The Scenic Route

by hollycomb

The boys embark on a six day road trip to California before separating for college. Cartman is a pain in the ass, Kenny has no future, Butters is in crisis, and Kyle doesn't know how he'll say goodbye to Stan. Stan/Kyle, Kenny/Butters. COMPLETE!

6. Chapter 6

A/N: Thanks to everyone who has read, reviewed, and/or followed this story! I've really enjoyed reading your reactions. Only one more chapter after this, and an epilogue.

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Kyle is asleep when they cross the border into California, and he wakes up feeling overly warm, a vaguely familiar scent all around him, like baby powder and sour apple candy. He opens his eyes and moans in confusion when he finds himself clinging to another sleeping person, someone's hand cupped over his ear. He's curled up on top of Butters, who is fast asleep with his head on Kenny's thigh. Kenny smiles at Kyle as he sits up and rubs his eyes, Kenny's hand sliding off of him.

"I took like fifty pictures," Kenny says, lifting his cell phone. "It was the cutest thing ever."

"Sorry," Kyle mumbles, disoriented. Up front, Stan is driving, Cartman asleep in the passenger seat. There's no music playing, and the scenery outside is pure desert. Kyle feels like he's dreaming, and kind of wants to lean down against Butters' back and sleep again.

"Don't apologize," Kenny says. "At least, not to me."

Kyle rolls his eyes. He looks at Stan's reflection in the side view mirror. Stan is wearing his sunglasses, a hopelessly dorky pair of Ray-Bans that might have been cool five years ago. Kyle is surprised he's awake enough to drive.

"So what did I miss?" Kyle asks.

"Other than you cuddling Butters?" Kenny says.

"Ugh, God. Yes, other than that."

"Well. There was a tumbleweed. And Cartman said some stuff about Mexicans."

Kyle groans and leans against the window, folding his arms over his chest. He still feels drained from his episode of drunken panic, and he's thirsty, but the water bottle is up front with Stan and he's not talking to Stan right now. Or Stan isn't talking to him. Either way, they're done with each other.

"You feeling okay?" Kenny asks, reaching over to rub Kyle's arm. Kyle nods.

"I'm fine."

"Stanley?" Kenny says.

"Yes?"

"How much longer until we get to this campsite?"

"Another couple of hours." Stan sounds angry, like he doesn't appreciate Kenny being nice to Kyle.

"How about some music?" Kenny says.

"Maybe later," Stan says.

"Yeah? Okay, then you're gonna have to listen to this instead." Kenny rubs his fingers through Butters' hair, and Butters sighs in his sleep, then starts making pleasured little noises and nuzzling at Kenny's leg.

"Oh, Jesus, fine." Stan jabs a button on the radio, and static-filled accordion music blares from the speakers. Cartman awakens with a shout.

"Did you do it?" he asks, looking around frantically. "You son of a bitch - did you cross the border?"

"We were threatening to earlier," Kenny explains to Kyle, smirking. Kyle can't roll his eyes hard enough.

"Yeah, we just drove through Tijuana," Stan says. "There were midgets having sex on the street, just like you said."

Kenny cracks up, and Cartman grumbles irritably, attempting to tune the radio. He finds a country station and turns the volume down. Butters sits up, yawning and scooting closer to Kenny.

"Hey," Kenny says, knocking his nose against Butters' cheek. Butters beams at him sleepily, clutching at his arm. Kyle tries not to hate them for being so happy together.

"How long did I sleep?" Butters asks.

"Just about an hour," Kenny says. He's scratching Butters' neck, pulling those little noises out of him again. Cartman turns to give them a threatening glare.

"I had a dream that I was a dolphin," Butters says. Cartman snorts. "And somebody was riding on my back."

"Goddammit, Butters," Cartman says. "Don't tell us about your dreams of being ridden."

"It's probably 'cause Kyle was sleeping on your back," Kenny says. Butters laughs and looks at Kyle, who really wishes they would stop talking about this. He doesn't even remember falling asleep, let alone slumping over onto the nearest warm surface.

"Sorry," Kyle says again, holding up his hands.

"I don't mind," Butter says. "Geez, Kyle, you're like my family." He looks down at his hands, his smile trembling. "All you guys are. Especially now."

Kenny kisses the side of his head, and Kyle stares at Cartman, daring him to make some smart ass remark. Cartman just watches the heat-rippled highway through the windshield, yawning.

"Hey, fellas, I hate to say it, but I kinda need to use the restroom," Butters says.

"Can you wait until we stop for gas?" Stan asks.

"Oh, sure," Butters says, fidgeting.

"We can pull over here if you want," Kenny says.

"No, that's okay. I don't want to be, um. Exposed to the elements."

"New rules for the car," Cartman bellows. "Butters is not allowed to talk about being ridden or exposing himself."

"Sorry fellas," Butters says. Kenny kicks the back of Cartman's seat.

"'Ey! Don't make me come back there!"

"What are you going to do in college?" Kenny asks. "Who are you going to harass? You're going to have to troll message boards or something."

"Kenny, I'm going to an Ivy League school on the east coast," Cartman says. "Who the fuck do you think I'm going to harass? Hippies."

"It won't be the same, though," Kenny says.

"The same as what? Watching you fags dry hump each other? Yeah, I guess not, Kenny. Wow, I'm so sad."

No one says anything for awhile, and Kyle thinks bitterly of Wendy asking Stan to take Cartman on this trip just to assuage her own guilt about the joke at graduation. Of course Stan did it for her. Like Kenny said, he always wants to avoid conflict. That's the only reason he's still friends with Kyle. He doesn't want to hurt his feelings. He'll juggle eight thousand demands from his childhood friends and his elementary school sweetheart just for the sake of never allowing anything to change. Kyle isn't sure why the fuck he's so romantic about their past, except that change scares him. A vague memory of something Stan said while he was drunk skips through Kyle's mind like a stone, disappearing quickly. Something about football, probably not important. Kyle went to every goddamn game, watched Stan kiss Wendy afterward, then went home to sleep until Stan was done fucking her. Kyle had loved it, too, pathetically: being the one who spent the night with him, even if he was untouched.

"Looks like there's a gas station in twenty miles," Stan says needlessly as they pass a sign for it. "Can you make it, Butters?"

"I think so," Butters says, squirming. "I shouldn't have had all that OJ with breakfast."

"New rule!" Cartman says, shouting again. "Butters can't talk about the flavor of his pee, ever."

"Dude, sick!" Stan says. "It's not a flavor. No one's drinking it."

"I don't know, are you sure?" Cartman says. Kyle can hear his smirk and can anticipate what's coming. "Kyle might want to. We all know he loves drinking pee."

"See?" Kenny says, kneeing the back of Cartman's seat. "You're not going to be able to use childhood trauma as ammo when you rag on hippies. It won't be the same."

"Can we not talk about this?" Kyle says, furious with Stan for starting it. He's usually more sensitive, but maybe he just doesn't care anymore. "Unless you guys want me to puke all over you?"

"Sorry," Kenny says. Stan says nothing.

The rustic quality of the gas station where they stop makes Kyle nervous. There's nothing else around for miles, and only two other cars are parked in the lot near the attached convenience store. Butters bolts for the bathroom on the exterior of the store, whining when he finds it's locked. Kenny takes him inside to get the key and Cartman follows. Kyle stays in the car, looking anywhere but at Stan while he fills the tank, the clicking of the meter the only sound for miles. Kyle wonders if he'll actually make it through the rest of the trip without speaking to Stan. He has a sick feeling that what happened in the hospital wasn't the actual friendship-ending fight, just some sort of precursor.

Butters emerges from the convenience store and runs into the bathroom. Kenny is close behind, eating peanut M&M's from a bright yellow bag, and he leans against the side of the building while Butters relieves himself. Kyle startles when the gas pump clicks off, the tank full. Stan walks inside to pay without announcing his intention to do so to Kyle. Since their fight, it's the first thing that's made Kyle's eyes water.

As Stan is going in, two guys walk out of the store, holding the door for a third. They look like locals, big and dusty, older. Kyle watches them walk to their truck, trying to distract himself from how badly it hurts just to see Stan do something without okaying it with him first. He tries to remember everything he said in the hospital, but the fight happened so fast and escalated so quickly. Just half an hour before Stan had run into the room and held Kyle like he was still afraid Kyle would die. Kyle scoffs when he thinks of the spectacle of the two of them last night, how the paramedics must have rolled their eyes at two hysterical drunk boys, one fainting into the other's arms. They couldn't know that Kyle almost died twice when they were boys, that Stan was there.

Butters emerges from the bathroom looking sprightly again. Kenny kisses him, feeds him a few M&M's, and anxiety folds Kyle's stomach in half. Some instinct tells him that the men at the truck have taken notice of Kenny and Butters, and when he looks over at them they're all frozen, watching. They don't look happy about this at all, and Kyle wishes he could give Kenny and Butters some sort of signal, because they're oblivious, Kenny holding Butters by the hips as Butters tips more M&M's into his mouth. Kyle looks at the door of the convenience store, hoping they can get out of here before any sort of confrontation occurs, but there's no sign of Stan or Cartman. Stan is probably in line behind Cartman at the register, waiting for the clerk to ring up eighteen individual packets of junk food. Kyle digs out his phone, his heart racing as he starts to type a message to Kenny, but he's only got two words typed out when he looks up and sees the guys at the truck walking toward Kenny and Butters. Kenny doesn't notice, just kisses Butters on the forehead before slipping into the bathroom himself.

"Okay, no," Kyle says, crawling across the backseat, because there's no way Butters is going to hold his own against three full grown rednecks. Kyle doesn't have much hope of doing so, either, but he climbs out of the car anyway, speed walking toward Butters, who has definitely noticed the men now. He's got his back pressed up against the side of the building, the bag of candy clawed into his hand and a frightened attempt at a smile on his face.

"He'll be done in just a sec if you need the bathroom, fellas," Butters says. He sees Kyle walking toward him and looks relieved, though only marginally. The men stare at Butters for a moment, two of them giving him menacing smiles and the third just watching him, stone-faced.

"Where you boys from?" the stone-faced one asked.

"Colorado," Butters says, everything about him screaming to be bullied, that he's a ripe candidate. He's visibly shivering.

"We're just - we're just leaving," Kyle says. He takes Butters' arm and tugs.

"But - Kenny -" Butters says, giving Kyle a wide-eyed look.

"Seems it's like a threesome," one of the smiling guys says. He's wearing a faded red shirt that's buttoned too low, revealing gnarly chest hair. Ironically, it makes Kyle think of Big Gay Al.

"That your boyfriend in there?" the stone-faced man asks, putting his hand against the door when the knob turns. Kyle can hear Kenny struggling to open it, but when he pushes the man leans his full weight on the door, keeping him inside. Kyle tries to pull Butters toward the car again, but the man with the chest hair steps in their way, his shadow falling over them.

"Look," Kyle says, trying to puff himself up like a threatened bird. He'd be no good at this on his best day, and he's still shaky with his hangover, weak. "Our friends are inside, and they've got cell phones."

"Oh shit, they've got cell phones!" the other smiling man says, laughing. He seems high, and so does the man with the chest hair. Maybe stone-face is their designated driver. Kenny is fighting like hell to get out of the bathroom now, screaming muffled threats, but stone-face is holding the door shut easily.

"Let him out!" Butters shouts, surprising everyone. He runs at stone-face and shoves him feebly, but stone-face is taken off guard enough to stumble backward a few steps, giving Kenny room to throw open the bathroom door. Kenny comes out swinging, red-faced, and lands one hard punch against stone-face's right cheek before the other two are upon him, quickly sobered.

"You fags are fucking dead!" one of them shouts, and chest hair catches Kenny's leg when he kicks at them, upending him. As soon as he's on his back they start hitting him, and Butters jumps on one of them with a petulant growl that would be funny if Kyle wasn't scared out of his fucking mind, frozen in place. He's able to unfreeze himself when stone-face grabs Butters and lifts him easily into the air, laughing at his attempt to struggle free. Kyle kicks stone-face in the shin, knowing Kenny would want him to rescue Butters before helping him, and stone-face has the gall to use Butters' wildly kicking legs as a weapon, one of Butters' shoes connecting hard with Kyle's cheek.

"Put him down!"

Kyle is on the ground when he hears what sounds like a bullet being chambered. He's coughing through a fog of dirt, assuming they're all going to die, because these psychopaths have a gun. Butters drops to the ground beside him, also coughing, and as the dust clears Kyle realizes that whoever issued that order sounded a lot like Cartman. Someone kneels down beside him and takes hold of his shoulders: Stan. Their eyes lock, and it's like Kyle is seeing him in a dream, far away from the last words they exchanged. Cartman is standing over them, his gun pointed at the three men.

"You know how to use that, fat boy?" stone-face asks. He's backing up but still smiling, seemingly calm. Cartman fires the gun into the air. The two men who were hitting Kenny freeze and whirl around, scrambling away from Kenny when Cartman aims the gun at them.

"Get the fuck out of here," Cartman says, slowly. "You. fucking. hillbillies."

"Kenny!" Butters shouts as the other two men climb to their feet, keeping their distance. Stone-face is still close enough to make Kyle nervous. Kyle stays on the ground near Cartman's feet as he watches Stan and Butters rush to Kenny, helping him up. Kenny is still conscious, coughing, his face bloodied.

"That's real a real impressive little fag gun," stone-face says to Cartman, still smirking. They're about the same size, Cartman a little fatter, stone-face a little taller. "I got something in my truck you might be interested in. A real man's gun. I could stick it up your ass, maybe."

The other two laugh, but they sound nervous now. There's no trace of emotion on Cartman's face as he lowers the gun and fires at stone-face's feet. Stone-face jumps backward, cursing, and the other two bolt for the truck.

"Stay where you are!" Cartman shouts, cocking the gun again, and they stop in their tracks.

Stan and Butters are helping Kenny to the car, his arms thrown around their shoulders. Kyle barely knows what's happening when Cartman squats down, his gun still trained on stone-face, and tugs Kyle up by the collar of his shirt. Kyle tries to make his legs work, partially succeeds.

"You're real lucky I didn't bring my piece into the store," stone-face says.

"Yeah?" Cartman says. He's backing toward the car, pulling Kyle with him like he's his hostage. "You're lucky I don't like shooting guys in the balls. I do like the idea of neutering hillbillies, though, so maybe you shouldn't push me."

Cartman all but throws Kyle into the backseat, where he clambers over toward Kenny and Butters, his stomach lurching when he sees the blood that's leaked onto Kenny's shirt and the bruises that are rising on his cheeks. Stan has already started the car, and as soon as Cartman climbs into the passenger seat, still aiming the gun at the men through the open window, Stan peels out of the lot.

"Holy shit," he says, holding the steering wheel with both hands. "Holy shit - what happened?"

Kyle whirls around to look at the gas station as Stan zooms away from it. The men have piled into their truck, and Kyle knows this isn't over yet.

"They saw Butters and Kenny, you know," Kyle says. He's talking to Stan, but it hardly matters now. "Shit, fuck - they're following us. Do you think they really have a gun?"

"I'd be surprised if they didn't," Cartman says. He still seems eerily calm. He leans out the window with the gun still raised, aiming for the truck, which is just beginning to catch up to them.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Stan shouts. "You can't shoot at them!"

He's just finished saying this when a double-barreled shotgun emerges from the passenger side of the truck. Cartman curses and pulls himself back into the car when the first shot rings out, zipping audibly past the car.

"Fuck!" Kyle screams. "I'm - I'll call the police." He's not even sure he could make his hands function right now, let alone his phone.

"Police?" Cartman scoffs. "The nearest station's probably fifty miles from here. No, I'll handle this."

"Are you crazy?" Stan says. "This isn't a movie, Cartman!"

"Kill 'em, Eric!" Butters says, clutching at Kenny, who seems only vaguely aware of what's going on. He and Butters are ducked down with their heads below the back window, and Kenny pulls Kyle down to take cover, too. Cartman is again aiming his gun at the truck. From the floorboards behind Cartman's seat, Kyle reaches into the the front and grabs a handful of Stan's t-shirt. The men in the truck are still firing, an ominous pause between each gunshot, promising every time that the next one will be the one that counts.

"Kyle," Stan says, or maybe he's hearing things. Kyle closes his eyes and waits to hear glass shattering.

"These pussies are terrible shots," Cartman says, and he fires.

There's an explosion, tires squealing, and Cartman whoops victoriously. He fires again, and another tire blows out. Kyle is afraid to look, but he hears the truck skidding off the road, and then there's nothing but Cartman celebrating and the sound of their own car roaring down the highway, Stan doing close to ninety. Kyle is still holding onto Stan's shirt, slumped against Kenny and Butters, all of them breathing hard.

"Holy fuck!" Stan says, and he starts laughing. "Cartman! Holy shit!"

"What, I never told you guys I got first in the statewide junior sharpshooting competition last year?" Cartman says. He's still pretending to be calm, grinning, but Kyle can see sweat dripping down his temples.

"We thought you were full of shit!" Kyle says. He's laughing now, too, though his heart is still slamming.

"Eric, you saved us!" Butters says, jumping into the front seat to hug him. Kyle expects Cartman to retch and push him away, but he just sits there receiving this attention smugly, probably thinking it will irritate Kenny.

"Are you alright?" Kyle asks Kenny, finally letting go of Stan's shirt in order to examine Kenny's injuries. Kenny wipes blood from his face and nods.

"I've, uh, seen worse," he says. He hoists himself up onto the backseat with a groan, checking to see if the truck has somehow managed to follow them. It hasn't; there's nothing but shimmering highway behind them. Butters returns to Kenny's side and kisses his cheeks, moaning at the state they're in.

"I can't believe that just fucking happened!" Stan says. Cartman lifts his gun to his lips and blows across the end of the barrel. Kenny laughs at this, and then they're all laughing, talking over each other - wish I could have seen their faces, stupid fucking rednecks, that was so fucking awesome. Kyle feels drunk with relief, feather-light as he helps Butters use the water to clean Kenny's face.

"Do you realize what you just did, Cartman?" Kenny asks. "You practically defended gay rights."

"I did not!" Cartman says. He looks so scandalized by the suggestion that Kyle is afraid he'll turn the gun on Kenny. Cartman huffs and clicks the safety on before tucking the gun back into his pants. "I've got dibs on calling you guys fags. That's all."

"Where does it hurt?" Butters asks, feeling his way over Kenny's chest. Kenny shakes his head.

"Mostly in the area of my pride," he says. "I can't believe Cartman saved us all. Ouch."

"Heh," Cartman says. "It was bound to happen eventually."

"But you were so brave, Kenny!" Butters takes hold of Kenny's face, obviously resisting the urge to go whole hog and straddle his lap. "Eric had a gun, you only had your fists. And you got that big guy right in the jaw!"

"And you're the one who'll have the kick ass black eye to make you look tough," Kyle says. He touches the skin around Kenny's left eye, wincing. "We should stop somewhere to get some ice."

"Duh," Stan says, and it stabs through Kyle. So they're still fighting. He's not sure why he thought yet another near-death experience would change that. Maybe it was the way Stan fell to his side during the altercation, or the understanding that seemed to pass between them when they looked at each other, something bigger than forgiveness. He thinks of the way he talked to Stan in the hospital room, that condescending bullshit about Stan needing to save everybody. He's not sure how else he was expected to respond to Stan's news that he had to ditch his girlfriend to spend time with lonely Kyle, which wasn't really news to Kyle at all.

They wait an hour and a half to stop, for fear that the guys in the truck might catch up with them. The diner where they pull over is crowded enough that Kyle feels relatively safe, though his heart is still pounding after that ordeal. He feels exposed, back in the real world where not everyone will be okay with Kenny kissing Butters in public. They're not in South Park anymore, and three of them won't be going back there for awhile. Kyle cringes when he thinks of a plane ride home with only Cartman for company.

"This doesn't bode well for my amateur porn career," Kenny says, looking at his reflection in the diner's front window. He's holding a makeshift ice pack against his eye, the melting ice cubes beginning to bleed through three layers of napkins.

"Whatever," Stan says. "You'll have awesome scars."

The diner is packed with bikers. Their table doesn't get any long looks, not even from the waitress, despite Kenny's condition and the disheveled look of the rest of them. Kyle eats a fried chicken sandwich ravenously, alarmed when he realizes that he didn't think to wash his hands before touching it.

"I hope nobody has any major objections to camping tonight," Stan says. "It's the last time I'll be able to do it for awhile."

Kyle sniffs, thinking of Stan's signing bonus. They could afford a luxury resort in Palm Springs, but Stan would rather sleep among the lizards. He told Kyle the reason they were going to camp during this trip was to save money. He lied to Kyle's face, and Kyle still doesn't understand why. There's never been any jealousy between them when it comes to money, and Stan knows Kyle has always lived comfortably enough not to harbor any sort of financial envy. Stan must have been telling the truth in the hospital room: he wanted everything to be like it was when they were kids, and he knew Kyle wouldn't let him have it without being fed lies about needing to save money. Kyle feels like announcing the secret about the signing bonus to the whole table, though he's not sure what that would accomplish.

"Man," Kyle says, dragging a french fry through ketchup. "You know what I just realized?"

"Cartman is actually good at something?" Kenny says.

"'Ey, fuck you!"

"It's still blowing my mind, dude," Kenny says.

"No," Kyle says. "Me and Cartman are the only ones who are going back to South Park." He looks up from his fries. "Stan won't be back until Thanksgiving break, and Kenny – I don't know, Kenny, when do you think you'll come back?"

"Not for fucking Thanksgiving," Kenny says. "The grocery store used to donate a turkey, and my mom would always fuck up trying to cook it, and we'd end up drooling over the food commercials that came on during the football game. Goddamn." He steals one of Kyle's fries. "Depressing."

"I never liked Thanksgiving much, either," Butters says. "My mom's whole family would come, and I'd have to do all the dishes. And I always got the short half of the wishbone, and everyone would laugh." He rubs Kenny's shoulder. "We'll have our own special Thanksgiving this year."

"Yeah, at the homeless shelter," Cartman says.

"How can you be so heartless?" Stan asks. He's furious, glaring at Cartman, and everyone at the table is taken aback, even Kenny and Butters.

"Well, where the fuck else are they going to live?" Cartman asks, sputtering. "What are they going to do for money? I'm just being realistic, here, Stan."

"You're being an insensitive shit," Kyle says, hoping Stan will at least look at him. He does, but only quickly.

"I'm going to help them," Stan says. "They won't be homeless."

"You don't have to," Kenny says, and Stan turns his angry glare on him.

"I know that," he says. "Have some fucking humility and just accept that I have faith in you, okay? I never helped you because I felt like I had to. I helped you because you're like my fucking brother, you dumb shit. Jesus." Stan gets up, shoving at Cartman. "Get out of the way."

"Stan," Kenny says. "Dude, what –"

"No, you know what, I need to be by myself for a sec," Stan says. He's so desperate to get out of the booth that he actually climbs over Cartman, who grumbles in complaint. Kyle stares down at his french fries as Stan slams out of the diner's front door, the bells on the handle clanging irritably.

Nobody says anything for awhile, but Kyle can feel Kenny waiting to speak, and when he does he says exactly what Kyle expected him to.

"You should go after him." Kenny pokes Kyle's shoulder when he doesn't look up from his plate.

"He said he wants to be alone," Kyle says. "And I'm the last person he wants to talk to."

"Alright, enough faggy melodrama for one meal," Cartman says, standing. "I gotta go make a phone call." He saunters outside, leaving Kyle with Kenny and Butters, who are both staring at him.

"Fine," Kenny says with a groan. He gets up and stretches with a groan, wincing and clutching at his ribs when he takes it too far. "I guess I'll have to go after him myself. I'm the one who upset him, anyway. Or so he would have us believe. Which sounds kind of familiar. Just saying."

Kyle is left sitting with Butters, and as soon as the door closes behind Kenny, awkwardness descends. Though they were in AP classes together and have known each other since pre-school, Kyle suddenly can't recall a single conversation he's had with Butters on a one-on-one basis. They both examine things on the table for a few minutes, Butters playing with sugar packets and Kyle drawing patterns in the condensation on his water glass.

"So, hey," Kyle says, turning to Butters. "I never congratulated you on getting second in our class. That's really awesome, dude."

"Thanks, Kyle!" Butters says, brightening. "You got third in the class, right?"

"Yes," Kyle says, wondering why he felt he had to point that out. Butters nods.

"It was a real close race."

"Yep. So, um. Stan mentioned you were planning on going to school in Cincinnati?"

"Well." Butters looks back to his sugar packets, which he's arranging in a flower pattern. "It was a seminary school my parents picked for me, and I don't think I can afford to go there now that I've run away from home. But I didn't really want to, anyway."

"You should apply to some schools in California," Kyle says. "Or wherever - you'd definitely get an interview, with your grades, and if you explained your financial situation they'd probably give you help."

"You think so?"

"Yeah, I don't see why not. People are sympathetic to kids who've been kicked out 'cause they're gay. Or anyway, they should be."

"Those fellas at the gas station didn't seem too sympathetic," Butters says, adjusting the pink petals on his sugar packet flower.

"Don't worry about those assholes," Kyle says. "Most people aren't like them."

"I don't know, Kyle." Butters looks out the window, but there's no sign of Stan or Kenny. Cartman is walking around outside, grinning as he talks to someone on his cell phone. "My parents said I'd be miserable if I tried to live the life of a deviant. I guess I thought as long as I was with Kenny I'd be just fine, but that was pretty scary."

"I know," Kyle says. "I was scared, too. But it's not worth lying to yourself, you know? Being scared?" He almost laughs out loud at his own hypocrisy, though he hasn't really lied to himself about his feelings since middle school. It's more of a lie by omission, but for someone who has nothing to gain by being honest, he still feels it's the right course of action.

"I love him so much," Butters says, absently. He's staring out the window, and for a moment it seems like he's forgotten Kyle is there.

"He loves you, too, dude," Kyle says. "Me and Stan were just saying that we've never seen him like this."

"When those guys were hitting him," Butters says. His fists curl up on the tabletop. "I kinda wanted Eric to kill 'em all."

"I'm pretty sure Kenny wanted that, too," Kyle says. "But at least this way we don't have to get interviewed by the police. And Kenny's alright, it's just a few cuts and bruises. And maybe a cracked rib."

"My dad tried to hit him when he found us together," Butters says. "It was real scary. Kenny had to jump out the window, and I was sure I heard his leg break, but he was fine the next day."

"Kenny is oddly resilient," Kyle says, wishing that he would return. "And actually, dude, you are, too. You guys are gonna be okay."

"Oh, I know," Butters says. He smiles at Kyle shyly. "How about you, though? Are you gonna be okay?"

"Me?" Kyle huffs like he can't imagine what Butters is talking about. "I'm fine. Why? Is Kenny worried about me or something?"

"Yeah, a little."

"He talks about me to you?" Kyle asks, not sure if he should be angry about this.

"Sure!" Butters says. "You, and Stan, sometimes even Eric - we talk about everything. Like you and Stan, I guess."

"Not anymore," Kyle says, though the last person he wants to discuss this with is Butters. Or maybe Cartman, but Butters is a close second. "You're lucky, though. It's great, being able to talk about everything with someone." He's never really had that with Stan, who never bothered with the charade of asking Kyle who his crushes were. Kyle appreciated that, once.

"You two will make up," Butters says. He rubs Kyle's back. "It's just a little fight."

"It's not so little," Kyle says. "Especially since we're about to separate forever."

"Not forever! How about Thanksgiving?"

"He'll be all different by then. Playing college football is gonna change him." Kyle didn't mean to say any of this out loud, but Butters has a semi-hypnotic presence. This must be why Kenny started going to him when Kyle and Stan's attention started to feel smothering.

"Well, I'll tell you one thing that'll never change," Butters says, his voice getting louder as if he's about to make a great oration. "And that's how much Stan likes you. Ya'll are super best friends, even when you're mad at each other. Some football playing isn't going to change that. Heck, Stan's been playing football for years!"

"This is different, Butters. He'll be playing on TV. ESPN will want to interview him. Girls all over the country will know who he is."

"What does some girls knowing who he is matter?"

"He's really cute, obviously!" Kyle says, beginning to get enraged by Butters' obliviousness. "They're gonna want to sleep with him, and he's not going to be able to resist, and he'll turn into this huge douchebag who fucks groupies and doesn't have time for real friendships!"

"Yeah? That's what's going to happen to me?"

Kyle turns slowly, feeling for the second time today as if the world he's inhabiting is more nightmare than reality, a kind of snow globe that he's become trapped inside, one that somebody keeps savagely shaking every time he thinks he's figured out how to breathe in its glitter-choked water. Stan is there, towering over their table, his expression so bereft of forgiveness that Kyle almost doesn't recognize him. They always forgive you. Cartman said that. Like so many things Cartman says, it's not true.

"Stan," Kyle says, feigning exasperation, as if Stan misheard that. Kyle is just praying Stan didn't hear him describing him as cute, will have to worry about the rest later.

"I just spent ten minutes listening to Kenny bullshit about how I should be nice to you," Stan says. "I don't know how you managed to get him back on your side, but he didn't hear what you said to me at the hospital."

"What did I say to you?" Kyle asks, furious, his face getting hot. "The truth? Hurts, yeah? Like how you only stayed friends with me because you felt sorry for me?"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Stan asks. They've got an audience now, the bikers and a few waitresses turning from the counter.

"You blamed me for causing problems between you and Wendy!" Kyle says, trying to keep his voice low. He's not sure Cartman has enough bullets to fend off more offended hillbillies.

"I did not!" Stan says.

"Yes, you did, you fucking liar!" Kyle jumps up from the table, forgetting to control himself. The rage is a powerful ally; he lets it wrap around him like armor. "'Oh, Kyle, your pathetic ass was waiting for me, you were alone, it's not my fault I was a shitty boyfriend, it was all you.' That's great, Stan - I'm glad I could serve as your fucking scapegoat for the fact that you didn't have the balls to break it off with her and sleep around."

"Uh, fellas," Butters says, popping up from the table. "I think we're making a scene here. Maybe we should go."

"Fine," Stan says. He grabs Kyle's wrist and tugs him toward the door. "But this isn't finished."

"Yes, it is!" Kyle says. He yanks himself out of Stan's grip. "It's finished, okay? You'll be in football camp tomorrow and I'll be flying home with Cartman. The end, Stan. You made sure of that when you picked a mortgage downpayment over me."

"Quit embarrassing yourself," Stan says through gritted teeth. He yanks Kyle toward the door again, and Kyle wants to fight free, to hit him, but they don't need anymore attention than they already have, so he lets Stan pull him out into the parking lot, the harsh sunlight blinding him for a moment.

"Whoa, whoa," Kenny says from somewhere within the glare. Kyle can smell his cigarette. "I thought we were making progress with this?"

"Stay the fuck out of it, Kenny!" Stan shouts. Kyle has never seen him feral like this, not even on the football field, and it's alarmingly hot. The sun is so bright that Kyle doesn't regain his bearings until Stan pushes him up against the side of the car.

"You are a hypocrite," Stan says, jabbing his finger in Kyle's face.

"Excuse me?"

"Fight, fight, fight!" Cartman calls from the door of the restaurant, but Stan ignores him.

"You ditched me for the Ivy League," Stan says. "You could have come to my school. It's a good school, Kyle! And fuck you for thinking I would ignore you and chase pussy and turn into some jock asshole. You really think I'm that worthless? That fucking shallow and cheap?"

"At thirty grand I'd hardly say you were cheap," Kyle says, hating every word. He watches the anger drain from Stan's features, replaced by naked shock.

"Wow." Stan steps back. "You really hate me."

"No," Kyle says, and he's talking to himself more than Stan, telling himself not to say what it's too late to take back. "Stan, wait."

"Let's just go," Stan says. He opens the back door on the passenger's side. "I don't give a fuck who drives, but I need a break."

"Stan, hang on, I didn't mean -"

"Let go of me!" Stan shouts when Kyle tries to pull him out of the car. He can feel the others watching them, even Cartman saying nothing.

"I don't want to let you go," Kyle says, quietly enough that no one else will hear. "Please, Stan, listen -"

"I've listened. You think I'm a disloyal prick who wants to get famous and fuck a lot of chicks. That's great, Kyle. After sixteen years, you know me really well. Congratulations."

"I applied to UCLA, okay!" Kyle feels like someone else is confessing this, a person he has no control over. Stan finally looks at him, frowning.

"What?"

"I got in." Kyle is shaking, holding on to the door of the car as if it's attached to a train that will take Stan away. "I got in, but no scholarship. So I couldn't accept. I would have, but I couldn't."

"Your parents -"

"My dad's firm hasn't done that well since the economy tanked," Kyle says. It feels like the first time he's talked to Stan in months, and in a way it is, because keeping this from him has tainted everything else. "My parents do okay, but they can't pay an out of state tuition, and I couldn't get a loan. My credit is fucked, dude, remember?"

Stan stares at him, his lips parted. He seems to be deciding whether or not he believes this story. Kyle feels like he'll collapse, weightless after what he just gave up, only one piece of flimsy armor left to protect him from Stan knowing absolutely everything.

"Your credit," Stan says. "They really - that counted?"

"Yes, it counted! And it fucked my parents' credit, too, because they might have just applied for the cards in my name to try to cover their own asses. No one is going to loan us shit, Stan. Not even for school, not even with my grades. I had to get a scholarship, and UCLA didn't offer one. So that's why I'm not coming with you, you fucking fuck."

Stan says nothing, his face soft with surprise, but it doesn't last long. He pulls himself into the car fully, facing away from Kyle.

"That sucks, but it doesn't change the fact that you think I'm a worthless asshole."

"What?"

"I heard what you said, Kyle! Why'd you even want to come to school with me? I would have just ditched you to suck ESPN's dick, right? You should be glad we're not going to the same school, since I'm all about money and pussy."

"Jesus, I was just blowing off steam!" Kyle says. "I didn't mean that, I just –"

"If you guys aren't gonna fight for real, we'd better get on the road," Cartman says, walking to the car, a to go cup in his hand. "Before I have to defend your homo honor again."

"Stan," Kyle says, ignoring Cartman. "Stan, I'm sorry, I –"

"Get in the car," Stan says to Kyle, not looking at him. "Nobody wants to hear your shit right now. I think we've all heard enough of it in the past five days."

"More like the past fifteen years," Cartman says, opening the driver's side door. "Kenny! Butters! Get your asses over here, we're leaving."

Kyle ends up in the front seat, Kenny and Butters in the back with Stan, who is silent, staring out the window. Kyle keeps rehearsing elaborate apologies in his head, then trashing them, deciding Stan doesn't deserve one. All he does is put up with Kyle's shit. He views it as a kind of charity. Stan shouldn't care what Kyle thinks of him, shouldn't want him around anymore, obviously doesn't. Kyle's confession about UCLA barely seemed to reach him, and it was like a preview of his worst nightmare, telling Stan everything and getting nothing in return. Maybe they've actually despised each other all this time, or at least for the past few years. The thought makes Kyle physically sick, and he has to swallow down a hiccup of bile.

"So where the hell am I driving to?" Cartman asks, mercifully breaking the silence.

"Just keep going west on 15," Stan says. "You're gonna exit right onto Excelsior Mine Road."

"Onto what? Is that in Endor or Rivendell?"

"It's a real place," Stan says irritably. "Just keep an eye out for it."

Silence descends again, and Kyle finds himself wishing Cartman would at least play some shitty music. He would put something on himself, but all of his songs relate to Stan in some fashion, and he doesn't want hear any of them right now.

"You know what I hate about you guys?" Cartman asks.

"What, Eric?" Butters says when nobody else bites.

"You're all on the same menstrual cycle."

Nobody laughs, not even Butters. Kenny starts typing things on his phone and showing them to Butters, who makes soft noises of agreement as he reads. Kyle knows they're talking about him and Stan, and he's just glad he doesn't have to hear any of it out loud. Stan's fury is palpable in the air inside the car, simmering silently as his phone blurts out "Rockin' in the Free World," the ring tone he uses for Wendy's calls. He just lets it ring until it hits the voice mail wall. Kyle can't hear his voice mail message, but he knows it by heart, and knows that whenever Wendy hears it she assumes Stan is ignoring them in favor of Kyle, who makes the same assumption about Wendy when he hears it. Hey, this is Stan, I'm not around right now, but if you leave me a message I might call you back. Kyle imagines weeks, months, years of hearing that message and never getting through. That's what he's got to look forward to.

They reach their destination in less than an hour, setting up camp near the base of Shadow Mountain. Kyle doesn't even pretend to be helpful, just sits on the hood of the car and stares at the barren desert landscape in disbelief. Why anyone would voluntarily spend a night here is beyond him. It's all gray rock and brittle shrubs, the sun harsh overhead. As soon as the tent is set up Stan starts taking pictures of the mountain, speaking to no one. Cartman is sitting on their mostly empty cooler, eating handfuls of Cheesy Poofs. Kenny and Butters are walking around looking for wildlife among the rocks. They're holding hands without fear, nobody around for miles. Kyle has that to look forward to as well, and it won't even be worth it, because he'll risk being hated by society for someone who's not Stan.

Kenny and Butters make their way back to camp, and they walk over to Kyle, both of them climbing up on the hood of the car to sit on either side of him. Butters leans over to give him a hug, and Kyle forces a polite reception, patting Butters' hand.

"Are you okay, buddy?" Butters asks, his head on Kyle's shoulder.

"No," Kyle says. "Not really."

"I can't believe you didn't tell me that shit about not being able to get a loan," Kenny says, slapping Kyle's leg. He's already got his flask out, and just the smell of the alcohol on his breath is making Kyle's stomach ache. "You really got into UCLA?"

"I really did. But fuck it. I would have just gone out there, and we'd have had this fight a couple of months down the road, and then I'd be stuck at a school where everybody worships his throwing arm. It'd be high school all over again, only we wouldn't be friends anymore. You were right before, in the hospital. I need to get away from him."

"Whatever you said to him back in Vegas really got to him," Kenny says. "I was kind of surprised. Usually he's pretty oblivious. Everything just rolls off his back."

"Yeah, well. Apparently he's allowed to call me on my shit, but I can't say anything about his. I'm supposed to feel better about the fact that he picked a school on the opposite coast because it wasn't just for some money, it was for a lot of money? Fuck that. Fuck him."

Kenny puts his arm around Kyle and Butters, resting his chin on Kyle's other shoulder. He seems kind of drunk already, but Kyle supposes he earned it after taking that beating. The skin around his eye is dark purple now, oily-looking.

"I'm gonna amend what I said earlier," Kenny says. "I still think you guys need to be apart for awhile, but not for too long. Not with everything the way it is, all tense and shit. Not for four years. You might not recover from that."

"So what am I supposed to do, Kenny? I'm not the one who had a choice. He did, and he chose thirty thousand dollars. Nice to know how much I'm worth."

Behind them, "Rockin' in the Free World" blares again from Stan's phone. He curses and stands from the kindling he was assembling for their campfire, pulling the phone from his pocket.

"Hey," Stan says sharply. "What's up?" There's a pause. "No, well. I was driving, okay? You're the one who says – what? Yeah. Yeah, it really happened. I kind of doubt they got our license plate number, Wendy. How do you know about this?"

Kyle doesn't want to listen to this. He squirms out of Kenny's and Butters' arms and walks over to the cooler. He'll just grab a canteen and walk around near the foot of the mountain, in sight of the camp. It will be good to be alone for awhile.

"Why the fuck would he call you?" Stan says into the phone.

"Move," Kyle says to Cartman. "I need to get into the cooler."

Cartman isn't listening to him, but it doesn't seem willful. He's staring at Stan, frozen in mid-chew, his hand in the Cheesy Poof bag.

"What the hell do you mean?" Stan asks, the volume of his voice rising. "No, I'm not alone. Why?"

"I said move, fat ass!" Kyle says, anxious to get out of earshot before he can start analyzing this half of Stan and Wendy's conversation. It's something he's done way too many times over the years, secretly rejoicing when their arguments escalated until Stan shouted, Fine, yeah, I think we should take some time apart, too. How about until fucking eternity this time?

"Cartman!" Kyle shouts. He's still staring at Stan, and he looks up at Kyle with surprise. "Move!"

"What?" Stan shouts. He's walked further from the camp site, but he's louder than ever now, one hand pushed up into his hair as he's going to tear some of it out. "What the – are you fucking kidding?"

"Oh, good," Kenny says, walking over with Butters. He takes another deep drink from his flask. "More drama."

"Shit," Cartman says, standing. He throws the Cheesy Poof bag down and pulls his gun from his pants pocket, knocking the chamber open to look at his two remaining bullets.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Kyle says. "Put that away!"

"You guys do me a favor," Cartman says, dumping the bullets out and sticking them in his pocket. "Don't tell Stan this isn't loaded."

"What?" Kyle says. "Why?"

"Say that again," Stan says, his back to them, the phone still pressed to his ear. "Fucking tell me that again. I want to hear you say that again. Because it's fucking insane and I don't fucking believe it, that's why!"

"What the heck's going on?" Butters asks. "Stan seems real upset."

"Shit's about to get real," Cartman says, tucking the emptied gun into the back of his jeans.

"Why?" Kenny says, laughing, definitely drunk. "Did you fuck Wendy or something?"

Cartman shoots Kenny a look, and Kyle guffaws, because that's about as likely as Cartman shitting out another satellite. Stan is still on the phone, still shouting.

"Why the hell are you crying?" Stan says. "Yeah? Well, that's great. No, wonderful. I really appreciate your honesty. And thanks for making me look like the biggest fucking fool in the universe while you were working up your nerve." He hangs up, looking like he wants to punch the phone, then like he's seriously considering pitching it into the desert. He turns back toward camp, that feral look on his face again, but it's not really hot anymore, mostly just scary. Cartman stands up as Stan walks toward them.

"Stan," Cartman says, holding up his hands. "Let's not make this any worse than –"

"Why'd you even come on this trip?" Stan asks, coming at him hard. Cartman reaches for the gun, but Stan gets to him before he can pull it out, grabbing his shirt and throwing him down. Cartman trips over the cooler and lands on his ass. "Why didn't you just stay in South Park and spend the week fucking her?"

"Wait, whoa," Kenny says, shaking his head, his eyes pinched shut. "What?"

"Fucking who?" Butters asks, rubbing his fists together.

"You can't deny that we've always had a connection!" Cartman says, still on the ground, shouting up at Stan.

"My foot is about to connect with your nuts, you fucking piece of –"

"Stay away from my balls!" Cartman says, fumbling the gun from his pants clumsily. Stan scoffs and kicks it out of his hand.

"Now you're gonna point a fucking gun at me? I tried to be nice to you, you piece of shit! And she – she's the one – fuck you both!"

"Wait, what the hell is going on?" Kyle says, so exhausted by these back to back outbursts that he almost doesn't want to find out.

"I made passionate love to Wendy on the night of Clyde's party, and I don't regret it!" Cartman says, his voice echoing around the valley. "Sorry, Stan, but you can't fuck with what fate wants."

"It was a drunken pity screw!" Stan shouts.

"Oh, right, like a chick can come that hard when she's drunk!"

Stan growls and drops down onto Cartman, but he's only able to land one punch before Cartman flips him, using his considerable size to his advantage. He pins Stan against the ground beneath him, holding his arms down easily.

"Careful, guys!" Butters says, his fists pressed over his mouth now. "We don't need any more injuries!"

"Guess why she ended up with me, asshole!" Cartman says, shouting this in Stan's face as he struggles, spitting with anger under Cartman's weight.

"Because you were crying!" Stan says. "She fucking told me, you pathetic tub of shit! You were crying because of what she said in her speech, and she felt sorry for you!"

"Pssh, that was just a ploy," Cartman says, the back of his neck turning bright red. "The reason she was alone, vulnerable to my charms, was because you ditched her, again, for your daywalker mistress. There's only so much a girl like Wendy is going to take, Stan! She's tired of being your beard!"

"Shut up, Cartman, God!" Kyle says, trying to pull Cartman off of Stan, who is so angry now that he's just making unintelligible noises, writhing and kicking, getting nowhere.

"No, he needs to hear the truth!" Cartman says, not budging. "Wendy just got off on dating this fucking punk because he was the only real challenge for her at school. Why? Because he was the only guy other than you fags who didn't really want her!"

"Cartman, let him up," Kenny says, the fit of giggling he'd fallen into rapidly ending. Between the three of them, they're able to pull Cartman off of Stan, whose face is pinched somewhere between fury and devastation, slowly making the transition. Stan pushes Kenny away when he tries to help him up, and he stumbles off toward the mountain, breaking into a run when he's gotten his breath back.

"Fuck," Kenny says. He shoves Cartman, who is still agitated, touching the sore spot on his cheek where Stan's fist landed. "Why'd you have to say that shit to him? You fucked his girlfriend, man. You don't have to rub his face in it."

"I'm sick of his bullcrap!" Cartman says. "He's a selfish asshole and Wendy deserves better!"

"Oh, God," Kyle says, putting his hands over his face. He feels sick to his stomach, thinking of how Stan must feel right now, the depth of his humiliation. "Double Stuff Oreos."

"Yeah, that's right," Cartman says, brushing sand from his shirt. "We both love them. We're soul mates, basically."

"Oh, well, that's kinda sad," Butters says. "Since Wendy's going to Berkeley and you're going to Yale, Eric. Those are on opposite coasts! It's just like Stan and Kyle!" He puts his hand over his mouth, his eyes going wide. Kyle rolls his eyes.

"Actually," Cartman says. "I got in to Berkeley, too. I made my mom send in the registration fee to both, just in case I was able to seduce Wendy during the summer while Stan was at that pussy football camp. Looks like it worked. Fucking San Francisco, Jesus Christ. She's worth it, though. Wendy's a bischon frise."

"A what?" Butters says, frowning.

"It's – a show dog, it's a long story," Kenny says, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Okay, um – Kyle? Where are you going?"

"Where do you think?" Kyle asks, grabbing a canteen. "To find him."

He follows Stan's footprints, which are distinct in the sand, winding past brambles and cacti. The farther he gets from camp, the more his mind fills with vision of packs of coyotes, side winding snakes that can kill in one strike, crazed hill people. He can hear Stan before he sees him, and the sound of his crying rips Kyle in half, his own eyes watering as he hurries to him. Stan is sitting on a rock in the shadow of a dead tree, bent forward, his face buried in his arms. Kyle doesn't say anything, glad that Stan picked a rock that's big enough for both of their scrawny asses. He sits down beside him and wraps his arms around him, hugging him hard. Stan doesn't lift his head, and doesn't seem surprised that Kyle has come. It's like this between them at the best and worst of times. They don't need words. Kyle rests his forehead on the back of Stan's neck, imagining that he can absorb some of his pain, wanting to.

"I'm so fucking pathetic," Stan says, his face still hidden and his voice thick with tears. "My girlfriend left me for fucking Cartman, my best friend hates me –"

"I don't hate you," Kyle says, shaking his head, his face still pressed to Stan's neck. "I love you, dude. I love you so much." It feels good to say it out loud, though he knows it will get lost in the shuffle.

"I know I'm going to be shit in college, on the team," Stan says, sobbing. "And Cartman will be able to watch it on TV, and laugh, and Wendy will be like, sucking his cock the whole time."

"Dude, no way. I'm sure she regrets the fuck out of what happened. She was drunk, right?"

"Yeah, but – s-she was just trying to make me feel better. Fuck, goddammit. Do you think Cartman really made her come?"

"Don't think about that," Kyle says, crushed to know that it matters to Stan, enough to make him sob. "You know he's a liar. You're always telling me, 'don't let him rile you.' That's all he's good at, dude. Making people feel like shit. Wendy probably feels really bad. You'll work it out –"

"No, we won't," Stan says. He sits up, his face a mess, and Kyle can't remember the last time he saw Stan cry like this, unless their drunken adventure in Vegas counts. "We're not gonna get back together. I don't even want her, Cartman's right."

Kyle isn't sure which part of that statement is more earth shattering, the news that Stan doesn't really want Wendy or the idea that Cartman could be right about something. He puts his hands on his knees, shaking his head.

"Then why, um," he says. "Why let it get to you? If you and Wendy aren't gonna stay together –"

"Because they lied to me!" Stan says, grabbing Kyle's arm. "They fucking conspired to get me to bring Cartman on this trip, just to make me feel like a dumb ass."

"Dude, no. Didn't Wendy ask you to bring Cartman before, um. Before Clyde's party?"

"Yeah, but –"

"Maybe she really cares about him? I got mad at you before because I thought you were just like, serving her whims when you brought him along, but maybe you could tell that it really meant something to her, Cartman feeling accepted by us, and that's why you brought him. That doesn't mean anything bad about you, dude. It doesn't make you a fool. You're a good person who wants your friends to be happy." Kyle eyes are watering heavily now, threatening to overflow. "And if I made you feel bad about that, it's only because I'm an insecure piece of shit."

"Kyle," Stan says. He pulls Kyle to him, and Kyle blinks tears out onto the shoulder of Stan's t-shirt, clinging. He sighs when Stan pets his hair, hoping that Stan will hear everything in it, any and all secrets that he hasn't guessed already. "Why didn't you tell me?" Stan says. "About UCLA?"

"'Cause it was embarrassing, okay? I – I wanted to go there because you might go there. And I was too broke to do it, and, just. I've been miserable, dude. I want to be where you are."

"God, shit," Stan says, whispering. "Don't worry about that. Penn State is a better school. You should go to a good school, you're so fucking smart. I'm an asshole to want you to follow me just for my football shit, when I'm probably going to suck ass, anyway."

"You will not!"

"I'm really worried about it," Stan says. He lets go of Kyle and sits back, sniffling. Kyle wipes his own eyes clear, then his nose.

"Why?" Kyle asks. "You're so good they illegally gave you thirty thousand dollars. And I'm a dick for acting like that doesn't mean anything. If someone gave me thirty thousand dollars, I don't know. I might kiss Cartman's ass again."

Stan laughs. "It's the money that makes me freak out," he says. "They paid in advance because they believe in me. That's so much pressure, it's making me into a fucking lunatic. And you won't be there."

"Me?"

"I told you," Stan says, shouldering him. "I need you there. In high school, it helped. Like, everyone else believed in me conditionally. Even my dad, a little bit. You always thought I was the best. Mostly because you don't know shit about football, but still. It helped."

"I'll watch on TV," Kyle says, and those four words rip out what's left of his heart, because it's not enough, not for him, but he needs to pretend that it could be, for Stan's sake. Stan sniffles and looks down at his hands.

"I still want to kill Cartman," he says.

"Who doesn't? Welcome to my world."

"Do you actually think him and Wendy could be a couple?" Stan asks, wincing at the thought.

"I don't know, man. They're both kind of, um. Headstrong?"

"I guess. I'm just so freaked out by the idea of it," Stan says. He groans and pulls his hands through his hair, making it stand up at odd angles.

"I'm freaked out by the idea of Cartman having sex with anyone, ever," Kyle says, and Stan laughs. "It should be impossible."

They're quiet for awhile, watching the colors change in the sky as the sun goes down behind the mountain. Wildlife reemerges from daytime hiding places, lizards scampering and birds making irritable noises as they zip across the sky, disappearing into the shadows.

"Isn't it beautiful here, though?" Stan says. Kyle laughs and puts his head on Stan's shoulder, so tired, not ready to go back to camp. All of this will be gone after tomorrow.

"Yeah," Kyle says. "It really is."

It's not the first time they've watched the sunset together, and Kyle would bet that most guys can't say the same about their male best friends, but he's finally come to realize that there's just nobody else in the world like them. Stan's arm is tucked around Kyle's back, and Kyle could stay here forever, listening to Stan breathe, but the light is disappearing fast.

"We should get back before it gets too dark," Kyle says, lifting his head from Stan's shoulder. Stan groans.

"I can't go back there," he says. "How can I face those guys? I'm so fucking embarrassed."

"Dude, you're talking about Kenny, Butters and Cartman. I could start to list all the way more embarrassing shit that we've seen them do over the years, but then we'd be out here all night."

Stan grins, and it's as if he's looking at Kyle from a distance, years into the future, seeing this moment like it's an old picture of Kyle.

"You always make me feel better," Stan says. "When I ran off, I was afraid you wouldn't come after me."

"I'm sorry about what I said at the diner," Kyle says. "You know I didn't mean that shit. I'm just scared."

"Scared?"

"Yeah, of losing you," Kyle says, mumbling. He looks down at his hands. Stan reaches over to hold one of them. Kyle still can't look at him, will end up kissing him if he does, and Stan doesn't want that. He wants to make girls come and score touchdowns, and he wants Kyle to go to a good school, to Penn State.

"I know," Stan says. "I'm scared, too. I hate change. My stomach's been messed up all year, 'cause of dread. I'm supposed to be all excited about California, and football, and being an adult, all that shit. I just want to go back to the beginning of high school and do it all over again. Which is retarded, I guess."

"It's not retarded," Kyle says, still staring down at their hands. It's getting dark; they'll have to leave soon or risk getting lost out here. "You wouldn't change anything, though? If you did it over again? Even the Wendy stuff?"

"Well, I'd break up with her before Clyde's party," Stan says, scoffing. "But no, man, I wouldn't change it. We had some good times. I'm actually not even that mad at her. I was a shitty boyfriend, like you said, and it wasn't her fault, or your fault. Every time I ditched her for you, I wanted to. It wasn't some fucking obligation, Kyle –"

"Dude, I know –"

"No, I don't think you do. The truth is, I'm terrible with girls. Wendy included. Wendy especially. All that crap you were saying about how I'm going to have all these girls all over me at college – that's fucking terrifying, dude. I'm gonna be such a letdown. I can't even –" He stops there, forcing a laugh. "Never mind."

"What?" Kyle asks. "Tell me."

"No, forget it. I've embarrassed myself enough for one day. Man, can you fucking believe Cartman with that gun? Was he seriously going to shoot me?"

"It wasn't loaded," Kyle says, wishing they could get back to talking about what Stan can't do with girls. He lets go of Stan's hand and gets up. "Come on, we've gotta go."

"Wendy was asking me if it was true, about Cartman shooting out the tires," Stan says. He stands and digs his camera out of his pocket. "I guess he called her to brag. C'mere, let's take a picture."

"There's not enough light," Kyle says. Stan shrugs.

"I bet I look like shit, anyway," he says.

"Your eyes are all red. Are mine?"

"A little. I just want to remember this, though." He turns and takes a picture of the rock they were sitting on. "There," he says, tucking the camera back in his pocket. "Now, when we're fifty, we have to come here again and find that rock."

"You think we'll still be able to fit on it?" Kyle asks.

"You can sit on my lap if you're too fat for the rock," Stan says, and Kyle snorts. He wants to ask out loud, since they're in confessional mode, Why the fuck are you always touching me? Did you lick me the other night, or did I dream that? Are you still going to want me in your lap when we're fifty? He says nothing, just listens to Stan talk about Wendy, detailing all the ways that Cartman will disappoint her.

It's dark by the time they reach the camp, and Kenny has gotten the fire going. Butters seems to have taken over the whiskey drinking, holding the flask and giggling when Stan and Kyle walk up.

"Here they are, Kenny!" Butters says, slurring. "I told you they'd be just fine."

"Are you guys cool now?" Kenny asks, standing.

"We're always cool," Stan says. "Where's Cartman?"

"He's in the tent," Butters says, gesturing with the flask. Stan snorts.

"Butters, are you drunk?"

"I don't know," Butters says, looking fretful for a moment. "Kenny, am I drunk?"

"Yeah," Kenny says. He kisses Butters on the forehead and takes the flask from him. "And now that Terrance and Phillip have safely returned, I think I'll join you."

"Remember when we got in a fight over who got to be Phillip?" Stan asks Kyle, grinning.

"Yeah. We both wanted to be blond. Like Kenny."

"And me!" Butters says, taking a handful of his hair.

"And Butters," Kyle says. Stan cracks up.

"Look at you two, all cheerful," Kenny says, narrowing his eyes at them. "Anything you need to tell us?"

"Yeah," Stan says. "We're engaged."

"Well, congratulations!" Butters says, shouting.

Kyle does his best to make his laughter sound authentic, but Kenny can probably hear the hurt in it. He offers the flask and Kyle shakes his head and goes for the cooler. There's not much food left: some stale bread and beef jerky, half a bag of tortilla chips. Kyle grabs the chips, eating some as he walks to the tent.

"What are you doing?" Stan asks.

"Bothering Cartman," Kyle says. He actually has some things he needs to talk to Cartman about, though he's not sure how reliable any information gained from him could really be. He takes his time unzipping the tent, to give Cartman fair warning. The last thing he needs right now is to catch him wanking to thoughts of Wendy.

Cartman isn't wanking, but he is in repose, his knees bent, the tent barely containing him. He glowers at Kyle.

"Look what that asshole did to my face," Cartman says, pointing to the bruise that's rising on his cheek.

"You kind of asked for it," Kyle says. He climbs into the tent and zips it up behind him. Cartman sits up, looking suspicious.

"What are you after, Jew boy? I'm not trading you my Cheesy Poofs for those nasty fucking tortilla things, so don't even ask."

"I don't want to trade." Kyle sits Indian-style, the chips in his lap. He eats a few, studying Cartman, trying to decide if this is a good idea. It's probably not, but tomorrow is the last day of the trip, and he's got little to lose. "Can I ask you something?"

"What?"

"Stan's desperate to get back with Wendy, of course, and I was trying to talk him out of it, but he won't listen to me. Did she say anything about him, when you guys were talking at the party? I mean, I presume there was some sort of conversation prior to the, uh, physical activity?"

"Yeah, we talked," Cartman says. "She said she was done with Stan. I don't know why they have to cling to this fucking sham of a relationship. I figured, after I'd pleasured her –"

"Ugh, Cartman!"

"—That she'd be my girlfriend, pretty much. But the next morning, I wake up alone, naked, with Clyde screaming at me to get out of his bed. She took off while I was sleeping, and when I call her up, she says she's still with Stan and it's complicated. I'm like, 'ey, bitch, what's complicated here? I gave you three mind-blowing orgasms and Stan's only fucked you six times all year."

"God, just, ew – wait, six times? All year?" Kyle counts the months on his fingers. "She really said that?"

"Yeah, the night before, when she was sane enough to remember that Stan's actually a neutered asshole. And after she came for the first time, she said Stan had never done that for her. And I was like, what a piece of shit, and she goes, well, it's not like he didn't try." Cartman looks very pleased with himself, his smile widening as he speaks. "She said it was embarrassing, like, he'd get all upset because he couldn't do it, and I was like, bitch, I'm barely even trying, we're just getting started, here—"

"Okay," Kyle says, holding up his hand. "I don't need to know the details, just. You don't think she wants to get back with him, right?"

"Kyle, I know we're all like, pretending not to be aware of this, but you're pretty fucking gay, right?" Cartman says. Kyle glares at him, his face heating.

"No!"

"Okay, whatever." Cartman rolls his eyes. "But let's say, hypothetically, if you did like taking it up the ass, and, hypothetically, what you wanted to take up the ass was Stan's dick, would you want to get back together with him if he only let you ride it six times in five months? I don't think so."

"Maybe they were broken up or something," Kyle says, thinking back to the second half of their senior year. As far as he can remember, Stan and Wendy only had one breakup, after Bebe's New Year's Eve party, when Stan rung in the new year by shooting fireworks off with Kyle and Kenny in the backyard instead of kissing Wendy at the end of Bebe's countdown. They were back together by Valentine's Day.

"Wake up, asshole," Cartman says. "Stan never wanted to fuck Wendy. She said it took three tries for him to even keep his boner long enough to take her fucking virginity! What a goddamn waste! She thinks he's got some kind of chronic anxiety disorder when it comes to sex, which is a load of shit. If you bent your ginger ass over and told him to come and get it, he'd be all over that shit." Cartman shudders. "He's got chronic pussy disorder, in the sense that he is a pussy, and doesn't want to fuck them."

"You're full of crap," Kyle says, getting up. The usefulness of this conversation is rapidly deteriorating. "If Stan was gay, he'd be gay. He's not a bigot, and he's not a coward." Kyle has been over this in his head so many times, and he never thought he'd be talking about it with Cartman, but he's getting desperate.

"First of all, he's the biggest coward I've ever met in my life, and secondly, he's playing college football for a meager living, ass wipe. You think it'd be super fun to be the only gay guy in the locker room? I don't think Stan thinks it would be."

"Whatever, dick," Kyle says. "Don't tell Stan we talked about this."

"What will you give me to ensure my silence?" Cartman asks, smiling evilly. Kyle groans.

"Fifty bucks."

"I want it up front," Cartman says, putting out his Cheesy Poof-dusted hand. Kyle digs out his wallet and gives Cartman two twenties and a ten, leaving him with three dollars for the remainder of the trip.

"Pleasure doing business with you," Cartman says, popping a Cheesy Poof in his mouth. Kyle flicks him off and leaves the tent, not even halfway confident that Cartman won't just tell Stan about this anyway. He walks back to the campfire, where Butters and Kenny are drunkenly trying to roast beef jerky in a pan, both of them laughing. Stan is over by the car, talking on his phone.

"Want some, uh, roadkill?" Kenny asks, lifting the pan. Butters cracks up and falls against his side.

"No, thanks," Kyle says. "Who's Stan talking to?"

"Wendy," Kenny says.

"Oh, Jesus." Kyle sits down beside him, his stubborn hope diminishing. "Don't tell me. They're back together."

"Nope," Kenny says. "He wanted to apologize for yelling at her and to clarify that they're broken up, for good this time."

"Yeah, right," Kyle says, muttering.

"Man, no way is he going to be able to keep her when he's six hours away and she's got Cartman right there, ready and willing to go down on her."

"Sick, dude!"

Kenny shrugs. "According to Cartman, he's very, very good at that. And, you know, normally I'd think he was lying, but that's what we thought when he claimed to be a junior champion at sharpshooting, and, also, he is all about eating."

"God, stop!" Kyle says, putting his hands over his ears. Butters is laughing so hard he's starting to turn purple.

"Speaking of oral sex," Kenny says as Stan walks back toward them. "Me and Butters are gonna hang out in the car for awhile."

"Oh, boy!" Butters says, popping up.

"Goddammit, Kenny," Kyle says.

Kenny shrugs and puts the pan down beside the fire. "Just wanted to give fair warning," he says, slinging an arm around Butters' and guiding him toward the car. He salutes Stan as they pass, and Stan frowns, looking at Kyle.

"Where are they going?" Stan asks.

"Uh, don't ask. And you might want to get the interior of your car cleaned after this trip, just saying. Want some chips?"

"Yeah, thanks."

They sit together by the fire, and Stan tells Kyle about his conversation with Wendy, their agreement to make no attempt at a long distance relationship. Stan wonders if she'll attempt to have one with Cartman, and Kyle doesn't have the heart to tell him that Cartman will be at Berkley, too. He can't stop thinking about what Cartman said, only half-listening to Stan when he starts talking about which coastal town they should stay in tomorrow night. Stan couldn't get it up for his first time with Wendy. Would she tell Cartman that if it wasn't true? Would Cartman make it up just to fuck with Kyle? He wishes he could talk to Wendy, but she'd be twice as condescending as Cartman, full of assumptions, and probably not as willing to talk about how she failed to arose Stan.

The rest of the night is blissfully free of incident. There are no surprise phone calls, no blow out fights, no freak rain storms. Cartman stays in the tent, and Kenny and Butters sleep in the backseat of the car. Stan puts out the fire and unzips his sleeping bag, flattening it so that there's room for two. Kyle climbs onto it with him, pulling the blanket they've been using up to his chin. They stay awake for a long time, talking and pointing at the stars, which glitter across the wide open sky like their own personal planetarium. Kyle is in the middle of rambling about wormhole theory when he looks over and sees that Stan has fallen asleep. He's lying on his side, turned toward Kyle, his hand tucked under his cheek. Kyle wants to take a picture, but that would be creepy. He just can't remember Stan ever looking better.

"I love you," Kyle says, again, knowing that Stan won't hear it this time, either. It doesn't matter if Stan has chronic anxiety sex disorder or just wants to bone girls so that the other guys in the locker room won't hate him. The day after tomorrow, Kyle will get on a plane and fly home to South Park. He'll text Stan fifty times on the trip home, but it won't matter much. He'll be getting farther from Stan with every passing second, until he's back in the place that won't feel like home without him.

In the morning, Kyle wakes up to the sound of Stan cleaning up the campsite, packing their things away. He sits up, the blanket still draped around his shoulders, and looks toward the tent.

"He hasn't emerged yet?" Kyle says, and Stan looks up from the half-melted beef jerky that he's attempting to scrape from his frying pan.

"Who, Cartman?" Stan says. "No, he's still snoring. I can hear it from here. Will you go wake him up? We need to get moving."

"Stan?"

"Yeah?" He's scraping at the beef jerky again, using a rock.

"Today is our last day."

Stan looks up at Kyle again. He seems confused for a moment, then just sad. He nods.

"We still have one more night, though," he says. "We'll get a hotel on the beach." He grins. "My treat."

"Goddamn right it'll be your treat," Kyle says. He rolls up the sleeping bag and blanket and goes to wake Cartman. The desert is already beginning to heat up, the sun burning away the haze of morning. In an hour it'll be ninety-five degrees, but Kyle doesn't want to leave. He doesn't want to see the coast.

Cartman tells him to fuck off. Kyle goes to put the sleeping bag in the car, leaving the tent unzipped. Kenny and Butters are stretched across the backseat, still asleep, Butters curled up on Kenny's chest like a kitten. Kenny has his hood pulled over his eyes, and he adjusts it when Kyle knocks on the window, glowering up at him.

"Hungover?" Kyle asks, opening the door. Kenny moans and rubs at his eyes in answer. Butters wakes with a whimper, squinting up at Kyle.

"Kenny?" he says, his voice tiny and tired.

"Yeah, baby?" Kenny says.

"I think I need to throw up," Butters says. He looks green, his eyes watery and pink.

"Don't do it in the car!" Kyle says, not interested in spending more time in a car that reeks of puke.

"Come on," Kenny says, helping Butters out of the car. "We'll throw up together. It'll be romantic."

They saunter off, and Stan walks to the car, packing the trunk with the rest of their supplies. It's Kyle's turn to drive, so he climbs up front and starts queuing up his music. He smiles at Stan when he climbs into the passenger seat beside him.

"God, look at that idiot," Kyle says, nodding to Cartman, who is cursing as he attempts to deconstruct the tent.

"I should help him before he breaks the thing," Stan says. He doesn't, just sits watching him with Kyle, both of them snickering when Cartman gets in a fight with a tent pole. When he finally manages to wad the tent up into a ball, the poles in his other hand, he walks to the car, looking pissed off.

"Goddammit," he says. "I have to sit in the back with Batman and Robin?"

"Looks that way," Stan says. "Shove that thing in the trunk."

They stare at each other for a moment, as if they're both wondering if they should resume their fist fight or at least hurl a few insults for good measure. Cartman mutters something about tents being for fucking hippies and walks around to the trunk, stuffing the tent in with everything else. Kenny and Butters return looking pale and exhausted, and Kyle starts the car.

"There'd better not be any stains back here," Cartman says, climbing into the back. Kenny opens the door on the other side and stops Butters from sitting in the middle.

"But I'm the smallest!" Butters says. "Your legs are too long for the middle."

"I'll manage," Kenny says, getting in. "I don't want any part of you touching any part of Cartman."

"I don't want to touch him, either!" Cartman says. Kyle laughs and starts up his first song.

"Where am I going?" he asks, pulling back onto the road once they're all in the car.

"Head back toward 15," Stan says. "We can stop for breakfast in Barstow. I'll look up a hotel for tonight – is everybody okay with Long Beach?"

"Sounds fine," Kenny says. He's got his arm around Butters, who seems to be asleep again, moaning softly.

"Are you two okay?" Kyle asks, meeting Kenny's eyes in the rearview mirror.

"We'll survive," Kenny says. He smiles, and Kyle wants to believe him. He's been so fixated on his own dread that he hasn't given much thought to what Kenny and Butters must be going through. When this little party breaks up, they won't be going home or to school. They'll have Stan, but he'll be busy with football, and Kenny won't let Stan be his wealthy benefactor, even if he does accept some help. Kyle wishes he could help, too, but he's got his own problems, financial and otherwise.

They eat at a Waffle House in Barstow, Kenny and Butters just picking at their food. Butters excuses himself to be sick again at one point, and returns looking awful. He wilts toward Kenny in the booth, obviously wanting to put his head on his shoulder. Kyle is relieved when he doesn't, for the sake of avoiding another altercation. Listlessly, he wonders if he'll have a boyfriend at college, if they'll hold hands in cafes and expect the academic clientèle to find it charming instead of disturbing. The mental image is pretty disturbing to Kyle, who replaces the lanky, spectacled boyfriend with Stan, the coffee shop with the couch in Stan's apartment, and the hand holding with hardcore sex, Kyle riding Stan while Stan sucks on his nipples. He thinks of what Cartman said last night, that Stan would jump him if he just bent over. Kyle toys with his fork and thinks about bending over, metaphorically. It's still too terrifying, so he goes back to fantasizing about doing it more literally.

"Hey," Stan says, grabbing Kyle's wrist, knocking him out of his attempt to imagine what it would feel like to have Stan inside him. "Ready to go? I paid for yours."

"Thanks," Kyle says, dazed.

Back in the car, Stan driving now, the desert gives way to farmland, which disappears behind them as they drive through rolling hills packed with expensive-looking houses. Kyle spots the ocean in the distance, an endless blue haze.

"There it is," Stan says, though they've all noticed it by now: their final destination. Stan picked out a hotel in Long Beach over breakfast, while Kyle was thinking about riding him.

"Alright, enough of this hippie ass music," Cartman says, leaning into the front seat to mess with the radio. He unplugs Kyle's mp3 player and drops it into his lap, replacing it with his own. Kyle is too distracted by his heartbreak to protest. Cartman picks a song and drops into the back.

"Dude, are you serious?" Stan says, laughing. "This was the theme song to The O.C."

"So?" Cartman says. "It's about California."

"I love this song!" Butters says.

"I miss that show," Kenny says. "Me and Kevin used to get high and watch it."

"Here's to the good old days," Stan says, turning up the volume. They drive down toward a lower elevation as the song plays, and when it ends they're stopped a red light, in the midst of actual traffic. It's weird after driving in the desert; all the cars look too clean. The next song on Cartman's playlist comes on, and Kyle laughs. It's "Bad Touch," something Kyle hasn't heard since elementary school.

"Ooh, I love this song!" Butters says, and Kenny laughs.

"You love every song," he says. "Man, remember when we thought this song was so bad ass? I used to know all the lyrics."

"I still know all the lyrics," Stan says.

"Who the fuck doesn't?" Cartman says. "Turn it up, Kyle."

He does, and Cartman starts singing along, everyone cracking up. Kenny comes in on "and I bet you'll feel nuts," and Stan starts trying to keep up, too, laughing out the words. Kyle is surprised how many of the lyrics he remembers when he starts to sing it, too. Butters is the loudest and most enthusiastic, and Kyle imagines him listening to this on his headphones to hide it from his parents, mouthing the words. Stan used to think this song was hilarious, and Kyle would blush when they listened to it together, afraid his mother would hear. Now it seems as harmless as the colored blocks they played with as kids. He turns it up louder during the instrumental break, and they're all singing in unison when the lyrics start up again, Stan throwing out hand gestures that look like gang signs.

For the rest of the drive at least one and often all of them are singing along to whatever dated song comes up on Cartman's play list, unembarrassed. By the time they're following the signs to Long Beach, Butters and Cartman are belting out the lyrics of "I Wanna Love You Forever," by Jessica Simpson – the club remix. Kyle is laughing so hard he feels like he'll puke, glad for the distraction, because they're almost there, and the next time he gets in this car Stan will be driving him to the airport.

"Is it weird that this is turning me on?" Kenny asks as Butters shouts out, I can feel you loving me, his tinny little voice almost buried under Cartman's.

"I'm gonna pee my fucking pants," Stan says, his face bright red from laughing, shoulders jumping. Butters and Cartman go on undeterred, Butters doing his tap dance hand motions and Cartman closing his eyes for emphasis. Kyle wishes he had a video of this, though he knows no attempt to bottle this moment up would do it justice. They're never going to be kids together again, not like this.

"Here we are," Stan says when they're pulling into the parking lot of the Comfort Inn & Suites. "We survived."

When he parks the car, they all sit there for a moment, and Kyle wants to tell Stan that he was right: to bring Cartman, to camp when they could have afforded hotels, to say that if he went back he'd do it all the same.

"Hey," Kenny says, and he puts his hand out, holding it between Kyle and Stan's seats. Butters puts his hand on top of Kenny's, and Stan covers their hands with his. Kyle cups his hand over Stan's. They all look at Cartman, who rolls his eyes.

"This is so faggy," he says, but he slaps his hand on top of the pile. Kyle never thought he'd see the day when Cartman touched him and he didn't recoil; his palm is freakishly soft.

"We survived," Kenny says. "If we can survive South Park, I think we can do anything."

"Alright," Cartman says, taking his hand away. He throws open the car door. "I'm getting out before somebody gets his period."

There's a uniform gray cloud cover stretching from the shore and out over the ocean, and the wind feels cold compared to the airless desert. Their hotel is close to the boardwalk, a ferris wheel visible over the rooftops of the nearby buildings. Kyle can smell the ocean. It's across the street from the hotel, a steady stream of beach-goers waiting to cross on both sides, despite the gloomy weather. As soon as they've walked across the parking lot, they all disperse: Kenny lingers outside to have a cigarette, Cartman slinks away with his phone, and Stan goes to the counter to get their room. Kyle heads for the men's room in the lobby, thinking of washing his hands, and Butters follows him in.

"Have you ever been to California?" Butters asks as he unzips at the urinals, Kyle soaping his hands in the sink.

"Yeah," Kyle says. "We lived in San Francisco for, like, two weeks. Have you been?"

"Not to San Francisco," Butters says. "But I've been here, Los Angeles. My aunt and uncle live here."

"Seriously? Dude, perfect! Could you and Kenny stay with them?"

"Oh, no, my uncle and I don't really get along."

"I can't imagine you not getting along with someone, Butters."

"Well, it's more like, um, he did some stuff when I was a kid, and I don't like him." Butters zips up and heads over to the sink, giving Kyle his usual unflappable smile.

"Some – oh." Kyle watches Butters wash his hands, afraid he'll say more and glad when he doesn't. He leans over to hug him, and Butters laughs, his hands still in the sink.

"What was that for?" Butters asks when Kyle lets him go, handing him paper towels.

"Nothing," Kyle says. "Just, thanks for making Kenny happy. He's like my brother. Well, actually, he's more like my – son? So, you know, if you were ever going to ask for his hand in marriage, I'd say yes. Or something."

"Well, he sure makes me happy, so it's the least I can do," Butters says. "And you're real special to him, too. He's still pretty worried about you. We were talking about it in the car last night, when you and Stan were out there looking at the stars."

"Everybody thinks I'm in love with Stan, don't they?" Kyle says. Butters raises his eyebrows.

"Aren't ya?" he says, looking confused. Kyle laughs and puts his hands over his eyes, groans.

"Yes," he says.

"You oughta tell him, Kyle. Believe me, mister, I know what it's like to be afraid about that sort of thing. Back when we were freshman, I loved Kenny like crazy, and I was sure he'd never love me back. We'd talk all night, and sometimes even cuddle, but he never kissed me or nothing."

"So, what changed?" Kyle asks. "You confessed?"

"Oh, heck no! What happened, well, it's kinda a long story, but let's just say I was standing in a six foot deep hole in my parents' backyard in the middle of the night and it was getting pretty darn cold. Kenny found me out there and helped me climb out, and he took me back to his house, stripped me naked and gave me a bath, 'cause I was awful dirty and bleeding in a couple places from all the shoveling. I was crying pretty hard the whole time, and I got in a lot more trouble for getting out of that hole when I wasn't supposed to, but somewhere between the bathtub and the bed Kenny kissed me, and boy, it was worth it, it was perfect."

Speechless, Kyle stands with his mouth hanging open while Butters gives him another hug.

"You'll figure it out," Butters says. "You crazy kids."

They leave the bathroom, Butters skipping off to find Kenny. Kyle feels as if he's sleepwalking as he goes to the counter, where Stan is signing some sort of form. The clerk smiles at them when Kyle stands beside him, and Kyle can tell, or maybe is just hoping, that she's assuming they're together, teenage boyfriends.

"Third floor," Stan says to Kyle, smiling. He's doing the fake cheerful thing that he does when he doesn't want Kyle to get upset. Kyle smiles back as convincingly as possible, and they go up to the room to put their things down. It's bland, some type of pseudo-Native American design on the faded bed covers, a floor lamp glowing in the corner, mauve carpeting, a plastic ice bucket and a noisy air conditioning unit. Kyle takes it all in: the room where he'll spend his last night with Stan. It smells like a cheap air freshener, one of those leaf-shaped things that hang from the rearview mirror in cars.

"Want to walk down to the beach?" Stan asks. It's just the two of them in the room, Cartman still on his phone call and Kenny and Butters headed for the boardwalk.

"Okay," Kyle says, because it would be weird to suggest that they take a nap together instead.

It's still gray outside, and it doesn't look like the clouds will be going away anytime soon. The beach is crowded anyway, surfers in black wet suits bobbing in the waves and teen girls in bikinis stretched out on towels as if they can will the sun to appear. Kyle hates sand and wishes he'd thought to change into his flip flops. They make their way toward a less crowded patch of beach and Stan sits down, pulling his knees to his chest. Kyle does the same. They both stare at the water for awhile.

"That was fun," Stan says. "In the car."

"The whole thing, or are you just talking about that sing-a-long?" Kyle asks, though he knows that's what Stan is referring to.

"The whole thing," Stan says. "Damn. I can't believe it's over. It went by fast, you know?"

"Yeah, but it also kind of feels like we left home about eight years ago."

"That's true." Stan smiles, still looking out at the water. He bumps his shoulder against Kyle's and leaves it there. "So I had this crazy idea," he says.

"Yeah?"

"This hotel only costs like a hundred bucks a night. I bet the ones close to my campus would be even less, since it's not the beach. What if – I mean – why don't you stay? I'll pay for it, and maybe Kenny and Butters could stay with you, too, until they figure out what they're going to do. If, you know, you don't mind waking up to shower sex every morning."

Stan is grinning like Kyle has already agreed to this. Kyle wants to. It makes a kind of sense, even if it would chip away at more of Stan's money. They could prolong this, and Kyle could agonize over what it meant, could pretend not to be jealous when Stan came back from practices talking about the guys on his team, his confidence growing every day. Just thinking about it is exhausting. Kyle folds his arms over his knees and puts his head down.

"What's the matter?" Stan asks. "I mean, you don't have to –"

"You know I want to," Kyle says.

"Yeah, 'cause, like, if you go home, you won't even have Kenny to hang out with, and if you were here you could help Kenny and Butters look for jobs, 'cause you're all organized and stuff –"

"Then what?" Kyle says. He lifts his head but doesn't look at Stan.

"Huh?"

"Then what, Stan? I'd be here for, what? Two weeks? A month? Which of us decides to send me home? You, I guess, since it's your money –"

"Kyle –"

"Then we do the whole sad parting thing all over again, and then what?"

"I don't get what you're asking," Stan says, frowning. "Then you go to Penn State, right?"

"Right, like, but – why – why do you need me here? To help Kenny and Butters find dish washing jobs? Or for you? So you can take the training wheels off slowly? Have someone to go out to dinner with when your new friends are busy? What?"

"Why are you being a jerk?" Stan asks. He looks more hurt than angry.

"I'm not – fuck! Okay, maybe I am, but so are you. Do you need me here to be your audience, or –"

"I need you here because you're my best friend!" Stan says. Now he looks angry, though also concerned, because Kyle is starting to hyperventilate. He doesn't want this to be the moment, but he knows that it is, that it's already happening.

"Is that all?" Kyle asks. "That's all you need from me?"

"What the fuck are you talking –"

Kyle panics and leans over to kiss him, because the prospect of explaining that question is actually more terrifying. He doesn't make it to Stan's lips, doesn't make contact with anything, because Stan reels backward when he realizes what's happening.

"Whoa," he says, staring at Kyle like he just mutated into Cartman. "Dude, what the fuck?"

"Really?" Kyle says. He's going to cry, something unstoppable cracking open in his chest, but it's still far away enough that he might be able to get out of here before he starts. "Really, Stan? You're gonna pretend to be surprised?"

"Dude, you just tried – uh!" Stan looks around as if to check and make sure no one saw.

"You fucking asshole," Kyle says. He was wrong about the tears; they're coming fast now, already audible in his voice. He scrambles up onto his feet, shaking. "I hope you had fun fucking with my head for the past few days. For my whole fucking life."

"What are you talking about?" Stan gets up, his eyes still wide, as if he expects Kyle to believe that he didn't see that coming, now or ever. "Are you high? We don't do that. Me and you. It's never been like that."

"You got in a sleeping bag and held me!" Kyle says, screaming this loud enough to attract a few stares. He doesn't give a shit. The tears are clogging his vision now, distorting Stan's image until he looks like he should: vague, untouchable, like a stranger.

"Quit acting like a psycho," Stan says. This is the part where he'd normally grab Kyle's wrist and tug him away from the onlookers, but he doesn't reach for him. "I – you – Kyle, you can't do this to me, don't do this to me!"

"Fuck you," Kyle says, and it's all he has the energy for, his sobs getting heavier, harder to swallow down. He makes himself move, walking away from the ocean, away from Stan.

"Where are you going?" Stan asks, following. "Kyle, hang on, wait –"

"Leave me alone," Kyle says. "I need to be alone."

"Where are you going?" Stan asks, again. That's his question after what just happened, not, How long have you felt this way? or So you're gay? Not even, Can we still be friends?

"Back to the hotel," Kyle says. "And don't follow me." He tries to fake composure, sniffling. "I need to think for awhile."

"Kyle, stop, hey, I – we should talk –"

"Later," Kyle says. "Please, just – get away from me!"

He takes off running, fully expecting Stan to catch up, to tackle him. He's actually relieved when he doesn't. He can't look at Stan right now, can't hear his voice, and the further he gets from the beach the more he thinks he won't ever be able to talk to Stan again. This is world-ending betrayal, and he's not sure which of them is really at fault, but everything has changed instantly in a way that he wasn't prepared for. So this is why people don't confess, why people take secrets to their graves, why they walk into traffic. Kyle almost does, unintentionally, blinded by his devastation. The hotel is across the street, but he's not going back there. In the midst of the beachfront traffic, a taxi appears like an angel of God, and it pulls over when Kyle waves to it.

"Everything alright?" the driver asks when Kyle climbs into the back.

"Yes," Kyle says, so the guy will leave him alone. "I need to go to LAX, please. Can I pay by debit card?"

"Sure, kid."

And they're off.