Disclaimer: I do not own South Park nor its characters. I wrote this story just for fun, and I am not making any profit out of it.
Author's Note I: So here it is. The final chapter. I feel a bit sad that this story ended, you know? Even though I'm not sure about this chapter… something about it seems… I don't know, like I ruined the flow of the story, maybe?
I knew how to start it and how to end it, but the middle… I'll let you judge.
Author's Note II: Sorry for spelling and grammar mistakes, English is not my native language.
Chapter Ten: The Finish Line
One hundred and ten, one hundred eleven, one hundred twelve…
He breathed with much difficulty as his legs carried him east, the thin layer of snow beneath his feet slippery and wet, but Stan did not give up even when he tripped and fell. He took a deep breath, stood up, and kept on running forward. All the while the face of his love, his best friend, flashed through his mind and caused the lump that formed in his throat to grow bigger and nearly choke him. His breath came out in loud wheezes as he finally reached his destination.
He fell to his knees next to what seemed like a wooden door and wiped his sweaty brow with his sleeve, catching some much needed breath. The lump in his throat grew smaller and smaller as more oxygen filled his lungs, and in his great thirst he took a handful of white snow from the ground and pushed it into his mouth, desperate for some water. He could vaguely hear Kenny's voice calling for him in the distance, but he did not spare a mere glance at his blond friend as he grabbed the handle and lifted the wooden door.
A horrible stench reached his nostrils the moment the door was lifted, and he turned his head to the side as bile rose up his throat and threatened to spew out of his mouth. The mixture of potent semen, blood, vomit, feces and urine odors wafted in the still air around him and he coughed, forcing another handful of snow into his mouth in an attempt to stop the puke he knew would otherwise come.
After a few deep breaths, once he was sure his stomach calmed down somewhat, he dared to look down.
The setting sun caused the sky to appear a bluish-orange hue as it disappeared behind the mountains, and Stan had to squint in order to see the bottom of the pit properly. He recognized a human form who was wearing a dirty set of clothes, but other than that he could not tell whether it was his best friend or not.
Kenny caught up with him then. He, too, was breathing heavily and was holding his knees in an attempt to soothe his aching muscles. "Stan… the fuck…" he breathed.
Stan gulped. "Do you think it's Kyle?" he asked his blond friend, pointing downwards.
Kenny looked down at him, confusion written all over his red face, and then he turned his head to look to where Stan's index finger was directing his gaze. "I… don't know," he confessed as he narrowed his blue eyes in a failed attempt to recognize the human figure. "Kyle?" he called, a bit louder. No response.
Stan looked around and spotted a rope ladder. "I'm going down," he announced and threw it into the pit.
He climbed down quickly, and once he was sure he was close enough to the ground he let the ladder go and jumped down, slipped on something wet and fell on his bottom, kicking the human figure by mistake in the process.
"Are you alright?" Kenny called from above, and Stan lifted his left hand and waved to signal that he was fine. The figure moaned weakly.
"Kyle?" Stan called tentatively, still not fully recognizing it. He straightened up, cleaned his behind and blanched when he realized he landed in a pile of excrement and who knows what else. He felt the bile rising up his throat again and shook his head furiously, refusing to give in to his body and his emotions. "Kyle?" he tried again. No response.
He took one step forward and crouched down, staring intently at the figure. He touched the short red hairs gently and frowned deeply when he realized they felt familiar. He touched the cheek, stroking it slowly, and then lifted the head so he'd be able to look at the face. With a sharp intake of breath he stood up, pale like a ghost, his heart thumping wildly ion his chest. He was dirty and unconscious, but it was most definitely his best friend lying there in the pit next to him.
"Stan?" Kenny called from above.
Stan gulped. "It's Kyle," he croaked, vaguely realizing that Kenny probably did not hear him properly, but deciding against speaking louder. As he searched his mind for answers he noticed a plastic bottle on the ground. Frowning, he lifted it up and squinted. The remaining light proved to be enough for him to be able to read, and he let go of the bottle as soon as he realized what it was. He looked around, suddenly fearful, and noticed a couple of more enemas on the ground. "Jesus Christ…" he breathed, feeling dizzy. He fell on the ground, this time not caring what he landed in, and stared at his motionless best friend for a few minutes while Kenny McCormick demanded for answers from above.
Stan took a deep breath, calming down, and stood up again, determined to get his friend out of there. He lifted his lover's motionless form and adjusted it on his right shoulder. He staggered, but managed to grab the ladder and with great difficulty to climb up a few levels. Once he neared the earth above, Kenny reached out and grabbed the limp form from Stan's shoulder, lifting it to safety.
Stan climbed out seconds later and crouched on the ground, breathing heavily, disoriented.
"Stan…" Kenny called gently from beside him. Stan turned his head to the side and he could swear that his heart stopped of a minute at what he saw.
Kyle Broflovski, his best friend and one and only, was lying on the snow next to him. He was wearing what seemed to have been a striped pajama, which was now dirty and torn beyond recognition. His red curls, his beautiful, silk-like, red curls had been cut and left a nearly bald scalp in their disappearance. His once flawless, smooth face was now horribly pale and filled with blue marks, dry blood framing his swollen lips. His arms appeared to be tied behind his back, and as Stan kept on staring, he realized that his legs were tied, as well. With shaking hands he unknotted the tight ropes, paling with each pull. Kenny undid the arms.
"I think his arm is broken," Kenny commented, staring down at it intently.
"So is his ankle," Stan said, noting its odd angle.
They turned him slowly so the Jewish male was lying on his back, and Stan gasped as he noticed a small detail he missed beforehand. A yellow Star of David, identical to the one their History teacher showed them a picture of, was attached to his love's chest.
"You see this?" Stan's eyes widened as images from his dream flashed through his mind. "This is where your friend is."
But this time there was no smoke.
This time, Stan wasn't dreaming.
"I'm calling 911," Kenny said, but Stan could barely decipher his words as he turned his head to the side and finally gave in to the wills of his body, fear and worry spewing out of his mouth in the form of the miserable lunch he had on the bus to South Park.
His vision blurred and everything around him spun, and once nothing more came out of his mouth besides dry retching sounds he heard another weak moan coming from the direction of his unconscious friend. "Kyle!" he exclaimed weakly and crawled over to him, peering at his pale, dirty, face. "Kyle, can you hear me?"
Kyle's lips moved slowly as he whispered something inaudible. Stan strained his ears and frowned as he realized that Kenny's words overpowered the redhead's ones. "Kenny!" he called and pointed west. "Can you talk over there? I can't hear him!"
Kenny glared at him but went away, nonetheless, giving the medical crew the information regarding their whereabouts.
Kyle's lips were moving again and his green eyes opened slowly. Stan smiled weakly, but his smile fell once he noticed the blankness of the eyes which were full of life and happiness before. "Mein Fuehrer…" Kyle whispered, taking a sharp intake of shaky breath. "Mein Fuehrer…" he repeated, squinting against the small amount of light, which still illuminated the area.
"Kyle," Stan whispered, stroking his best friend's cheek slowly as he felt tears of frustration springing to his blue eyes. "Kyle, oh God, I'm so sorry," he managed to say as he sniffed and released a choked sob.
Kyle yelped as he tried moving his broken left arm and gritted his teeth against the pain. "Mein Fuehrer," he said again, a bit louder this time. "Not today, please. I don't feel well," he said, voice lowering with each word he managed to utter. "Bitte, mein Fuehrer…" he lifted his right arm slowly and laid it on the zipper of Stan's jeans.
Stan's eyes widened and he held the thin hand, closing his fingers around it protectively.
"I'll suck you," Kyle said, pulling the zipper down slowly and reaching for the organ, which was hidden behind white underwear. Stan tried to ignore the rush of heat that passed through him once his boyfriend's dirty fingers reached their destination, and he tightened his grip and removed the fingers from his organ, tears streaming down his face. "No, mein Fuehrer," Kyle whispered, trying to grab the organ once more, but Stan won't let him. "Not today," Kyle begged, his fingers flexing against Stan's. "I'll suck you, I'll suck you like you're Stan, so please!"
"My God, Kyle," Stan breathed, releasing another choked sob and arching his back so he'd be able to look straight down at his abused friend's face. "It's me," he said quietly, forcing a smile. "It's me, so please calm down…"
Kyle shook his head, his breathing becoming heavier. "No," he said, "not today!"
Stan lowered his head so his forehead was touching Kyle's, and he frowned deeply as he felt the heat emitting from it. He stroked Kyle's cheek gently, gulping as that action caused Kyle to shut his eyes tightly, as if he was preparing himself to be hit. "Please, Kyle," he whispered. "Come to your senses! It's me, Stan!" he kissed the dirty forehead lightly then, noting the bitter taste it had and shunning thoughts of why it tasted so.
"N-no," Kyle mumbled and turned his head to the side, his arm once again searching for Stan's zipper. "I'll suck you all night long…"
Kenny finished his phone call and was now looking down at them with sad eyes, clutching his cell-phone tightly. "They said they'll be here in a few minutes," he said quietly. "Maybe we should carry him to the parking lot?"
Stan shook his head, still staring down at his distressed friend. "No, I don't think he's in any shape to move," he replied in a low whisper. "Come on, Kyle," he said. "Open your eyes and realize that it's me!" he kissed him lightly again then, tasting the bitter taste of his forehead once more and shutting his eyes as the salty taste of his fresh trears joined the mixture.
Kyle's breathing slowed suddenly and he opened his eyes again. "…Stan?" he asked weakly, a spark of life flashing in his emerald eyes for a short moment.
"Yes, Kyle," Stan replied, smiling waveringly. "Yes."
"Oh God," Kyle breathed, his voice shaking as he took a deep breath. "I must be dreaming…"
"No," Stan told him, sniffling.
"Stan," Kyle said, removing his hand from his crotch area and lifting it so he'd be able to touch his cheek. "Is it really you?" he asked.
Stan nodded, and, suddenly weak, lowered his head and rested it on his best friend's chest, wrapping his arms gently around him and shutting his eyes tightly as he felt him shaking with silent sobs.
In the distance, the shrilling sound of sirens was heard.
The soft beeping of the heart monitor from the bed at the far end of the room lulled him to sleep a number of times before, but not today. Stan sat on a plastic stool next to his best friend's bed, his pale, slender fingers in his own as he stroked them gently, looking down at the Jewish male lovingly, moisture filling his eyes from a time to time as he recalled the events of the past few days.
An IV tube was attached to his right arm, his left arm and right ankle plastered. His face was cleaned from the dry blood, but the color still refused to return to it, and so did the amount of weight that he lost while he was imprisoned and abused.
"Alright. So what did you see when you found him?"
"He was… he was wearing this… striped pajama, you know, like the one old people wear? I think he was dressed like that so he'd look like the… Jewish prisoners from the concentration camps. He even had a yellow Star of David attached to his chest. And… oh God, the enemas. There were enemas!"
"Hi Kyle," he whispered, smiling. "It's the third day since you've been found," he reported, knowing full well that his friend could not hear him, but talking anyway. What else could he do?
"I hope you're healing well," he said. "You know, Cartman," an unfathomable rage engulfed him whenever this name was brought up, by him or by anyone else, and he narrowed his eyes angrily. "They found him today morning, in Iowa. His trial will probably start in a few days. The entire town heard, you know?" He chuckled. "I hope they kill him. I hope they rape him again and again, and then choke him to death. Would you like that, Kyle? I know you would…." He felt tears choking him and tried to gulp them down, but it did not do any good as they fell anyway.
"I see. And how do you know it's Eric Cartman's fault?"
"We made a bet. See, Cartman had a thing for him… so did I. He said he'd get to him first, but I won, so he got angry… and he hates Jews, he tried to exterminate them a few times in the past. He looks up to Hitler. He did it to get back at me, I know he did!"
"I burned it, Kyle. That pajama. I burned it along with Cartman's fucking frog doll which he cherishes so much. I tore its head and threw it into the flames. Are you happy now, Kyle?" he asked, sniffling quietly as his voice became shakier. "When you'll open your eyes again, will you smile? You didn't smile yesterday when you woke up."
"Mr. Davis, the hospital psychiatric… he says you're in a major trauma, he doesn't know if you'll ever recover…" he kissed Kyle's fingers gently, breathing in the smell of soap and hospital sheets. "It's my fault that it happened to you. I don't think I'd be able to forgive myself. Ever. I should have never let Cartman find out about us, not to mention provoking him like I did that night…"
"…I should have never left…"
"Do you have a solid proof for your assumptions?"
"His mom. I know the police contacted her. She said she sewed him that Star of David, didn't she? Search his house, I don't care, it's probably filled with proofs!"
"Your parents should be arriving soon and replace me. You know, we still have that History project to work on… Kenny and I, we'll tell about how Cartman did what he did. You know, without the… details." Stan bowed his head in shame, tears wetting his flushed cheeks. "Kyle…" he breathed. "Please, wake up and say something, anything…."
"What did Kyle Broflovski say when he woke up?"
"I can't stand your silence when you look at me with those dead eyes, I-! I… don't know what else to do…"
"Do you know what this phrase means?"
Kyle's eyes opened slowly then, but he did not turn his head to look at the raven-haired young man sitting next to him on the plastic stool. Instead, he kept his empty gaze fixated on the white ceiling above. He breathed in slowly and licked his dry lips.
"Good morning, Kyle," Stan greeted meekly, stroking his short red hair. "Do you want anything to drink?" Kyle shook his head from side to side slowly. "You sure?" No response.
"Do you think Eric Cartman made him say it?"
"Are you feeling better today?" No response. Stan sighed and hung his head, at a loss. He kissed Kyle's fingers lightly again, hoping it'll force some sort of response out of the redheaded Jew, but all Stan could feel was muscles tensing under his lips and then relaxing once more. "You know I'm sorry, right?" Still no response. Stan gulped heavily and breathed out slowly. "You know I love you…"
"Did he say anything else?"
"He begged me not to rape him. He thought I was goddamned Cartman."
Stan glanced at the clock on the wall and frowned. He should be meeting up with Kenny soon, and Kyle's parents were supposed to show up any minute. He spared a glance at Kyle again and his eyes saddened when he saw that the Jew was still staring upwards, caught up in whatever daydreams and thoughts he had. "I should get going now," Stan said, giving his boyfriend's hand a light squeeze. He stood up and bent down, pressing his lips to Kyle's and closing his eyes as he absorbed the feeling. It was nothing like that day in the bathroom, or the nights they shared with each other. It felt empty, dead, like the emerald eyes which gazed up at the white ceiling.
A cough from behind him startled him and Stan left his boyfriend quickly and turned around, coming face to face with an awkward Gerald Broflovski. He blushed deeply, said a quick and quiet goodbye and left.
He walked slowly towards his house, ignoring the people, who whispered amongst themselves behind his back. The entire town was shocked and outraged by the news. As odd as it may seem (it sure did to him), Butters' parents were being put on trial, as well, for having dug that pit as a form of punishment for their son.
"What is your relationship with Kyle Broflovski?"
"We're a couple, I told you I got to him before that goddamned Nazi did."
Kyle's parents… he was forced to tell them about himself and Kyle when they demanded him for answers, and since the Broflovskis were told, so were his own mother and father. Then the entire town knew all about it, and for some reason, fitting for that stupid redneck town, that matter seemed to them more important than the case of horrible abuse that occurred on their grounds. That horrible, repulsive, abuse…
"Do you know of anything else that might help the investigation?"
"I don't know if it's any help, but… heck, I'm sure it's not. The pit… it had this smell, this very peculiar smell…like a concentration camp..."
"All right, quiet down!" Mrs. Brown, their History teacher, commanded as she entered the classroom with a pile of papers in her hands. "I know you're all upset about the latest events, but we must continue…"
Stan stopped listening to her and instead stared out of the window at the clouded sky, looking for interesting shapes, a tiny smile playing on his lips. He went to see Kyle that morning before school.
"…Stan and Kenny, you two are up first." Stan woke up from his daze when he heard his name being called and collected his papers in a hurry while his classmates chuckled at him behind him. He paid them no heed as he went to the front of the class, Kenny walking slowly behind him. Once they stood in front of the blackboard Kenny nudged him at the side. "Hey," he whispered as Mrs. Brown began ranting about this thing or another. "Did something good happen today? You seem happier…"
Stan smiled. "I went to see Kyle," he explained and Kenny nodded, not quite understanding. "He kissed me back today," he explained, his smile widening as one of the same kind found its way to Kenny's lips, as well. "And then," he continued, noticing that their teacher stopped talking and was now waiting for them to start their presentation.
"-then he smiled…"
Author's Note III: That's it. I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I did writing, and please, review! This is the time for all the lurkers to show themselves!
Oh, by the way. I have LJ now! But you have to friend me first :3
I may not approve if I don't know you, though…