Before We Begin:

So. Welcome to another one of my South Park stories. For those who haven't read the other one, hello and nice to meet you.

This one is what we call a one-shot. I don't intend to follow it up with anything, and hope it fulfils anything you might need from it. It's also a song fic, though it doesn't have any song lyrics. I saw something similar done by Imajinacion Reinbou in her fic "Vegas," and I wanted to do the same. I'm not going to tell you the song, and I'll explain why at the bottom of the page.

Warnings:

This contains blood, and cigarettes. Hence the name. Also slash, though it's light slash. Swearing, of course, because I'm unable to write stories without swears. I do think it fits in the T rating I gave it however, but warn me if you think it doesn't.

This is also written in a rather odd way. Every time the font changes to italics or bold, the person it's being written in and/or the time setting or tense changes. It's a little confusing, but I'm hoping you can understand it? If not, I've included a key at the bottom.

Disclaimer:

I do not own South Park. That privilege goes to Trey Parker and Matt Stone. I also do not own the music this was based off of.

blood and cigarettes.

I met God today.

I know it sounds a little odd. But I swear, I did meet him. Saw him with my very own eyes.

This wasn't the first time, either. Once, when I was a kid, at the turn of the century, I saw God once before. However, when you're eight years old, it doesn't really seem as significant. God was just a big dragon-like creature that our moms always told us to look up to.

I didn't even recognize him at first.

I suppose, being God, he could really change his form at will if he wanted to. But, despite this difference in looks, I knew who he was as soon as my eyes caught sight of him. I could feel, somehow, deep in my stomach, that this was the person I'd been looking for for so long.

It was the cigarette smoke that first caught my eye.

My mom hated smoking, and always told me to stay away from people who did crap like that. It amused me that such a person, (or thing, I suppose) such as God, would smoke.

An empty cigarette pack hung from his long, graceful fingers, and the smoke that drifted from the burning ember at the tip of the death stick rose in long spirals. His clothing was simple, like any business man might wear: A black pinstriped suit with a red tie that threw in a sharp contrast.

It was his face that was the odd part.

I tried in vain to focus on this aspect of his body, just to see it. However, after a few seconds, I had to look away. It was impossible to bring his whole face into focus at once. If you tried to, your eyes would just slide off it. And, when brought into proper focus, each aspect of his face took on the look of a different race of human in the world. It was a rather dizzying effect.

There was a reason I wanted to talk to him, though.

"So, where've you been?" I asked softly, mimicking him by leaning against the brickwork of the large building. I didn't try to look at him, but instead gazed at the pavement of the street.

"You can ask me anything you want, you know." I glanced over at him and immediately regretted it as my head gave a large throb.

"What do you mean?"

"Isn't there a reason you're here?"

A siren whirs in the air, creating even more noise to add to the growing chaos. A crowd surrounds something on the ground, making it impossible to see what it is. Paramedics push through, yelling commands to no one in particular. The crowd parts, revealing a body lying limp on the ground, bleeding and unmoving. They rush forward, desperate to try to save a life.

"Yeah. Yeah there's a reason."

"So ask."

"Where… where were you? All this past year, and especially this month, I've been asking for you. Wanting you to do something. Everything was falling apart, and… and I was hoping just for a sign that you were there. Just a… just a sign…"

"Dude?"

Kyle Broflovski looked up from the paper in his hand, only to meet the bright blue eyes of his best friend, Stan Marsh. He blinked once, and then tilted his head to the side slightly.

"You know, it's a little disorienting to have you so close to my face." Kyle slid out from under Stan's arm, which was placed over his right shoulder in an attempt to keep Kyle in his place against the lockers. Backing up a few steps, he paused, noticing that Stan's face wasn't holding its normal content smile, but instead a rather annoyed grimace. "Hey, what's up dude?"

Stan crossed his arms over his chest, one eyebrow raised. "Where were you last night?"

When Kyle didn't answer, Stan gave an annoyed sigh. "You skipped out on us again, didn't you? This is the third time this month, Kyle. You promised you would come. Promised."

"Look, I'm sorry dude, okay?" Kyle snapped, opening his locker. "Listen, things are still hard at home with Ike being sick, and my parents wanted me to watch him so they could get a well needed rest, okay?" He was lying, and, under normal circumstances, he might feel bad. However, there was another clear reason, one he didn't want Stan to know, why he'd skipped out on the party. Wendy Testaburger.

"Kyle, we've been having this movie night since we were twelve, and this is the eight time lately you've felt the need to ditch us. What's your problem, man?"

His problem was that this was the ninth time only Wendy and Stan out of their normal group of friends could make it to movie night, and after being third wheeled the first time, Kyle was not repeating the process. But he couldn't tell Stan that. Stan would just get defensive. Kyle'd tried it once before. Instead, Kyle just shook his head and closed his locker, signaling he didn't want to talk about it. He turned, and began walking away, until a loud, indignant voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Jesus Christ dude, it's like I don't even know you anymore! What the hell is up with you lately? Can't we just go back to being best friends?" This was a little ironic, seeing as Stan used to be the only one who really knew who Kyle was, and all of his ambitions.

Kyle paused, then, deciding on a course of action, turned so he was facing Stan. "Call me when you break up with Wendy." The words had barely left his mouth before Kyle whirled on his heel and left, leaving Stan standing alone in the hallway.

"I know you've been trying to talk to me. I can hear your prayers every night."

My hands fiddled with the hem of my shirt. "I know, I know. You're God. Or at least the one for Jews, Christians, and Muslims, right? And you have so much to deal with, and I should be dealing with all my problems by myself. It's just- It seems so unfair, having everything that matters to me taken away all at once. I just… I don't know- I just wanted some help. I needed some help. I still need it."

A boy pauses on the sidewalk, watching the commotion on the street with wide, panicked eyes. His mouth opens and closes, yet no sound comes out. He stumbles forward, lips mouthing his friend's name over and over. Finally he finds his words, and pushes through the crowd, desperate to prove to himself that what he was told happened did indeed happen. The paramedics tell everyone to push backwards, give some space, and the boy manages to get to the front. There he looks the scene over, and lifts a hand to his mouth.

"He's still breathing- Get some oxygen over here now!" yell the paramedics.

Kenny McCormick took a seat next to Eric Cartman on the front steps of Eric's house, pulling down his hood to reveal his blonde hair. "You know, I'm starting to get a little worried."

Cartman looked over at Kenny, a little confused. "What are you talking about? Worried about what?"

Kenny put his chin in his palms. "Stan and Kyle. It's been almost a month since they started this stupid fighting thing, and there's no sign of it stopping." Kenny usually tried to stay out of this type of thing, but now… It was getting to be too long. He hated being the go between, and having to pick which of his friends he would hang out with each day. It was getting to be cumbersome.

"I don't care about those assholes!" Cartman declared loudly, leaning back on his hand. "They could kill each other for all I care."

Kenny sighed, combing his fingers through his hair. "Yeah, I guess."

"He never called."

"Hmm?"

"I told him to call. When he finally broke up with her. I mean…. I never had anything against Wendy. She's really nice, and always has been. But… but I couldn't stand to see them together. It just felt… wrong, I guess. I told him to call, and I spent whole afternoons by the phone, just waiting. He… he never did. The phone was always quiet."

"You two are both hard headed. Neither of you ever want to admit defeat. It's how you were born."

"Yeah, I suppose." I looked up at the sky. "It causes a shit-load of problems, though. I suppose it doesn't really matter in the end, though."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because everyone ends up alone in the end."

It was when Kyle was on the way to the store that his phone rang in his pocket. He had to walk to get the groceries, due mostly to the fact that he had only just turned fifteen, and couldn't drive yet. His mom was home, but she didn't want to take the car out, and his dad worked Sundays. Thus, it was up to Kyle to walk. Ike had offered to go with him, but Kyle had said he could use the alone time.

As he heard the familiar ringtone go off, the redhead paused a moment, working the sleek, black object out of the pocket of his jeans. In the back of his mind, he still hoped that the little picture of his be… former best friend would be the one that popped up on the cover of the phone. However, it was not meant to be, and he instead flipped open the cell and answered the phone with a "What's up, Kenny?"

It was Kenny's first words in his ear that made Kyle pause. "Wait, what?" Kenny repeated himself and Kyle's eyes widened. "Really? With Wendy? Are you sure?" At the boy's affirmative reply, Kyle quickly muttered a goodbye and glanced up, taking in his surroundings. He knew exactly where he was, and, without a second thought, he strode out into the road, heading for a large blue house.

If he was paying more attention, Kyle may have seen the large green Acura that was speeding down the street. However, he only noticed when there was a loud squealing of brakes. He didn't even have time to mutter a swear under his breath before everything disappeared in a flash of white.

The boy lies flat against the pavement, blood pooling around his head, turning his already red hair an even darker shade. His jacket is ripped and torn, and is starting to be covered with the same scarlet liquid that ran from the corner of his lips. A green hat is lying a few feet from his head, seemingly tossed there unintentionally. His eyes are closed, with no guaranty that they will ever open again.

The brunette boy tries to move closer, to try and touch the mangled body of his best friend. He is grabbed from behind by a blonde teenager, who drags him back into the crowd. The blonde whips the blue and red hatted boy around, so that they are face to face. "You're getting in the way dude! Let the fricken' doctors do their jobs!" The blonde yells over the sirens, in an effort to break through the brunette's stupor.

The brunette's face furrows, and his eyes get red. "It's him, Kenny. It's Kyle." He whispers quietly.

"Kyle?"

I didn't even bother trying to look at his face anymore. I knew it would just hurt my brain. "Yeah?"

"Do you notice where we are?"

For the first time, I really looked around. It was the business side of South Park. Short brick buildings threw the street into shadow, and alleyways ran between them, creating a playground for anyone who had the mind of a child. I did know this place, come to think of it. Something a long time ago… It was then that the street sign on the corner caught my eye. First Street and Amistad…. Oh…

"We played here as kids. Me and Stan were the cowboys, and Kenny and Cartman were the Indians… We beat them and won the West… Heh… We were so little back then…"

There was something else too, a promise… "This was the place Stan promised me we'd be friends forever. And I told him that he didn't have to worry, that I'd never be best friends with no one else. We were only six…" I could feel my eyes start to burn, and I blinked several times to try to prevent the tears. "Amistad means friendship…" My voice cracked. "God dammit…"

The paramedics carefully move the redhead's body on to a stretcher as the two boys watch with a mixture of fear and horror. The stretcher is then lifted into the waiting ambulance, sirens still whirring with appropriate urgency. The doors close with a loud bang, and the ambulance takes off. Behind it, the brunette boy stoops and picks up the green hat, holding it in his trembling hands.

In the ambulance, the paramedics work emergency first aid, putting pressure on the wounds. One yells, "I've lost the pulse!" and out comes the AED. "Charging!" says the doctor in possession of the machine, and all the others back off. "Clear!"

Stan sat alone in his living room, watching the TV but not really seeing it. He'd broken up with Wendy today. They'd been sitting outside at a cafe that morning, having breakfast, and he'd just blurted the words out. He didn't know exactly why he had decided to do it, but he did know that this was bound to happen eventually. He had lost his attraction to Wendy ages ago, and had only stayed together with her for the last month or so because he couldn't let that bastard Kyle win. It wouldn't happen. Even though, deep down, he knew he wanted Kyle to be his friend again. He needed him there. More than he knew.

There was a loud pounding on the door, and Stan looked up curiously, wondering who it could be. Most people were spending their Sunday out doing something. He got up and crossed the room in a few steps, turning the handle and opening the door.

There, looking rather out of breath, was Kenny. His chest was heaving, and his eyes were wide.

"Kenny?" Stan asked, a little wary.

"You gotta come quickly, Stan. It's Kyle," Kenny panted, wiping his nose.

Stan didn't see the panic in Kenny's eyes, and he stepped back, crossing his arms over his chest. "You know I don't care about that asshole."

"No, you don't understand, Stan. He's been hit by a car."

I slid to the ground, rubbing my face in my hands. "It doesn't matter. Even if I do forgive him, I've been a fricken asshole to him. I don't think Stan will ever, ever speak to me again. And I deserve it too. God, I'm such a… such an idiot…" I was losing it fast, and I knew it. Large, hot tears were dripping down my cheeks, and, though I tried to keep my face covered and my voice steady, I was aware the man next to me had already caught on. Even if it wasn't blatantly obvious, he was God.

The next words that came out of his mouth however made me pause a little. "I wouldn't bet on it. Stan's never talking to you again, I mean."

"What?" I sniffled. "What do you mean by th-" I was cut off by a rather painful shock that seemed to originate from chest area. It caused my whole body to spasm, and I banged my head into the brick behind me.

"Shit," I swore, coughing several times. "What was-" I was cut off as another one surged through my body.

"They're calling you back, Kyle." God said, standing in front of me and crouching down so that he was at my level. "Listen, there's something between you and Stan that you need to realize and strengthen. Don't resist it. Now, just let yourself slide back into reality. It'll make things easier."

He smiled softly at me, and, for a second, my vision was filled by the dragon I remembered from when I was little. Then he was walking away, once again a man, and the edges of my eyesight were growing dark with each passing spasm. I took his advice and let go, and the dark took over my vision.

Kenny gently took Kyle's green hat from Stan's shaking fingers, moving in front of him so that the brunette was definitely looking at him. "Stan. Listen to me. Your parents are home, right? We're going to go and get them, and tell them what happened, and get them to drive us to the hospital, okay? Kyle is going to be fine, but we need to be there for him."

Stan nodded slowly, his whole body trembling now. Kenny turned towards Stan's house, and the brunette followed right behind him, still looking at the ground. "Kenny?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah?"

"…If Kyle dies now, all he's going to have is memories of me being a jerk to him. He's going to hate me."

"That's why it's a good thing he's not going to die."

The paramedic steps back and sighs as the boy coughs several times, showing he's now breathing again. The whirring ambulance pulls up to Hell's Pass Hospital, and the trained emergency response team works carefully and quickly to get the stretcher inside the building. One of the team stops to explain what happened to the already ready surgeon, and he nods, stepping inside the surgery room. Another paramedic gives a waiting nurse the information they had gleaned from the people at the scene.

"His name is Kyle Broflovski, a teenager at South Park High School."

The nurse turns on her heel and takes off towards the phones, already working on getting more information and informing the family.

Inside the operating room, the surgery team works efficiently, knowing that they can save the young boy and give him the rest of his life if they do everything right.

Stan sat in the lobby of the hospital, his leg bouncing up and down as he bit his lower lip. His eyes were red, and he was twitchy, eyes darting up at every movement. He was leaning forward in his seat, and his elbows were resting on his legs, fingers laced together delicately.

Kenny was sitting cross-legged in the seat next to him, chin resting in his palm. He kept his light golden brown eyes trained on Stan, as, if left to himself, the brunette would worry himself to death. Jesus Christ, this was such a mess…

Across the room sat Sheila Broflovski and Sharon Marsh. Sharon sat with her hands on Sheila's clenched ones. Stan and Kenny couldn't hear what they were saying, but Sharon was whispering something to Sheila, probably comforting her in some way or another. Gerald was sitting next to his wife, staying quiet. He'd left work early to be here. Ike had been dropped off at a friend's house, to spare him the tears he'd probably produce if he knew what his brother's current condition was.

As a doctor holding a clipboard stepped through the door, almost all of the people in the room scrambled to their feet, nerves getting the better of them. The doctor held up a hand before Sheila, who had reached him first, could speak.

The doctor took off his glasses, and the florescent lights in the room threw the bags under his eyes in shadow. "You're here for Kyle, I presume?" At the hurried nods, he continued, "Kyle is stable. We've stitched up all his wounds and set any broken bones. However, he lost quite a bit of blood, and, though we gave him a transfusion, he's still very weak. He'll need lots of rest in his recovery process."

"You mean he'll be okay?" Stan cut in.

"Well, I can't say for sure, but at this point, yes, Kyle has a good chance of recovering completely."

"Oh, thank God," whispered Sheila, raising a hand to her mouth. "Can we see him?"

The doctor nodded slowly. "But you must be quiet. Kyle is still asleep. Take care to not disturb him."

They followed the doctor down the hallway to Kyle's room. As he opened the door, Stan paused, not sure if he should go in the room. Kenny glanced around him and said, "C'mon dude."

"I don't know if I should. It's… It's just…"

Kenny sighed and shoved Stan forward. "Just come on, dude!"

A day has passed since the boy was brought into the hospital. His parents have been at the hospital the majority of the time, and his little brother has visited. The brunette and blonde friends have been camping out on the couches, despite people trying to make them leave.

Currently, only the brunette is in the room, dosing lightly in the chair next to the bed. The red haired boy is covered in bandages and bruises, and lies still in the hospital bed.

Then there is movement.

I felt like I was literally dragging myself back into the world of the living. Dark water was all around me, and it tried to force me down into its black embrace. I, however, decided I would have none of it, and clawed my way up, until I could feel my eyes slowly opening.

I hurt. I really, really hurt. I suppose it's what you'd expect, after being hit by a car, as my memory, suppressed during my meeting with the deity just a few minutes ago it seemed, was flooding back. I tried to move one arm and found it covered by a large cast. The other one worked though, and I used it to touch my head, which was throbbing painfully as well. It was covered by bandages, almost completely blocking my red hair. Well. This is pleasant.

I turned my head to the side, looking around. I was in a hospital. I guess that was probably expected. Glancing to the other side, I noticed a certain someone I really wanted to see, asleep and draped across the edge of the bed.

I smiled and carefully used my unbroken arm to push myself farther up the bed. Stan was really down and out. I laughed a little, amused. It felt good to laugh. I hadn't done so in such a long time.

I paused as Stan stirred, his bright blue eyes fluttering open. As soon as they were open, he sat bolt upright, realizing I was awake. I tried to keep a straight face, but Stan's attempt to keep his poise was just too ridiculous. I snorted, and then burst into giggles that turned into ow's when my injured chest started to hurt.

Stan glared at Kyle, his eyebrows low. "Oh shut up," he muttered, turning his head away. "Serves you right," he shot over when the other boy complained about the pain. He glanced back over and then turned away when he saw Kyle was still looking at him with a bemused look on his face.

However, because he had turned away, Stan didn't see when Kyle's face fell and he started fiddling with his fingers, pulling at the inner lining of the cast that stuck out the sides of the harder material. He also missed the opening and closing of Kyle's mouth, as he tried to pick out the right words to say. Finally the redhead gave up and looked around for the mechanism that made the back of the bed move up and down. Locating it, he picked it up and started to fiddle with it, trying to make it so that the bed back would move upwards and he'd be able to sit up straighter. But, of course, being Kyle, as soon as he touched it, the back of the bed dropped out from under him, and he fell backwards with a loud thump. "Ow… Shit…" he moaned, his whole body throbbing painfully.

It was then Stan turned around, and this time it was it was his turn to laugh. "Oh, good job," he laughed. "You need some help?" He plucked the control out of Kyle's hands, fiddling with it until the back of the bed was at the proper angle.

"Thanks." Kyle told Stan, not meeting his eyes. Stan sat back in his chair, and both went back to fiddling with their hands, a tense silence filling the room.

"Hey… Hey Stan?" Kyle finally said quietly, looking over at his friend.

"Yeah?"

"…I'm… I'm sorry."

I don't know what exactly made me say it. I think that it had something to do with my talk with God. I just wanted everything to be over, and it seemed the easiest way to do so was to apologize. Now I just had to hope Stan had half a mind to forgive me.

This is why what Stan said next blew my own mind.

"No. No, it's not your fault, Kyle. Don't say you're sorry. You didn't do… It's my fault, okay? I've been a douche-bag, and I know it."

I narrowed my eyes. "What are you talking about? I refused to talk to you until you broke up with Wendy. It's my fault you two ended up breaking up. You were happy with her. I was just… jealous…" As soon as the last word crossed my lips, I realized I shouldn't have said it. Jealous? Where exactly did that come from? Was that why I couldn't stand to see them together? Because I was jealous? But… But it wasn't of Wendy… Then… What? Did that mean…?

Stan's voice barely crossed my rapid thoughts. "No, I wasn't happy with Wendy. I… I hadn't been in a long time. Way before we started fighting."

Was I… in love with Stan? Was this what God had been trying to tell me? No… No, I couldn't be, could I? Not with my best friend… And would that make me gay? But… but…

"Kyle, I didn't like Wendy, because I'd fallen in love with someone else. Someone… But I couldn't tell them, because they… I don't know if they even…"

But it all made sense now. My whole life. It all suddenly came together. Everything. Made. Sense.

Stan sighed when he noticed Kyle was not paying attention, but instead staring off into space. This made things so much harder. Stan wanted to tell Kyle the conclusion he had come to, sitting with Kenny in that hospital lobby. But when the airhead wasn't even listening… God dammit…

It was then Stan came up with an idea. And, enacting it before his judgment could get the better of him, the brunette leaned forward, planting his lips softly on Kyle's.

There was a cascade to my emotions at that point. First was surprise. Granted, most would be if they were shocked into a kiss. This was followed by a feeling of relief, which was then tagged after by an elation that started in the bottom of my belly and moved up through my chest. After that was indignation. He'd ruined my self realization moment.

All these emotions went by in the course of a few seconds, before Stan pulled his face back slowly and looked at me with big, blue, worried eyes. I think he was expecting me to be mad.

Instead I threw my arms around by best friend, being careful with the broken one. "Thank you." I whispered into his shoulder, feeling my eye start to water up again. To this day, I still think Stan thought I was thanking him. But no, instead I was saying thank you to a certain deity I knew was out there somewhere, listening in on our conversation.

The two boy's hug lasts for several seconds, broken only by the opening of the door to the room. There stands the blonde boy, followed by the younger brother of the redhead. The little brother rushes over, jumping up on the bed while yelling his brother's name in joy, forgetting the injuries the redhead had sustained. The blonde pauses only to call out to the redhead's parents, who are in the hallway. He then rushes to his friend's side, grinning happily.

The parents enter the room, and engulf their boy in hugs, tears dripping down several faces.

And through this whole encounter, the redhead and the brunette's hand remain locked together, something they now knew both of them had wanted to happen for a long time.

Once again, this is an author's note. Just because I know it could be anything at this point.

So, I promised a key for those who were struggling, so here it is:

Normal- This is written from Kyle's point of view, in past tense. This means it's in first person. This describes what's going on in Kyle's mind.

Italics- This is written from what I like to call a "detached" point of view. It takes everything from the view of a person who has little stakes in the matter. This is written in the present tense. It always describes what is going on at that moment, not anything that has happened.

Bold- This is written in third person, and in past tense. It starts out with explaining what had happened, and then moves on to what is happening currently once that is over.

Underline- Just an extension of Kyle's POV. Don't worry about it.

I'm sorry it's so confusing. I was just playing around with something new.

So, I didn't think of this until after I was halfway through this, but this seems to actually be a prequel to my other story, The Search For Kyle Broflovski. In that story, I never decided on how Stan and Kyle got together, and I think this is a rather good way. If you haven't seen that one, feel free to check it out. If you don't wanna, well, it's not like I'm forcing you… I would be happy, though…

Ah, and the song. I wanna see if people can guess the song I based this after. First person to guess right gets a cookie and twenty bucks! …Nah, just kidding. I don't have a cookie or twenty bucks. I may be able to think up something else though… Like, I don't know, a request or something. I just want to see if people think it's as painfully obvious as I thought I made it.

So, I would looooove reviews. They're like the air I breathe. Good criticism, bad criticism, as long as it's not flames. Just go crazy. I don't care if they're one word long. Please, if you have the time, take time to do this. I'd love you forever.