First South Park fic submitted, not first written, mind you. We'll just see how it goes.

Disclaimer: South Park belongs to Matt and Trey, not me.

Set in Stone

He drummed his fingers against the plastic glass that acted as a window. Beyond the plastic was a plate of glass, the most fragile layer, and between the plastic and the glass were the bars, thick and made out of cold metal. It did not take a genius to figure out their purpose.

The window confused him. In a way, he loved it for giving him some kind of freedom. But in another way, he despised it for showing him how bad the world had gone and how limited his freedom was. For crying out loud, he couldn't even reach the glass, feel the chill of the last layer against his fingertips.

Sometimes when he looked out, he saw small human shapes moving in the darkness of the night, hidden by the extended shadows. They travelled toward the building he was locked within, whether it was a castle or a grand mansion he didn't know. But by god, he really didn't want it to be a castle. Locked up in the highest tower in an ancient castle by an evil Fatass, epic much? But he was fairly sure it wasn't a tower at least. He could hear noises coming from all sides during the daytime, and the building did not seem to be that old. That, along with the fact that he would hardly be saved by a knight in shining armor, offered him some comfort.

In any case, whoever the people sneaking across fields and forests were, they didn't seem to get much done. During the time he had spent locked up in his room, (what was it, five, six years?) he had only experienced three real emergencies. On the bright side, two of those had been in the last four months, which might mean that La Resistance was finally getting somewhere. He hoped they would blow up whatever building he was currently occupied in, if only so he would know that Fatass had burned with him.

Some in his situation might have felt gratitude towards the Fatass for pulling them out of what was left of the country, torn apart by war, to grant them a nice bed; rich food; and warm, fitting clothes. Kyle, on the other hand, would have rather died on his position as a rebel but no, instead of being blessed with a bullet through his head it went through his shoulder, causing him to lose consciousness and later to wake up in the gigantic bed he had been sleeping in for years now.

While he didn't know for sure, he had had several ideas as to why he had been kept like a fragile princess. The first one was that he was to be tortured to death, for information of just for the heck of it, but that seemed less and less likely. Another was that he was a tool to be bargained with, but that was also unlikely, since Fatass had told him that everyone on the outside thought he was dead. Other thoughts had appeared briefly, such as being forced to work as a tactician for the Fatass, though that would be rather stupid as he would intentionally mess up the plans. Even Fatass's pea brain was big enough to understand that one did not put an enemy if control of one's troops. Besides, Kyle had made it very clear on several occasions that he would rather die than gamble with the lives of those he had fought beside. Another possibility was that he was there to keep the Fatass's bed warm. He shuddered at the thought of the last one and felt very glad that that was not the case.

At that moment, it would seem that being a way for Fatass to blow off steam was the most probable. But sometimes, the one about the bed unwillingly plopped up in his thoughts, usually when his captor had one of his strange moments, gently cradling Kyle's chin in his hand, brushing against his cheekbones with his thumb, or tugging on a red strand of hair, pulling it out until it was straight only to let it go and watch it bounce back into place. The small, off note touches were about the only thing Fatass could scare him with, although his pig brain thankfully had not caught on to it yet. The best he could do in those situations were to stand still and let it happen. Later, he and the Fatass would pretend they had never occurred.

Although he would never admit it out loud, the touches actually were rather nice. They didn't feel sexual to him; though he knew they could be taken that way. At times, he forgot just to whom the calloused hand belonged and sank into the comfort, lost in the time that was, the time before his captivity, even before Fatass had started with his planning of world concurring.

Stan, he would think, while caressing the base of his finger, warm metal licking his fingertips. It wasn't quite an engagement ring, more of a promise ring, due to Kyle's adversity of referring to Stan as his fiancé. Stan hadn't really cared, he rarely did. He was just happy to have a glint of sunshine to light up the darkness that engulfed them. He would happily have referred to them as butt-buddies if it meant that they acknowledged their bond. Kyle, who in childhood had been called every word remotely close to the word fairy by the sadistic Fatass and had his mother's domestic blood in his veins, wanted things done his way.

When he had found out that it was indeed his childhood tormentor that kept him where he was, he had taken the ring and hidden it within the mattress, subtly in order to not wake suspicion through those damnable cameras. After two months he dared to take it out again, resulting in plenty of mocking from the Fatass, but that was only to be expected. What did surprise him though, was that he made no move to relieve him of the tiny piece of metal. Suddenly the ring, previously something that had made him feel slightly embarrassed when eyes lay upon it, now made him straighten up his back and square his shoulders. Kyle Broflovski belonged only to those he gave himself to. He was not someone to be bought or stolen.

That day, just knowing that was enough. Days would come, had come, when he wished that the bars were away from the window in order to throw himself out through it. There were plenty of other ways to do it, end it, but the window was special. It promised freedom, yet never gave it; therefore he considered it only appropriate to use it in that order, force it to fulfil its promise.

But most of the time he was not prepared to just lie down and give up. His chances of escaping were less than zero. If a fire, or something of the same kind of occurrence, broke out, the Fatass would probably have him be toasted rather than give him the opportunity to flee. If he would return to La Resistance after several years of captivity, it would bring them hope; something that the almighty sadist tried to avoid at all costs.

No, he would spend the rest of his days stuck in a luxurious room, which he would trade with a leaking tent in the Amazon together with his best friend in less than a heartbeat. Hopefully, the walls of his vile "home" would fall within his lifetime and allow him to witness the fall of the fat one, even if it would result in his own demise. Until then, all he could do was to slowly reduce Fatass's food and water supply by living.

Perhaps La Resistance would search through the ruins after their fall. Perhaps Stan would be with them. Perhaps he would recognise the ring and the body on which it belonged. Perhaps he would be given a proper grave with a stone and a few kind words.

Perhaps, his heart whispered. Perhaps. But in his mind he doubted it.

That's it, for now at least. I'm playing with the thought of making this a multi-chapter, but I'm not sure. Hope you enjoyed ^^

And if anyone is wondering, yes, the lack of Fatass's name was intended.

Edit: I've corrected a few strange sentences and grammatical mistakes along with spelling errors. If you've noticed anything strange, tell me.