When you hear the name 'Kyle Broflovski' your first thoughts probably turn to unruly red hair, deep green eyes, unfathomable intellect. Rarely would your thoughts turn to what was deeper, what Kyle was really made of. Just to the skin he wore on the outside.
He had more than one personality, depending on whom he was with.
When with his mother he was the perfect Kosher boy. Straight A's, polite, properly enunciating his words, everything she wanted him to be.
When with teachers he was the pet. Always paying attention, never late or absent, had the answer whenever asked, everything they wished for in a student.
When with friends he was the smart-ass who kept them out-of-trouble but didn't impede. Helping them home when they were too drunk too, making excuses to parents, the scapegoat at school, everything they needed in a friend.
When with Bebe he was the gentleman. Never going to far, letting her set the pace, opening doors, pulling out chairs, holding her hand, everything she deserved after being abandoned by her father.
But, when he was with Stan, he was simply Kyle. Plain, old, super best friend, user Kyle.
And Kyle did not like it. No matter what mask he pulled on, Stan saw through it. He could see the track marks despite long sleeves. He could see the white residue around his nose even after a shower. He could see the bloodshot eyes hours after they cleared up.
All he wanted to do was help.
All he wanted was his best friend.
Stan watched Kyle carefully, noticing when he snuck a piece of pork from the lunch line, when he spaced out in class, when he forgot about a passed out boy behind Burger Queen, when he looked at Bebe's back with a look of unadulterated loathing.
Stan noticed all of this and more.
All because he cared about the Jew. More then he cared about anything, or anyone , else. They had known each other for forever. And if Kyle thought he could hide something from Stanley Marsh, he was wrong.
And soon.
He was dead wrong.
Stan had tried to tell him to stop using. That in the end it would kill him. But he never wished it to be true. He never even considered what he would do when, not if, Kyle died. He hadn't wanted too.
But holding the limp, cold body in his arms he had too. What else could he do? Cry like a pussy Emo kid? Whine like a faggy Goth kid? Deny it like he already did?
He stared at the pale face of his best friend and knew what was going to happen next.
The following weekend, twin caskets were buried side by side.
A shared headstone reading:
Here Lies
Stanley Marsh and Kyle Broflovski
Best Friends
I n Life
And Death