Title: Blood and Tears

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

A/N: I hate, hate, hate, HATE, HATE, HATE! You, Lamiaastaroth, for getting me into South Park slash. And Stan/Kyle. I hate you. HATE, HATE, HATE, HATE, HATE! Which is why I dedicated this piece of crap to you.

You taste something salty in your mouth, and it's dripping down your chin, too. You almost choke as your back hits the locker and it slides down your throat. A cough sputters its way out of your mouth. A fist connects with your stomach, and you fall to the floor.

There are people staring at you; you can feel their eyes as your head hits the hard concrete of the school hallway. But they're not doing anything. You don't blame them. Who would want to help you?

It wasn't this bad when Cartman teased you about being Jewish. You had been able to handle the jokes, the insults, the horrible whispered comments in the hallways or next to him sitting in class. You were better than that, and you knew not to fight back. But why on Earth did you have to give him another reason to hate you?

Stan didn't understand. Cartman had never been there those nights when you would just hung out at his house, snuggling on the couch watching Terrence and Phillip. He wasn't there when you kissed him for the first time. And he wasn't there when you two went up to your room after you had the few drinks that Kenny gave you. When he had made love to you on his parent's bed, just before he threw up in their closet.

You almost smile at the thought, when another hit gets you in the lip. It's swollen already, and your mind goes back to the time you had been hanging out with your new friend David over at Cartman's house one day. Stan hadn't been there either. He didn't see the look of pure hatred on his face when he walked in on you two making out on the living room floor.

He kicked you two out, but not before destroying everything in his path. You had seen him angry before, but never as enraged as this. You knew that he was a close minded, insensitive little fuck, but you had never seen as much detest in him as he was then. So he threw you out of his life forever, and told Stan. Stan hadn't said anything then, but you knew how hurt he was.

Stan told you he loved you, and you turned away gently. Then he left, and it hadn't been the same since then.

"You mother fucking cocksucker!" you hear blurrily through the haze around your head. You don't recall just how much blood you've lost, but you can guess it's a lot. "That's what you get for being a Jew and a fucking faggot!"

He leaves you in a heap on the floor, and the crowd around you dismembers. All except for Stan. You look up at him mistily, head heavy from the torture you had just endured. His face is scrunched into something unrecognizable, something that looked like a terrible despondency.

"Kyle...I--" he starts, horror and sadness clouding his voice. You feel a pang in your heart and try to stand up. You wobble a little as you press onto the lockers for support. Stan grabs your arm to help you out, but you pull away immediately.

His eyes show hurt and pain, but that's nothing compared to the looks you gave him as Cartman proceeded to beat the crap out of you. They were looks of love, desparation, a cry for help. He looked on in horror, but ignored them. He ignored you, and that's not love. Not to you.

You look at him, and very clearly, you yell in his face.

"Fuck. You." you hiss, getting up and preparing to walk away. You look on dizzily, wincing as you watch Stan's face fall and walk away ahead of you. And soon, he's gone.

You taste something salty in your mouth again. And this time, it's not blood, but your tears.