Disclaimer: South Park is not mine.

Author's Note: Brat Child2's unofficial challenge! I'm not sure if this is what you wanted, and I'm sure this isn't what I wanted (not my idea of a plot…), but I like the POV.

Sorry for spelling/grammar…


He was not planning on getting involved.

"Jews don't have a sense of direction!"

"Shut the fuck up, Cartman…"

"No, seriously! We're going in circles for an hour! Who the fuck decided that you'll drive?"

"It's my car, fatass!"

"Your car, which you got with your dirty Jewish money! You Jews take money from decent people like us and buy crappy cars like this!"

"Goddamnit, Cartman! Shut up already, I'm trying to find a way back!"

"Screw you, Kyle! You've got no coordination, either! How the heck did you get your license? Told the tester that your Jewish ass deserves one because of the Holocaust?"

"I said, shut up!"

Maybe he should have…

A loud noise. Silence.

Rain. He'd recognize that sound anywhere and at any time. He hated the rain- he adored the sun. When it was sunny, it reminded him of places that were not his home, of people that were not himself.

He felt alone. He hated being alone. When he was in a crowd it was easier to blend in, easier to make himself insignificant and disappear. In a crowd, no one knew who you are and no one cared.

The raindrops pained his eyes and body, and even though he struggled to open his pair of sky blue eyes, he could not do so. It hurt too much to even move.

He could hear only the rain… what the hell happened?

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," someone shakily said, their voice hoarse. "I'm so, so sorry…" that someone was crying. "Please open your eyes…"

He braced himself, took a deep, shaky breath an opened his eyes slowly. It felt like he did not open them at all- everything was pitch black. For a minute, all human voices around him faded into nothing and all he could hear was the rain that pelted on his face like sharp, little, endless needles, piercing his already probably injured and scorched skin. He moaned in pain. He never thought that making a sound could hurt so much.

"It's my fault," that shaky voice came again, and then that person sobbed. It sounded muffled for some reason. "I'm so sorry…"

A new voice. This time, though, he could not make out what that other voice was saying. The first person cried harder. "No! You have to hang on!" Again that other voice spoke, and again he could not make out the words. The rain was too loud in his ears. He hated the rain. "No, please! Don't leave! Dude, open your eyes! No!"

Both voices went silent, once again the rain it's transparent needles taking over his aching ears. "Stan? Stan! Stan!" the voice was hysteric, and the sobbing became so loud that his ears hurt, and it made him miss the annoying sound of the rain. "Please wake up… please…" He knew that it was hopeless even without seeing. It was Kyle, who was speaking, he realized.

Why was he in so much pain? Why was it so fucking dark? Why did Stan die?

What were they doing here…?

"You killed him," another voice said, quiet yet angry. "Fucking Jew, you killed him!"


"Shut up, fatass!" he wondered how he could even reply between the horrible sobs he emitted.

"Because you can't drive! Jews don't have coordination, I fucking tell you! Murderer, just like all the other stupid Jews!"

The rain fell harder, and Cartman and Kyle went silent. He dared not move his head to see if he could see them. He could see nothing, and he only felt the rain and the pain, each making the other worse.

The sound of skin hitting skin, a choked yelp. Curses. The sound of a punch connecting with jaw and a kick connecting with stomach. Both were screaming, but only one controlled the hits and punches.

He was not planning on getting involved.

Maybe he should have…

Silence. Even the rain had stopped. "Kenny?" the voice was still choked on tears, and his eyes were still half closed and what he saw was still pitch black, yet he knew who was talking. He could not respond, though. "Kenny, can you hear me?" he blinked, yet dared not say a word. Even moaning hurt, so talking was out of the question. "We… we had an accident, Kenny," the voice went silent then, and he wondered if that person was collecting his thoughts. "A car slipped on the icy road and came into our lane." Silence again. He hated it when it was silent; the rain always seemed to fall harder and louder then. "Kenny, please stop crying…"

Was he? He never even noticed. He did not see why it was wrong of him to cry when the other party was obviously doing the same. "Please, Kenny… it's going to be okay, you're going to be okay! Please stop crying…"

Then why are you crying? He wanted to ask, and the words climbed from his throat and unto his tongue, yet refused to leave the safe cage of his mouth and be exposed to the transparent needles. "The rescue forces are going to be here soon, I contacted them not long ago…" It was becoming hard to breathe, and he struggled to keep his eyes half-open. Somehow, he knew that if he would close them, it would be the end. "Stan died, Kenny," the person said, and he could hear the crying in his voice. "He died in my arms…"

The pain was beginning to disappear, and he wondered if he should feel happy for that. There is no chance that his wounds were closing, then… then it was probably that thick layer of snow that he was lying on, which made him numb all over. That was a bad thing, wasn't it?

"I'm so sorry, Kenny," the voice came again with the unstoppable crying, and once again he missed the rain. He could not decide which he hated more: the sound of crying or the sound of rain. Right now, though, he wished the crying would stop. At least the rain did not make him feel miserable and helpless.

"It's my fault that they died," the person said between sobs.


He could hear sirens from afar, and suddenly the darkness became much brighter.

The other car hit the right side of their car, thus wounding himself and Stan with near-fatal wounds. Kyle and Eric were sitting in the left, thus receiving much lighter wounds.

That is what the police said, at least. They did not realize, though, how Eric Cartman could have died if Kyle Broflovski was barely hurt. They sat in the same side, after all. They guessed that the hits on his body were from the accident, and because of his fat and lack of exercise his heart failed, while Kyle was in a much better shape before, and thus afterwards.

Only he and Kyle knew the truth. Only they knew that Eric Cartman would have lived if Kyle would have left him alone.

Not too long after the accident the police returned and investigated Kyle. Him, being the good person that he was, confessed to them that he was the one that gave Eric Cartman the final blow, which killed him. He was a minor, then no prison for him, though. Juvenile hall for two years is what he got.

As for himself, he spent a month in the hospital, and came out with a paralyzed finger. He got out the luckiest…

Kyle was blaming himself and was agonizing over it, and sometimes Kenny wondered if his red head friend would live long. The way it seemed, Kyle Broflovski was to put an end to his life in the near future.

But only he knew that Kyle was not the one to blame, not at all. It was all his fault, because he was not planning on getting involved.

Yet, he should have…


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