SURPRISE! An update!

As with many other stories, the final chapter may not always be the way you wanted it. Mainly because you wanted things to occur certain ways, and they never did. Just remember that I've known this ending for a really long time, and I choose to not steer away with it.

On a side note…. THE LAST CHAPTER! Finally.

Chapter 30

"I want you back, damnit!"

"Give it up," said Kyle from the bridge, where he and Stan were holding hands. "You can't have him. Get over it."

"Never!" she shrieked, and her hands went straight for Kyle's throat. Kyle's eyes widened with fear, and as Stan turned to help he felt a strong pair of hands bind his own behind his back.

"Can't help your fag friend now, can you?" said a male's voice, and Stan had noticed how he intentionally breathed hot breath on his neck as he spoke. Stan watched in fear as Wendy attempted to strangle Kyle and every attempt Stan made was only restrained.

"Let me go!" yelled Stan, struggling once more.

"Oh, but you love this so much more," said his captor, breathing even more hot breath on his neck. Stan closed his eyelids for a split second, almost giving in to the feeling, However he quickly came to his senses, and tried struggling again. "You're going to find it hard to set yourself free. Especially..." His captor let himself trail off, but as Stan wondered what he meant to say the boy used physical actions to finish him off. He felt his captor's body pressed against him from behind, and Stan unwillingly let out a gasp. His captor only smirked more, and sent a warm mist of air on Stan's skin.

Stan had given in.

"Stop playing with him," said a strict voice, completely intruding Stan's thoughts. He recognized this voice immediately as Cartman's, and he opened his eyes immediately to see what was going.

"We're done," said Wendy, and Cartman nodded. He made a head notion over his shoulder, and the three quickly left the scene, his unknown captor tossing him carelessly on the floor. Stan groaned at the impact, but he quickly got up and scrambled his way over to Kyle. He was clearly unconscious, and Stan could almost see marks along his neck. He placed a hand on the boy's chest, and did not feel it rise or sink.



Stan opened his eyes and anticipated the worst.

It had been that same bridge. Wendy was virtually in the same position, the two boys against the bridge in the same manner. The girl had uttered the same phrase. In the midst of his shock Stan turned to the boy beside him; he couldn't tell whether everyone was wearing the same clothes, but at that point it didn't really matter.

Stan only hoped everything else would play out differently, but there was no use in worrying about it. Whatever happens would happen, he decided; and, pulling a straight face, he turned back to Wendy.

"No," Stan said quietly, shutting his eyes. Wendy growled from where she was but Stan ignored her. "Wendy, you've broken up with me many times now? I think I wanna… love someone who actually loves me."

"I do LOVE you!" Wendy exclaimed, glaring at Kyle. "Besides, how can some… guy… love you? He's a guy! Guys don't love guys!"

"Give it up," Kyle interjected firmly, gripping Stan's hand tightly—and though Stan thought the action would possibly calm him down, instead in caused his insides to tremble. "You can't have him. Get over it."

Stan felt his legs become weak. Sure, it wasn't word for word, but his dream was slowly become a reality…. But should he have been surprised? As it was, the other aspects of his dream had already happened. Clyde had died… he and Kyle had gotten together afterward…. But then, that'd mean….

"NEVER!" Wendy shrieked, lunging herself at Kyle. Acting quickly, Stan threw himself between the two, doing his best to pull her off Kyle. Granted the angle caused him pain, but he vowed to not give in. He wouldn't allow the rest of his dream to come true.

"Get off him!" roared Stan, and for a moment she had acted as if she were to listen to him. But instead she nodded, a glint in her eye glistening underneath the starry sky as she started once more. Stan resumed his attempt to save his friend, but a grip so cold on his skin only caused him panic. "Damnit, get the fuck off me!"

"Can't help your fag friend now, can you?" Stan only continued to kick and scream, but his efforts proved futile as the grip on him was only held tighter. "Can't help anyone, can you? But Cartman was right. It really is all about choices." His captor sprayed hot breath on Stan's neck, and though Stan's determination did not falter the boy still whimpered from contact.

"Who the hell are you?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" sneered the boy, and Stan sighed. If only the person weren't wearing a mask, maybe then Stan might've realized his captor… but the muffled voice would not be enough for Stan to figure out the mystery. Even in Stan's dream he had not known his captor… but he knew it wasn't Wendy or Cartman, at the least….


"Stan!" and the said boy's eyes grew wide as Wendy placed her hands at Kyle's throat. "Stan, help!"

Stan wanted to reply, but a hand was placed over his mouth. He struggled once more, but his captor was quite strong, physically. Yet despite these restraints, Stan let out a muffled scream into the hand. "Let go of me!"

"Oh, but you'll love this so much more," the voice said again, breathing once more at his skin. Stan closed his eyes for a split second, not because he gave in to the feeling but rather to concentrate as to what to do. However his captor was at it again, and Stan let out a gasp as he felt the sticky feeling of saliva against the back of his neck. "You're a fag. You might enjoy this. And mark my words, you're gonna find it very hard to set yourself free."

Stan whimpered as he felt his arms—which were already forced behind his back—being pulled backwards. Stan cringed, his open palms feeling something he didn't want to touch, but with a forceful tug Stan knew what his captor wanted. "Go ahead. Touch it. You know you want it. I could use a hand job right about now." And before Stan knew it he was pressed flush against his captor's….

"Stop playing with him," said Cartman's recognizable voice, causing Stan to open his eyes. Cartman was now with them. But something… something…. Kyle had died within seconds after that phrase….

"Let me go!" Stan roared, and he rammed the back of his head against his captor's. The man fell down, sporting his now injured nose, but Stan didn't care. With all his might he threw himself at Wendy, prying free her fingers from his friend's throat….

"Make them shut up!" Cartman seethed with a hushed whisper. "People are gonna come if they here this ruckus."

But Stan's determination proved victorious, and at long last Wendy's fingers lost their grasp from the Jewish boy. Kyle fell to the ground, massaging his throat as he tried to catch his breath once more, and as he crawled to the bridge's edge slightly he witnessed both Wendy and a third man lunging at Stan.

"Goddamnit, Stan," said the man, and he untied the handkerchief around his mouth—the one he had used to muffle his voice—and stuff it in Stan's own mouth. "You just had to get in the way, didn't you?" And at that moment Stan's eyes grew wide.


How had he not known? He had been in the club too, no…? He had been equally supportive of the Anti-GSA club, and yet not once had Stan thought about the boy….

And then Stan had realized the awful truth: this whole affair had been his fault. How he had hesitated to mention Cartman's name to the police officer, how he had chosen not to... how he had failed to recognize Craig… how he had been the one to lead Kyle to that bridge…. He had even gotten an advance warning in his dreams… somehow… and even then he had failed.

It was his entire fault.

He hung his head, catching a last glimpse of Kyle picking himself up and making his getaway, all before Craig threw a fist to his head.

He saw no more.


Hey God, are you up there?

It's me, Stan.

I'm not sure if you got my last letter. I hope you did, and even if you didn't give me a response I trust that you made things the way you really want them.

I know I haven't been paying attention in church lately, but I just wanted to say that I'm sorry for everything I did. In case I've really died, or even if atoning will save the life of my best friend… I'd do anything for him. I don't care if he's Jewish, or if he's a homosexual… even if I'm gay, I really wish things go the best for him.

I don't know what plan you have set out for all of us, but I guess the only thing I can do now is to live it out. My mom always said that God—you—had a plan for all of us, and I hope that this is it.

You like seeing all your children happy, right? You know how happy he makes me feel, don't you? He means so much to me. This may sound weird, but in this dream I had, I saw him suffering. I saw him dying. It kills me to see him have to go through so much… please, I'm asking you.

And maybe you won't answer my prayers because you're a homophobic God, but my mom also said once that you loved unconditionally….

Forgive me…? Forgive Kyle…? I'm begging you.



A bright light filled Stan's eyes as he peered slightly at the ceiling.

"Oh thank God!—he's awake!" Stan only hoped that that voice would be Kyle's, but instead he felt the arms of his worried mother snake around him. "Goodness, I've only been praying for so long… your father's been very pissy, saying that prayers aren't anything—but wait till he hears that you're awake!"

Prayers… prayers being answered…? Maybe his own prayers…?

"Where… where's…?"

"Stan, don't try too hard, dear," his mother said, placing a soothing hand on his forehead. "I'm gonna get your father in here. Oh, your father's going to be so happy!"

"Mon, where's…?" but she exited the door without saying anything. Stan sighed, pulling himself up as he scanned the room. He had hoped that Kyle would be somewhere in the room, but he was only blinded with the excessive white.

God had answered his mother's prayers, hadn't he? Hopefully his own would be answered.

But maybe Kyle didn't need hospitalization? Maybe he had been lucky.

But what happened to Cartman and Wendy? …and Craig?

Stan suppressed a groan, struggling at organizing his scattered thoughts. He primarily wanted to know if Kyle was all right, but there was so much stuff Stan wanted to know….

With a burst of the door Mr. Marsh strode into the room, followed closely by Kenny. "Ah, so your mother was right!" he exclaimed, hugging his son tightly.

"Dad," began Stan with a bit more collected strength. "Dad?"

"The doctor said you were gonna be out of it for a while," said Mr. Marsh, nodding. "But of course, you're a Marsh! I knew you'd be better much more quickly!"

"Dad, listen to me!"

"…and I'm sorry that I doubted your mother, but you have to understand that—"

"DAD!" Stan exclaimed, and the man shut up. "Dad… where's Kyle?"

"Kyle…?" he repeated slowly. "Kyle, he…."

"Mr. Marsh, maybe I should take it from here?" From his corner Kenny raised his hand, and with a slight nod Mr. Marsh left the room. Stan glanced, mouth agape, from the door to Kenny, but his face fell when he saw Kenny's expression.

"Kenny…?" Stan asked slowly, but Kenny only bit his lip.

"There's something I gotta tell you," Kenny said quietly, sitting on the side of his bed.


Stan was in tears.

Screw the doctor's orders. As far as he was concerned, Stan was already well—well enough, at least. He could walk, talk, eat, sleep… and all the other necessary body functions. Yet despite that, his doctor still refused to let him leave the hospital—even for the slightest moment.

"I'll tell him you meant to come, if you want," offered Kenny, lowering his hood. "Stan, there's no use in changing his mind…."

"I wanna go," said Stan, hiccupping. "I need to see him."

"You can't," said Kenny, which had caused Stan to whine a good deal. "Kyle knows you wanted to see him, I'm sure. He knows you love him."

"It's not fair," spat Stan, crossing his arms in an infantile manner. "Why couldn't it be later, once I got out of the hospital?"

"We tried," Kenny said apologetically. "Honestly, we did. But it's Jewish custom to do it within a certain amount of days after… well, you know." Stan bit his lip and turned away, eyes watering at the thought. "Eh, Stan, I didn't mean to—"

"Don't worry about it," Stan said, sniffling. "I'm fine." But he wasn't. Even as Kenny said his goodbye Stan continued to cry. Why did everything have to happen to him…?

Stan punched his pillow in anger and slammed it across the room, settling down onto his bed as he only sobbed some more. Maybe God really was homophobic, as well… maybe that's right he hadn't answered the boy's prayers….

"Why…?" Stan asked aloud before closing his eyes.

He missed Kyle's funeral.


It was a week later when an unhappy Stan was finally admitted out of the hospital. He was overloaded with the homework he had missed, but that was nowhere near being one of his priorities. He could do that later… but there was one thing he knew couldn't wait.

In one hand he held two bouquets. With a sigh he crouched down, bending down to ground level, and as he bit back tears he placed one bouquet in a small vase.

Clyde Donovan, the plate had said.

He stood motionless in front of Clyde's tombstone, many things running through his mind. At least, if not the inside of his mind, the cemetery was rather quiet, quiet enough for Stan to pay his respects. He remained for several moments, uttering several things under his breath, and with a revered bow he walked away.

The Jewish area of the cemetery wasn't far away, and Stan made that walk in silence. And as he found Kyle's grave, the entirety of the situation hit him with full force.

Kyle was dead.

Stan chose not to speak, silence being the best form of reverence he could give. Tears once more dripped down the sides of his cheeks. His body trembled, his arms shaking as he set a bouquet of flowers by his grave.

He looked in his other hand and sighed. Crunched in his fist was a letter, the letter, in fact. It was God's reply. Stan hadn't opened it, not even when his mother had given it to him shortly after his awakening. He wanted to know the response, sure, but, as he reminded himself by looking down in front of him, even if the response was good, it would no longer be helpful.

He let the crumpled letter fly into the wind.

"I… I… love you, Kyle," Stan said, before his body gave way to tears.


It was all about choices.

Stan chose to bring Kyle to that bridge, forgetting his dream. But even in light of the dream, Stan chose to break free from Craig's grasp, to give Kyle one last fighting chance.

Cartman, Wendy, and Craig all chose to commit actions against homosexual kids. Under that same light, Token had chosen to deviate from that path.

Kyle chose to run away from the scene—or at least, to begin to. But then, when Kenny had met up with Kyle, he had chosen to go back, to not abandon Stan, to not leave him to his captors. Instead of accompanying Kyle, Kenny had chosen to find help.

Then, as Stan had learned from Kenny, Token chose to return to the aid of Anti-GSA; he brandished a gun and shot Kyle in the back.

The descriptions being much more specific than that, of course. But Stan didn't really care about half the details Kenny had given; Kenny had found the two boys half an hour later, accompanied with help.

It was all a matter of choice. And, as he walked into the office, he bit his lip and took a seat at the desk.

"Stan Marsh," the police officer said softly. "You wanted to tell us about the events?—If it's too soon for you I completely understand."

Stan bowed his head. It was all a matter of choice… a matter of faith…

I choose… to not abandon… those I love….

"I do," Stan said firmly. This time, Stan would give the officer names. He'd make sure of it.
Because that had been his fault.

Stan sighed, clearly his throat. With the proper choices and the proper faith… justice would be served.



Okay, so this was my first South Park fan fiction, so I know it kinda sucked. I learned more about the characters since the day I started this, and I'm sure some of you agree with me when I say I can produce better stories now.

Still, this story holds a special place in my heart… mainly because it's so different than what I'm used to writing nowadays.

I request that you please don't flame this story just because Kyle died. I appreciate all your reviews as of now, and, as I said earlier, I had already planned this story's ending for some time.

As for the ending itself… I think I'm right in saying that I can't properly end stories. I don't like ending them, as you might've guessed. After all, I haven't updated since late January. But I had the sudden urge to get this story off my chest, so… I've done it.

But personally, I dislike the ending.

I hope you all are satisfied, because I am. And please, don't stop reviewing my stuff. Especially this last chapter.

I wanted to do this thing, where I thank every person that's reviewed this story; but there are too many of you! Just remember that I appreciate ALL of your reviews! You truly make my day, all of you.

As for the future… The Curious Moves seems to be really successful in terms of reviews, so that will probably be my main focus. But, if you want anything else updated, leave me a note and I'll consider it.

I love you all!

- Zak -

Please check out:
The Curious Moves
Nostalgia: My Past Neverlasting

On a completely random note... I passed all my AP exams! (All meaning the four AP classes I took...)