I saw the devil In a Chrysler LeBaron

I DO NOT OWN CHARACTERS OR THE TITLE WHICH IS A LYRICS FROM KANYE WEST'S SONG DARK FANATSY, NOR DO I OWN THE NAME CHRYSLER LEBARON, NOR DO I PWN THE CAPS LOCK BUTTON...oh wait

Stan pulled into the driveway and stepped out of his old beat up Chrysler LeBaron.

That car had so many memories.

"Stan I think I'm…."

"Kyle were best friends, you can't leave this car until you tell me what's bothering you so much,"

"I think I'm gay."

"Gay?"

"Yeah, gay! Fag, homosexual, queer, whatever you want to call it,"

"That's okay there's nothing wrong with that,"

"Yeah but I think I'm gay for…"

"For me? Wow Kyle…"

"We can still be friends?"

"Yes, maybe one day even more than just friends,"

"Cool,"

"Yeah, cool"

Kyle laughed to himself as he thought of the innocent past. He wished for it to come back one day.

Kyle leaned into Stan and pressed his lips against his. Stan didn't fight it, he engaged it instead.

"Stan," Kyle whined as Stan started to kiss Kyle's neck frame, and he didn't stop there. Stan kept lowering his kisses until his lips met Kyle's already erect surprise.

"Stan, I love you,"

But Stan was more interested in Kyle's dick then his feelings.

There first kiss, and Stan's first oral job.

Stan stepped out of his car and slammed the door shut. His cigarette hanging out of his mouth.

"You had me so worried, you could have at least called," Kyle said to Stan.

"Shut up, you're not my mom, bitch!"

Where was this anger coming from.

"Sorry I should trust you more,"

"Yeah you should," Stan flicked his cigarette butt at Kyle's jacket. Kyle brushed the ashes off and walked back inside.

That night after dinner Stan went out, and Kyle was left at home.

I don't think he loves me anymore, Kyle thought to himself as he deeply signed. He then fell asleep on the couch hoping that Stan would be home soon.

SLAM! Kyle woke to the sound of the front door slamming. Stan came staggering in.

Kyle looked at the clock; it read 3:25 a.m.

"What the fuck Stan, where have you've been." No response …so Kyle continued on.

"You're out partying and getting drunk when I'm at home worried sick about you,"

Stan pulled his hand up in front of Kyle's face and with one stroke he slapped him. Blood ran down Kyle's chin.

"Stop your complaining you worthless piece of shit," Stan staggered to his room.

"Stan Marsh I HATE you," Kyle cried, but that was the wrong thing to say.

"Come here you bitch," Stan ran toward Kyle.

"Wait, I didn't mean that I'm sorry," But it was too late.

Stan shoved Kyle against the wall and started to kick him.

"I thought you loved me," Kyle yelled within shrieks of pain.

"Love, you want love, okay then," Stan turned Kyle over and pulled off his pants.

"No Stan, we can talk about this," Kyle whined as Stan pulled off his own pants and plunged into Kyle.

"Stan why," Kyle muttered. Stan kept on and soon grew tired and went to his room. Kyle stayed on the fall still shaking.

He felt so gross.

Kyle walked to the back porch and rested his head on one of the cushions. He held his mutilated body and whimpered. There was no way he was going to be able to sleep.

But hours passes and the Brovfloski boy soon drifted off to sleep unwillingly.

He awoke to the sound of Stan's car pull out of the driveway and start down the street. Kyle got up and ran inside, he gathered up his things. He placed his luggage by the front door and walked back into the kitchen and sat down. Kyle started to write a letter to leave behind for Stan, but he never finished it.

With a swift movement he got up from the table and opened the door. He looked around at the house he was leaving. Memoires kicked in as Kyle saw Christmas with their families, first moving in, and all the passionate love they made and talks they had.

All of it was gone.

Kyle walked out of the door and started down the street. He didn't know where he was going; all he knew was that he had to leave. Imagine such a funny sight, a very sleep-deprived boy bawling his eyes out, carrying three bags, just wandering down the street.

As the day passed Stan became even more pissed at himself for what he did to Kyle. When he got off work he drove as fast as he could home. He soon arrived and opened the door loudly.

"KYLE, I'm homeeee!" no response.

"Kyle where are you?" Stan moved toward the kitchen because it was the only room with a light one. The light flashed over a note.

Stan picked the note up and read it.

Dear Stan,

I had to leave. I'm sorry but I don't feel like this relationship should progress anymore. And don't come looking for me because…

The letter ended abruptly because Kyle knew he couldn't explain any further. Stan threw it to the ground and ran up the stairs. He charged through his room and opened his private drawer. There lay his gun. He picked it up and cocked it.

Rash times call for rash measurements.

He knew he couldn't live without Kyle. He then pulled the trigger…

sorry for the crappy ending!it thought it ended cooooolllllll,,,,,okay sorry i'm such a lame douche