This chapter is pretty long compared to the other ones. When you read it, you'll see why; I just didnt' want to split it all up into seperate chapters. They would be way to fucking short!
Disclaimer: One of these days, I'm going to lie and say I do own South Park, and you know what? Probably nothing will happen. But, in case you didn't know by now, I don't own it. So... what evs...
Enjoy!
Persevere
Chapter Eight
Sharon Marsh, distraught and terrified, frantically dashed through the same medicinal halls of the hospital that Stan had walked through not three hours ago. She was wearing the grieving face that had so disgusted Stan back then. It seemed like ages since that time.
Sharon panted heavily, but not from the strain of running; the hysteria for her only child consumed her every breath as she envisioned the worst. "I came as soon as they called," she cried to the nurse behind the counter after catching her breath.
"Name please," the other woman demanded, hardly even looking up.
"Sharon Marsh, my son is here, he was admitted an hour ago."
The woman stopped pecking her fingers against the keyboard and lifted her eyes in annoyance. With a sigh, she corrected herself. "Name of the person you are here to visit, ma'am." Sharon was taken aback by the coldness of the nurse's words. Didn't she know that he son was somewhere in this hospital, possibly dead?! Didn't she care?
"Stanley Marsh," the mother informed after calming herself down.
"Room 124," the nurse replied almost instantly, as if she already knew the room number, but refused to say it before Sharon had given her a name. Stiffly, she returned to her original position, her eyes glued to her computer screen.
"Thank you," Sharon mumbled, at least trying to sound like she meant it. Her dazed run had been reduced to a brisk walk; her legs slowing down as they carried her closer to the impending doom awaiting within her sons room. All sorts of horrible thoughts entered her mind, and she had already convinced herself that her son must be dead.
Slowly she entered the hospital room and immediately broke down into tears. The first sight she saw was her son's bruised face and ragged black hair strewn everywhere. But that was the most traumatizing part of it. Stan's eyes were closed….
Sharon broke down to her knees and let out a long shrill cry. A cry for her son. A cry for the world that had driven her son to suicide. A cry for all humanity that seemed lost and desolate. Her hand hovered over her agape mouth as if to try and stop herself from screaming but couldn't get any closer than it actually was. Suddenly she jolted to
her feet and crossed the room in desperation. Quietly she sobbed as she reached for Stan's slender fingers.
"Mrs. Marsh?" came a voice from behind. The mother turned, her eyes red with tears. A tall man in a white coat entered with a clip board in one hand and a pen in another. "I'm so very sorry you have to see your son in such condition."
"Oh you do, do you?" she replied softly, all emotion drained from her voice.
"If it is any consolation, we suspect he'll be out of the coma within a few days." Sharon lifted her head with a snap and her eyes grew wide. The doctor greeted her shock with a raised eyebrow. "You thought he was dead?" he asked, crossing the room toward all the sophisticated equipment hooked up to Stan's body.
"Don't worry," he continued, understandingly. "It's a common reaction. Most mother's fear the worse and completely forget to check the equipment before… jumping to conclusions." He rested his hand on top of a heart monitor and Sharon watched as it blipped with life- slowly… but surely.
"Thank you, doctor," Sharon commended, her hands trembling with the adrenaline. "Thank you for saving my son's life."
"Don't thank me," the grey haired man sighed, returning his attention to his clipboard. "Thank the architect of the New Grace building. If they had built it only five feet taller, you're son would not be with us. Thankfully, even though he has six broken bones, none of them are his spine. That was only fractured slightly."
"What could have driven him to… to suicide?" Mrs. Marsh asked to no one in particular. "Was it because he was ga- homo…." Her words trailed off into thought.
"I'm sorry, but I have no answer for that," the doctor answered. "It's not a big surprise for me, though. We have an entire wing dedicated to New Grace victims."
"Victims?!" Sharon shrieked and the doctor coughed into his hand.
"I use 'victims' loosely, Mrs. Marsh," he started, trying to cover his tracks. "It is a fact, however, that one fourth of the boys admitted into Camp New Grace eventually end up here. And only half of that number… returns home."
"Oh my God," Sharon gasped, covering her mouth again. "That many have all tried to… k-kill themselves?"
The doctor merely nodded in reply. "You're son is one of the lucky ones. He'll live." He headed for the doorway, flicking his pen against the papers on the clipboard and slid the heavy thing into a slot on the door. "I'll leave you two alone for a while.
Even though Stanley is in a coma, some professionals theorize that he can still hear you. Try talking to him. Good evening, Mrs. Marsh."
"Stanley?" Sharon called, leaning close to her resting son. "I don't know if you can hear me, but…." She stopped and tried to think of what exactly she did want to say. But one thing constantly pestered her thoughts. "I t-told you," she started, taking her son's hand into hers. "I told you that none of us wanted you to go to that camp. We all accept you for who you are. Me, you're father, even Shelley."
Sharon smiled a little at the thought. "And I know what you would say. 'Shelley thinks I'm a turd.' Well, I'll have you know that she's matured now that she's gone off to college. If you stayed home long enough every once in a while you'd see that."
Gingerly his mother wiped Stan's bangs from his face and forced a grin onto her lips. "You're going to be fine," she whispered, more to assure herself than anything. "I'll call some of your friends. They'll come visit you, I'm sure. There's Kenny and Eric, Butters and his little blonde friend. You'd love to see them wouldn't you? And of course, the first person I call will be Kyle."
Sharon jumped as the heart monitor beeped rapidly for a few seconds before returning to normal. "Oh Stan," she murmured. "You really can hear me! Don't worry, son. I'll stay here tonight. I won't leave you alone. I'm you're mother. I couldn't think of anything else but you."
XOXOXOXO
The door to room 124 opened with a slight squeak and Kenny entered into the dark, stale hospital space. He walked silently to the window and opened the blinds, the morning sun bursting through the stainless glass. The light streamed across to Stan's bed, but there was no reaction from the seemingly lifeless boy. Kenny stared out the window for a few minutes. He never was much for words.
"Stan," he began, his voice still and clear. He turned around to face his friend, adjusting his orange long sleeved shirt and dark Khaki jeans that hung tantalizingly low on his hips. "I still can't believe you're gay." He got closer to Stan, his mind creating a whole conversation with the other boy, even if he wasn't talking.
"Yeah, I thought so," he replied to his own head. "But, you're probably sick of people apologizing for your failed suicide attempt. I didn't want to be like them. What? I'm the first person who's visited you today? Wow, you have some pretty shitty friends. Well, that's true; it is nine in the morning. Normal people aren't awake yet."
"If you're so intent on me asking," he continued haughtily, setting himself down on the edge of Stan's bed. "How are you feeling? Broken? Hahaha, you're a riot man, even when you're in a coma. I am surprised Kyle hasn't come to visit yet. I know you two are on sour terms right now, but still…."
"Don't get snippy with me!" Kenny shouted, crossing his arms. Slowly he relaxed and let out a long sigh. "It's kinda scary how well I know you… that I can hold an entire conversation with you and you don't even say a word." His eyes drooped as the solemn atmosphere began to get to him.
"I haven't seen Cartman in weeks," Kenny mumbled. "He and I used to be best friends, I don't know what happened. After you and Kyle had that fight, we just sort of drifted apart, the four of us. Kyle stopped coming the bus stop every morning. You started riding your bike to school. Cartman didn't say a word, didn't make jokes, wasn't an ass for the first time in his life. And you know that I never really say anything unless spoken to." He lightly jabbed Stan in arm and laughed. "Well, most of the time!"
"Stan, you need to come back," Kenny grumbled after a pause, slumping down on himself. "Nothing… nothing is really the same without you there. I miss it. I miss the four of us. I don't care if you're gay. But, I do care if you're my friend or not. C'mon buddy… wake up…."
XOXOXOXO
The clock's ticking for a few priceless moments was in time with the beeping heart monitor as it struck noon. Almost right on the dot, Vincent quietly entered through the door. He was slouching lower than usual and kicked discarded pill across the floor with his foot. He looked up, his face melting into a frown. He stared at Stan's face and let out a sigh. He ruffled with a paper absently as he timidly made for Stan's bed.
"I'm so sorry, dude," he apologized. "This is all my fault. I shouldn't have said those things. Maybe if I had more time to think… I could have said something that would have kept you from jumping. It kinds sucks you know. Not only do I feel fucking guilty, but now the police are threatening me with euthanasia."
With a grunt, he flopped into a nearby chair and winced at how hard it was. "By the way, no such luck on the boyfriend hunt, so I left New Grace. Being there for that long screwed with my brain I think." Vincent pinched his nose at his brow in annoyance. "I have such bad luck. No offence, but being in a coma looks pretty good right now, buddy. Heh, I've hardly known you at all, but I can tell you this: You and I are fucked.
Nothing good is ever gonna happen to us, you know? If there is one guy with worse luck than us, I'd love to meet him!"
"Um… excuse me?" the boy was so quiet, Vincent didn't even hear him enter. He stood up with a start and, after he had gotten a good look at him, nearly fell back into his seat. He was so adorable! "Is this Stan's room? I drove Butters here to see him."
As if on queue, the other blonde boy bounded into the room, grinning from ear to ear. "That man was so nice!" he chuckled. "I'm so glad I was able to push his wheel chair for him."
"You're so nice, Butters," the other blonde teen smiled, but with his hand against his mouth, Vincent was sure the boy didn't hear him. Gradually, he lifted his golden eyes up long enough to lock gazes with Vincent… and for the first time, they actually stayed there. Vincent was so taken aback, that his normal demeanor went on the back burner as he gaped and blinked like a fish out of water.
"I'm Bradley," the junior informed, biting his lip, but lowering his hand at least. Vincent was snapped from his trance and finally remembered his charm.
"Vincent," he greeted with a nod. "It's great to meet you, Bradley." The brunette looked down to his feet and wiped his forehead in mock relief. "Whew, I'm still standing! For a second there I thought bowled over by your good looks."
"Oh, I'm not-" Bradley started, his face growing crimson. "I mean… thank you."
"I'm so glad you didn't finish that first sentence," Vincent reprimanded, growing to his full height and getting closer to the nervous blonde boy. "I hate when people lie. But you corrected yourself."
Bradley averted his gaze, but couldn't take his eyes off of the other boy. "I like your shirt," he complimented. Vincent looked down for a second and then chortled to himself. It was bright blue, and exact replica of the Camp New Grace shirt; with one not so subtle addition. In a vivid red 'slasher' font just above the normal yellow picture read "I survived …Camp New Grace."
"You do?" Vincent grinned. "Made it myself."
"Really?" Bradley gawked in awe, his eyes lighting up. "C-can you make me one?"
"Sure, but you have to actually survive the camp, first."
"Psh, been there done that," Bradley smiled, waving his hand as if erasing all of Vincent's doubts.
"Get out!" Vincent chuckled, placing his hand on his hips, his eyes mooning over with lust. "Then there's no problem. I'll make you one asap."
"I still have my old shirt from when I went," Bradley thought out loud. "I think it still fits. It might be a little small though."
"Better to show off that body of yours," Vincent suggested, wrapping his arm around Bradley's shoulders. "These baggy clothes you wear do nothing for your figure. But, hey, I have to give you a rain check on your request. My 'business' is re-locating."
"How so?"
Vincent lifted up the slip of paper that never left his hand. "A letter from my mom. We're moving. I can't tell you how happy I am. I new start; a clean slate. No rumors fucking up my stage time!"
"W-what?"
"Long story," Vincent simpered. "Apparently, we're moving to some hick town called South Park."
"That's where I live!" Bradley exclaimed, teeming with excitement. "That's where we all live! Stan, Butters, and me!"
"You're shitting me…" the brunette mumbled in shock. He glanced over at Stan and smiled. "Looks like you're my lucky charm, buddy. Here's to your luck making the same turn." Vincent turned back to Bradley. "You busy at all today? Think we could go for ice cream or something?"
"I'm really hard," the blonde teen blurted out and instantly slapped his hands over his mouth and his face grew ten shades darker. "I meant t-to say s-s-sure…" Vincent laughed as he felt his cheeks flare up as well.
"Hey fellas," Butters chimed in, coming in between the two love birds. "If you're off with Bradley, who's gonna drive me home?"
"I will," grumbled a voice from the doorway. Slowly, Eric Cartman dragged his feet into the room, his hands in his pockets and his eyes low in shame. "I can take Butters home. You two go ahead and get out of here. You're not paying Stan any attention anyway."
"You're one to talk," Vincent growled, squinting his eyes. "You're the one who planted that dark seed in his mind. And you're the one who spread that rumor in the first place. It looks like I'm not really the one to blame after all!"
"Look, I don't have to apologize to anyone but Stan," Cartman mumbled, his eyes still set on the floor, not making eye contact with any of them.
"Damn straight," Vincent hissed. He walked toward the door and towered over the slightly shorter teen. "I have every right to knock you senseless," he whispered into other brunette's ear. "But fortunately for you… I don't think that's what Stan wants. He's your friend still… at least I think. He'll accept your apology."
Bradley and Vincent both left together with Butters lingering next to Stan. "Do you… do you want me to wait outside, Eric?" Butters asked timidly.
"Please?" Cartman asked, his voice low and quiet. After he was sure the room was completely empty, Cartman walked toward his friend and took a deep breath.
"This is hard for me," he started. "You know that. But what's more… I know that no matter what I say, you shouldn't forgive me. You're such a pussy that you probably will… but you shouldn't."
Cartman swallowed dryly and rested his hands onto his friend's hospital bed. "Stan… I'm sorry. I've done some pretty horrible things in my life, but none of them to you. I wasn't thinking straight. Kyle does that to me, you know? I guess I just got… jealous. Jealous over that if Kyle were gay… he would definitely pick you over me… and there was nothing I could do to change that. So… I'll say it again, just so you know I'm totally serious."
Eric wiped away a single tear and gasped in one last breath. "Stan… I'm so sorry."
XOXOXOXO
The heart monitor blipped happily in the silence of the room. Gradually, he groaned, his first sign of life in two days. With a strain and a grunt… Stan slowly opened his eyes….