Disclaimer: I don't own South Park, I write this story just for the fun of it…

Author's Note: Hey all!

This is my first South Park fic, so please be gentle :)

I think that South Park is a show of humor, but I have seen a few good drama fics out there, yet mine still feels a bit… out of place. I hope you'll like it :)

And by the way- English is not my native language, so my apologies if I have spelling or grammar mistakes :X

Four Days

Thursday- To the Dim Light of the Candles

Kyle Broflovski trudged along pavement, dragging his feet tiredly through the snow. The air was freezing and it bit his pale face, making him that glad today was not January yet, thus the snow wasn't too deep yet, and it did not even fall that hard. Usually he enjoyed walking through the snow and watching it fall, but not today. All he wanted to do now was lie down on a bed and fall asleep. He had the most annoying day!

First of all, he had to stay until late in school to finish a paper- that was one of the reasons he hated high school so much. When he was finally done with that accursed English paper, he was late for his part-time job, and had to serve candies for bratty-little kids. And now, already after 10PM, he was the only one out in the cold night, making his way to Stan's house. He'd have to apologize ahead for his lack of will to play video games, and promise that they would play them tomorrow. All he wanted to do now was go to sleep.

His legs moved by themselves like a well oiled machine as his eyes drooped, and he licked his dry lips. All that is left is to pass the small shopping-center and then he-

"Hey!" a voice called from the darkness, and Kyle turned around to face a grown man, accompanied by two of his friends. They held half-filled bottles of beer and vodka, and their faces were flushed. "What'cha doin' up so late?" asked the man, his eyes half closed and his speech slurred. Kyle ignored, turned around, and kept on walking. He never saw those men before, and he guessed they probably came to South Park to get drunk senseless. "Hey!" the man shouted. "I'm talkin' to ya!" but Kyle ignored, and then he heard the man discussing something with his two friends. A short moment later Kyle's arms were held painfully behind his back by one of the men, making him face the rest. "No one ignores me!" said the first man, and signaled something for the man who was holding Kyle like a prisoner. The grip on his arms tightened. Kyle screamed at the pain. Then a third man came and held a knife to his face. "Gimme your money, you son of a bitch!" the first man said, and the man with the knife took Kyle's schoolbag off of his back and emptied it on the snow-filled sidewalk. He violently moved the various notebooks about, finally pulling out a black wallet. He threw it to the first man, who opened it. He pulled out two dollars, the only money Kyle had that day, and then he cocked an eyebrow. "So little?" he asked, his eyes widening a bit a moment later. "Broflovski…" his driving license… "You're a Jew!" the man threw his had back, laughing hysterically, and Kyle wondered whether someone heard the crazy sound and is on the way to save him.

"Let me go, you bastards!" Kyle hissed and tried to pull away, but the grip only tightened.

The first man approached him, stepping on the already soaked notebooks, and held Kyle's chin, forcing him to look up at him. "We hate Jews…" he said, his voice filled with venom. He slapped Kyle across the face. "You're a Jew! A rich Jew, where's the rest of the money!"

Kyle felt tears stinging his eyes and the pain stinging his cheek. "I don't have any…" he whispered, and was slapped across the other cheek.

"You lie!" the man shouted, and the man who held him took his coat off and gave it to the man with the knife, who searched the pockets. When he found nothing, he moved to Kyle's pants' pockets. He threw what he found to the first man- a single penny.

The man smirked, and kicked Kyle's leg, causing it to buckle as Kyle screamed. "Let us show ya what we do to Jews who lie…"

Kyle paled and screamed as the first punch hit his stomach, but no one heard his shouts of horror and pain.


Stanley Marsh kicked the fridge with frustration, cursing under his breath. He was supposed to have Kyle over in his house for the weekend. Since his parents went to a hotel in Florida and his sister was bitching somewhere across the land, he figured he could make use of the empty house. Problem was- no normal food was around, nor someone who could make it for him.

He figured he'd have to go to the Pizza place in the shopping-center - assuming it was still open - and order. He hated their pizza, though…

Kyle was late for some reason, and the snow was begging to fall harder outside. Stan grumbled, grabbed his coat, put on his shoes and stomped out, cursing all the way down the street.

As he walked, he wondered what toppings would Kyle prefer. He felt a blush creeping to his cheeks and shook his head. For the past few months he felt… odd around Kyle, and he wondered why Cartman's porn only turned him on when he was younger. One of the reasons he wanted to have Kyle over for the weekend was to make sure, although he was certain he was not some stupid fag. There was simply no way on earth he has a crush on his best friend.

His train of thought was cut violently as he tripped and fell on his face. He shouted in frustration and turned around, ready to kick whatever rock he had tripped over, getting even angrier knowing he was the only madman out right now. But as he saw the "rock" he paled and stood up immediately, his eyes wide with shock.

A leg… he tripped over a naked leg. He gulped as he followed that part of person… or body. He was able to see the small amount of blood on the snow, and he noted that only a little part of the body was covered in snow. That person probably collapsed a short while ago.

Stan crouched and brushed the snow from the face hesitantly, wondering if it's a homeless bum or a victim of cruel violence, in which case he'd have to phone the police. He paled when he was done revealing the young face. "Kyle…" he stood up straight, shocked beyond words.

Stan stood there, dumbfounded, not sure what to do. He stared at his friend, his hair whipping about in the wind as snowflakes got stuck in it. He bit his cold lip. Slowly it dawned into him that something terrible had occurred there, and Stan found his voice again. "Kyle!" he shouted and crouched down, not minding the snow soaking his pants.

Kyle's eyes were shut, and only a pair of white underwear covered his body.

Stan shook him, panic filling his whole. "Kyle! Kyle, wake up!"

But Kyle did not answer. Stan bit his lip once again, looking about to see if there might be a cop around, or a public phone. To his dismay, the only public phone around was smashed- he remembered it being like that since sometime around last summer.

"Damn it!" Stan cursed again and lifted Kyle's limp body up, running clumsily- as Kyle's weight slowed him down- to his house.

When they finally arrived, Stan put Kyle down and fumbled with the key, gritting his teeth against the biting wind. When he finally managed to unlock the door he kicked it open and stumbled inside. Then he stepped outside again and dragged Kyle inside, laying him in front of the fireplace, and ran upstairs to get blankets. He almost started crying as he found out that the electricity was out, and that the phone was dead.

Damn those snowstorms…

He ran back down the stairs, holding two heavy blankets and wrapping them around Kyle when he got back down, noting that his best friend was shaking. He propped him up against the wall and held him, ignoring any thoughts he may have had and the blush that crept again, hoping to transfer whatever body heat he had left to his friend, and wondered who could do such a thing to Kyle.

Kyle was a good kid: he was nice, had morals and conscience, and never did a bad thing to anyone, unless they really had it coming, and even then he felt bad about it.

After about an hour, in which Kyle still hadn't woken up, Stan decided he should move to plan B: he took Kyle in his arms and carried him upstairs to the shower. He put him down on the carpet and went back down to bring some candles to light. He put them on the floor in various spots, also using a flashlight.

He opened the tap and waited until the water got warm enough. He plugged the hole in the tub and waited until it was filled with the hot water.

He turned around to face Kyle and gulped. All that is left now is to take off the white underwear. He became beet-red at the thought. Lately, he found it hard just looking at Kyle without wanting to hug him all of the sudden, and now he had to see him… naked?

He did not know how he would react when he'd take that piece of cloth off, and he was afraid at what he might find out about himself. He mentally slapped himself and reminded himself that the important thing now was to help Kyle- not pondering about him not being a fag. He took a deep breath and was about to get the job done when he noticed something else: Kyle had blue marks and shallow cuts all over his body.

To the dim light of the candles Stan saw those swastikas engraved in Kyle's arms and stomach, some are still bleeding and some are not.

To the dim light of the candles the full force of what had happened to his best friend hit him like a rock to the face, and to the dim light of the candles Stan hugged the underwear-clad boy and wept.

To Be Continued…

Author's Note: I took the anti-Semitism to an extreme point here, I know. I doubt if something like happened to someone in the U.S, but I know it could happen someday, so… but yes, I know it may be a bit exaggerated…

Please review :X