1

down hard, landing in a snowbank. The sudden cold air struck him like a slap.

That fall should have hurt a lot more than it did.

Everything around him was completely different. The stars were gone, and the sky was pale blue and streaked with clouds, the hills to the east ablaze with sunrise. He hadn't fallen onto the pine needles and dirt of their campsite by Stark's Pond, he was laying in several inches of snow in Kyle's backyard, only the way it had looked years ago. He was wearing a heavy winter jacket, and his own hand, curled into a loose fist above the snow in front of his face was child sized. He straightened his fingers (so small!) just to assure himself it was his hand.

Most strikingly, his mind was completely clear. The frantic chaos that had been the world a few moments ago was gone, and despite the fact that everything (including his body) had changed, his mind felt sharper than it had in years.

He stared in fascination at his fingers for a moment and then brought them to his face. There was no stubble on his chin and no trace of the moustache he'd sported for the past decade; there was only smooth skin with a child's fingers touching it.

Oh, shit… He sat up and easily climbed to his feet, looking down at himself as his suddenly small hands automatically brushed snow from his jacket. Every part of his body was working in an unfamiliar yet easy way, and his mind was more clear and focused than it had been in years. He was standing beside a small shrub that had been tree-sized the last time he had seen it. The snow-covered ground was much closer than he was used to, and everything else seemed at odd oblique angles. He was at most five feet tall.

Oh SHIT. He looked around. Kyle's tent was twenty feet away, and looked brand new. The back of the house was a newly-painted green, which had faded and fallen into disrepair over the years in what Stan was already starting to think of as his previous lifetime. He knew this was no hallucination; every bit of this was real.

He could only reach one conclusion: Somehow he had actually crossed the membrain, and he was a child again.

This time he spoke aloud: "Oh shit…I did it!" He clapped his hand over his mouth, shocked by the soprano sound of his own voice. He looked around, wondering one final time if this was a hallucination that was about to come to an end, and realized it wasn't. All of this was real.

Now what? He looked around, and the answer became obvious: Kyle's tent, it's canvas sides bright yellow instead of the stained and faded yellow-brown he had seen just moments ago. He crept closer to it, his heart pounding nervously at what he'd find there. He stopped just outside and carefully eased the front flap open and looked in.

One of the two sleeping bags on the canvas floor of the tent was obviously empty (the one I must have been in until a few minutes ago). Stan shook his head and looked at the other sleeping bag; a child-sized body was completely encased by it, a few wisps of curly red hair poking from the end. Empty potato chip bags, socks, a pair of sneakers, and candy wrappers littered the narrow space between them.

Just as quietly, Stan closed the flap again and backed away from the tent. Sooner or later he would have to face Kyle (and everyone else he knew), and try to remember how he was supposed to act around them. But for now, there was the joy building inside him that he was here, and that this was really happening. Facing anyone, even Kyle, could wait for a few minutes.

He heard the sound of a car in the distance approaching, and an irregular splat …splat …splat…and when a car slowly drove past the Broflovski's house, he recognized it as morning papers being delivered.

He heard a newspaper land in Kyle's driveway. The car continued on, turning onto the next street and slowly driving away.

Stan hurried away from the tent, eager to be doing something other than standing still and wondering what to do next. He made his way around the side of the Broflovski's house and over to the driveway.

The person delivering newspapers had driven out of sight, and there was no one else but him outside and no sound at all on this cold winter morning. Everything looked young and new, the snow cover unblemished except for his own footprints.

He knelt down and plucked the newspaper from the snow. He wiped water and slush from the plastic bag encasing it and flattened it so he could read the date underneath: Sunday, January 26, 1986. Stan thought about that date for a moment and his eyes flew open. Oh, shit…

He knew the significance of the date immediately. It was four days before the tragedy, the worst thing that had ever happened in their lives—in Kyle's life— and two days before a disaster that had stunned the nation with horror and grief. Even as he remembered this part of his history (no, my…future), he was also thinking about what else that date meant.

"I'm twelve," he whispered, and thought: No, twelve and a quarter. Kyle will be twelve in four months…and life as he knows it is supposed to end in four days.

(And I can prevent that from happening)

A lot of things could be different; he knew he couldn't change everything, but he could change just a few things. Butters wouldn't have to die in a few years, and the tragedy that struck Kyle's family and tore a lot of their lives apart wouldn't have to happen either. This time, things could be okay for them all.

And this time around, he would fucking appreciate every second of his life instead of pissing it away waiting for a better future that isn't promised to anyone.

Stan set the newspaper back down on the driveway, stood up again and hurried away, following his own footprints in the snow around to the back yard. He slowed as he approached the tent. It was time to face Kyle, to wake him up and try to act like he normally would, at least for a while. He knew he couldn't face what was happening to him alone and would have to tell Kyle about it eventually. Kyle had once been the best friend anyone could ever have, and that Kyle was here, and Stan knew he would help him get through this while he settled back into this life again. His heart was pounding as he approached the front flap of the tent. Hi, Kyle! he thought, rehearsing what he would say first and shook his head; that was too…cheerful? It seemed weird anyway. "Hey, Kyle," he whispered, and nodded. That was better. He could do this.

He pulled the flap open and bent down to step from the snow onto the canvas floor of the tent. He stopped when he was halfway inside, realizing he needn't have worried about facing Kyle at this moment as he saw that both sleeping bags were now empty.

There was a quick movement from around the side of the tent, and before Stan had time to even begin to react, he was grabbed from behind and dragged backward from the tent and tackled to the snow. Eleven year old Kyle was on top of him laughing, wrapping his legs around Stan's and effectively pinning him.

Stan laughed. "Jesus, Kyle!" He fought back, trying to get one leg underneath himself to try to stand up, but Kyle pushed down even harder, preventing him from getting a foothold. Stan realized he could easily get out of this, but that would involve fists and hurting the boy who had tackled him, so he went completely limp instead. Kyle seemed to take that as a surrender, and they lay motionless in the snow, the only sound their own ragged breathing and laughter.

"Give up?" Kyle finally asked, his face close enough for Stan to feel his breath. So strange, hearing that voice again…He loosened his grip on Stan, those green eyes Stan hadn't seen up close in far too long watching closely. Stan nodded.

"Uh huh." He was breathing hard, and his entire body had never felt so good.

"Pussy!" Kyle laughed, pushing himself off of Stan and jumping up, taking a couple steps back in case Stan decided to retaliate. Stan rolled onto his back and looked up, grinning. He couldn't help it; being tackled by Kyle had been perfect. Far better than trying to have a conversation first thing would have been. He climbed to his feet.

"Hey, Kyle!" he said, recalling the only line he had rehearsed.

"Ah—" Kyle smirked. "Hey Stan." He watched as Stan brushed snow off of himself. "Where did you go just now? I looked all around the backyard and you weren't anywhere back here."

Stan walked over to stand next to him. It seemed like the right thing to do, and he was pretty sure Kyle was finished wrestling with him for now. "I…went for a walk around the front of your house."

Kyle shook his head doubtfully. "You 'went for a walk'? Since when do you go for walks, Stan?" He laughed. "You didn't pull a Cartman and take a crap in my dad's hedges, did you?"

Stan laughed. "Of course not…dude!" He wished he hadn't hesitated on the last word, but Kyle seemed to accept that answer.

"Well, come on." He started walking toward the back of his house and Stan fell in step behind him. Stan dreaded what he might face inside. "My mom's probably up by now and making breakfast."

Stan stopped. "Your mom?" He asked and winced at the idiocy of his question. Stan hadn't seen Kyle's mom (Sheila, his mind amended) in over a decade.

Kyle was trying not to smile. "Yeah, dude…you know. My birth giver?"

Stan laughed hard at that, and Kyle shook his head. They continued toward the house, Stan's nervousness growing with each step, knowing he'd have to face other people soon and try to act like they would expect him to.

"Yeah…sorry dude. I just woke up…"

Kyle gave him an odd look as they walked up to the back door. Kyle of course walked right into his kitchen without hesitation, and Stan had no choice but to follow him. He nearly froze at the sight of Sheila standing at the stove making pancakes, and six year old Ike sitting at the table, completely ignoring their entrance in favor of watching his mother.

"Oh, good morning boys!" Sheila said happily, sparing a moment from her griddle to turn around and greet them.

"Hi," Stan replied, feeling his face burning. He had never felt so…scrutinized before. He sat at the table with his back to Sheila, trying to remember if there was a chair he normally would have sat in. Ike was across the table still intent only on his mother.

Kyle sat in the chair next to Stan and rested his arms on the table.

Stan felt like he should say something, but was at a loss for what, but maybe just sitting here at the kitchen table without saying anything was okay too. Kyle seemed content to sit quietly while Sheila was busy cooking. Maybe no one had noticed anything strange about the way Stan was acting, although Kyle had seemed a little suspicious before they came inside. Perhaps staying silent was best; Stan stared pointedly at the table and couldn't tell if Kyle was watching him or not.

Sheila came over to the table, carrying three plates and setting them in front of the boys. Ike had one pancake, Stan and Kyle two apiece. Ike lunged for the syrup from the center of the table, poured, and began eating as if he was starving.

"Were you boys warm enough last night?" Sheila asked, turning back to the stove and returning with another plate with three more pancakes on it. Stan took the syrup from in front of Ike and poured some onto his plate, waiting for Kyle to answer.

"Yeah ma, we were fine." Stan was pretty sure they had spent most of the night shivering inside their sleeping bags, but Kyle couldn't admit that or they'd never be allowed to camp out in the winter ever again. Their fingers brushed together as Stan set the syrup on the table and Kyle reached for it.

The pancakes were delicious, but Stan made himself stop eating after three large bites, hoping he wasn't eating too quickly and drawing attention to himself. He wasn't sure what he should be doing, even though this should be a perfectly normal breakfast, something he'd done hundreds of times before. He knew Kyle's family would leave to go to Temple soon, and Stan would go home for awhile and come back in a couple hours. Maybe eating faster so he could leave as soon as possible was the best thing to do.

He had no idea what the right thing to do was. He couldn't wait to be alone for a while.

He looked across the table as Ike smeared his fork through the syrup on his empty plate and thought: In four days, you and your mother are supposed to die. She's going to be driving you to school, and you'll be rearended by a big truck while you're waiting for a traffic light. Your car blows up…and when they pull your bodies out afterward, your mom's arms are around you like she was trying to shield you from the flames—

"Can I have another pancake?" Ike asked, looking at Stan oddly, and he realized he had been caught staring. He looked down at his barely touched pancakes, feeling more awkward than ever.

"Of course you can!" Sheila replied and forked another pancake from the plate in the center of the table and set it on Ike's plate.

"Thanks mom," he said, still eyeing Stan warily. Stan looked down at his lap, feeling Ike staring at him, his face burning. He began eating again, forcing himself not to wolf his food down.

Gerald walked into the kitchen, and Stan looked up at him; he looked young and full of life, eager to take on the world. The last time Stan had seen him was about three years ago, and he was a broken down man who looked twenty years older than he should, having never fully recovered from the deaths of his wife and youngest son.

"Gerald, you should eat something," Sheila told him as he poured coffee into a travel mug.

"I just have time for coffee." He looked up and smiled at Stan, acknowledging him. "Good morning, Stanley!" His gazed shifted. "Kyle."

"Good—" Stan looked up and forced a smile. "Hi."

"Good morning, dad." Stan began eating faster.

"I'll see you this afternoon, dear,." Gerald kissed his wife's cheek.

"Okay, hon. Have a good day!"

Stan finally finished his pancakes, just a few seconds before Kyle did. He looked at Kyle, catching his eye.

"So, I guess I'll go home for a while."

"Yeah, okay dude," Kyle replied, pushing his chair back and standing up. Stan took that as his cue to do the same.

"Have a nice morning, Stanley!" Sheila told him. "We'll see you in a couple hours." Ike had dismissed him again, using his fork to spear a third pancake from the plate in the center of the table and set it in front of him.

"Thank you. You too." Stan met her gaze and found himself genuinely smiling at her. He could do this.

Stan followed as Kyle led the way out of the kitchen, through the garage, and into the back yard. The sun was just coming up from behind the hills, too bright to look at, staining the snow pastel orange and casting long shadows across it.

As they stepped further into the cold morning, Kyle turned around and stopped in front of Stan, facing him. Stan had no choice but to stop too, and look down at the ground. "Dude…" Kyle said carefully. "What's going on with you?"

Stan felt his stomach drop. It seemed that he hadn't hid his nervousness so well after all. He took a breath and said the first thing that came to mind. "What do you mean?"

"You've been acting weird since we got up this morning." Kyle's expression was a mix of concern and amusement. "It's like you're really nervous about something. Are you all right?"

Stan squeezed his eyes shut, hard. Kyle knew; but of course Kyle knew. When they had been boys, they were able to read each other like books. Kyle was doing it right now, although he had no idea what he was really dealing with.

"I, ah…" Was he all right? "Yeah. I'm okay." He still wasn't used to his voice and now he was being forced to use it. "Or, maybe…I'm going to be?" He looked up; Kyle was still watching him intently. "But right now? No, I guess I'm not really all right." Kyle's expression shifted instantly to one of concern and Stan felt a surge of hope and gratitude. "And I really need to talk to you, Kyle! But…you have to go to church…I mean to temple, soon. And I need some time to myself right now, okay?"

"Jesus, dude." Kyle's reply was immediate. "Okay, yeah. I'll be home around noon, so just come back over then." He took a step closer. "Did something happen to you last night?"

"Something happened to me this morning." He was feeling better already because of Kyle's eagerness to help. He wasn't making fun, or judging him. "It's something big, Kyle. I'll need some time to tell you about it, so let's wait until later, okay? And, ah…I really just need some time by myself right now."

Kyle nodded. "Sure…come back in a couple hours. But…you're okay…right?"

Stan understood the special emphasis Kyle had put on 'okay'. He was wondering if Stan was feeling depressed, perhaps suicidal. Stan hadn't thought about those days in a very long time. He recalled that his childhood hadn't been perfect after all.

"Yes, Kyle! I really am. And I'm going to be great. We all are! I, ah…I'll talk to you later, okay?" He turned part way around, preparing to walk off.

"All right, Stan. I'll see you." Stan was turning to leave when Kyle added, "Hey."

Stan stopped and turned around again.

"When you get home, dude…say a quick hi to your mom and go up to your room. She won't think anything about it if you do; and if you act this way around her for any time at all, she'll figure out something's wrong and you'll never hear the end of it."

Stan nodded, keeping his face impassive while feeling nearly overwhelmed with gratitude. He knew Kyle would help him through this. "Thanks, Kyle. I will." Their eyes met, and Stan felt another genuine smile on his face. "I'll see you."

He turned and finally walked off, going around Kyle's house and then up the street, making the single left turn a few minutes later that led to his own house. Sunrise glittered like a million diamonds on the fresh snow, and everything was new and beautiful looking. No one else was outside this early, and Stan had the morning to himself. Life was going to be awesome from now on.

Someone had built a snowman in the front yard of one of the homes he passed, and he slowed down for a moment to admire it. He decided that, from now on, he and Kyle would build a lot more snowmen, and snow forts, and have more snowball fights. He was already trying to think of how he was going to explain what's happened to Kyle later.

He walked on, leaving the snowman behind. Everything around him was wondrous, but now he had a new challenge to face: He had arrived at his house and he hoped Kyle's advice would work and he could get upstairs to his room without having to talk to anyone.