I condensed the last two chapters into this one to wrap up the story because I have another idea I want to start work on. Plus, it's Sunday today, so I thought it would be some dramatic irony, you know?

I'm not sure how you guys are gonna like this one; it's really up in the air. I mean, I like it because it expresses my personal views about God. But... story wise, there are some huge holes in this plot, things that go unresolved, a whole bunch of shit. All in all, I'm glad I wrote this, but it's definitely not one of my best. A mistake I shall remedy for future fanfictions.

[Edit: I may have rushed through this ending, and it may be crappy. And when I say 'may,' I actually mean I did rush through this, and it is crappy.]

Disclaimer: I own a great love for feedback in the form of reviews, be them good or bad. However, I don't own South Park or any characters there in. Nor do I own God. But, you have to admit, that would be bitchin!!

Enjoy!

I'm Not Insane, I'm Catholic

Chapter 6

Kyle's front door was unsettlingly unlocked. All they hat to do was tap the door and it swung freely open. Stan's nerves were shot for no reason at all, his heart pumping so hard he imagined it bursting through his rib cage. And the dark clouds forming over their heads were not helping to calm the mood. He could hear voices up the stairs: Kyle's and Ike's. But he didn't step inside the house.

There was a flash of lightning and clap of thunder. Stan nearly jumped out of his skin and groped his hand to his side. When he got hold of God's vest, he tightened his fist around it, clinging to him with unexplainable terror. "What?" the teen haughtily growled, as if nothing was wrong. He struggled against Stan's hand, trying to collect a cigarette from his pocket.

"I just realized something," Stan proposed, his voice nearly a whisper. "You really only show up to people when something really good happens… or when something really bad happens. And if I were to make a judgment solely on the weather and this feeling in the pit of my stomach right now… I'd have to say you're not visiting me for something pleasant."

God wrenched away from him with a jolt and lit his cigarette. "You worry too much, Stan," he mumbled through his teeth. "Before, weren't you eager to see your friend, Kyle? What's stopping you now? Besides, the weather's sorta on… autopilot right now. Nothing to get all up in arms about."

Stan gulped and took a step inside, but faltered at the base of the staircase. He glanced back to God on last time. With a semi-cheerful sigh, God approached and slapped his free hand reassuringly onto Stan's back. "If it's any consolation," he offered, "that feeling in your stomach? It's not fear. It's concern. Humans always confuse the two for each other."

Kyle coughed from his room and it resonated sickeningly through the walls of the house. Stan puffed out his chest and cautiously ascended the flight, even though his legs felt like lead. The voices weren't raised, but they were getting louder as Stan got closer. He stared at the crack in the open door, not even an inch wide, light illuminating only a segment of the hallway. Through the sliver, Stan could hear his friend's voice clearly.

"You had bacon for breakfast?" Kyle was asking. If his voice wasn't so raspy, he probably would have screamed it.

"Yeah." That was Ike, nonchalant, uncaring. "Didn't you smell it when you got up?"

"Ike, why do you do these things?" Kyle's words were coated with uncertainty. Or was that hurt? "Are you trying to piss our parents off?"

"What about you, Kyle? Why do you do the things you do?"

"No, Ike, answer the question."

"No, you answer my question." Ike's voice was surprisingly calm, but the force of his command was still powerful. "You already can't eat certain foods to begin with. Why would you willingly deprive your diet? It doesn't make sense."

"Because it's our religion, Ike!"

"Enough with religion! I'm sick of having a martyr for a brother! I'm sick of how controlling you are of me. You used to be fine with my choices; you would even defend me in front of mom and dad before. Whatever happened to that brother? Where did he go? This pale shell of a boy isn't what I would call living, and it's all the result of wasting hours away on some old Torah. Why did you do this to yourself?"

"You know why I had to!" Kyle shouted, his voice cracking. He instantly erupted into another brief fit of hacking coughs and had to audibly take a drink to clear his throat. When he spoke again, he was crying. Really crying. "You know why. I can't let that happen to our family. I can't do that to our parents. I can't do that to you! Mom and dad… they already have one son going to Hell! I won't… I can't allow you to go too!"

There was the sound of movement as Ike got closer to Kyle. He lowered his voice in an attempt to disarm his brother. "You aren't going to Hell," he whispered, trying to reason with his weeping sibling.

"Ike."

"There is no Hell."

"Please, let's not have this conversation again, I don't want to fight."

"There is no Heaven."

"Ike! I'm fucking sick, not now, p-please!"

"There. Is. No. God." They were both getting angry now.

"Don't say that, don't fucking say that!"

"I don't believe in those places –"

"I don't want little brother getting hurt!"

"I don't believe in God –"

"Ike, I'm trying to help you!"

"And I don't believe in you."

Ike burst from the room, nearly slamming the door right into Stan. Instead of stopping to apologize, he never broke his stride, pumping his arms heavily as he dashed towards the stairs. The house echoed with his footsteps as he clamored down the steps. He got halfway down when he lifted his head and saw the teenager at the bottom of the staircase.

He stopped short, already breathing hard, arrested in place merely by the other boy's gleaming gray eyes. He took shallow puff of air and lowered his cigarette, his face dark with the backdrop of thunder clouds. "Run, Ike," he mumbled, thunder punctuating his command. Ike hesitantly came down the rest of the way, and the teen let him pass by, leaving only enough room between them for him to squeeze by. Ike cringed away with mysterious terror as they almost touched each other.

"Run, run, run," God huffed, and Ike stared at him, wide eyed and confused. "Well… it's what you're good at, isn't it?" He turned his back and lifted his hand again to his mouth to take another drag. "Run, run, run…."

Ike clenched his hands into fists and gritted his teeth. Without wasting another second, he raced from the house, out into the drizzling rain.

"Stan!" Kyle gawked as his friend emerged into the doorway. "W-when did you…? How did…? H-how much have you heard?"

"What's wrong with Ike?" Stan asked, avoiding the question, feeling that it didn't need to be answered.

Kyle contorted his face into a teary scowl, looking away. He was sitting limply in his swivel chair, right beside his desk. Sprawled out over the table and even the bed were pages of papers and books with indiscernible titles. He tried to breathe slowly, but his lungs trembled and caused him to gasp and cough again. "Ike is a staunch atheist," he explained, remnant tears streaking down his cheeks. "He claims that I forced everything on him. I just wanted to help. I just wanted to make things better."

"You know teenagers," Stan said, trying to console his friend, but couldn't bring himself to enter into the room. "The more you try to convince them of things, the more they reject it."

"But he made this decision before all that," Kyle stuttered, his voice warbling. "And I used to be a good brother, and supported him. But… things have changed."

"You're going to hell," nodded Stan. "So you're trying to make sure that your brother doesn't as well. But why do you think you're going to die and go to Hell."

Kyle smiled weakly, a mask. "Because I'm an abomination, Stan. In both your religion, and mine." Before Stan could ask anything else, Kyle leaned forward in his seat, hacking up a lung. He coughed so hard that his throat went raw, and blood blossomed from his mouth.

Stan stomped down the stairs, his brow furrowed in anger. "Hey," God greeted, finishing off his cigarette. He was cut off when Stan punched him square in the shoulder as hard as he could. The kid wobbled backwards, if only because his human form couldn't stop itself from doing so. "What's with the aggression, Stan?"

"Fix him."

"Excuse me?"

Stan drew in closer and lowered his voice into a growl. "Fix him. Do a miracle. You're God, aren't you? So heal Kyle!"

"Weren't you listening when Kyle and I were talking in the park? Miracles are –"

"Don't give me any of that bullshit!" Stan screamed, brandishing his fist threateningly. "What use are you if you don't ever do anything?!"

God's face dimmed and he let out a long, pensive sigh. He glanced outside, into the pouring rain and blinked. "Come," he started, softly. "Take a closer walk with me."

"It's raining," Stan said, pointing out the obvious. "Why can't we just stay here and talk?"

"Because that would defeat the purpose of walking, Stan." God was already out the door, knowing undoubtedly that Stan would follow.

It was pouring so hard that Stan was already drenched when he caught up. Lightning arched across the heavens and all other light was blotted from the sky by dark, foreboding thunder clouds. God was walking slowly, his hands in his pockets, soaked to the bone, just like Stan. They trudged through the puddles together for a while before God finally spoke up.

"What's the use of it, Stan?" he asked, dismally. He sounded so human. So childish. Almost hurt.

"What's the use of what?"

"Of helping people." Stan pondered this, wondering why God would ask such a thing. Why not help people?

"Well…" he started, making sure all of his words were chosen carefully. "They're your children, aren't they? You love them. You want what's best for them. I suppose… hurting them would be something you'd want to avoid. Why purposely hurt somebody you love? That seems heartless to me."

"Where was your heart, then?" God asked, not looking at Stan.

"What? When?"

"When you gave Patty Nelson that letter." God hunched over, his bangs covering his eyes. "You knew how she was. You knew Cartman would get hurt. And yet you did it anyway. Was it because you hate him? Was it because he deserved it?"

"I don't think…" Stan muttered, getting lost in thought.

"It was because he was your friend, wasn't it? You knew eventually that Eric would be exposed to such hurt. You knew that even though it seemed like the wrong thing to do, it was a lesson that he would learn sooner or later. So you chose sooner rather than later. To help him get used to the pain. To help him heal faster."

"What are you talking about?" Stan questioned, following just a few paces behind the teenager, feeling his shoes get drenched right down to his socks.

"People die, Stan," God continued, not even humoring Stan's curiosity. "I know this. You know this. So, why don't I just stop people from being born? Keep them from the pain of death forever?"

"That's stupid!" Stan yelled, getting frustrated. "Then no one would live. No one would experience anything!"

"You're saying that people enjoy life, even knowing that at the end of the day, they'll just go home and get beaten by their fathers?"

Stan ground to a halt. "Kenny…" he remembered.

"You knew that no matter when Kenny got home, his dad would harm him. And yet, you pleaded with him to stay over night. Just one night. Let him enjoy himself before the inevitable end."

"I don't understand any of this!" Stan shouted against the wind, throwing his hands up into the air in defeat.

"Everything is a domino, Stan," God reminded, keeping his back to him, not looking in his direction. "Even the littlest things can have a gigantic impact. Something as little as helping a disenchanted girl pick up her books off the floor."

"Bebe, b-but…"

"Did you know, Stan," God called over the storm, finally facing the boy. "That if you hadn't stopped to help Bebe with her papers, she would have missed her bus."

"So?"

"By missing her bus, Bebe would have called Wendy for a ride, and would have not gotten home until 3:30. That would be 21 minutes and 15 seconds after her father had died from a fatal heart attack. But he didn't die. Because Bebe was home in time to call an ambulance. Because she didn't miss her bus. Because you helped her pick up her books."

Stan was speechless and limp, his arms hanging to his sides like a rag doll. His hair was drenched in rain drops that skittered into his eyes. But the irritation of the water isn't what caused him to cry.

"I said before, Stan," God continued, offering his hands up to the other in a friendly gesture. "You do good. Even if you don't know it. By simply standing up to a friend's irate, irrational parents, you saved Craig from committing suicide. His talk with the councilor later led to a psychiatric meeting in which he was diagnosed with Multiple Personality Disorder, explaining why he couldn't remember the things he had done to get him in trouble… keeping him from being expelled from school."

"Why are you telling me this?" Stan wanted to cry. But his tongue wouldn't cooperate. He was too shell shocked.

"You want me to 'heal' Kyle?" scoffed God. "Just like I 'healed' Craig, Bebe, and the others? Why can't you heal him, Stan? You've saved an 'abomination' before, what makes this one any different?"

"Way back then," Stan recalled in a daze. "Red… he was… he was…."

"He trusted you," God smiled. "With a secret that he couldn't share with anyone else. With a secret that he feared if he asked me to forgive… that I would say no. You're just as real as I am, Stan. And maybe… a little bit more."

"What are you saying?"

"People like Ike don't believe in me," God said, shrugging his shoulders in a dilapidated sigh. "And I can't force them to believe. Why would I? I gave you free will, remember. It's all your choice. But people tend to forget that they're dominoes in the game of life. There is a real chance… a real chance… that one day, nobody will believe in God anymore. And I? Heh, well… I will cease to exist."

"But you're God," Stan said, stumbling over the words. "You're eternal. You can't just not exist!"

"Existence is a state of perspective, Stan. Didn't you know that? What kind of God would I be if absolutely no one believed in me? I wouldn't be a God, that's what. Oh, sure, I would exist. And I could wipe the board clean, start over, all that jazz. But it wouldn't make you believe in me. And the fact of the matter is…" God swallowed, his gray eyes sad and grim. "You keep saying how much you need me… when in reality… I need you. I need you to believe in me, Stan. Because, without faith, without belief, without people to say I'm God… I'm not."

He turned around and started walking again, but Stan's legs were too tired and his mind reeling too much to follow. "If people don't believe in me, I'm nothing," God called back over his shoulder. "If people don't believe in you, Stan… you're nothing." He waved a lazy wave, his entire body dripping with the cold, refreshing rain. "Maybe that's something you can work on."

When Stan looked up from the ground, he was gone. Disappeared. Vanished. "That can't be all," he mused, becoming furious. "That can't be all, you fucker!"

Stan took off running, nearly slipping in the rain. He looked anywhere and everywhere for God, but couldn't find that little bastard. He checked the park. He checked the coffee house. He even checked at his own house. But he was no where to be found. God was invisible to Stan once again. Until…

He skidded around a corner, looking into an alleyway. At first, Stan gasped at the sight of him, but he quickly regained his composure. With heavy feet, he strode right up to the Mad Hatter and his creepy porcelain mask, waving his finger at him. "Alright, listen here," he commanded. "I don't know what you're trying to prove, but I want some straight answers! Now tell me –"

Stan never even saw the cane coming. It was whipped right across the side of his head, and he spat blood into the pools of rain water about his feet. But the Mad Hatter didn't stop there. Blow after blow, he smashed the cane into Stan's body until he crumpled to the floor in a beaten heap, gasping for air.

"Where is the white rabbit!?" the clown shouted, his voice, gruff and sinister, betraying his coyly smiling mask. When Stan didn't answer, he threw down his bloodied cane and seized Stan by his collar, lifting him up off of his feet and slamming him into the alley wall. Lighting surged over head, casting dark shadows all around them. "Where. Is. The RABBIT! Tell me!"

"What the fuck are you doing?" Stan wheezed.

"I've been searching all this time, and yet I've never found him!" To emphasize his point, the Mad Hatter crashed Stan's back into the wall again with another forceful push, knocking the very wind out of his lungs. "I know you know where he is! If you don't tell me, I'll fucking kill you right here! Where is the white rabbit!?"

"Get off of me!" Stan shouted, swiping his hand up and landing a sucker punch straight to the man's face. The porcelain mask cracked and was unhinged as the jester staggered backwards. As lighting flashed in the clouds above, the mask slipped off from its perch and shattered on the asphalt below.

He felt his heart stop beating. That hair. Those eyes. That maniacal grin. It was… it was like looking into some grotesque mirror. There, dressed as the Mad Hatter, was Stan himself.

Before he was even able to ask, the clone jabbed his fist directly into Stan's face, followed by a knee into his stomach. Stan dropped to the floor like a lead weight, clutching his ribs in agony. "W-who," he coughed through the pain. "Who are you?"

"His name is Satan," God answered, walking slowly into the alleyway, looking on with indifference. "Beelzebub, Mephistopheles, the Devil, the Evil One, the Beast. He goes by many names. But the one he most commonly goes by…" God pointed one deft finger at Stan. "Is yours."

"You see, there's no such thing as Satan, really," God explained, folding his hands into his jeans' pockets. "It's just a name. A disguise you humans have given to your own sin. You never could get over blaming other people for your mistakes and short comings. 'The Devil made me do it' is the oldest and cheapest trick in the book."

"Why d-does… d-does he –"

"Look like you?" God finished, raising his eyebrows. "Because he is you. He is the very manifestation of your sin. Everyone has one; theirs just don't take such a memorable form as yours did. He is all of your anger, all of your hate, all of your doubt, and – in your case especially, Stan – all of your confusion."

"Why did you do this to me?" Stan cried at the top of his lungs, trying to back away from his attacker. "Why did you do this to me?!"

"All I did was gave you life, Stan!" God shouted back with a shrug. "You took it from there. The reason he's so powerful… is because you made him that way."

Stan trembled, reaching out his hand, shaking so badly he could barely keep it straight. "Help me," he whispered, his mouth bleeding, his tears mingling with the blood. "I can't… I can't do this by myself. I just can't. Just can't."

God stared at the hand, but didn't make any move to take it. "God answers all your prayers, Stan," he said, toneless. "But sometimes the answer is no." He turned his back to him and Stan let his hand sink to the floor with a thud. "Do you really think I would have given you life… without also giving you all the tools you needed to deal with whatever it had to throw at you? C'mon, Stan. Give me some fucking credit here." And with that, he walked away again.

Stan got to his feet, barely, but the Mad Hatter was already on top of him again. "Where is the white rabbit?" he shouted, his voice no longer muffled by the mask, his eyes insane. "Tell me! I must find him!"

"Why?" Stan shouted back, shoving him away with all his might. "Why are you searching for something you've never seen before?"

"Because it's everything!" the other responded, enraptured. "Everything I always wanted!"

"Then what is it?!"

The Mad Hatter froze. His eyes were wide in thought and his pupils constricted so that his irises were almost entirely ocean blue. Stan could see the reflection of the lighting in those eyes. "I…" he started. "I don't know. But I've seen glimpses of him. Glimpses of him everywhere! He's here, I know he is! I just have to find him!"

"Haven't you ever considered that this white rabbit is everything you want, not everything you need?" The clone didn't reply. "The reason you can never find it is because it isn't there! You already have everything! A good home, a nice family, friends that love you! Why go on this never ending hunt?"

"Because I'm scared!" he shouted over top of Stan. His body was quaking now, and hushed tears fell like rain from his eyes. "Because what if I can't find him? What if all this time I've spent was wasted? I have to have something to show for it!" He clutched at his head with his gloved hands, his teeth clenched in a horrified visage. "What if I'm a failure? What if I can't fix any of this? What if everything I've done up until now was all for nothing? How could I live with myself if I was nothing but a burden to the people I loved?!"

"But by ignoring your friends by trying to find yourself, you are being a burden to them," Stan tried to reason. "It's me. I… I am the white rabbit. I already have everything I'll ever need right here in my heart. I don't need to go on some wild goose chase to find what I don't even know I'm looking for. You've been looking for yourself this whole time. And here I am. You can stop searching now. You can start living."

The Mad Hatter's eyes were hazy with confusion. He looked out into the street and pointed with one limp finger. "But there," he whispered, broken. "I see a white rabbit." Stan glance in the direction was gesturing toward and saw a sign for a new game that Stan had always wanted. "And there," the clone continued, pointing again, but this time down the road toward the coffee shop. "Another white rabbit."

"Those are just things," Stan explained, wiping the blood from his chin. "Things we want. But things we don't need. If we work hard and play our cards right, we can get those things. But they can wait. We don't have to chase them."

"And the boy," the Mad Hatter continued, significantly more calm than he had ever been before. "With crimson red hair… stunning green eyes… sitting in his room… all alone. Can we chase him?"

Stan breathed slowly, trying to find the right words. "Why chase something you already have?"

The Mad Hatter nodded, his lips forming a thin but genuine smile. He opened his messenger bag and took out a lollypop, rainbow colored and spiraling. He held it out slowly and timidly. "Are you…" he started, sounding very sane. "Are you ready to accept one, now?"

Stan smiled along with him and took the lollypop from his grasp. "Thank you," they both whispered together. "Thank you… so much…."

Stan was sitting in the very front pew. It was now Sunday morning, and church had already been let out. But Stan lingered by himself, tracing his fingers along the cuts and bruises around his face. He had a tough time explaining those to his mother, but for right now, he was content to just sit and gaze at the shimmering golden cross on the alter.

He heard a soft click as a lighter was started and already began to smell smoke. He grinned warmly to himself and leaned back into the pew. "Who invited you?" he spat, jokingly.

"Hey, this is technically my house, right?" God chuckled, standing right next to Stan. "I should think I could come and go as I pleased." He took a deep drag and let out a stream of smoke. "The real question is: why are you still here? Mass dismissed. Get it? Mass dismissed? It's a play on words!"

"I'm not one for puns," Stan snorted. "Sarcasm and faggy poetry, remember?"

God nodded and tapped some of his ash into the aisle before putting the cigarette to his lips again. "Kyle's going to make a full recovery by the end of the week," he informed. "And Ike did some thinking last night. I think he's finally tired of running. He's still going to be an atheist, and that's fine with me. But at least he and his brother will make up."

"Why did you do that?" Stan asked.

"Eh… everyone deserves a miracle every once in a while, don't you think?"

"I still don't understand why you've appeared to me," Stan admitted.

"Because everyone is a domino, Stan," God said again. "Every little thing leads to another, to another, to another, until eventually they all build up and cause huge, mind boggling change!"

"So I'm not really that special, am I?"

"As far as dominoes go, you're very special." God waved his hands around dramatically. "Most people only cause the fall of the next domino. You, Stan, are unique in that you initiate, not one… not two… but innumerable numbers of dominoes. By human standards, you Stan, are as normal and boring as they come. But in the eyes of the grand design… you're the start of it all."

"It all?"

"Now, I can't tell you that," God mumbled, as if trying to keep it all on the down low. "Big, big stuff we're talking here. I will tell you, that you won't live long enough to see the fruit of your labor. And you may not even notice that your changing the world; little things, remember? And you're name will never show up in history books, and no one will ever know what you did for the world. But the reason I showed up to you, and all the people in the past who have ever been multiple dominoes like yourself, is to prove to you that I'll always be there."

"But…" Stan started. "I don't understand. All you did was… teach me that you won't be there when I need you most. How is that supposed to help me?"

God smiled a smile that shone almost as bright as the sun, and he tapped out his cigarette insolently on the pew behind him. "Hey, look, Stan," he breathed. "A white rabbit."

The little animal hopped up the aisles of pews from the alter, its fur of the purest white with a sheen that could not be duplicated. It twitched its rabbit nose and swished its rabbit tail before continuing on its path down the aisle, hopping contentedly past Stan in his seat. God leaned over and whispered in Stan's ear. "You, uh… you gonna chase after it?"

"Nah," Stan said with a bemused grin. "Wouldn't know what to do with it if I caught it."

Stan's phone rang, and he opened it without even looking at the caller ID. "Kyle," he announced, beaming. "Yeah, of course I can come over today! No, I don't have a church thing if you don't have a synagogue thing. Good. Get that Rocky Road ready, I'll be over in an hour. Yeah. Of course Ike can join! Wait… what was that? No, really, what did you just say? Ha ha… thought so. Oh and Kyle? Love you, too…"

"C'mere, buddy," God groaned as he leaned down and picked the bunny up by his ears. Carefully placing him in his arms, God flipped the hair from out of his face one last time and stared down on the other. "Mean, old Stan here doesn't want to play with us anymore. Off to bigger and better things. Well, I wouldn't say bigger… if you catch my drift."

His footsteps echoed through the chapel as he left towards the front door. Just as he was about to leave, Stan watched as the little bunny peeked its head over God's shoulder and wiggled its nose lovingly. Stan couldn't help but smile and think that maybe… just maybe… that was one white rabbit he would chase after.

Someday.

But for today… there was Rocky Road.

The End

Tweek quivered and twitched with the triple latte in his hand, a constant surge of adrenaline rushing through his veins as the caffeine held its iron influence over his body. He took a sip and breathed a sigh of relief, thanking God that church was over and he could go to the amusement park with Craig, Thomas, Token, and Clyde, just as they had all planned. This was going to be a good day!

"Hey, Tweek!" a teen just behind him shouted, and the blonde nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Jesus Christ!" he shouted in surprise, holding on tighter to his coffee cup.

"Close, close," the teenager said, wrapping one arm around Tweek's shoulders and swishing his brown bangs out of his Athena gray eyes. "Come," he said with a playful smirk. "Take a closer walk with me…."