Author's Note: Hello, Claire here! While I did accept this challenge, I will state that I am not okay with writing descriptive rape scenes in my works. On a separate note, if you've been affected by rape in any shape or form, please be sure to allow yourself to properly heal. You're never alone, and my inbox is constantly opened. xx

- BookishTea(Claire)

Orange streaked along side the blue of a setting sky, testimony to an end of things. Which could have been taken literally or metaphorically, depending on who you asked.

One of the better things was the massive crowd of immigrants from New Jersey, gelled hair shining within the afternoon sun, diamonds flashing within the distance as they travelled towards the horizon.

Where would they go? No one knew, perhaps a place where jars of pickles, beaches, and cocktails were plentiful. The terrified citizens of South Park were happy to see them go, uttering a sigh of relief as they watched through the curtains of their respective homes.

It had been a victory for the sleepy town, but it came with a price.

Eric Cartman tended to walk slow, usually because he didn't have to hurry for anyone, things were naturally drawn to him. In this instance, however, it was for an entirely different reason.

Everything the waist down hurt, it made walking near impossible without limping. But Eric wouldn't let it get to him, he couldn't. He didn't call his mom to pick him up, or ask Butters to help him walk home, if he did that then he proved he wasn't fine. And he was, he was okay.

"Nearly there." he whispered to himself, blinking back the stinging that pierced the corners of his eyes.

The walk was arduous and painful, but eventually he arrived home. Instinctively following the same routine he always did, unlock the front door, take off shoes, and hang up his jacket. Usually he'd grab a snack, whether his mother complained or not about it ruining his supper, they both knew she wouldn't do anything. Maybe argue for five minutes, for show, but she always caved and gave him what he wanted.

She wasn't home yet, the car was missing from the driveway and her shoes were gone, meaning Eric was utterly alone. Any other day he would have appreciated that, but not after today. The silent and dark house had fear breathing on his neck, raising hairs as he made his way through the house. But he couldn't call his mom, he'd be admitting he needed help. And he didn't, everything was the same as always.

But it wasn't, he could feel that thing's disgusting hands all over him. Shivering, Eric quickly headed up the stairs to the bathroom.

It had happened in mere seconds, the time counting down as soon as he opened the meat freezer. A impossible weight crushed him, held him to the floor, so much greater than his own.

Eric lunged at the toilet, barely having enough time to get his vomit in the bowl. Gripping the edges to steady himself, he could do nothing but wait until his stomach's contents were emptied. Even then he waited minutes after, body shuddering as he gasped for air.

Like a clip on repeat, the stilled images looped inside his head until it became too much. He was reminded how dirty he was, the hand prints were there covering him.

Movements slowed only because of how sore he was, Eric stripped from his clothes and turned the shower on. Turning the knob onto the hottest setting, he climbed inside.

The intensity of the heat burned his skin, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Focusing on grabbing his mother's bar of soap, something that smelt of lavender and orange.

Sitting himself heavily on the floor, legs shaking as he did so, he began to scrub his body. Slowly he rubbed harder and harder, trying to get the grime from its skin off.

Nothing was spared, every inch was run over with the soap. Anything to get that feeling of vulnerability that soaked into his very pores.

Vaguely he heard a voice call for him, but he ignored it. He was fixated on his task, despite the fact it made his skin flushed and raw.

The curtain to the shower was yanked to the side, spilling heat into the foggy room.

A tan hand was placed on his, stilling his movements with a tight grip.

Eric twisted around to glare at the interloper, drawing his knees closer to his torso.

"Fuck off!" he swore, trying to wrench his arm free. But Kyle held on, still dressed as if he lived in New Jersey himself. The familiar style had Eric panicking even more, trying to get as far away as he could in the shower.

His spare pushed at Kyle's chest, hitting him hard as Eric pressed his own back against the shower wall's cool tiles.

"Leave, just leave me alone!"

Sharp green eyes narrowed at him, filled with such concern and sympathy. Eric looked away, thankful for the water to mask the fact he began to cry.

And yet somehow Kyle knew, he dropped to his knees and leaned forward, uncaring if he became soaked. Wordlessly he wrapped his arms around the other boy, bringing him into a hug as he held him close.

There he waited, listening to Eric's frantic heartbeat and panting until he calmed down, realizing that Kyle wouldn't do anything. It was silent besides the roar of the water pelleting them, which had lost its heat and instead chilled the two boys to the bone.

Eventually two chubby arms reached around and grabbed onto Kyle's shirt, fingernails stabbing the flesh underneath as they dug in. They remained like that for a minute, enough to get across that Kyle was there.

Reluctantly Eric watched as Kyle withdrew from him, climbing to his feet to turn the shower off and grab the towel from the rack screwed into the wall.

Holding it open, he waited until Eric unsteadily stood up. He wrapped the fluffy towel around him, making sure his naked body was covered before he finally took a step back.

It took a second, but eventually Eric found his voice, "Thanks, Jew." he mumbled.

Kyle nodded, and they stood there awkwardly, not able to fully look at one another. There was never any emotional bonding within their relationship, there was never enough room. Just a mixture made from different flavours of anger, fear, and sadness. So to have a moment like this, well they were baffled on what to do now.

"I just came here to check up on you, after..." Kyle let the words fall unfinished, not wanting Eric to relive the memories, especially since they were so fresh. Eric didn't say anything, so loudly Kyle cleared his throat.

"I'll...I'll just go." he turned back to the bathroom door, shuffling towards it when a hand tightly grabbed his shoulder. He froze, peering over to Eric.

It was strange seeing Eric Cartman so fragile, now unable to meet his eye. He mumbled something lowly, just above a whisper. It took Kyle a second to understand what he said.

"Stay..." dark brown eyes darted up to his, "A-at least until my mom comes home."

Just as doubt rose up in Eric, making him fearful that Kyle would reject him and he'd spend the rest of the night alone, his friend/enemy softly smiled.

"Okay."

No other words were needed, it was obvious how much that meant.