Author's Note: Well, it's been awhile, that's for sure. I've had this document in here for awhile and I was looking to add on the rest of the chapter when I decided I summed this one up on it's own pretty well. So, for now here is an update. I don't know how regularly these will come especially because I'm in school right now and working on a lot of different things.

I lost a lot of motivation for this story, truth be told, and I'm still working to gain that back. I'll get it figured out. But thank you all so much for your patience, reading, reviewing, favoriting... it means a lot. It really does. You're all awesome.

Chapter title from "Words as Weapons" by Seether

Chapter Fifty-Seven: Keep Me Guessing, Keep Me Terrified

A pair of grey eyes settled on Butters and narrowed on the 5'10" blonde. He bit his lip and wasn't sure what to say or how to respond as he felt under attack under this cold stare.

"There is nothing I can do," the small goth said as he took a drag from his cigarette outside of the school, specifically behind the school cafeteria. Butters sighed heavily and sat down beside the boy clad in black. "No one can. Help is just a faded illusion, and all you conformists seek some kind of absolution. But we all bleed the same. We all die in the end. The only form of help will be when we're finally put out of our misery."

Butters just stared at the boy and felt his eye actually twitch in disbelief.

"Do actually believe that crock of shit?" he couldn't help but ask. Firkle blinked in surprise at Butters outburst, then took a drag of his cigarette.

"The point is we'll never know."

"That makes no sense," Butters mumbled, then rolled his eyes when he saw the freshman boy smirk.

"Didn't I just say that was the point?"

Butters opened and shut his mouth yet no sound came out. Instead, he pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. Firkle was messing with him on purpose; if this wasn't such an important question he probably wouldn't have wasted his time with the freshman. He didn't care if he was one of Karen's best friends; he was like a real life Cheshire Cat and it was infuriating. Only the goth version (which could be known as the Tim Burton version, Butters supposed); and half the time Butters wondered if that was just out of irony.

"Eight years ago you were part of the Cult of Cthulhu," Butters said, cutting right down to the chase. He didn't have time for these games that Firkle liked to play; honestly Butters thought he simply liked confusing people.

"Yeah...?"

"Eight years ago after Cthulhu was sent back to R'lyeh by Br- Mint Berry Crunch..." he trailed off; he didn't want to expose his friend's identity even though he was sure everyone knew. Bradley hadn't shown his face since. "The cult disbanded, correct?" Firkle gave a slow nod.

"We left before he was returned. There was no eternal darkness or pain for the conformists. It was just the same, with yet another lousy ruler to show face while the sidekick really did the inner workings; and did a shitty job at it." That time, Butters couldn't help but nod in agreement.

"Right... so... do you know if the cult has reformed?"

"You ask on behalf of the immortal. Don't you?" Butters felt his face turn pale. "Does he even know you're asking?" The bright blonde froze and stared at the small boy with his swoopy bang in front of his eye.

"How... how do you know about him?"

"I helped kill him. We used his blood for a spell that night, and he returned the next day. I couldn't forget something like that. Karen's brother is an immortal. He is one of the Elder Ones, not one of the Old Ones... they're different. He rules the air. He is good... or how our society perceives "goodness". His curse is the curse of Hastur. And that alone is one hardly any man, or woman, could stand."

"Why?"

Firkle remained silent as he flicked the ashes off of the end of his cigarette.

"Because Hastur can never die."

"But-" Butters trailed off. How could he explain that in a dream state he spoke to Hastur? How could he manage to make that sound as if it were a sane sentence? How could he say Hastur said death was possible for Kenny?

Thankfully, Butters didn't have to. Scarily enough, it seemed as if Firkle read his thoughts.

"Kenny can die. Kenny is cursed. Once you break the curse he is free, and Hastur is left to wait for the next soul he's forced onto. Hastur is the only reason your boyfriend isn't six feet under. And there is only one entity who knows how to break the curse."

Butters narrowed his eyes on Firkle. Now he was talking; this was exactly what he wanted, no needed, to hear. If he could somehow find this person, this thing, and get them to free Kenny... he would in a heartbeat. He would die to know Kenny was free from this curse that haunted him.

Except his heart hurt for Hastur. Because all he ever wanted to do was die; why couldn't he die, if Cthulhu did? What made Hastur different?

"Who?" Butters couldn't help but ask. Firkle flipped his long bang away from his left eye and stared up at the sky.

"Cthylla."

Cthulhu's sister. Cthulhu's lover. That meant she was the one who was born, or awakened. She was the one who was to kill Kenny.

Butters eyes darkened. Cthylla was seeking revenge for Cthulhu's death. Obviously she thought Hastur was the reason; but as far as they all knew Kenny and his little-known curse had nothing to do with the water god's death.

But if she was the only way Kenny could be free, or could die, would he have to be willing to let Kenny go? If that's what Kenny wanted... how would he be able to let him go? He couldn't... he didn't want to think about it. The thought alone made his blood nearly run cold.

"How do you know?"

"When we were kids the cult of Cthulhu had died. But the cult of Cthylla is still strong, and still looking to complete her lifelong goal. To kill her brother's enemy." Hastur. Or at least the person who was made to be his vessel.

How many times had the cult gone through this? Why did they think temporarily killing the god would do any good? He was still more powerful than them. He was still able to do some form of good in this world.

The thought of thousands of people being cursed, manipulated at conception, and born to be nothing more than a meat suit made Butters feel sick. Knowing that's what Kenny was... no, Kenny was so much more than that. That's why this hurt so much; Kenny was his own person. He was just ruled by a curse that he didn't deserve. And the saddest part was it wasn't even Hastur's fault; he couldn't be upset with him.

"And she's here now?" Firkle tapped his cigarette, then tossed the burned end onto the ground and stomped on it. His grey eyes looked a little darker and Butters felt as if he were hanging on to every moment of silence that passed between the two.

"Soon."

Soon.

That's all he knew. There were many definitions of "soon"; and they could range from five minutes to ten years. In the grand scheme of things, "soon" meant literally any amount of time. But Butters couldn't help but dread the word.

He sat in English, pretending to read his book for his mid-term book project book, and felt his stomach grow sour. Stan tapped him on the shoulder and tilted his head. Butters sighed heavily and began writing in his notebook. After he stared at the lengthy explanation, Butters shook his head and turned the page; all that he wrote was, "Just wish this assignment was over."

Stan smiled and nodded, then quickly began to write as well.

Butters glanced to the back of the classroom and smiled softly. Kenny had his nose buried deep in his book, with his glasses perched on his nose. He looked absolutely adorable, and Butters was amazed at how enthralled Kenny was. Perhaps he'd actually finish the assignment on his own.

But he knew that was wishful thinking.

Butters' cheeks darkened as he realized his gaze was no longer one-sided. His eyes met Kenny's and he bit his lip as the darker blonde smirked and winked at him. He shouldn't have been embarrassed, but Butters couldn't help but feel a little flustered as he realized his staring hadn't gone unnoticed.

"Leopold Stotch please report to the office, Leopold Stotch."

The bright blonde attempted to sink down into his chair. He knew all eyes slowly settled on him and he couldn't help but feel anxious. He was never called to the office; throughout his entire high school career he had been called over the intercom three times; each time was never for a good thing.

So what would the office want with him now? What had he done? Except, what he should have been wondering was; what happened? And he did wonder; he just wasn't sure he wanted to know.

Butters glanced to the teacher, who watched him expectantly. He then glanced to Kenny who peered at him with curiosity in his eyes. Butters sighed heavily and slowly pulled himself from the desk. As he walked out of the room he felt stalked as everyone watched him leave. He swore they were still looking once the door shut.

He couldn't help but feel nervous. Terribly nervous. Honestly he hadn't done anything to get himself in trouble; he knew that. There was no possible way that could happen. The only possible thing he could think of is if Ms. Carlson received his scholarship status to Boulder. But he figured she would catch him on the way out after school like she usually did.

His worry was pounding in his chest by the time he opened the door to the office. Butters sent a meek smile to the secretary, who sighed heavily and set down the phone.

"Sit down, Butters." Her tone was pitying. Oh God. Oh no.

This wasn't good.

"...o-okay...?" He sat on one of the chairs and looked to her, waiting for some form of reason as to why he was here.

"I just got off the phone with Hell's Pass hospital, Butters, your father was admitted last night in critical condition." His eyes widened and his heart dropped from his chest, and felt as if it had plummeted a thousand feet below.

"Wuh-what?!" He gasped, unsure of how to react to such a sentence. She folded her hands and he couldn't help but feel annoyed at that small gesture; somehow adults found that to be a sympathetic gesture. But it wasn't. It was just the move that they made when they were going to give you bad news. "Was it my mom?"

The fact he had to ask that was depressing, even to him. But she shook her head and tucked back a stray hair that fell from her bun.

"I don't know the details. Your father was admitted earlier this morning from a stab wound. If you would like, I will inform your teachers that you will be absent for the remainder of the day. I will mark you as excused so it won't count against your attendance."

But Butters shook his head, which seemed to astonish her.

"No, n-no, I'll just... stay here. We only have two classes left, anyway." She nodded slowly and unclasped her hands. This seemed to shock her.

But there was no way Butters was going to go see his father. Not after everything; or at least he wouldn't waste a perfectly good day. There was no point; especially because his dad didn't even acknowledge his existence. He shouldn't have to feel obligated to be at his bedside simply because he was his glorified sperm donor.

Yet Butters knew he would be going to see him. He knew that as soon as school let out he would tell Kenny that he was going to the hospital. Of course, Kenny would know in fifteen minutes in art rather than two hours from now. But there was no way Kenny could convince him not to go.

Why? Because no matter what came between him and his father... he was still his dad. He was more than a glorified sperm donor. Butters liked to think that he even loved him. At one point he did, at least. And Butters was going to be the better person and be there for his father; and possibly show him how he should be.

But that was also wishful thinking, and he knew that.

He couldn't keep himself wondering why it happened. Why would someone stab his father? Who would do such a thing? Other than his mother, the only person who would want to exact revenge on Stephen Stotch is Kenny. And Kenny had literally been with him for most of the day, and all night last night. There was physically no way it was humanly possible for Kenny to do that. And Kenny wouldn't go that far, either. Not unless it was provoked. Kenny wasn't the type to assault someone; only defend his loved ones. So neither made sense. It would have been utterly ridiculous to think Kenny, of all people, would do such a thing.

He walked to class feeling empty and confused. Through the door he could hear their teacher continuing the lecture. Hesitantly, Butters opened the door and entered the classroom once again. Everyone watched him shuffle awkwardly to his desk; he sent a small smile to Stan, who peered at him with a calculating look on his face.

There was a note on the desk from Kyle, who had his nose buried deep in his notes as they listened to their English teacher discuss Emily Dickinson, as they had every year. Butters opened it carefully and quickly read the neat cursive.

"Is everything okay?" Butters tapped his foot twice, Kyle's signal, and the auburn-haired teen glanced up. The blonde gave a nod, then wrote his reply.

"I'll tell you in art." He then folded the paper and let it fall on the floor, then put his foot over it and slid his leg over to Kyle. Their feet brushed as Kyle covered the folded notebook paper with his Toms shoes and then dropped his pen.

Butters glanced to Stan who chuckled at their intricate process, and then chucked a crumpled ball of paper to Kenny, who caught it with his left hand, then ripped it open. Butters smiled as Kenny looked up at him and grinned, then scribbled his response to Stan and chucked at the boy who was a mere four feet away from him.

"Kenny!" the teacher yelled, causing the blonde to raise his eyebrows and smile sweetly.

"Yes?"

"If you continue to misbehave I'm giving you a detention." The blonde glanced to Stan who was trying not to laugh and sighed.

"I'm sorry, but I'm the victim here." The look he received from the teacher urged him to continue; Stan looked confused. "Stan farted and he ate Chipotle for lunch and I'm dying."

"I did not!" Kyle facepalmed and Butters rolled his eyes as everyone else laughed at the two. Stan glared at Kenny, who bit back a grin.

"Enough..." their teacher trailed off in a tired voice, "just behave yourselves. There's fifteen minutes of class. Tough it out."

Those fifteen minutes passed in a relatively boring fashion. Kenny dozed off, Stan and Kyle sexted (Butters could tell by the red growing on their cheeks), and Butters tried to focus on the reading they were assigned but found his mind reeling on what he had learned about his father.

As he exited the door and headed to the art building, Kenny put his arm around him and pulled him close to his side.

"What's happened?" It was as if he knew something had gone wrong. Butters looked up at him, saw the worry on his face, and tucked farther into his comforting hold.

"My dad's in the hospital," the eighteen year old whispered quietly.

Kenny's eyes narrowed.

"Say what now?"

"He was stabbed."

Butters was surprised when Kenny stopped moving altogether. His eyes were wide and his jaw was dropped as he stared in complete horror at Butters.

"What... what are you doing here? Shouldn't you..." Butters shrugged and the taller of the two scrubbed a hand through his hair, "holy shit."

"I'm going... after school. What's the point? He wouldn't even go if it was me in the hospital." Kenny pulled him even closer and wrapped him in a tight hug.

"Is he... is he okay?" Butters nodded. "Are you okay?" this time he shrugged and felt Kenny's lips on his head.

"I just... who would do this?" he whispered as they continued their walk to the art building across the main building. Butters shivered and Kenny rubbed his arm.

"I dunno, but I'll find out." The older teen sighed heavily; that's exactly what he was afraid of.

The last thing he needed Kenny doing right now was trying to figure this out. He was worried because of Stuart rejoining the cult, which in itself was hard to believe and none of them could wrap their heads around the idea. Kenny had his own problems to worry about; he didn't need to take on the role of anti-hero vigilante and find the person who stabbed his father.

It was his father, after all. It was unfortunately very safe to assume that his mother was the one who attacked him. Perhaps the shock hadn't settled in yet; he hadn't really come to terms with the fact that his father was in the hospital because someone had tried killing him. Or hurting him. What reason could possibly be behind this? Yeah, Stephen Stotch was a disgusting human being that Butters would prefer not to associate with. But he couldn't understand who would go to such length to stab him. What was their reason?

He couldn't help but feel that something was about to happen. Things had been quiet for so long he took the normalcy for granted. Now here he was trying to figure out who attacked his dad.

What if Stuart McCormick rejoining the cult and his dad's stabbing was related? Forget Stuart, what if it was the cult? For years they haven't been prominent and now here they were trying to gather recruits for whatever hell they were trying to reign down on them.

On Kenny.

Butters was ripped from his thoughts when he felt a drip on his hand. He sighed shakily and quickly wiped his eyes, then focused on what he had been painting. The canvas was red, the paint thick, and staring at it made him feel sick. He was angry, terrified, and staring at the canvas remind him of why. This was going to drive him insane.

A loud crash was heard and Butters jumped. Kenny looked up from his project; their eyes settled on the body that collapsed to the ground by the cabinets.

"K-Kyle!"

Stan's voice wavered as he ran over to the redhead, who clutched his stomach and moaned in pain. Their teacher was at his side moments later, phone in hand and ready to call an ambulance.

The classroom was silent as Kyle whimpered and cried out in pain. Stan held him close, began to lift him, but stopped when Kyle shook his head.

"It hurts..." he gasped, "Stan..." he sounded scared and little.

"He needs to go to the hospital," Kenny said as he approached Stan's side. The black haired teen looked up at him with wonder in his eyes, as if he were hovering on Kenny's every word. "It's your kidney again, isn't it?" Kyle hissed in a breath and bit down on his knuckle as his torso arched into the air from the pain. Stan held him tighter, and Kyle let out a pained whine.

"You're okay, it's going to be okay, Ky..." Stan stammered, squeezing Kyle's hand; it was obvious he wanted to do more, but what could he possibly do?

"Kenny, go to the office and let them know," the blonde didn't seem to register their teacher's urgent request before she began speaking to the operator. He just stared down at Kyle, paralyzed in a sense, and his eyes seemed to glaze over.

"Holy shit, he pissed himself!" Some kid in the back screamed. Kidneys, Butters knew. It was definitely something with his kidneys.

"Kenny!" Butters cried, his sharp voice brought him from his trance-like state. For a moment, a very brief instant, his eyes flashed yellow, and the bright blonde did a double take. Did that actually just happen? Or was he just seeing things?

Without another word, Kenny ran out of the art room, toward the main school building. Butters knelt down next to Stan, who caressed Kyle's cheek.

"Did I really..." he gasped and let out a groan as another spasm ripped through his abdomen. He arched his back in pain and squeezed his eyes shut, "pee my pants?" Stan laughed a little despite his watery eyes and nodded. "Wonderful."

Butters couldn't help but smile; of course that was his number one concern. He held Kyle's other hand and felt the red-head squeeze his fingers until they were numb. He bit back his discomfort and closed his eyes.

What was happening? Everything was happening so fast... he can't grasp it. His father was stabbed and in critical condition, Kyle was having some kind of major medical problem that mostly likely is related to his diabetes, the cult was after Kenny, Kenny's father belonged to the same cult that wants to kill him, and how the hell was any of this normal? He felt winded, as if someone had knocked him off his feet and he couldn't breathe. He wasn't able to comprehend any of this.

He couldn't think about it. If he did he'd have a panic attack.

Butters took a deep breath and focused on the matter at hand.

The sirens brought him from his null mind and he rested his arm on Stan's shoulder.

"Oh God, it hurts..." Kyle whined. Tears beckoned to fall from his eyes but he held them back. The door squealed open and Kenny ran back in, covered in snow and with red in his cheeks.

"They're here, you're going to be okay, Kyle, okay? I promise."

"I fucking know, Kenny- gah!" he dug his nails in his stomach to try to distract himself from the pain on the inside, "d-don't say that shit like I'm not!"

The paramedics arrived with a stretcher shortly after. Prinicpal Withers had made his way to the art room, winded, to talk to them and give information he didn't have.

The air was thick and time seemed to stand still. Butters found it was difficult to breathe, difficult to listen to what the paramedics were saying over the sound of Kyle's cries of pain. And it didn't help that they didn't let Stan go with them in the back of the ambulance. As soon as they left the building Stan was out of there as well, without a word or second thought.

"I told Ike," Kenny said an hour later as they gathered their textbooks from their lockers at the end of the day. He closed the door and turned to Butters, who nodded. His eyes shined with tears, and Kenny's face fell. "Hey, hey..." Butters turned his head away from him, and wrapped his arms around himself.

It was too difficult for him to be strong anymore. All he wanted to do was scream and cry, and wake up in their bed, sweaty and shaken. But he wouldn't wake up, all of this was real and happening and he couldn't comprehend it.

Kenny put an arm around him and pulled him close. He gave a gentle squeeze on his bicep and pressed a tender kiss to the top of his head. "Hey, it's going to be okay, Buttercup. I know you're scared and-"

"My dad was stabbed, Ken!" he exclaimed in a whisper, "he was stabbed, for some fucking reason, and now Kyle's sick! I-I can't deal with this! W-what's even happening?!" His voice shook with emotion and he rubbed at his eyes, they were desperate to shed their tears but he wouldn't allow it. "Your eyes, I saw it... They were yellow. What did you do?"

Kenny remained silent; his arm no longer felt warm around him. Butters pulled away from him and looked up with confusion in his watery eyes.

"I don't know," Kenny replied softly. He sounded vulnerable, and he appeared uncomfortable. Butters shook his head in response however. "I really don't know, I just..."

"Well, you need to figure it out.

"I'm trying!" Kenny exclaimed, "what's this really about?" he didn't sound accusing; just concerned. But the bright blonde just sighed and shrugged his shoulders. "Talk to me, please?"

"I need to go to the hospital."

"Me too." Butters clenched his jaw and sighed heavily. He gazed at Kenny, who looked confused and a little hurt. He grabbed his keys and walked ahead of Kenny. "Why won't you talk to me?"

"Because my dad is in critical condition and I need to be there for him, Kenny! Because this is a conversation we won't have because you're too fucking stubborn! You don't want to figure yourself out but you keep doing this shit and..." he shook his head and yanked open the driver's side door. He sat down and started the ignition.

Kenny stared for a brief moment, in slight surprise, before he opened the passenger door and sat next to him in silence. After Butters peeled out of the parking lot, kicking up gravel and clods of snow and ice beneath his tires, he finally looked up from his chapped hands.

"You're driving." Butters nodded and bit his lip as he sped through the streets.

"I don't wanna talk about it right now."

So they didn't. But the conversation was far from over, they both knew it. And they would dread the moment they were both home, alone, and everything they had held back over who knows how long would finally surface.

It was a seven minute drive to the hospital and both of them couldn't have been more thankful when Butters put the car in park and shut off the ignition. He walked from the car, away from Kenny, who went to the opposite side of the hospital. Butters glanced back and watched him walk away slowly, with his arms around himself and his eyes on the ground.

He shook his head and entered the hospital. After asking the receptionist what room his father was in, he realized this was real. He was here, visiting his wounded father who would most likely not want to see him, who would tell security to throw him out. Why was he here? Why did he make the trip?

Because he cares too much about everyone. It was his biggest fault, he knew this, and found himself swallowing down his nerves. His father needed to know he did care and was concerned for him. Whether or not he would accept it would be the next step.

He knocked on the door then opened it slowly and as quietly as he could. The sound of a heart monitor filled the room with its steady beeps, and the television played softly. His mother wasn't here; he couldn't smell her perfume.

"Dad?" Butters asked softly; his voice shook with fear.

He shouldn't have come. He shouldn't care. This was a bad idea, this was-

"Butters."

He can't help the smile that spread on his face. He couldn't hear any anger or hatred in his father's voice. No commanding tone. It was just his father, calling him. "Butters, is that you?

"Yeah dad, I heard you were... you were hurt." He pulled the curtain and tried to smile at his father's frail form. He was pale and tired, with bags under his doped up eyes. He looked so ready to just give up. "And I wanted to see that you were okay."

Stephen Stotch slowly lifted his eyes to look at his son, and then turned his head into the pillow. He sighed softly and winced before he clutched his side.

"Who did this to you? Do you know?"

"They don't believe me, Butters. They don't believe me, and your mother is upstairs in the psych ward because I'm turning out just like her... isn't that great? I'm seeing things."

"Dad, who was it?" Butters asked, his voice didn't shake. He was surprised at the tone that ripped from his vocal chords; he sounded just like Stephen.

His father sighed heavily and closed his eyes once more.

"You wouldn't believe me."

"Yes I would."

Despite what happened between them, he was his father. This was the kindest conversation he had had with him for years and he wasn't going to let this go. He was going to help him, and if that meant believing him despite the abnormalities no one else could seem to get over, then he would. After all... his boyfriend was an immortal vessel for an elder god who ruled the air. He could believe anything.

"Do you... do you remember that Mysterion kid?"

Butters blinked.

"Yes."

His heart was pounding in his head. He could barely hear his father.

"It was him. The question mark, the purple clothes, the voice... except he had yellow eyes. He's not human, Butters. He did this to me. He spoke some language, I-I don't know... gibberish. Said something about death and dying."

"In strange aeons even death may die?" Butters asked. His father shakily nodded.

His blood ran cold. This couldn't be happening; his father couldn't be saying this right now. Kenny... Mysterion was the person who stabbed him. Who else would dress up as Mysterion? Who else would have yellow eyes?

Butters bit his tongue and said nothing as he looked down at his father. It was impossible for him to even comprehend what he had just heard. There had to be an explanation; does his dad know who Mysterion is? That may be so, but he doesn't know about the yellow eyes. He doesn't know about the cult of Cthulhu's return. And he sure as hell doesn't know verses from the "Necronomicon".

So as of that moment the only lead was that Kenny had assaulted his father. But why? What had he done besides what happened in the past? After everything? It didn't make sense. There had to be something he wasn't catching, something beneath the surface. That wasn't Kenny; he would never do that... would he?

He's threatened, he's told Butters the extent he would go to protect him. But why risk everything he had worked so hard for?

Butters just sat with his father in silence until Stephen fell asleep once more. After all that has been said and done what more could they say? He showed Stephen that despite everything he has ever done to him over the years, all of the psychological trauma and abuse, he was there for him. Despite his resentment and hurt, he made an effort to show his father he cared. Stephen was alive, and stable, and Butters couldn't help but feel at least a little bit relieved.

He took his hand and squeezed gently. There was no recognition from his sleeping father but he didn't need it. He was there, and that's what mattered. He just couldn't help but wonder if his father would have done the same if he were in the situation instead. He didn't have to think about it though; no one would ever hurt him like this. They wouldn't have the chance.

The problem he had right now was with Kenny. He told him, flat out, he had absolutely nothing to do with his father's attack. He said he would never do anything like this. But his dad... he didn't know the person behind the mask. He didn't know Kenny was Mysterion, and here he was staying that's who stabbed him. Mysterion with yellow eyes. No one else knew about Hastur. There was no other explanation; it was Kenny. It had to be.

Unless...

Butters shook his head. No, there was no "unless" and there were no "what ifs". He couldn't make excuses for Kenny. He had to talk to him. Because once this was out, if the police believed his father, then Mysterion would no longer be a hero. He was a villain and would be guilty of assault. Why would he do this to himself? Was it worth it? It didn't seem like Kenny, at all. But it was. It had to be.

He had to talk to Kenny. Now.

"Dad?" Butters called softly; he received no reply. "Dad I'm going to go now."

He stood up and walked slowly to the door; was he hoping for a response?

He closed the door and sighed heavily. What was he going to do now? Everything was hanging by a thread, as if one more action, the slightest change, would bring everything down and shatter their lives. His world was going to be tattered no matter what by the time this was all over.

Butters pressed the "down" button on the elevator and bit the raw skin around his thumb. Little drops of blood dotted his flesh and he licked it away with a grimace.

"-said you only have four months left and then-" the redhead before him clammed up as the doors slowly opened. "B-Butters!" Ruby Tucker gasped, blushing dark red. His eyes flickered form her onto the person behind her.

"Craig?" the bright blonde asked in confusion.

"W-what're you doing here?" Ruby asked with a bright blush on her cheeks. He looked between the siblings cautiously.

"I'm visiting Kyle... what are you doing here?" He couldn't help but question. Craig remained silent and coughed into his sleeve before he leaned back on the railing. "Are you sick?"

"I'm fine," Craig answered hoarsely, then rested his head against the metal. Butters wasn't sure what to say, Craig certainly wasn't fine, but there was almost no point in pushing the issue. Craig wouldn't talk about it. So he said nothing.

As the doors to the third floor elevator opened, Butters stepped out and smiled weakly at the raven, who looked as if he was fighting a losing battle to not throw up or collapse. Ruby had her and discreetly around him; he wondered if that was the only reason he was standing.

He jumped as the doors shut and sighed heavily. He walked to the receptionist, who eyed him with a calculating look.

"I'm here to see Kyle Broflovski," he said, "he was admitted earlier tod-"

"I'm sorry, no one is allowed to be with him right now, other than immediate family." Butters' jaw dropped. What happened? How bad was this?

"W-what about his fiance?"

"He's the reason visitation is prohibited. Mr. Marsh has been declared unstable and is not permitted on these premises."

Butters exhaled shakily and stared in awe at the middle-aged woman. She wore no empathy in her expression as he tried to silently ask for more answers. Instead, he walked away, hoping Kyle knew he had at least tried to see him. He couldn't be alone, not right now.

Butters found Stan in the parking lot. Well, at first he heard him. His wails of anger were unmistakable; the woeful sound carried through the parking lot caused the hairs on the back of his neck to stand. It reminded him of years ago, when Carol McCormick passed; he and Kenny sounded the same. And it scared him.

When he saw Stan, he didn't know what to think. His fists slammed into Kenny's chest repeatedly, and then he finally gave up and clutched the blonde's shirt. He pulled him close, shook him like a rag doll, as he screamed and sobbed into his shoulder. And Kenny held him, ran his hands through his hair to soothe him. He could see Kenny's mouth move as he whispered comfortingly to him.

How could those hands, those comforting fingers that tangled in his hair, hold such violence? How could those same hands, those soft palms and fingertips that had caressed Butters and made him feel more alive than ever before, be the same hands that nearly killed his father?

"HE NEEDS ME!" Stan bellowed, his voice guttural and tense. Kenny nodded and kept his hands on Stan's back, keeping him against him as if he were holding broken pieces of glass. "LET ME GO, FUCK!"

"Shh, shh, hey..." Kenny grunted as Stan struggled in Kenny's arms. "He's okay, Stan, his parents are there with him, they'll tell you-"

"I NEED TO BE THERE!"

"Not like this, you don't," Butters piped up as he walked up from behind them. Kenny looked at him and smiled weakly; a hint of sadness glittered in his cerulean eyes. "Stan, Kyle wouldn't want you to... to be so riled up, I know it's difficult, I know you're scared and feel like you should be there to help him, but he's in the hospital. There are doctors who know what they're doing."

"S-so, you're telling me..." Stan pushed Kenny off of him, caught him at a moment of weakness. The blonde smacked against Stan's car and righted himself. "You're telling me I would stress my fiance out? That I don't know what's fucking best for him?"

"N-no, Stan...!" Butters fought, then looked to Kenny for help. "I just... we're scared, we're all scared. Right now they need to figure out what's wrong. They won't if we're all there."

Stan closed his eyes and unclenched his fist. Tears rolled down his cheeks and he turned to Kenny.

"He can't leave me, he can't... what if I did something wrong? I don't want to kill him."

"Hey, Stan..." Kenny trailed off, rubbing his shoulder, his eyes fell on Butters, "you didn't do anything. You didn't hurt him, it's not your fault..."

"I need him..."

"I know, I know... listen, he will be fine. If it's his kidney they'll figure it out. We don't know what's going on yet, it's going to be okay." Stan shuddered and burrowed his head in the crook of his shoulder. "Why don't we go back to our place?" Kenny offered, the black-haired teen nodded slowly and sniffled.

"I know you're feeling a lot right now. So just tell us what you need. I promise you Kyle will be okay."

"I want to be with Kyle..."

"He'd want you to take care of yourself," Butters said calmly, "we'll call Mrs. Broflovski in an hour or two and I'm sure she'll understand. You just... you have to tell her what's going on with you."

"So she'll know her son is with a psycho?" He scoffed, Kenny laughed softly and shoved him a little.

"She knew that the moment she met you, Stanny boy," he teased, "she'll just understand. You're not crazy, you just have some... imbalances. Hell, everyone does. You're fine... you just have to talk to her. It's Sheila, after all."

There was no way Kenny and Butters were going to let Stan drive on his own, not like this. He sat in between them, his head on Butters' shoulder.

"How was your dad?" Kenny asked as he turned down the radio. He then drove onto the gravel road, slid a little on the ice, and straightened out.

"Fine," Butters answered simply. He couldn't talk about this now. It was going to start something that Stan shouldn't hear. Not now, and hopefully not ever.

Kenny nodded slowly and pulled into the driveway five minutes later. Stan got out as soon as he could, and was wrapped in a loving embrace by Karen. The raven held tight to her, and clutched at her shit as he tried to regain composure.

"Stan..." she trailed off weakly, "it's okay. I talked to Ike. They aren't upset, and Kyle is sleeping right now. He's okay."

"W-what's wrong? Is he going to be okay?" Karen smiled sadly, and slowly nodded.

"Ike said it's kidney failure." Both Butters and Stan gawked in horror. Kenny just stared at his hands. The bright blonde watched him for a second; his eyes narrowed and he sighed heavily.

"He'll be fine, don't worry," Kenny said, "they'll find a donor." Butters eyed him warily yet said nothing.

And so they sat with Stan, quiet, waiting for someone to say something. But the words would be empty. They would simply fill the silence, fill it with false comfort. Butters didn't believe in speaking for the sake of saying something, so silent he remained, next to Kenny who seemed to almost hum.