Warnings: Mentions of drug abuse, heavy language, death
Horror is one of the genres because of how Kyle looks and what he does.
Here's the link to the song that inspired this onesho (take the space out)t: http:/youtube .com/watch?v=dlDjHUtxCqQ
Walking away from the cemetery, Stan, in a black suit, put the earbuds for his Ipod into his ears and clicked on Nickelback's "Just to Get High." He wasn't sure why, of all the songs he could've chosen, he clicked on that, but he just stuffed his Ipod into his pant pocket and kept walking.
Maybe walking through the rain after his best friend's funeral wasn't the best way to cope; he should've just taken his Blazer and gone home. That's what he needed, to be alone, but that wasn't what he wanted. He wanted Kyle back.
Stan stopped at the entrance of an alley and looked down it.
"But I can still remember what his face looked like when I found him in an alley in the middle of the night!"
The bad part about that was that he did remember what Kyle's face looked like when they were reunited in that alley three years after graduation, just a few weeks ago…
…Two Weeks Ago…
Stan sighed deeply and hugged his English 112 textbook to his chest as he walked down the sidewalk. It was freezing cold and his Blazer was in the shop. Just perfect! Oh well, at least he managed to catch the bus most of the way to and from the community college ten miles outside of South Park. Why did they even build it that far out anyway? Luckily, his apartment wasn't too far away, so he didn't have to be cold for too long.
On impulse, he glanced down an alley as he passed it, catching the sight of a man crouched against the alley wall. The first and only thing he recognized on the man was the messy tuft of fire red hair. He only knew one person in South Park who had that color of hair. "Kyle?" He took a few wary steps down the alley, freezing when he saw his best friend's face look up at him angrily. His green eyes were sunken deep into his too thin, scarred face, and had lost all of the life and brightness they once held, and his skin was stark white. He looked all around sick.
"S-Stan?" Kyle smiled, splitting open his dry lips as he did. "Wow," he slowly stood on his shaking legs, using the alley wall to help him stay balanced, "it's been years!"
Stan winced at the sound of the redhead's cracked voice and the sight of his clothes. A ripped, semen covered Led Zeppelin t-shirt and a pair of torn-to-hell cargo shorts that showed off stark white legs that were little more than bone. "Dude, you look like shit."
"I do?" Kyle looked down at himself, holding his arms out to side without thought. His arms were just as bad as his legs, barely more than bone and without any color, the only difference was that his fingers were covered in dirty, blood soaked bandages that might've blended in with his skin a month ago and both arms were scarred like his face. "I actually don't look too bad today."
Stan's eyes widened. "'Don't look too bad?' When was the last time you looked in a mirror? Besides, I think that if I touch you, you'll fall to pieces! Also," he looked closely at his best friend's eyes, seeing dark circles present there, "when was the last time you slept?"
"Um…" Kyle tapped his split lips with one bandaged finger. "Three days ago, I think."
"Three days without sleep?" Stan ground his teeth together. "Well, please tell me you've eaten something!"
The thin man shook his head. "I gave that up a long time ago. Besides, I don't need it," he pulled a loaded needle out of the pocket of his shorts, "I have this."
"What the fuck is that?" Stan demanded, rage coming through clearly in his voice and on his face.
"A speedball. It's a mix of cocaine and heroin." He smirked. "I'll share a hit with ya, buuuuddy."
Stan was speechless; he didn't know what to say. This was what hole Kyle disappeared into after graduation? He managed to find the underground drug system in South Park and disappeared just like that? And he was taking injections that combined cocaine and heroin? What fuckwad got him that deep in? Before Kyle could put the needle into his arm, Stan knocked it to the ground and held onto the redhead's wrists, not surprised to find he could hold both easily with one hand.
"What the hell's your problem?" Kyle began struggling weakly, trying to get to the discarded needle. "Let go!"
"You're coming home with me!" Stan let out the breath he'd been holding when Kyle stopped struggling.
"I'm taking you home." He gently pulled his best friend along with him as he continued down the street. Though he tried to ignore it, everyone they passed gave the two weird looks and kept turning to the people around them, whispering their distain about the redhead.
Upon reaching the apartment building he lived in, Stan dug his key out of his pocket and opened the door. He pushed Kyle inside and glared back at the people in the parking lot staring at them before walking inside. He knew that Kyle was a drug addict that looked like absolute shit, but he didn't deserve to get gawked at like some freak. Stan slammed the door behind him and looked at his best friend, looking around the apartment in amazement.
"Life's been good to you," Kyle commented with a slight smile.
Stan set his textbook and keys aside. "I wish it'd been half as good to you." He pointed at his friend. "But we can fix that."
"What?" Kyle raised one thin eyebrow. "Fix it?"
"Yeah. For starters," Stan grabbed onto Kyle's shirt and pulled it off of him, showing the too thin torso that showed every rib, and the black and blue bruises lining his front, "you're getting rid of these clothes and taking a shower."
"But I don't have a change of clothes."
Stan's lips tightened into a straight line. "You can have some of my clothes until we can buy you some more. Take those shorts off." He threw the filthy t-shirt into the trash can in his kitchen.
Kyle slipped his shorts off, now only in an old, torn pair of what once were blue boxer shorts. "Thanks Stan, but I don't think I'll be able to fit into anything you have."
"I have a belt lying around here somewhere." He tossed the shorts into the trash along with the t-shirt. Stan gently grabbed onto Kyle's bony shoulders and steered him to the bathroom. "Get in the shower, and just throw your boxers away. I bought some that were a few sizes too small by accident, so you can have those."
"Okay." When the door closed, Kyle started the shower and felt a single tear rolling down his cheek. No one had ever stopped to help him before, and even when his mother "tried," she never seemed too concerned, even after he sold her jewelry for more cocaine, heroin, and speedballs. He left after his father threatened to send him to rehab if he kept selling their things.
He batted the tear from his face and dropped his boxers into the trash can before stepping into the shower. He loved the feeling of the hot water against his skin, but it only depressed him. It wouldn't be long before he had to leave again, even if it was just because Stan's trying to help him. He just…didn't want any help, and he didn't know why…
"This should work for now," Stan said as he walked into the bathroom with a pair of white boxers, an AC/DC t-shirt, and a pair of pajama jeans. "If you need a belt for the pants, tell me."
"I will," Kyle said back.
Stan grabbed onto the doorknob of the bathroom door so that he could close it when he went back into the other room. "I'm gonna make dinner… Is there anything specifically that you'd like?"
"Uh, no, I'll eat whatever." Kyle's voice sounded thick with tears.
Stan's eyes became concerned. Did no one seriously try to help him before? "Oh, okay. I'll go make it then."
He shut the door as he stepped back into the living room and, before he could take a step towards the kitchen, fell to his knees in a sob. He didn't know why Kyle had sunk so low to the point where he looked like a virtual zombie, but it was heartbreaking to see. When they were in high school, Kyle was so full of life and like every other teenage boy. He dated Bebe and a few other girls, and even went through an experimental stage where he and Stan, openly bisexual since middle school, dated for a few months. He had so many dreams for after graduation, but he seemed stressed by them near the end. Stan wasn't sure if it was before or after graduation, but Kyle started becoming distant around that time. Two weeks after graduation, he disappeared from everyone's lives until apparently recently. Stan had doubts that Kyle even stayed in South Park.
After a few more minutes, Stan slapped his face with both hands to bring him back to reality and stood up to dig through his freezer. He had some steak he had been planning on grilling that night but the rain would make it too difficult. He pulled out a package of frozen meat and tossed it onto a frying pan on the stove, turned onto the highest setting. While that was heating up, he pulled a box of Hamburger Helper: Beef Pasta out of a cabinet. Not the best thing he could make, but it would have to work; it was all he had besides the steak that could pass for a filling meal. God knew Kyle needed a filling meal.
Sometime when the hamburger was nearly done, Kyle walked into the kitchen holding Stan's pajama jeans up on his waist. "Um, Stan?"
Stan swiveled his head to look over at his best friend, smiling slightly when he saw that he looked a little better. Kyle's red hair had gotten its beauty back and now hung in soft ringlets down past his shoulder blades. His skin definitely looked cleaner, and even held a slight red tint from the hot shower. "Need a belt?"
"Yeah," Kyle chuckled, showing his teeth as he did - he was missing a few here and there.
Good thing I made something that won't be hard for him to eat, I guess, Stan thought as he made another face. He really did hate seeing his best friend reduced to naught but bone and flesh, but he couldn't help but feel a level of disgust at his appearance. He placed the spatula he was using on the counter next to the frying pan. "Make sure this doesn't catch on fire. I'm gonna go look for a belt."
Kyle nodded and moved to stand next to the stove as Stan walked into his bedroom for a belt. Stan looked around; shuffling through the small pile of clothes he was going to take to the Laundromat down the street when he got his Blazer back for the pair of pants he'd last worn his thin black belt with. Where were they, near the bottom of the pile? Finally, he found the pants, near the bottom of the pile of clothes like he thought. He whipped the belt off of them and walked back out to the kitchen, where Kyle was staring vacantly at the wall behind the stove. He wasn't even paying any attention to the food; it was good it didn't catch fire.
"Kyle," Stan said, catching his friend's attention, "here." He tossed the belt at Kyle, who caught it with a little difficulty. "Thanks for watching this."
"No problem," Kyle muttered as he slid the belt on. He sat down at the small rounded table with only two chairs and watched Stan cook their meal in silence. It'd been a long time since he'd eaten, it smelled amazing alone, he couldn't imagine how it tasted.
Finally, Stan spooned the food into two bowls and placed them on the table with a couple of forks. He sat down across from the redhead and began eating. "Eat as much as you want, you need it."
Kyle nodded and began eating, unintentionally wolfing down what was in his bowl before getting more. God, it tasted as great as it smelled! He didn't even mind that some of the hamburger was a little burnt; it was wonderful to finally eat something after all that time without food. How long had it been anyway? Kyle wasn't sure. After a few more minutes, Stan finally said something. They both continued talking for some time before both finishing their dinner. Stan pointed at Kyle's bandaged fingers and asked what happened.
"It's," Kyle looked at his fingers, the bandages really needed to be changed, "nothing. But where do you keep the gauze bandaging?"
"I'll get it." Stan stood and grabbed both bowls. He placed them in the sink and crouched down into the cabinet beneath the sink and pulled an orange medical kit. He set it down on the table and pulled out a small pair of medical scissors and a roll of gauze bandaging. "Hold out your hand."
"Uh, no Stan, I'll get it," Kyle said quickly, twiddling his thumbs in his lap uncomfortably. He really didn't want his best friend to see what his fingers looked like beneath the bandages.
"It'll be a little hard for you to do on your own." Stan grabbed onto Kyle's hand tightly so he couldn't pull it away and cut the bandages off on one finger. He froze when he saw the reason the bandages were there; his fingertips looked…melted. The bone could be clearly seen through caked on, dry blood. The rest of Kyle's finger didn't look much better, his fingerprints were melted away and it looked like the skin leading up to the palm of his hand was in the same condition.
"W-What the hell have you been doing?" Stan demanded.
"I experimented with a few things with Kenny back after graduation," Kyle admitted. "I still do some of it, and the last time I did," he looked at his fingers, "it melted my fingertips right to the bone. I haven't changed the bandages since."
Stan's eyes narrowed as he dabbed some peroxide onto the open wound, earning a sharp hiss from his friend. "Kenny, huh?"
"Yeah. Ow, that hurts," he mumbled.
"It's going to." Quickly, Stan bandaged that finger again and cut open the dirty bandages on the next. "So…Kenny's the one who got you into all of this?"
"Well," he hissed as more peroxide was put onto his finger, "he introduced me to a few things, like I said."
"Um… Cocaine, weed - which isn't too bad - and, I think, heroin." He thought for a moment and then shook his head. "No, that was someone else."
Stan ground his teeth together and grabbed onto Kyle's other hand to start bandaging the rest of his fingers. "Remind me to kill Kenny."
Kyle chuckled. "You bastard."
As angry as he was, Stan couldn't help but laugh at that as well. That was too reminiscent of days when they were in elementary school. "Well, moving away from that," he finished bandaging the last of Kyle's fingers, "you should go get some sleep."
"Oh," Kyle stood up and shook his head, "sorry Stan, but I think I should probably just go."
"You're going nowhere." Stan grabbed onto his best friend's shoulders and steered him into the guest room. "You're staying here until I say otherwise." He smiled at Kyle as he grabbed the doorknob of the guest room door. "Try to get some sleep, okay?"
"Oh, uh, alright."
Stan closed the door and walked over to his bedroom. He really hoped that Kyle was still in the guest room when he woke up tomorrow. He placed his black leather wallet on top of his dresser and kicked his blue jeans off before dropping onto his twin-sized bed. His eyes fell closed immediately. It had been a long day.
Yawning, Stan opened his eyes and sat up in bed. He'd had nothing but nightmares about Kyle all night. Oh well, at least they were over now. He stood up and walked to the kitchen for some coffee, he really needed the caffeine stimulation.
He glanced over at the table and stopped. Why was his wallet on the table? Stan picked it up and looked inside, his money, which had only been ten dollars, was gone. "Kyle?" He walked back to the guest room to find it empty. The redhead was gone. "Dammit!"
He grabbed a pair of sweatpants he had lying around and ran out of the front door. Kyle wasn't getting away, he wouldn't let him! It had little to do with the fact that he had stolen money from him and more to do with the fact that he didn't want to lose his best friend again. "Kyle!" He called as he ran through the streets. "Kyle, where are you?"
After nearly fifteen minutes, Stan had to stop to catch his breath. He'd been running at top speed from the apartment to halfway across South Park. Where the hell was Kyle? He couldn't have woken up too much earlier than Stan, so he couldn't have gotten far. It was amazing Kyle had woken up before his friend at all. Stan had been expecting the redhead to sleep until at least noon, it was only nine-thirty.
A woman's shrieking came from the nearby J-Mart parking lot, following by a short scream from a man. Stan looked over and saw a man with fiery red hair in a black trench coat holding a kitchen knife to the throat of a blonde woman. His eyes widened. What the hell was Kyle doing?
"Kyle, stop!" Stan ran over and stopped next to where a brunette man in a brown jacket and baggy blue jeans was staring in shock.
The brunette looked at Stan. "That's Kyle Broflovski?"
"Yes, Clyde, that's Kyle." Stan turned his attention back to Kyle. "Kyle, let Bebe go."
"Only if Clyde hands over his wallet." Kyle held out his free hand. His tone was desperate and angered, and his hand was shaking. He was going through withdrawals. "You didn't have shit in yours Stan."
Clyde reached into his back pocket and threw his brown leather wallet at Kyle's feet. "Take it, just give me back my wife!"
"Oh, you got married?" Kyle asked vacantly as he reached into the blonde girl, Bebe's purse for her wallet too. "Well, congratulations." He lowered the kitchen knife and pushed Bebe into Clyde. "And thanks for the money," he scooped up the brunette man's wallet, "I can promise you it'll go to good use."
Clyde reached at the waistband of his jeans and pulled a handgun out. "Freeze Broflovski!"
Kyle stopped and stared wide-eyes at the gun. Why was Clyde carrying that thing?
"Clyde," Stan said when he saw the gun, "no!" It was no secret that Clyde was a high-ranking member of the South Park police force and carried a gun on him at all times, but it was no surprise that Kyle had no knowledge of it. If he'd known about it, he never would've held a knife to Bebe's throat.
Without hesitation, Clyde pulled the trigger three times, hitting Kyle in the chest with exact precision all three times. Stan gave out a sharp yell when he watched his best friend's body fall to the ground, he was dead before he had even begun to fall.
"Kyle!" He screamed. As he stared in horror at the scene in front of him, he could hear Clyde's voice in the distance as he radioed any nearby officers to the J-Mart parking lot with an ambulance.
Stan stopped at Stark's Park and looked up at the sky, ignoring the raindrops falling onto his face without a thought. Kyle had died because he'd been desperate to supply his addiction, and also because he'd made the foolish mistake to hold a knife to Clyde Donovan's wife's throat. No one had even blamed Clyde, and his fellow officers had actually supported his decision to pull the trigger before Kyle could attack anyone else.
"Hey," a thin blonde-haired, blue-eyed man approached Stan, "you called?"
Stan's eyes filled with anger. He grabbed onto the front of the blonde's orange parka. "You son-of-a-bitch, Kenny! It's your fault Kyle's dead!"
Kenny blinked and pushed his old friend away from him. "I had nothing to do with it. He chose his own path, and just because it ended doesn't mean that it was the wrong one. Fate works in its own way, you know that Stan."
"But," tears fell down Stan's cheeks, "he was my best friend…! I didn't want to lose him, Kenny!" He fell to his knees, his friend kneeling down in front of him. "I just wanted to help him! I just wanted to help!"
Kenny gathered Stan into his arms and held him there. It didn't matter that it was pouring down rain and that they were both going to be sick the next day, both men sat there on the sidewalk in the park with their arms wrapped around each other. Stan would've given up anything, anything at all just to see Kyle's face one last time, to tell him that there was a part of him that never stopped loving him after they broke up in high school, and to just help him get as far away from all of the drugs he'd ever taken and keep him away. Forever.