So it's not an update to Obsessed. Or PDA. Or Angel. Or Hero. Or anything else. ... But it is fun! This is a story about my worst irrational fear.
A Gun and An Insane Glint
Everyone was asleep. After five long days spent exploring Chicago (after a sixteen hour drive to get there, mind you), the South Park High Juniors were fast asleep, halfway through the fourteen hour drive from there to New York. It was a little past one-they're get there around seven, ready to start the day and be exposed to 'culture' and 'city life' and to tour a couple colleges, like CUNY. Many of the kids-nearly everyone had scraped together the money to come (Kyle, Stan and reluctantly Cartman funded Kenny to go)-had never left the state before under non-terrifying circumstances. They'd all been looking forward to this trip for years-since they first heard about it in Middle School.
Kyle was tucked into Stan's side; Kenny was curled up in his seat and Cartman was slumped against the window; Wendy and Bebe were huddled together under a blanket; Clyde had fallen asleep on a mildly disgruntled Token's shoulder; Tweek was in Craig's lap; Butters was sitting with Red (the only co-ed set on the bus) and they nervously pressed away from each other, even in sleep.
One little boy, however, was an insomniac. He was sitting in the very front, next to their stalker-like English teacher, Mr. Garrison. His eyes were wide open and questioning, calmly surveying the group with an heir of boredom. He had skipped six grades out of sheer intelligence and disdain for doing easy work and now was in class with his older brother, so the out-of-place feeling that came with being the only one awake didn't bother him. He seemed very relaxed in the quiet of midnight, but really, he was worried. Because he'd stayed awake several nights with this bus driver, and every night, at exactly midnight, he popped two large, white capsules from a pharmacy-issue orange pill bottle. The boy hadn't paid this much mind-the pills could've been for anything, and though Mr. Drake seemed unhappy with them, he took them.
But not tonight. Tonight, when the clock struck midnight, the boy watched silently as the driver mechanically picked up the pill bottle, looked at it, scowled darkly and threw it out the window.
He was driving too fast now-almost twenty miles over the speed limit. He occasionally drifted into the other lane and the boy was quietly thankful that they were on a deserted road in the middle of fucking nowhere. He glanced at their old, confused, contently unconscious teacher and wondered if he should tell someone what was happening.
His fears increased when the driver suddenly jerked off the road and onto a little dirt path leading into the thick pine forests lining each side of the road. But he calmed himself, telling himself he was overreacting. He examined the driver-he was young, around mid-twenties, with overlong, curly brown hair and unextraordinary brown eyes. He was about average height and looked as though he might've run track in High School. Nothing really interesting to speak of.
The path twisted through the night like a snake, silent and dark and dangerous. The boy's heart was in his throat, fear rising in his chest as they drove deeper and deeper into the middle of nowhere.
The bus rattled to a stop. The headlights clicked off, wrapping the bus in darkness as the engine gave out. 'Just an issue with the engine,' the boy thought frantically, watching the completely still man sit like a statue, as though he'd forgotten how to move, 'Or maybe he just has to pee.'
But the silence and the stillness and the darkness told him otherwise.
The boy started panicking, tugging on the teacher's sleeves, trying to wake him up, eyes fixed on the driver. Mr. Garrison refused to stir, however, even as the boy whimpered in terror, watching as the bus driver slowly turned towards him, eyes locking on the boy's.
These were not the eyes of a man-they were the eyes of a monster.
The boy screamed, instantly jerking the entire class awake. The teens jolted upright, rubbing at their eyes as they tried to adjust to the darkness, blinking away the remnants of sleep as they tried to gather their bearings. "Ike?" Kyle called worriedly, still half asleep. He knew what his brother's fear sounded like, and that was most certainly it.
Mr. Drake stood, eyes sweeping over the group with a maniacal grin spreading across his lips. The children quickly alerted themselves to the situation, fear shining through their confusion as they looked to one another. The man flexed his fingers and Ike looked down at his hand, heart skipping a beat as he recognized the faint shape in the darkness.
The man slowly leveled the gun up to shoulder level, pointing it at first Wendy, then Kenny, then Ike. Several screams cut through the silence as the man's hand shot down to fist in the Canadian's long black hair, yanking him up and tugging him against his chest, pressing the barrel up against the area just past his mandible. "You're just a kid!" he snarled, an animalistic note to his voice. "What the fuck are you doing here?"
Ike was too scared to move, to speak, merely closing his eyes and feeling himself shake.
"Let him go."
Big brothers are told at a very young age that it is their obligation-no, their duty to protect their little siblings. And if said charges are in danger, most will rise to the occasion-including one Kyle Broflovski, though really, he would've stood and stared the man with the gun down no matter who it was that was being threatened. It was part of what made Kyle Kyle.
The man's eyes roved over the redhead's form, taking in his defiant stance, his beautiful, confident green gaze, his fists clenched in preparation to fight, all this contrasting his obvious fragility-short, underweight. It was tantalizing, someone so strong yet so weak-the perfect victim, the man's twisted, broken mind told him. It'd been a long time since he'd had a victim. And he saw the worry and fear in everyone's eyes, not just for themselves, but for this teen.
This child was important. Wonderful.
"I'll trade you." the driver offered, a smirk quirking his lips, an insane glint in his eye. "You for him. C'mon, Ginger, I want you with a gun in your mouth..."
"Kyle, don't-"
The redhead fixed the tall, well built noirette who had spoken with a firm gaze. "Quiet, Stanley." he murmured. Slowly, he advanced forwards, palms up, wrists out. A show of submission. The driver bit his lip, shoving the gun more harshly into the boy's chin. "Come here."
As soon as the redhead was within reach, Ike was thrown into his panicked teacher and the redhead was snatched up, quickly pulled into the same position his adoptive brother was in a moment before, gracefully taking the gun to his throat and tilting his head back accordingly, eyes fixed on the ceiling.
The student's teacher finally found his voice, "What do you want?"
The man laughed, an insane, monstrous noise. "I want to see you all scarred for life." he crowed. "I want to see all of you in tears, I want to see you all looking over your shoulders, I want to see you locking your doors, clinging to your mothers, crying at night..." he smile dropped. "I want to see you all broken."
His eyes slid down to the mess of red curls beneath him. "Especially this one."
Throughout the bus, students discretely dug out their phones, only to see that there was no signal. No way out. People began to shake. Butters was the first to start crying.
Kenny bravely stood and the bus driver fixed a hateful gaze on him. "Let me make this clear." his eyes swept over the group as a whole. "Anyone trying to be a hero will get pretty boy here shot, not themselves."
Rage burning bright in his clear blue eyes, the blond forced himself to sit.
"So what should I do to all you delightful children?" he crooned coldly. No one replied, of course. "The same thing dear old dad did to me?"
He tried to engage several people in staring contests, but the only ones willing to stare him down were the blond, the brunette next to him and the raven that had tried to stop the victim. They would shatter the hardest, watching the redhead break, the man figured. But how to break such a boy? How to take away his sense of self, how to shatter him?
... The same way his mother was shattered by his father? The thought excited him, sent adrenaline coursing through his veins, singing in his blood. He couldn't remember why he had ever taken his medication-he felt alive.
Drake slowly moved the gun from his throat to the back of his head, the soft spot right above his neck. "Brace yourself." he ordered, watching the redhead comply cautiously, leaning forward and clenching his fists around the second seat's shoulder on each side, his baby brother on one side of him, Tweek and Craig on the other. Kyle tried to smile reassuringly at his classmates but only managed a grimace, tensing to keep himself in place as the man rubbed his free hand invasively over his back, trailing fingers across the ridges of his spine and his jutting ribs.
"I'm going to take you." Drake decided aloud. "In front of them."
Everyone on the bus froze in shock and horror, muscles tensed, fight or flight response kicked into overdrive, fear and disgust making their stomachs roll. Kyle, however, was thinking so fast, mind racing, that the true meaning of his words went right over his head, much to the driver's amusement.
"You already have me." the redhead informed the man evenly, made nervous by the cold metal pressed against his scalp. The man laughed coldly. "Innocence is a beautiful thing." he whispered to the students.
He leveled his weapon at Ike, making sure the redhead could see it, and cocked the gun with a loud click. "You will stay absolutely still and do as I say, or I'll kill this little brat."
"Okay."
If Kyle had known, maybe he would've done anything else. But he didn't, so he merely agreed, trying to find a way out of the situation. To his horror, though, he found hands invasively caressing his skin through his clothes, the gun scratching across his hoodie's zipper with an uncomfortable scrape. The man pressed entirely too close behind him, hips against the boy's backside.
"What are you-" The gun made a sickening thunkas it collided with the boy's temple. Kyle's vision swam, knees buckling then locking in an effort to keep control as he tried to blink away his sudden, disarming vertigo.
As awareness halfway crept back to him, he felt a hand fumbling with the button of his jeans and he screamed, thrashing away only to be halted by a gunshot and a pained screech.
Everything fell silent, all eyes on Ike Broflovski, who was clawing frantically at his left thigh around a growing red stain spreading out from the wound. He was crying and hyperventilating and everyone on the bus was too scared to even breathe. Tweek was shaking so badly that Craig was vaguely afraid that he would have a seizure or a panic attack, drawing him into himself to comfort him-slowly, so as not to startle Drake.
He fisted his hand in Kyle's hair, yanking him back so he had to look him in the eye. "I will kill him. I'll kill all of them." he whispered, cocking the gun in his other hand. "So stay still and take it."
Numbly, the redhead allowed himself to be shoved back into his previous position, shaking hands grasping at the chairs as well as he could manage as he stared at his baby brother, watching as he pressed his jacket against the wound. He looked pale. Kyle couldn't blame him.
The digits returned to his buttons and Kyle lowered his head, eyes shut tight in his shame and revulsion as his jeans came undone and were pushed down to his ankles, the man's hips shoving roughly against his again. Drake giggled insanely to himself, demanding of the children, "Watch. If I catch you looking away, I'll kill him."
The class forced themselves to keep looking as Kyle was exposed to the cold night air, boxers joining his jeans on the ground. His cheeks flushed a mortified red and he ducked his head farther, shoulders aching from the awkward positioning as they were pushing back. Drake kicked the boy's feet apart, groaning to himself as he watched the boy shake, groping his hips, his ass, his manhood, wondering why he'd never done this before. The power, the control was intoxicating, he was drunk on it, addicted to it.
Tears beaded in the boy's eyes as he felt himself being explored, humiliation burning his skin as he felt those fingers press against the intimate parts of his body. He screamed and jerked away as pain flashed up his spine at the unwanted intrusion of one's the man's digits, earning another hit to the head with a gun. He almost fell but barely caught himself, trying to focus on the people he was trying to protect to keep him on his feet as another unwanted digit pressed painfully into him, eliciting a frightened sob from his throat.
He watched the first tear of many fall on the floor below him, splashing onto the dusty rubber walkway and soaking up the forgotten dirt there, dark and shiny in the light coming from the moon and the stars, obliviously shining high above. Those filthy invading fingers left his body and he had just enough time to shudder in sheer revulsion before he was roughly, unforgivingly thrust into, feeling something tear inside him as he threw his head back and screamed, a sharp, pained noise, tears running freely down his face.
And the several long minutes to follow would be etched into everyone's memory forever; The pained cries. The satisfied moans. The way Kyle's whole body jerked with each thrust. The way blood trailed down his thighs and his tears puddled on the dirty floor. The way Kyle's nails dug into the fake leather seats. The way Drake molested him and caressed him the gun. The sickening sound of flesh smacking into flesh.
As unconsciousness threatened the edges of his vision, Kyle tried to lurch away, and this time, when the gun met his temple, he felt blood run down his face alongside his tears. He sobbed and Drake moaned loudly, hitting harder into the boy as he reached his climax, the hand with the gun falling near Kyle's hips.
So enraptured with his prey and his impending release, the man almost didn't notice the gun sliding from his fingers, and he most certainly didn't care as he dug his fingers into both the boy's hips and yanked them back into his own, nonsense pouring from his lips as he released into his pretty little victim.
He let go of the boy and Kyle fell to his hands and knees as another gunshot rang through the air.
Ike Broflovski shot his brother's rapist that night.
Nothing would ever be the same.
OoO
Augh, you wouldn't believe how hard that was to write. I hope it turned out okay. Should I continue it? And if I do, should I make is a friendship fic or a romance?
QUESTIONS, COMMENTS, CONCERNS? REVIEW!