While You Were Out

A fanfic from the slightly disturbed mind of the Californian who hates California.

Author's Note: So here it is. The ending. I would just like to thank all those who have read and reviewed. A few specific persons I would like to mention…

AshleyRed who has been there since the very beginning and whose reviews were always a treat.

Sparkus, who has also been there from the start and who drew me a FANTASTIC piece of fanart which is posted on the wall of my room and I wake up and see it every morning. I LOVE YOU SPARKUS!

Leela's Tears, whose reviews always made me feel special and made me laugh too! You are one of my bestest friends!

Fletset, the greatest StanxKyle author out there! I felt so honored when I got a review from you!

Vcorrigan, my god. I nearly died from shock when I saw that fanart she did for me! Vcorrigan, you kick so much ass! You made me dance around and squeal all happy like for hours! And your picture is taped up on my wall too and I still squeal whenever I see it! I love it so much and I love you!

Sofa King Danny, who is a cool friend who I love talking to cuz she's funny and kick ass. Danny, dunno if you know this, but you were one of the motivations that got me past the first chapter for this.

Sammeh17, whose art I worship like insane and I almost fainted when I found out she was reading my story.

Me-ladie, my lurker who finally crept out of da shadows. Another friend whose reviews make me feel oh so special and loved. Love ya, me-ladie!

Lillian, my bestest-est-est-est-EST friend EVER. With us on summer break the poor girl had nothing better to do than to sit down and read my story… lol. I love you, Lillian! Thanks for reading my story, Mums!

GOD! I can't remember everyone! I don't wanna leave anyone out, so here's a ramble of names I remember that have made me feel like a real writer during this whole story… Tsuname, Holy Snappers, Keito-kokun, Enigmus, Lilchicky004, total misanthrope, DeuxMoulins, and anyone else who should be here but I forgot and I'm sorry!

Now… phew… onto the final chapter. I hope you guys have enjoyed the story!

Chapter 12: The Dilemma of Two Lovers

Stan wasn't there. The hospital bed that I thought he was supposed to be in was empty. I felt a hand on my shoulder, "You just missed him," said a familiar voice.

I whirled around and faced Stan's older sister Shelly, who I hadn't seen since she left for college about four years ago. I stared at her, waiting for some other explanation.

"They're doing some tests or something. A CAT scan, I think. And some other things like an… what's it called? MRI?"

"Those are on the first floor," my little brother added.

Shelly shook her head, "If they won't let his sister into the room with him, they won't let you in." She sighed, "They'll bring him back up here when they're done." I watched Shelly collapse in a near by chair, letting out another sigh.

"Is he okay?" I asked.

She looked up at me, "I don't know. That's what the scans are for."

"But is he awake? Does he remember what happened? Has he asked for me?"

"He's awake." I waited, but that was the only answer I got. I could tell that Shelly was upset and I didn't want to bother her anymore, so I simply took a seat as she did, and waited.

My parents came some time later. They tried to get me to go home and come back tomorrow, since visiting hours were over within an hour, but I refused.

"I'll take him home," Shelly offered.

My parents hesitated. "Fine," my mom said, "Come on, Ike," she said to my brother, and the three of them left.

I watched the clock intensely. At long last, a doctor came in and Shelly and I stood up. "Are you his sister?" the doctor questioned.

Shelly nodded.

The doctor held a clipboard in his hands, and he spoke quickly as he flipped through the papers, "We preformed several tests, including a CAT, a PET, and an MRI. Your brother seems to be suffering from psychogenic fugue because of his drug abuse. The seizures are a result of this, plus paranoia and hysteria. I've prescribed some Dilantin and Gabitril to prevent future episodes. As for his apparent psychological problems, which include his hysteria, paranoia, depression, and…" he waved at his notes as if there was an infinite amount of problems with Stan, "For those, I have to recommend him to a specialist. So…" he pulled out a packet of paper and placed it on the very top of his clipboard and handed it to Shelly along with a pen, "Just sign there," he tapped the paper, "And your brother will be admitted to St. Bernadette's Hospital, a psychiatric facility in Denver that should be able to help him."

Shelly took the pen and signed where she was told.

"Wait," I interrupted, "Where's Stan?"

Shelly handed the signed papers back to the doctor, "Where's my brother?"

"We'll take him to St. Bernadette's for you."

"That's not what she meant," I said, "She meant where is he so we can see him?"

"You can visit him tomorrow at St. Bernadette's. I believe visiting hours begin at nine in the morning there."

Knowing that I was not going to get any answers from the doctor, I left the room for the first floor to search for Stan on my own. I walked quickly, with my tired eyes peeled for Stan.

I kept running into large automatic doors which required passwords for entrance and nurses and doctors who constantly informed me that visiting hours were over. But I wasn't going to leave until I found my Stan. I wasn't leaving that hospital until I knew that he was alright. I also had to make certain that he knew that I knew what was happening, and that I was going to do everything I could to get him out of that institute his sister just signed him away to. After all, my dad was a lawyer. There had to be a way to get Stan free. There was no way that there was anything wrong with him. He wasn't crazy. He wasn't a murderer. This was a big mistake.

I was finally walked back to the entrance by a doctor who had caught me several times when I had already said that I was on my way out. As we neared the doors of the hospital, I saw a nurse wheeling somebody in a wheel chair out of the hospital. It was Stan.

"Stan!" I shouted as I darted for him.

Stan turned his head around and a large grin swept his face. The nurse wheeling him was forced to stop when I ran in front of their path. Stan leapt out of his wheel chair and embraced me with a hug.

"Sit back down!" the nurse shouted, "Sit back down!"

The nursed seemed to shut up when Stan pulled my face to his and kissed me tenderly. Our foreheads rested on one another's for a while, as I gazed into his eyes, knowing that those eyes were not those of an insane person.

"Why are you crying?" he smiled weakly.

I didn't even realize that I was, "I… I.. dunno… I'm scared…" I suddenly felt selfish, realizing that my fear was probably a mere fraction of what was stirring inside him. He was the one that was being locked away in a mental institute, not me.

Stan kissed me again, but my fears were not shaken from his kiss like they had been before.

"I'm gonna get you out of there, Stan. I swear."

He gave a small, short laugh, "I love you, Kyle."

"I love you too, and I swear I'll get you out."

Stan petted my hair, our foreheads still leaning against each other's, "I'll be fine. A little far away, but fine. I just won't be down the street anymore, but I'll be there. I'll always be there for you."

"I'll visit you everyday until I get you out."

Our lips touched again, but it was a slight brush.

"Sit down, young man," the nurse said again.

Stan looked back at her. I wanted so bad just to grab Stan by the hand and start running with him, but I found my feet frozen in place. Stan gave me one last weak smile and sat back down in his wheel chair.

I depressingly watched Stan slowly disappear into the hospital parking garage.

"There you are," Shelly said from behind, "Are you ready?"


I didn't sleep that night. How could I? I showered and dressed and was ready to leave for Stan at five in the morning. I was walking down my driveway to the car to go to see Stan, when I noticed Cartman just pulling up in his car. The sight of him made me half angered and half frightened. But he simply rolled down his window and shouted, "Where's your boyfriend, Jew?"

I gritted my teeth and restrained myself from yelling a parade of curses.

"Oh, by the way, I don't appreciate you telling the cops that I was responsible for your faggot problems! Don't think you'll get away with it either!" And with that threat, he drove away. He didn't scare me. I was already scared enough.

I arrived at St. Bernadette's two hours before visiting time, but I was hoping that they would be kind enough to let me see him a little early. Also, in the hospital, I was Stan's brother if anyone asked. Only family could visit.

I sat in the lobby, waiting for nine o' clock to arrive. I could see down one of the white halls of the place and watched a line of people pass through it. They looked normal to me. They all wore baby blue jump suits and were relatively old. I looked at the hall's entrance and read "Geriatric Ward."

I heard footsteps from another hallway and leaned in my seat to see. I saw another line of patients, who again looked like ordinary individuals, save their blue uniforms. "Juvenile Ward" was printed above the hall's entrance and I noticed that the patients varied from young children around seven or so to about my age. I watched them slowly disappear into a room and then reappear out of a closer door holding plastic cups of medication.

Stan emerged from the room and I couldn't keep myself from shouting his name. He stopped in his march, holding up the line and looked for me above the heads of the crowd. I started towards him, but was stopped by the receptionist, "No visitors allowed," she said, "I'm sorry."

"Just let me say 'hi' please."

"I'm sorry, but you'll have to wait until nine."
I looked for Stan and saw that he had disappeared.

Nine o' clock finally came and I sat impatiently in the Visiting Ward, waiting for Stan. I finally saw him, being helped into the room by a nurse. The nurse helped him into the chair across from me. He looked extremely tired. "Are you okay?" I asked with concern.

He nodded slowly, "I'm tired that's all."

"I can tell," I frowned, "Why?"

He grasped his forehead, "Dunno. Guess it's the medication…"

"What are you taking?"

He paused for a while, "Um… Prozac, Nardil, Nembutal, Stelazine, Te-gre-tol… or something like that… um, Periactin, Serepax, Adderall, and Butisol -- that one's like this big," he indicated the large size with his fingers.

"Oh my god…"

"It's not as bad as it sounds. They're all capsules, not chalky pills, so you can't taste anything… 'cept of course plastic, but it's not that bad."

"Stan, you don't need all that stuff."

Stan didn't say anything. He reclined in his chair and stared at me quietly. I almost thought he was going to fall asleep in front of me. It was horrible.

"Stan, I'm gonna talk to my dad and see if we can get you released. I'm sure there's something we can do. Stan, are you listening?"

Stan slowly nodded, "…Yeah…"

I stared at him for a long time.

"I'm fine," he insisted, "Just tired. I just have to get used to the stuff I guess."

But he looked so distracted and far away. I scooted my chair closer to him so that our knees touched. I leaned towards him, "I love you," I whispered, not knowing exactly why I chose to say those words just then.

"Don't say it like I'm dying, Kyle," Stan frowned.

"I didn't mean to," I replied quickly, "I just… you don't look good, Stan. These drugs aren't helping. They're only making it worse, can't you see?"

"First you want me to quit the acid 'cause it's hurting me and now you want me to quit my doctor's prescription?" he half laughed, "I'm fine, Kyle."

"You do realize that you look like shit. You're paler than ever. You're about to fall asleep in front of me. You don't even look like your looking at me. What else? You're in a mental institute and you're not meant to be in one! You--"

"Calm down, Kyle…"

I stopped myself. "Sorry…"

Stan massaged his forehead with his fingers, "I'm fine," he repeated before I could say anything.

"Looks like Stanley could use a nap," a nurse said approaching Stan.

"No, I'm good," Stan said quickly.

But the nurse ignored him and took his arm, lifting him from his chair. Stan looked at me and frowned, "Bye, I guess."

"I… I'll be here when you wake up!" I called after him as the nurse dragged him away.

I returned to the lobby area and sat and waited for Stan to wake up. Maybe an hour later, I drifted to sleep myself. I was shaken awake by the receptionist, "I'm leaving for lunch now," she said.

I blinked at her a few times, "Does that mean I have to go too?"

She stared at me for a while, "Well, yes," she paused, "I'm not supposed to do this, but I don't see what harm a kid like you can do… You can stay here…. I'll be back in an hour." She glanced at the coffee table behind her, "You're welcome to read anything there."

As soon as the receptionist was out of sight, I made my way down the Juvenile Ward Hall, looking through every window of every room for Stan. I finally found him and burst into the room so loudly, I expected Stan to wake up with a jolt, but he remained asleep.

I went and sat beside him on his bed. I looked around the room that was now his home. It looked like a clean, glossy prison cell. I stared down at my beloved, debating on whether or not I should wake him from his sleep. He did need the rest by the way he looked earlier, but I couldn't contain myself. I didn't know why, but I had this unsettling feeling like our time together was precious and all too short.

I gently shook Stan by the shoulder, "Stan?"

His eyebrows raised in his sleep and he wrestled about a bit.

"Stan?" I repeated, "It's me."

He squirmed a bit more and then his eyes fluttered open. He squinted at me for a while and then sleepily rubbed at his eyes with his hands.

"Sorry," I apologized, "If you want me to leave so you can sleep some more, I'll go… I just… wanted to see you…"

He blinked at me a few times, as if confused.

"Stan? Are you okay?"

A couple more blinks. "Yeah… Hey…"

I studied him a bit. He still looked tired and even more ill. His stare seemed unfocused, like he was mentally somewhere else. "Stan, we need to get you out of here…"

He blinked a lot more, "Kyle?"


"I… I feel… weird…" he paused, allowing himself to blink once or twice more, "I… I… I…I forgot what I was gonna say…"

My heart felt like it was being torn from my chest. I couldn't help but break down crying. Stan was out of it. He was more distant than he was when he had his problem with the acid. He wasn't even there. He was gone. "Stan…" I cried and threw my arms around him.

He was still for a while, as if he didn't even realize that I was hugging him, or even that I was there. I finally felt him slowly embrace me. "It's okay, Kyle…"

"No, it isn't!" I pulled away and saw that Stan was crying too. It made me feel worse, and I quickly began to wipe away my tears, "But it will be soon! I swear! I'll get you out of here, Stan!"

Stan stared at me for a while and then slowly nodded.

Unable to stand the sight of Stan blinking dumbly at me, I left, telling him I'd return later that afternoon. I left the hospital and started to drive towards a McDonald's or somewhere where I could eat my first meal of the day. But after driving around the unfamiliar territory for an hour, I realized that I wasn't really hungry.

I felt as empty as Stan appeared, and I broke down crying as I drove to where, I don't know. I cursed at my radio for daring to play a love song at that point in time. I was hysterical and I didn't notice my car drifting into oncoming traffic.


I delivered the news to Stan personally. I wasn't sure if he could even understand what I was saying. I doubted that he understood anything by the look of his blank expression.

"Kyle's dead, Stan," I said.

He just stared, not at me… not at anything.

"He died, Stan. He's gone."

He was silent as he blinked endlessly.



"Well… I… I just wanted you to know since…"

But I would soon discover that Stan in fact understood that Kyle was dead. I watched Stan slowly rise from his seat and slowly walk away.

"Stan?" I stood up and slowly and cautiously followed him.

He kept walking down the white halls of St. Bernadette's Hospital until he reached a door which read "Emergency Exit" and he slowly pushed it open, sounding an alarm. He kept walking out onto the roof of the hospital. He kept walking, and he never stopped.

Stan Marsh fell to his death that morning. He and Kyle were buried on that Sunday.

The end.