Alright, here goes. This is my first South Park fanfic-I really hope it doesn't suck. It's been a long time since I've tried writing in first person. It'll be mostly StanxKyle, other pairings undecided or secret. Kenny's POV throughout. Sorry about the content…I just wanted to try something new.

Warnings: slash, underage drinking, rape, general angst. There will be a happy ending, though, if I get that far! The boys are about sixteen in this fic. Cartman and Butters show up later. Please, please review-I'd love to hear what you think, positive or negative.

November

Chapter One

"This was a really bad idea," Stan said again, tapping his feet with barely contained panic. "What the hell is taking them so long?"

On his other side, Kyle caught my gaze and raised a finger. I grinned. We were keeping a running tally of Stan's remarks. That made seven for "what's taking them so long" and nineteen for "this was a bad idea." Other favorites included "I should've gone alone" and "my ass is asleep," both with ten. Stan apparently dealt with his anxiety by being obnoxiously repetitive. Why couldn't he just chew his fingernails like a normal person?

We were sitting in the waiting room of the free clinic just outside of town, waiting on the results of our STD blood tests. It was a nice place, especially for being non-profit-it was sort of drab and the plastic chairs were hurting our asses, but the air was comforting, homey and sterile. I'd never step foot in a health center that didn't smell like rubbing alcohol, free or not. This clinic was ideal. Professional, clean, quiet…and, most importantly, anonymous. You didn't even have to be eighteen to come without parental consent. We may have been going over their heads by having sex in the first place, but at least we were being responsible about it. Rubbers block, make safe cock. We got the memo in sex ed.

They didn't require us to write our real names on the paperwork. Stan had imaginatively named himself John Doe. I cheerfully settled for Poundin Butts, which was completely appropriate, given the nature of our tests. Stan was heartily unamused.

"C'mon, it's the irony of the thing," Kyle said. "You're in honors English; you can appreciate its literary merits."

"Appreciate my ass as I'm walking out the door," Stan growled.

"Oh, believe me, I do."

"Jesus Christ, Kenny, grow up! There's nothing funny about this!"

I sighed and let it go. Honestly, I didn't understand why he was freaking out. I was easily the most promiscuous of us, having slept with four or five different partners in the past few years. Stan had only had protected sex with Wendy once after seven-something years of dating, and he was acting as if he was the bane of the universe-he kept casting Kyle these quick, nervous looks, as if expecting him to explode or cry or something. The idea was ridiculous. They were friends before they were boyfriends, and that companionship had been based on trust and rationality. That wasn't about to change just because they were thinking about hitting the sheets.

Kyle had been conscious of Stan's anxiety for some time now, but it was only after he snapped at me that he jumped in. "Stan, seriously, you're the only one who thinks less of yourself for this. She was your girlfriend for nearly half your life. Of course you slept with her."

"I didn't mean to," Stan apologized.

I couldn't help it. I cracked up, effectively ruining the moment. "What, you accidentally got naked and served her cherry delight?"

"Kenny, that's horrible!" Kyle shouted, trying valiantly not to laugh.

Stan lowered his head and pulled his hat down over his eyes, reddening steadily. "C'mon, that's not what I meant!" he protested, turning back to Kyle. "I…I just hadn't met you, okay? I mean, I'd met you, but I didn't really…like, I didn't actually know what I…"

Kyle smiled and patted his knee, waiting for him to look up before speaking. "I know."

There was a long pause in conversation, not uncomfortable. "I'm just so nervous," Stan said softly. He drew in a deep breath, kissed Kyle shakily on the lips, then wiped his mouth and slumped back into his chair. "I should've gone without you guys, should've just sucked it up and done it on my own. We could be home playing video games right now. This was a really bad idea."

Kyle flashed his fingers again. Eleven and twenty. "Video games are boring," I said. "What better way to bond than to get checked for diseases together?"

Stan grinned at me faintly. "Yeah? We should've invited Cartman."

"Cartman getting laid is a statistical impossibility," Kyle said, scrunching up his nose in distaste. He leaned over a little to stroke some hair out of Stan's face, tucking it back behind his ear. His fingers lingered there by his temple. "Stan, I just want you to know that nothing could make me think less of you. I mean, it's just a couple of stupid papers with some stupid numbers on them." He looked at me for justification. "Right?"

"Yup," I said. "As long as it's not AIDS or something, it's no biggie. Wendy didn't look that bad, did she?"

"This isn't as serious as I think it is," Stan muttered, trying to reassure himself. "We'll probably be fine."

"That's right," said Kyle.

"God…this was a really bad idea."

"Twenty-one," I mumbled, and Kyle looked at me and laughed.

I had a pack of cards in my coat pocket. We started a civil game of rummy that quickly degenerated into a cheating contest, then Bullshit, then outright name-calling and insult. Same old, same old. It killed time. We'd just finished ripping on each other's mothers when one of the doctors opened the door, consulted his clipboard, then began walking over to our group. Involuntarily, I sat up straighter. Stan reached subtly for our hands, and I squeezed back, my heart starting to flutter in my chest. I'd been through this before, but it didn't get any easier.

"Hello, boys, I'm Doctor Levee," he said, smiling. He had a round, friendly face, good teeth. "I just wanted to thank you for coming in to get checked on your own-that's very responsible of you. So rare to see in youth these days."

"We do what we can, doc," I said.

Stan swallowed hard. "Are we clean? You can tell us together."

The doctor consulted his clipboard agin. "You're Mister…oh, okay, John. Yes, you're clean, but the nurse noted in your physical that your arches are a little irregular. You might want to get checked for flatfoot, especially if you're in athletics."

He closed his eyes and grinned widely, letting out a soft, relieved breath. "Flatfoot. Ha, I'll take it."

Levee turned to me. "And Mister…Butts." He paused briefly, raising an eyebrow amusedly. "You're also clean."

"Hell yeah!" I rocked back in my chair, trying to suppress the urge to get up and dance. I hadn't realized how nervous I was. Four girls and a guy, three of those encounters unprotected-and nothing to show for it. Thank god. "Doc, I love you so much I'm going to tell you my real first name," I said, reaching out to pump his hand energetically. "It's Harry. Not Poundin. So nice to meet you."

He laughed, flipping through the pages on his clipboard. I stood up and hugged Stan and Kyle hard. Stan squeezed back so hard that my ribs screamed in protest, but it didn't matter. Clean. We were clean. We were all grinning when we broke apart, more than ready to drive back to town and waste a day on the Gamesphere. I was reaching back for my coat when Levee spoke up again.

"Mr. Broflovski? Did you want to hear your results?"

We all paused. I'd forgotten that Kyle had taken the test to help placate Stan, who'd been uneasy about the needles. I looked at him, shrugging. He shrugged back.

"Sure, shoot," he said, turning to face the doctor.

Levee hmm-ed and examined the paper. "It doesn't look like there's anything too serious here," he said, speaking more calmly than he had before. "Asymptomatic gonorrhea-it hasn't even reached the first stage, so you'll probably be able to catch it before it gets any worse. I can give you a prescription for the antibiotics. Do you have any drug allergies I should be aware of?"

We had all stopped moving. Except for the clock ticking on the wall, the room was completely silent. I finally turned to look at Kyle, wholly confused, and on his other side, I saw Stan do the same much more slowly. His face was pale and unreadable. Kyle himself just stood there with his arms crossed, his eyebrows raised slightly, as if waiting for the punch line of a joke.

"L-let me get that prescription pad," Levee began, unnerved by our abrupt quiet. He reached for the door.

"Wait!"

All three of us said it at once, halting the doctor in mid-step, but Stan's voice was the most desperate, drowning us out. "I think you made a mistake," he explained, speaking way too loudly and quickly. "Kyle's the redhead. I'm Stan-John. We should've all put our real names, because I think you got our charts mixed up or something."

"Let's see," said Levee uncomfortably. He looked back down at the paperwork. "John has black hair and blue eyes. Um, Poundin is the blonde, right?"

"Kenny," I said. Suddenly it was terribly important to me that I not lie to this man. "I was the one who had unprotected. I told this to the nurse. You're probably thinking of me."

Levee paused, nervously wetting his lips. "I…I'm reading all of this from Kyle Broflovski's test results. Red hair, five feet four and a half inches. Born on May 26th. Was there a mix-up of some sort?" He looked at Kyle. "This isn't you?"

"It's me, but that doesn't make any sense," Kyle said, uttering a small little laugh. "I've never had sex."

"The charts must be wrong," Stan repeated.

I shook my head in disbelief, trying to fight off my lightheadedness. The bright fluorescents of the clinic made everything seem so surreal. I looked up to see Levee staring blankly at the clipboards, his eyes dark and pensive. That scared me. That meant he was stalling for time. To my left, I saw Kyle reach for Stan's hand. To my disbelief, Stan shook him off immediately, crossing his arms over his chest and turning away. The shock and hurt in Kyle's eyes was unmistakable. I stepped forward quickly, offering myself in support. Kyle grabbed my arm so tightly that my fingertips began to throb.

"Of course, it is always possible that we've made a mistake here," Levee said finally, speaking gently and carefully. "I'd be happy to redo the blood work, but it'll take another few hours to get the results back. Another option is a quick medical exam. We can check for emerging symptoms or other oddities."

"Please?" Kyle said. He choked on the word.

"Follow me to one of the exam rooms," said Levee.

Kyle waited until he'd gone into the hall before looking up at me. "Kenny, come with me," he pleaded, a thin note of panic rising in his voice. "I need someone right now."

I glanced back over my shoulder, feeling helpless. Stan had walked back to the row of chairs and buried his face in his hands, shutting us out. Kyle kept tugging on my arm. It occurred to me suddenly that perhaps he had something to tell me that he couldn't say in front of Stan, so I nodded wordlessly. He let out a shuddering sigh. I folded an arm around his shoulders and walked him to the exam room that Levee had propped open for us.

"I'll be right back," said the doctor, disappearing into one of the neighboring supply rooms. "Please get comfortable on the table, Mr. Broflovski."

Kyle tried to obey, but he was shaking too hard to use the stepstool for the high surface. I hoisted him up, holding onto his arm until his eyes locked with mine. "Kyle, you need to talk to me," I said, leaning close. "I don't know what's going on, but if there's something-"

"I didn't," he interrupted flatly.

His voice was too dull to argue against. No defensiveness, no guilt. Just deadened disbelief. I wasn't ready to comprehend the seriousness of what he was saying, not without a doctor's confirmation. I just held his hands and tried to keep him breathing.

Levee returned with latex gloves and nudged the door shut behind him. "I'll need you to remove your pants and lie down, please," he said, without preamble. His face was both professional and faintly concerned. I wouldn't have allowed any other adult to speak those words to me or Kyle, medical degree or not.

Kyle reluctantly wriggled out of his jeans, then his boxers. On Levee's instruction, I dug under one of the cabinets and retrieved a clean blanket, draping it over the exposed part of his body so he wouldn't catch a chill. Slowly, Kyle leaned back against the pillow and stared up at the ceiling. His eyes were wide and empty, as if he was imagining he was somewhere else. His fingers didn't move when I folded them in mine.

"Prop your feet on the table," Levee said. "Like that. Good."

I squeezed my eyes shut briefly. Kyle was miles away, far past feeling, but I felt his discomfiture for him. Doctor Levee worked carefully under the blanket, his face a mask of clinical detachment. Then something in his face changed. He dropped his eyes, and his hands stilled. He looked back at Kyle strangely, as if reevaluating his situation.

"Doc?" I said.

"I'm done," he said after a moment's hesitation, and he and I helped Kyle back to a sitting position.

"So what is it?" Kyle asked.

"Mr. Broflovski…"

"Kyle."

"…Kyle." Levee sat back in his chair, slowly peeling off his gloves. "You do show signs of sexual penetration."

My breath caught in my throat and stuck there like a weight. I couldn't look at Kyle now, didn't want to, couldn't bear to see his face. His hand tightened on mine, grinding the bones together. I didn't pull away. "When?" I demanded, when I realized that Kyle was not going to respond.

"It seems fairly recent…maybe a few weeks, a month at the most. The disease may not have been asymptomatic, as I thought before…it could simply be in the incubation period." He looked at me briefly, quietly addressing my horror, then turned back to Kyle. "I'm willing to believe this happened without your permission-there is some physical damage that's not consistent with two consenting partners. I would like you to be very honest with me. What happened, Kyle? Were you attacked?"

"I…I don't…"

"He doesn't know," I said, unable to stop the hysteria from rising in my voice. "Oh, god, he doesn't know. What the fuck happened to him?"

"I want to collect more DNA samples," said Levee. "To check for ketamine or flunitrazepam."

"What the hell are those?"

Levee drew in a deep breath. "Date rape drugs."

It was raining when we left the clinic. Stan met us under the eave, and we stood there for a long time, staring out into the far end of the lot where Kyle's car was parked. I turned to Kyle and held out my hand. "Give me the keys," I said. "I'll pull it up for you."

"I can do it," said Kyle.

"It's raining, dude. I can run. I'll just-"

"I can fucking do it!" Kyle screamed at me.

Stan and I recoiled. I bumped my elbow hard against the door, tinkling the bell, and the noise seemed to melt Kyle's immobility. He wrenched his keys out of his pocket and ran out into the rain, not even pausing to check for traffic. He was moving differently now, jerky and inelegant. I watched him stagger up onto the far curb and lean heavily against one of the street signs, as if exhausted. The knot in my chest tightened even farther, a fully physical pain that made me grimace and double over. Bile rose in my throat. I choked it back.

"I was listening at the door," Stan whispered.

I looked up at him, rain pouring down my hair, dripping from my chin. "So what, Stanley?" I hissed. I felt ungracious and nasty. Furious. "Better dump him now, right? You know what that means. That means he cheated on you. Fuck you for thinking that, man. Fuck you."

Stan's face contorted. He crossed his arms over his eyes, stifling back sobs. "I reacted badly, Kenny. I was scared. I thought it was Wendy happening all over again, and I…fuck, I didn't mean to-"

"I don't fucking care. You had just better make it right."

Both of us straightened automatically as Kyle screeched out of his parking space, taking a wide, careless loop and turning towards the clinic. I stared at Stan. His eyes were swollen and red. Suddenly, without any forethought, I reached out and shoved him hard against the door. The bell tinkled again.

"He was raped, Stan," I told him quietly. "Don't you ever push him away again. Ever."

"I won't," he promised, almost inaudibly. "I won't."

Kyle pulled up to the curb and threw the passenger side door open, not looking at us. Stan glanced at me, and I gestured him into shotgun with a quick nod. I slid into the backseat and drew my seatbelt tightly across my lap. Kyle peeled out and floored it towards home.

We drove in silence the entire way. We passed farmland and broken fences, rolling hills, clusters of horses, their hides glossy with moisture. We didn't argue about what was on the radio as we had the way up, just stared straight ahead, listening to the crackling sound of the broken heater as it spat cold air on us. There were very few cars on the road-it was two o' clock on a Sunday afternoon, and the storm clouds had already consumed what was left of the weakening November sun. The day was over. Winter was right on our asses, forcing the remaining warmth from our bodies.

Neither Stan nor I spoke as Kyle abruptly hit his right blinker and pulled over onto a dirt shoulder, the car coming to rest just below a speed limit sign. He cranked the parking brake and stared numbly at the windshield, trembling faintly, watching rivers of rain slide quietly down the glass.

Sitting there with his arms folded on the steering wheel, Kyle dropped his head and began to sob.

And I couldn't find a single thing to say.

Phew. Please tell me what you think, whether or not I should continue. It'll get better, I swear.