Author's Note: So, Occulta once told me that when I actually write lots I should post each chapter days after I had written them. Something about it making more sense that way. But I say...Well, let's be honest. I'd forget the chapter existed and then lose it in the multitudes of random shit on my computer. (COUGH Hell Hath and Numb COUGH) So here's another chapter! (Last today...And yes, those chapters really are lost at the moment. This is getting tedious.)

Chapter Three: "Gotta Keep It Together, Even When You Fall Apart..." Mama's Broken Heart, Miranda Lambert

Kyle slammed the door. His back hit the wood, body slid down until his bottom hit the floor. Knees buckled, falling into an almost crossed position. Arms fell to his sides-limp; useless. What just happened? Pants came out in shudders of air; his body shook still-when will it stop? Head tilted down, neck giving out in despair.

Did that really just happen? Confusion. It clouded his mind and only gave way to anger, angst, and anxiety.

"I'm not crazy!" Kyle repeated.

"Are you sure?" Kenny asked with a condescending smile. "It's okay, Kyle, crazy or not, I'll be here to watch over you. Always." The last word was spoken lowly, almost ominously in tone. Kyle shook his head, a dull ache settling under his skin.

The words repeated in his mind, echoing over and over again. Pulse thrummed under the skin of his head. A hand pulled at the curls waving in front of his face, tugging them away and pulling at them gently. "Always." When did Kenny get so serious? Who says things like that? And accusing him of being crazy, putting on this desperate act for the police… It wasn't normal. The whole situation was surreal. He didn't feel quite like himself, instead placing himself at a distance from his body. This is really happening. He repeated it to his mind, yet it did nothing to help the numbness sweeping across his insides. Nor the shocked nerves twitching beneath his skin.

"I'm so fucked."

"KYLE!"

The yell startled him from his contemplation. He looked up to see his mother at the entrance to the living room. Gulping, a realization he had yet to understand completely hit him fully-After everything he'd seen in the past few hours, the sight of his mother as angry as she looked now still shook him. Mouth opened and closed, voice lost momentarily.

"You called the police!" she accused loudly. "Kyle Broflovski, what possessed you to call the police! That's a number only to be used for emergencies, and you know it!"

"I-" he croaked out, barely managing even that much.

"That's not even including your sneaking out to be at the McCormick's house last night!"

"I-"

"You are in big trouble, mister! When your father gets home you are going to be sorry!"

"Ma-"

"Don't you 'ma' me, Kyle! I don't want to hear it!" she continued, interrupting him again. "Why did you do this, was it drugs?" She paused momentarily at this then, she gasped dramatically. "Oh God, my poor little-"

"Ma! I'm not on drugs," he shouted back. "And I called them because it was an emergency! It still is-he hid bodies, I saw them and-"

"Don't lie to me, young man! The police are very competent, if they searched and found nothing then I fully believe them."

"You'd believe the idiots we call officers over your own son then?" he asked, tone accusing. "I saw human bodies. Dead bodies. And you think I'd make that up? That's sick, you're sick!"

Then, a pause of silence in which Kyle glared angrily in her direction, watching as she stumbled for words. She began quietly; slowly, "The police called me after they went to the McCormick's house." She stopped, choosing her words deliberately, "There was nothing there but an empty; clean room."

A hand stopped Kyle from trying to defend himself, "Kyle, they told me you'd done this before. That you accused that Cartman boy of stealing and hoarding ballots to swing the election in one direction." She trailed off then, as if testing Kyle's reaction. Waiting, she watched her son closely. The sad look she gave him then had him moving slowly upward from the wall. Arms closed over his chest, hands resting under elbows in a mock hug. Eyes trailed to the floor.

"I know what I saw." he stated with finality, bringing his eyes upwards to meet her own.

She sighed then, a hand rubbing her face. "Why would they lie, bubblah?"

"Why would I?" he asked back, voice cracking in realization. She really doesn't believe me. Even about something like this…

Kyle didn't know what to expect from his mother then, but not for her to give up, "We'll continue this when your father gets home." she told him. "Go to your room."

He blinked at her, looking away to the opposite wall. A hand reached out to the coat rack, reaching for a random jacket. He ignored his mom's indignant ramblings as he pulled on the coat and pushed on his extra set of shoes. He heard the shout of "Where are you going, Kyle?" but ignored the voice completely. Opening the door, he stepped outside, letting go of the door to let it slam shut by itself. Walking outside, hands met the insides of the coat pockets, feeling odd in his brother's jacket and suddenly grateful his brother had a growth spurt earlier that year. Though, judging by the extra space in the arms, maybe he'd grown a bit too much…

Sighing, he wondered briefly why his mind was changing subject for him. Why am I even thinking about this? He shook his head, blaming the shock. Down the street, he saw railroad tracks and had to force himself to look away. Stupid small town home proximities… Jumping up the steps to his best friend's home with greater familiarity than either ever cared to acknowledge, he knocked twice.

After a moment, the door opened to reveal a disheveled Stan Marsh. The black haired boy blinked at him owlishly. "Hey dude," he answered. Then, after a pause, "What's wrong?"

The door opened wider immediately, Stan's hand grabbing Kyle's own and forcing him inside when he didn't answer automatically. He dragged the boy upstairs, answering his mother's questions of who was at the door absently. When they got to his room, Kyle was led to the bed. He barely registered the door closing, numbness daring to take over once more.

A tilt in the mattress alerted him to his best friend's presence beside him. "Talk." he demanded, as if sensing Kyle's reluctance to do just that.

"I-I don't even know how to begin." Kyle admitted, feeling strangely uncomfortable in a place he considered his second home. His head tilted to the side unconsciously.

"Start with when you got home then." Stan responded easily.

"It didn't start then."

"Then start when it started."

"Two in the morning," Kyle said then, smiling despite his own emotions toward the subject. Legs shifted, feet lifting to plant themselves on the metal structure on the bottom of the bed. Knees pushed together, bottom of legs apart. Hand once held by his friend grasped the opposite arm's elbow.

Stan lifted an eyebrow, eyes shifting up and down his friend's form. "Kenny, then?"

Kyle nodded, not even bothering to ask how Stan knew. Stan always knew. Eyes shifted to the wall opposite Stan, sliding over the many posters he found there. Eyes paused on the Call of Duty one, the blood from the warzone reminding him too much of last night. He shook his head when Stan placed a hand on his knee. "He sent one of his stupid texts again," he admitted, grimacing at the memory. Should I have known he wasn't quite right from all this? Were the texts hints? The way he acted when I called him on them…

"You went over there," Stan half-asked, half-stated.

Nodding again, Kyle quirked a brow, but still held his tongue. "Finally had enough. After he acted as if I was the one who blew everything out of proportion, I began to leave. But, down the hall I stopped-there was the room covered in wallpaper I think-I thought it was a back entrance-it was really dark. I opened it."

"And?" Stan urged after a moment.

Kyle shifted, hand rubbing at his neck before both arms crossed. "There were people in there-they weren't alive, Stan. I-I think-I know he killed them."

A pause, "Are you sure?" Stan asked, voice notably higher.

The redhead nodded once more, unable to look at Stan. "HIV positive." Kyle stated simply, knowing Stan would catch his seriousness with the usage of Cartman's most-stupid saying ever.

A new voice had him starting, "Kyle, that's not very nice!" Kenny exclaimed sadly, exiting the closet dramatically. He sighed then, "See, I told you, Stan, he's not even acting like himself. I mean, look-he's wearing Ike's jacket."

Kyle stared at the blond, gaping. "Because you took my coat!" he said then, tired of defending himself. "Stan, please," he added, eyes darting to his frozen friend.

"Dude, it's Kenny. He just-he wouldn't do something like that. I'm not even sure he could."

Kyle just stared at him, eyes shifting from one to the other in quick succession. "You're with him?" he asked, voice lowering.

"You're not giving me much choice, Kye…"

"'I'm not giving you much choice?' Really, Stan?" The hand on his knee gave a reassuring squeeze to which Kyle knocked it off quickly. "Fuck you, Stan!" He stood, angrily stomping to the door, pausing when the knob wouldn't turn completely. "The fuck!"

"Just listen to me for a moment, Kyle," Stan pleaded. "I didn't want to trick you or anything b-"

"Really? You didn't?" Kyle began sarcastically, hand placing itself upon his hip. "Sure seems like it to me, but then again, what do I know? I'm just insane."

"But," Stan continued as if he was never interrupted, "Kenny was really freaked out, dude!"

"Kenny's freaked out?" Kyle asked quietly, then, "Kenny's freaked out. I'm fucking freaked out, Stan!" he yelled.

Stan sighed heavily, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Kyle, dude, I just-"

"I don't want to hear it," Kyle stated. "Let me out."

"No, not until I-"

"Say goodbye to your door in three-"

"Kye, just listen to me-"

"Two."

Stan stood then, "Dude, come on just-"

"Last chance Stan, I swear to God I'll do it." The redhead glared, crossing his arms over his chest defiantly.

A pause in which Kyle positioned himself directly in front of the door. "Okay, dude, fine."

Stan knocked five times on the wood, waiting. Kyle just stared, gaze heated with anger. The door opened, Butters twiddling his thumbs on the other side. Kyle began to exit, but turned back once, "Go to Hell, all of you." he stated before leaving the room completely, then the house.

"Well, that could have gone better," Kenny said lightly.

"Not like you were jumping in anytime soon," Stan replied equally.

"Dude, he thinks I'm a serial killer, I doubt my input would've helped the situation at all."

Stan sighed again, his head hurt. He pinched the bridge of his nose, too lost in thought to neither notice nor care about Kenny exiting soon after.

-0-

Kyle walked down the road, unsure where to go. He already got Stan and mom…he realized. Who else is involved now? he couldn't help but wonder. This was getting elaborate, something he never thought Kenny could be in his life.

He growled, unsure where to go now, because even if Cartman were the last person on the planet that didn't hear about this from Kenny first-Kyle sure as Hell wasn't going to him for help. Not like he'd do anything but laugh, and laugh, and laugh… He sighed, "I really am fucked."

"Not yet, but you could be soon."

Kenny. He paused in his step, refusing to look back at the no-doubt smirking blond. How'd he get here so fast?

"Wasn't hard to catch up, you know. Not like you're running anywhere specific now." Kenny said, as if he could read his mind.

"Goddammit." Kyle muttered, strained. "Go away."

Kenny tilted his head, stepping closer to the redhead. "Why? The view's nice back there and all but the front's where the fun bits are!" he laughed, stepping even closer, almost beside the other now.

Groaning, Kyle turned finally, "How can you do this right now?"

"Do what?" Kenny asked innocently, all traces of his smile disappearing immediately with his response.

"This-the comments and insinuations!" Kyle reminded, waving an arm as if it helped demonstrate his point.

"I've no idea what you're talking about," Kenny said then. "But if you want to demonstrate, I'm sure I can help."

"Go to Hell."

"Thanks but no. It's not as fun after you go there so long. But, I tell you what, if you're hellbent on it, I'll go. But you'd have to come with me."

Not like the usual comments but at least it's not too bad… just weird, still though- "Dude, you fucking killed those people."

"And?" Kenny stressed the word, shrugging. "They deserved it."

Kyle stilled at that. "You-you admit it?"

"Why not? What're you going to do, call the police?" Kenny laughed at the end, unable to hold in the chuckles. "Maybe tell your mom? Stan? Hell, try Cartman next, he loves a good laugh!"

Kyle backed away a step, feeling too close for comfort now. "You're fucked-up."

Kenny shrugged again, leaning forward toward Kyle, "Took you long enough to realize it, sweet cheeks." The blond cracked at that, laughing harder than before.

The heat building in anger had Kyle turning away from the other. He walked back home, having nowhere else to go. This has been pointless. He sighed, trying his best to ignore the blond trailing behind him obviously. He's not even trying to hide.

"…watching over you. Always."

He shook his head, blinking at the driveway. His dad was home early. Mom must've called him. He pushed himself up the sidewalk toward the house. I'm going to have to face them sooner or later. And it's not like I have anywhere else to go, too cold for that. Arms wrapped around him, wrapping the jacket around him more fully.

A chill down his spine had him shuddering involuntarily. "This is going to suck." he whispered. The door in front of him had come too quickly. Biting his lip, one hand clenched in his pocket. "Here goes nothing…"

When the door opened, it was like a domino effect. Immediately, his mother entered the room, his father following obediently. He closed the door behind him, not bothering to turn around as he did so, a part of him afraid he'd see Kenny standing there, that damned grin still on his face.

"Hi…" he said finally, the silence grating.

"Don't you 'hi' me, young man! Leaving like that-why your father has had it and so have I!" Sheila began, hands on hips, feet planted away from each other.

Gerald, his father, had a less dramatic demeanor, arms by his sides. He watched his wife with trepidation then turned to Kyle, "Kyle, your mother and I have been talking and we think you should-"

"You're going to apologize, mister! Then, you're going to clean this entire house top to bottom. You. Are. Grounded!" Sheila interrupted, tone much more offensive than her husbands.

Kyle stared at them both, dumbfounded, "Apologize?" he asked, voice too high suddenly.

Gerald opened his mouth, but his mother beat him to the answer, "Yes! You are to march over to the McCormick's and apologize to your friend!"

Kyle's mouth clenched, a tight-lipped smile forcing itself onto his face. "Sure, ma, and while I'm there I'll ask him to kill me too-" Fists closed, thumbs encasing themselves inside the finger shell safely as his mother interrupted him again.

"Kyle Broflovski, you will go and apologize correctly! You know better than to act like this, Kyle and I am sick of this teenage rebellion!"

"'Teenage rebellion?'" he repeated. "Sure, that's why I called the police, because I'm rebelling against you." he stated dramatically. This is so fucking stupid. Am I really arguing this right now? He wanted nothing more than to scream at the top of his lungs about the unfairness of the entire situation. It just didn't make any sense whatsoever. Then again, neither did anything in South Park. But something like this…

He was hit with the realization he'd tuned out his mother's next rant almost completely. At least something good came out of this constant thinking… "-And another thing, you're going to therapy until you're able to stop yourself from these kinds of decisions!"

"Wait, what, you can't be serious!" he replied, shock replacing most of his anger.

"What do you expect us to do, Kyle? You're acting out, and you won't listen to reason-you even walked out on your mother!" Gerald exclaimed.

Kyle blinked at them, unable to see how come he was the crazy one here. Are they even listening to themselves? The explanations, I just don't understand. His head pounded its retaliation at the entire situation. Refusing to answer, he crossed his arms defiantly before walking to the stairs. Sheila continued after her husband, telling him how disrespectful he was and how the whole town would think they'd raised him wrong. He caught something about how she'd never live this down before he reached his room. The ear-splitting yells did nothing for his headache, the same statements about his acting out were repeated over and over again.

"Maybe I really am going insane…" he said to himself before closing the curtains on the darkening sky. His mother screamed still, his dad vainly trying to stop her. Breathe in…out… He turned off the alarm clock, not wanted to be wakened at all if he did get sleep. It's already seven thirty… He wondered how long he'd been asleep, but stopped that line of thought. He really didn't want to think of everything that'd happened whilst he was in bed. "Ugh." he exclaimed as if it would get rid of this stress weighing down his shoulders. In a way, it did.

Lying down, he couldn't help but feel out of place in his own bed given the circumstances. The mattress felt too stiff, the cover too cold. Maybe if I go to sleep, I'll wake up to reality. The thoughts left him more comfortable. Yes, I'll just wake and the text will still be on my screen, recently opened.

Rolling over, his hope continued, eyes closing in attempts to quicken the sleeping process.