had mumbled to me.

"Nah," I had said, shaking my head. "Think I'll just go home…get some more sleep. You're a crappy bed partner," I tried to make it sounded lighthearted, but the tone was half assed and Kyle only nodded. I watched as he shuffled himself up his walkway before walking into the house after giving me a pathetic excuse for a wave.

I thought for sure we'd get a call in a few hours, a day tops. But neither of us heard a word from Mr. or Mrs. Marsh until four days later.

Kyle and I were trying our best to keep sane by watching pointless reruns of our old favorite Terrance and Phillip when his phone rang. It was like we hadn't heard that ringer in days, because both of us jumped to the phone. We just knew who it was, and neither of us could stand the thought of not knowing any longer.

"Mrs. Marsh?" Kyle had questioned, though he knew it was her from the display on his caller ID.

"Hello Kyle," I heard her as clearly as you can possibly hear someone when you are desperately trying to listen in on a small little earpiece that's about 2 inches from your ear.

"Kenny is here too," he notified her. I was thankful for that. Sometimes I wonder if she'd have even made an additional call to me if I weren't in the room. I didn't have a cell phone, and on the off chance our phone wasn't occupied by our awesome dial-up Internet connection, we didn't have an answering machine to leave a message either.

"Hello to you too, Kenny," she added. "Boys, Dr. Rivers, Stan's neurologist, has asked me to come down to the hospital today. He's made a preliminary diagnosis about Stan's condition and would like to show me some of the results from the X-rays they have taken. Randy has gone to pick up Shelley from school because her car has broken down and…well I just really need someone to come with me."

I paused in expectation, knowing that she only wanted Kyle. But right now he and I are kind of the package deal, so she'd have to take me along too.

"Definitely," Kyle had said without her saying anything more.

"Yeah, Mrs. M. No problem," I piped up. I needed to hear about Stan's condition just as much as Kyle did. This whole thing was driving me crazy.

We waited for Mrs. Marsh's car to pull up in the driveway before we solemnly walked out to the curb and jumped in. On the drive over, the air was thick with questions that no one was willing to ask. And answers that we didn't want to look for.

It didn't take the doctor very long to meet with us. I remember he pulled us into his little corner office and popped up the X-Ray on a backlit screen. And I remember seeing the damage that ball had made to Stan's fragile skull.

"Is there any news on his condition?" Sharon had asked with hesitance. She knew the pictures didn't look promising.

The doctor paced back and then forth before taking a seat at his desk. "Mrs. Marsh, your son has suffered from a severe head trauma. It's remarkable that we were able to get him out of surgery alive. But I'll be honest; we don't anticipate a full recovery for quite a while…if ever."

"What does that mean?" I found myself asking.

The doctor turned to me and frowned. Probably because there were two teenage boys in his office that weren't related to the patient.

Mrs. Marsh seemed to have noticed his hesitation and brought the doctors attention back to her. "The boys are like family," she calmly informed him. Though he didn't look convinced, he at least answered my question.

"There are a lot of problems that come hand in hand with brain trauma. Normally with head injuries, the patient wakes up with quite a few disabilities. They tend to have a lot of problems with their senses, like blurred vision and muted hearing. They also have trouble with communication…but that's just with mild to moderate cases. Stan has a severe case. He's been unresponsive to many tests, it's hard to wake him and when he is awake he exhibits a number of the disabilities found in the milder cases. Sensory, and communication aside, Stan is having an extremely hard time with his cognitive skills. He-"

"Wait, his what?" I interrupted. I was trying to take in everything the doctor was saying, and I was…but it was all bad news that just kept getting worse.

"His thinking, his memory…reasoning…" Kyle answered for me, his tone completely dead while his eyes stared down the doctor.

"Right," he nodded. "It's still pretty early, but since the baseball hit the side of his head, his temporal lobe, we're diagnosing a mix of retrograde and anterograde amnesia. When he first woke up, we asked him if he remembered what had happened and where he was. He didn't, and with further questioning it became apparent that he doesn't have all his memories."

"So," Mrs. Marsh spoke up slowly. "He's forgotten everything?"

We all watched the doctor shake his head. "This is past ordinary forgetfulness, and the type of amnesia you're thinking of wouldn't occur in Stan's situation. With the type he has, it means he's unable to recall certain memories"

"So what does he remember?" I asked.

The doctor looked over at me again before shrugging. "That sort of thing is easier to determine by family and friends. Again, he's not in the best condition and communication is very difficult for him."

At that moment I felt Kyle lean discreetly against me. And it might have been discreet, but I felt the full impact of his body weight. "Is there any good news?" He asked just above a whisper.

Dr. Rivers looked disheartened but he met all of our eyes and gave a nod. "His spinal cord is in tact…and he's alive. From here on out though, we go day-by-day in monitoring his progress. The brain is a tricky organ and with head injuries…we just never know what might happen. He's stable now, but tomorrow could be a different story."

From there I completely tuned out. How could I not when the doctor was telling us that Stan just might not be Stan? That he might have actually forgotten who we were. Who Kyle was? Eventually Mrs. Marsh was allowed to see Stan but Kyle and I weren't…which pissed me off. But there wasn't anything we could do about it, even when Mrs. Marsh told the doctor she wouldn't have minded.

He was strict with telling her no. Something about too much too fast. For two long damn weeks we weren't allowed to see him. Being at home was hell, school was hell, and life in general was shit. It was all Kyle and I could do to not go bat shit insane with worry. More than once I wondered if we could break into the hospital. I mean, fuck! We just wanted to SEE him! It's not like we wanted to take him out for the day and go frolicking through a damn meadow!

But while I got angrier and angrier, Kyle got more closed off and more depressed. He hardly talked, and when he did it was usually only to me, and even that consisted of more noises than words.

So now that we've finally got the almighty God like doctor's approval to see him, Kyle's acting like a nervous twink about ready to go on his first date.

"M-maybe we should wait another day," he's saying to me as we walk into the hospital together.

"What?!" I almost yell at him.

"Well, maybe he's not ready to see us," he continues in his uncertain and shaky voice.

I stop where I'm at to massage my right temple in frustration. I can't take this. Not now. "Kyle we've been waiting for this day for too damn long. The doc said we should reintroduce ourselves, and whatever memories we have with him, slowly, so we're not setting up camp in his room or anything. If he doesn't like us being there, we'll jet." I try to calm him down, but his nerves are starting to rub off on me.

He stares up at the tall lobby ceiling and paces a few steps. "You make it sound so much better Ken. 'If he doesn't like us being there'. If he doesn't like us being there it means he can't fucking REMEMBER us!" he screams as he comes toward me with outstretched arms. "And I for one, don't want to rush him into something he's not ready for."

"Dude, he's gonna remember us. We're his life, not just a single memory. And I bet if he could, he'd be harassing the doc as much as we have about letting us visit." I drop my hands onto Kyle's shoulders and give him a mini-massage. "Relax man, we'll be fine. It's time to go see him. You know you want to. So stop worrying about it so much and let's go!"

I pat his shoulders and drop my hands as I walk forward again. Kyle reluctantly begins to follow, and by the time I'm near the elevators he's no longer walking behind me like I'm the mother goose and he's my baby. He jogs in front of me with a speed that I can't compete with and presses the up button about twenty times. Guess he just needed a swift kick in the ass.

"What should I say to him?" he asks mostly himself as I watch the elevator doors come together so slowly that I see a snail pass by before they close. "Should I…well no his mom will probably be in so I shouldn't do anything like that."

"Plus I don't have my camera," I add with a smirk. Kyle scowls at me, but behind the snarl is a glow that hasn't seen the light of day since that fateful afternoon.

"Shut up, Kenny. Just because you know now doesn't mean you can exploit us. You know Cartman would tear us to shreds if he-"

"If he knew he was actually telling the truth through all his bullshit? Again, relax Kyle. He doesn't know shit and he won't know it either. You're safe." I lean over closely. "Just make you wait till Stan gets home to greet him properly. You don't want those surveillance tapes to turn into the year's hottest sex scandal."

"Shut UP, Kenny!" he repeats, his face growing redder than that hair of his. "We aren't like that…we…"

Ding. Before I have time to realize what floor we're on, Kyle has pried open the doors and dashed wildly down the hallway to the ICU receptionist desk.

She doesn't seem to notice either of us, even with Kyle panting over her work area.

"The room of Stan Marsh please?" he asks.

She glances up at him before looking over at me. "Family?"

I nod. "Triplets."

The receptionist doesn't look amused and neither does Kyle. "Fraternal," I add with a smile.

"Room 551," she says, handing him two clip on badges with the room number on it, and goes back to looking at whatever she was doing before we came up.

Kyle doesn't waste another second to put the badge on before he's waiting by the door for her to buzz us in. At the first sound, he peels down the hallway in the direction of a sign that points us in the general direction. Not that I'm far behind. As the numbers grow bigger, 535, 537, 539, I start to get a lodge in my throat. We're really going to see Stan for the first time in weeks and I have no idea what to expect. I don't know what he'll look like…if he'll even look different. How he'll honestly react, because even though I claimed Stan couldn't ever forget us…it's hard not to think pessimistically.

I must be feeding my thoughts into Kyle's because he's getting slower and slower with every step and with every room we pass.

545, 547, 549…

We both stop outside his door and stare at it. From the outside I can hear the distinct sounds of talking, though it's impossible to tell who's talking and who isn't.

"They're talking, that's good right?" Kyle asks.

"Come on," I say. I feel Kyle tense at my side and I grab his hand and squeeze it. Not just to reassure him, but to reassure myself. He gives me a grateful look and a quivering smile. I lightly tap on the door and the voices on the other side stop. There are a few sounds of things being moved around before the door opens and Mrs. Marsh stands before us.

"Boys," she smiles at us warmly. I notice she glances down at our entwined hands but she says nothing of it. If anything she's glowing a bit more before moving aside and gesturing for us to come in. "Stan, its Kyle and Kenny," she announces before either of us can even see him.

Once he does come in to sight, Kyle drops my hand and tentatively walks to his bedside.

Immediately I fade into the background with Mrs. M, who senses that we should really be doing this alone. She leans over and whispers in my ear, "I'll be in the lobby if anyone needs me." Speaking up so Stan can hear, she practically yells, "I'll be back, sweetie! Have fun with your friends."

And like that, she's out of sight.

I take a moment to pass to the other side of the room and get a better look at Stan. He's all packaged up in a white robe with silhouettes of a thousand little blue birds in flight printed all over. His hands look swollen and veiny, and a small brownish yellow bruise has started to form where a thin needle is taped into his skin. I follow the tube with my eyes all the way up to a bag that is dripping every second or so. Several other bags hang from the same metal hanger, and they are all dripping some clear fluid that leads into a tube connected to Stan's hand. My eyes shift to his face, and I notice he isn't as clean kempt as usual. Stan was always the manly one of the group, what with his hairy stubble that would grow back in an hour. It looks like hasn't shaved in months, even though its probably only been a few days.

"Stan?" Kyle's voice comes out meek and distant.

Stan turns to him and smiles. "Hey Kyle." But even his voice doesn't sound like him, and Kyle immediately shrinks away.

I, on the other hand, take the opportunity to walk up to my friend and pat his leg. "Hell of a scare you gave us, dude. How you feeling?"

"I have, my head hurts," he responds before looking over to Kyle.

"I bet it does, buddy," I continue when Kyle says nothing. "But they're fixing you right up and you should be able to think pretty clearly soon. You might not remember like basic math or anything, but who needs that shit anyway?"

Stan's grin widens as his head falls back into his pillow, as if he strained his neck by lifting his head. "Funny."

"So Kyle and I have wanted to visit you since the beginning, but the doc wouldn't let us. You told him to keep us away, didn't you?" I joke, trying to lighten the mood.

"There were tests. Lots of, from the doctor. I don't know why though…"

"They were probably trying to help you out," I try to answer helpfully.

"Hm," he responds and closes his eyes. There's this long reign of silence that almost never passes over the three of us. With us, someone is always talking more than they ought to be…its strange being surrounded by still air.

With Stan clearly being unable to string together a normal sentence, and Kyle looking like he's in another world I feel like I have to say something. Anything. So since Stan's eyes are still closed, I ask the obvious. "Tired, dude?"

They snap open at once and he looks at me. But it's weird…because even though it's Stan, I can see something missing in his eyes. Maybe that's just poetic shit on my part, but I feel like something really isn't there. He's in front of us, just not completely.

Stan doesn't answer my question. If anything it seems like my basic question is making him nervous. He's looking around the room as if searching for someone, and he's starting to twist his fingers together. It's so similar to Tweek's behavior that I can't stop myself from reaching out and stopping his fingers.

That was maybe a bad idea.

You'd think I stabbed him the look he's giving me. He'd shrink and disappear into the mattress if he could, rather he presses himself away from me and winces at my contact. Not knowing what the hell to do I look up at Kyle to see what his reaction is, but he's no help.

"Kyle fuck," I mutter. "Say something to him."

He glares at me like I've just told his most embarrassing secret, but I shrug it off and instead choose to stare at him to emphasize how quiet it is in here. I raise my eyebrows when all he does is stare back.

I growl under my breath and shake my head. Way to go, Kyle. Greet your boyfriend by saying nothing at all. Dumbass.

I fake a yawn. "I'm pretty tired myself. Mind if I just squeeze in right beside you?" I ask Stan teasingly, but Kyle doesn't find it very funny. I ignore his look of death and saunter up to Stan's bed, pretending to lift a leg and pull back some covers. Again, Stan looks at me like I'm clinically insane.

Sighing deeply, I drop my shoulders and prop myself on the wall near his bed with my hands shoved in my pockets. I wish the mood in here would lift so I could stop making an ass out of myself. God knows what is running through Stan's mind right now. Or Kyle's, for that matter.

After an eternity of deafening silence, I begin to tap my fingers on the surface of the wall. Stan looks up at me before zoning out again, but in between the taps I hear him mutter something about being glad to see us.

Kyle, of course, perks up at this statement, and walks over so close to the bed, he's practically in it. Kneeling down, he softly embraces Stan's free hand and brings his lips close to the skin's surface.

"I'm so happy you're here," he whispers before kissing Stan's hand.

…And something about the way Stan flinches—how his eyebrows furrow and his eyes immediately pop open—tells me that he might've not wanted that. And something about the confusion in his eyes as Kyle releases his grip tells me that this could be a problem.

Both Kyle and I watch as Stan decidedly buries his hands under his covers. He even goes so far as to bring them up closer to his head, kind of like he's warding us off. But as Kyle sits himself up and places himself on the edge of the bed I'm starting to get the idea that he didn't see that flinch. Either that, or he doesn't want to.

"I was so damn worried," Kyle mutters, and I watch as he tucks Stan in further. As if Stan had pulled up those covers simply to warm himself up. Kyle releases a fake laugh, "I was thinking the worst. Thinking you'd forget everything about me," he smiles widely, and while Stan stares back, his eyes slide over to me.

At the look of them I know those eyes are begging me to help him understand what's going on. I wouldn't have believed it possible…but while Stan seems to remember me and Kyle, he doesn't seem to remember what he and Kyle had.

"Kyle?"

"Hm?" He looks up at me and I hesitate with my request. "I think Stan needs some orange juice. Don't you think you need some orange juice Stan?" I ask him.

"What's…" he trails off when I glance at him. I'm only slightly disturbed that he was going to ask me what orange juice was.

"That's probably a good idea though," Kyle is saying as he stands himself up. "Vitamin C and all that. I'll be just a second," he adds as he heads for the door. When he reaches it he pauses before turning to look back at Stan. "God I'm so glad you're okay…"

With that he leaves, and I meet the eyes of the guy I've known since I was a kid. I don't have much time before Kyle gets back, but I've gotta ask without him being here. Because there's no way I've guessed incorrectly. His look when his hand was kissed told me everything.

"You don't remember him, do you?" I pose the question to Stan and try to sound sympathetic rather than accusing.

"He…my hand," Stan pulls it out from under his bleached hospital blankets and stares it like it grew a head. "Kyle kisses often my hand? He never…didn't he? He…" Stan starts to rub the formerly kissed hand with his other one furiously. As if he's trying to rub off the gesture.

I sigh and force my own hands on his to stop the rubbing. Before he rubs his hands right off and he has nothing but stubs. "Stop it dude," I tell him, lifting my hands right off when he recoils once again. I'm getting pretty fucking sick of this touch-me-and-I-want-to-kill-you response.

"Kenny, you not, me too. Right?"

I have no idea what he just said. But I nod and say, "right." I look around the room, trying to decide how I'm going to break this to him. Or what I'm going to say to Kyle. Shit, he could've done some permanent damage with that move back there. I know he's all happy Stan's "okay" and don't have his head on straight, but damn! In my off time I've read up enough about all this business I know not to make any sudden movements, any signs of affection unless wanted, and don't get all mushy on someone when they can't remember your relationship in the first place! Jesus, Kyle. What am I gonna say to you?

"Nice TV," I tell Stan, noting the flat screen on top of a dresser on the opposite side of his private room. These ICU rooms are nicely equipped. They have more here in this room than I do in my entire house. "Did you catch up on any ball when you were out?"

Stan raises his eyebrow and snorts in a half-assed, half-drugged sort of way. "No time," he tells me.

"Too many tests, I'm sure. But you still like baseball, right?"

To this, Stan points to his head, as if he's a little kid and connecting the word "baseball" with the injury the baseball caused. I feel like I'm talking to my two-year-old nephew.

"The ball hurt me," he explains clearly after a long pause, and I frown. When is Kyle getting back?

Not that I don't love being here with Stan, but I'm starting to realize how hard this is all gonna be. Not just for him, but for all of us. Getting used to how he strings sentences together is like listening to some crappy music your sibling loves. You don't like it, you never will, but they've got the remote.

"Kenny?"

I raise an eyebrow in question as he calls out for me. "Exactly ball…and my head, I, what-" Stan stops mid…well its not really mid sentence since he was barely forming one, but he stops midway through to release a frustrated noise. He slams his fist against the edge of his bed and for the first time since I've been here, he's actually looking pissed off.

He looks to me hopefully as if I'm supposed to know what he was trying to say, but all I can give him is a sheepish I-don't-know-what-you-were-trying-to-say look.

I jump back in disbelief as Stan grabs the nearby water cup on the side table and hawks it across the room.

"Dude, WHAT?!" I demand.

"Head! Exactly!" He's pointing at his head, but I still don't know what he wants. It's like we're playing some fucked up game of charades and Stan sucks at it.

"I don't know what you're trying to say!" I bite back just as fiercely.

Almost as quickly as the anger and frustration came, he slumps back into his pillows and avoids eye contact with me. I sigh and resume the position I was in earlier as well. "Sorry I yelled," I say resolutely.

"Done," he whispers. "Done talking, done. No more, Kyle go away, you go away please."

"Right," I say hanging my head in slight shame. "But we'll be back," I let him know. He nods as if he's okay with it. Something in his eyes clouds over and as I start to attempt to decipher it, he saves me the trouble.

"Tell Kyle kiss no, okay Kenny? Weird…"

"Yeah, I'll let him know," I murmur and head for the door. "I'll send your mom back in though alright?"

--

"Why'd you tell me he was sleeping? I saw him wide awake Kenny!" Kyle yells at me for the sixtieth time as I pay my parking garage fee and roll out onto the street. He's mildly miffed that I pulled him away with the pathetic excuse that Stan fell asleep on me before he even came back in the room. And now he won't listen to logic. And he won't lower the volume of his voice. And I'm starting to hear a distant buzzing sound in the inside of my ear.

He grabs my arm, but I yank it away before he causes any damage. "Kyle, I'm driving!" I state as calmly as possible.

"Turn the fuck around and let me at least say goodbye!"

I slam on the brakes at a red light and turn to him. "Waking him up for that could be detrimental to his process, Kyle. You don't want to fuck his brain up any more, do you?"

That shuts him up. But only temporarily. His rage is back building as he sits in my passenger seat with folded arms and breathing so loud its purposeful. The way he's staring at the window at the nothingness we drive by…I'm waiting for the rest of what he has to say.

In the meantime, I've got to think. Think of a way to break it to him, to stall him, to…prevent him from showing any sign of "I love you" toward Stan. How can I possibly stop him from doing it without letting him know I had to stop him? I can't bring myself to telling him that Stan doesn't remember that critical detail. It'd break him again, and he's far too fragile…he might be irreparable this time.

"We can go see him in a few days, Kyle," I speak up, trying desperately to change the subject and ease into this whole tricky business. "Until then, you should relax. He remembers you."

Kyle slouches against the back of the seat to pout. "Yeah…" he glances at the window. "You're right." He suddenly seems to brighten and I can feel him smiling at me. "He's a little off, but I'm sure he'll be okay. It's going to be a long recovery for him, but I'll be there for him and so will you."

"Right," I nod and try to smile along with him. But I'm finding it pretty fucking difficult.

"I never told you this Kenny, but I had this really messed up dream where Stan actually didn't remember me at all. I walked into his room and he just stared at me, demanding to know who I was. And I kept telling him and trying to remind him of everything we've always done together but he just could not remember. I feel horrible saying this, but for me, the worst is over. The hardest part about all this was walking into that room and thinking I'd be met with a pair of unfamiliar blank eyes. But they knew who I was…" he suddenly chuckles and I can see him fidget.

"You had no idea how much I had to hold myself back, especially with his mom still in the room. All I wanted to do was…" Kyle trails off. I glance over at him and notice him blush. "But I figured I shouldn't just jump on him like that you know? That I should give him a bit more time to recover before I start showering him with affections," Kyle laughs to himself and I do my best to join him but it comes out short.

This sucks. I don't want to be the one who has to tell him he's already given Stan too much affection. But I HAVE to be the one, and that puts me in a tight spot.

For all his nerves, and feelings of relief at seeing Stan alive it's pretty obvious that Kyle is still tense as hell about the situation.

I just don't know how I'm gonna break it to him…

And I'm starting to think that I might not have to. I've bought myself a couple of days before we see Stan again. Maybe this will all blow over. I know Stan's condition is serious, but surely over the course of time he'll remember his and Kyle's relationship on his own. I'm sure Mrs. M will be talking and talking about Kyle, and I'm sure that'll jog something in his mind.

Because really, it's Kyle, and there's no one Stan loves more than him. And a person just doesn't forget the one they love.

- FG & IBB