Constant

There were many faces that Kyle put forth, and most of them were circumstantial.

When everything was going all right, he was the cool, calm, collected one. When Cartman was putting in minimal effort to annoy him, he was the pissed off, violent one, prone to taking out his frustration in bruising ways - whether that be to Cartman's overweight body or to his own ego, or for better or worse, to Stan's backside, though he never really minded.

When Stan was upset, Kyle was the calming one, coming up with ideas for making everything better. When Stan was about to do something stupid that he would likely regret later, Kyle was the voice of reason, and often the one inevitably trying not to say told-you-so.

When Stan was happy, Kyle was happy; and when Kyle was happy, so was Stan. Those were the best circumstances.

Circumstances made it easy to predict how Kyle would react. It was comforting, almost reassuring, to know what to expect from him. He was the steady one, reliable in every sense, while Stan was the unpredictable one, changing moods and thoughts on a whim. Without the mountains to shape its patterns, the wind would be aimless, spinning in every direction without recourse, and without Kyle to ground him, Stan would feel just as lost.

But sometimes, circumstances made it nearly impossible to know what to expect from Kyle.

Like when he was sick. Stan hated it when Kyle was sick. He would be laughing and smiling one moment, but then something inexplicable would flicker in his weary, turbulent eyes and he'd scowl at something unseen. No reason, no explanation. And it scared the hell out of Stan.

He'd tried to ask Kyle about it before, but it always made him so angry. Something, anything would have been enough, but not the silence. He couldn't handle that.

He was doing it again - that laughter, that look, that sudden frown. Every time he saw that look, Stan could feel his stomach drop like a lead weight. Because eventually he's start asking again, he couldn't help it, and Kyle would get angry, and he'd ask Stan to leave. Just like always.

But Stan was tired, so tired of following that same pattern every time; it drained him emotionally and physically, and he just couldn't deal with it anymore.

"Guess it's time for me to go, huh?" He tried to laugh, but it sounded forced, which it was. "See you later then..."

He stood from where he had been sitting at the edge of Kyle's bed. Before he reached the door, Kyle called after him. "Stan?"

"Kyle... you know what always happens. You're just gonna tell me to go anyway." He tried to smile, he really did, but he couldn't manage more than the slightest quirk of the lips.

Kyle stared at him, long and hard. "That..." He licked his dried lips, looked away. Couldn't look at Stan. "Doesn't mean I want you to leave."

"Then why do you always ask me to?"

He still wouldn't meet Stan's gaze. Seconds ticked by, each one pounding away at Stan's thinning emotional reserve. Just say something. Anything... Please.

"I hate being sick." He must have seen the confusion in Stan's face, so Kyle rushed on, "I know, I know, everyone hates being sick, but dude, I'm always getting sick. It happens too fucking often, and..." He trailed off, but finally, finally he looked up to meet Stan's eyes, and there was just so much fear there that Stan could immediately sense a terror grasping at the edge of his own senses.

"Sometimes I gotta wonder, is it coming? Am I dying?" Of all times to smile, Kyle did, just then. "I don't wanna die, Stan."

"You're not-"

"Don't." His voice was sharp and his words cold, his eyes equally so. "Don't say I'm not. Because you don't know."

"Neither do you."

"I don't..." Kyle trailed off mid-sentence, shaking his head and grunting. "It's not fair to you, dammit."

Oh. Oh.

"Kyle, I'm not going anywhere, okay?" Stan retraced his steps and reclaimed the spot where he'd been sitting moments ago; he took hold of one of Kyle's fisted hands. "You never forced me to stay here, I'm here because I want to be. And whenever... you know. Don't even think about that." If you die, it doesn't mean you failed me; you never could. He wanted to say that, but couldn't form the words, so he just clung all the more tightly to Kyle's hand, hoping that it would convey what he meant.

Kyle just smiled. "Don't get all mushy on me, dude." Yeah, he knew.

Circumstances change and seasons come and go, but one thing that was always a constant was Stan's utter devotion to Kyle, and seeing that small smile made everything worth it.