It was a hot November when Kyle was removed from his home and placed into some concentration camp. Which one? He can't remember. All the trees they passed looked the the same, dark grey. Ike was nervous and terrified, hanging onto Kyle's brown pant-leg as if his life depended on it. It did. They were separated by well, old, and sick. Then gender. Then age. Kyle was a strong 18, with bright green eyes the color of grass, so unlike the dry blades in Germany.
He was alone in the world, without a friend. They were lined up, the front of the line entering a dark grey building low to the ground. The line moved slowly, and ever so often, he was pushed and roughed around by two soldiers, one with bright blonde hair and the shakes so bad you'd think his veins were composed of caffeine, and a black haired boy with a bored expression who'd flick of another soldier down the line.
When it was finally Kyle's turn, he walked in, head held high. He WOULD NOT let them see how scared he was.
The inside of the building reflected the outside, with five doors entering various rooms. He was pushed into a room where a fat man with light brown hair sat in the middle, fingers laced. The man looked no younger than 18, but the metals on the left side of his jacket were so many in comparison to the foot soldiers, there's no way he could be as young as his face claimed. He acknowledged a chair in front of his desk, smiling brightly.
"Hello, Jew-scum." He chirped, getting up from his seat. It squeaked with a relieved sigh.
Kyle narrowed his eyes. "I'm not the one who takes innocent people out of their homes."
The fat man laughed. "You're...hmm...sharp. I like you, Jew."
Kyle glared at him angrily, his eyes burning with so much intense hatred, he could just as well kill him. He looked back unblinking. Suddenly, the man moved so quickly for his size to Kyle's chair, grabbing his neck and staring hard into his eyes. His were brown, cold rocks of certainty. Kyle gulped, and looked down at his attacker's hands. They were warm and flushed red. His nails were clean. He looked up through heavy lashes at the man. The moment was interrupted by one of the two harassing foot-soldiers.
"General Cartman! We need to get him stripped and shaved."
Kyle's hands went instinctively to his puff of red hair. The general's hands left his neck and went to his back, clasping hs fingers together. He walked briefly to the foot-soldier and saluted him. He looked back to the very uncomfortable Jew and pulled on his jacket.
"No. Don't cut it. Who'd want that...jew-fro?! It's so...gross and messy. Don't shave it."
"But sir-"
"I SAID-" he inhaled "no," his voice was soft, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. He flicked his eyes to the red-head with disdain.
"Get 'em outta here."
That was the first sign of kindness. But his kindness was only coupled with harsh cruelties. For instance, he made sure Kyle got proper shoes, but only after giving him the worst bed, in which he had to share with a man who always had a cold. But it was better than two left shoes, he had to give him that. He was given an easy job, toting cinder block from one place to another, but only after his parents were forced to work longer and harder than he did.
He hated the General, who he hadn't seen since he came here, which was about two weeks knew these things had to do with him, he knew it!
One day, after the shit they called dinner was served, Kyle sulked off to his favorite hiding place he hid in until they called the nightly role call. He laid his head against the cold wall of the squat building that served as the meeting place for all the foot-soldiers and shut his eyes. He couldn't believe he was here, just because of his religion.
He was damn proud of being Jewish, and no Nazi General could change that.
He was planning on napping when a scream jolted him to awareness.
"NO, DON'T DO THAT TO MY BABY!" he heard his mother's cry as two foot-soldiers approached Kyle, grabbing both his arms and dragging him toward a building behind the one he'd first been to, and was thrown in, the door slamming shut behind him.
The general was standing in the middle of the room, smiling.
"Hello, Jew-scum."
"Fuck you, fat-ass" The red-head snarled, turning to leave.
"Nuh-uh, come with me." The general grabbed his arm and dragged him into a hallway, upstairs, and to a dull door. He grabbed a key from his pocket and unlocked the door, opening it with a flourish.
The interior of his room was very different from the bleak, grey outside. The walls were a bright red, with a soft gold carpet. Large windows faced the concentration camp, with dark lace curtains covering them. A small kitchen was towards the back of the room, and a large bed draped in black silks trimmed with gold lace. Something was cooking in the oven, and it smelled amazing.
Kyle's stomach grumbled, and he tried to mask it with a very loud, very fake cough.
"Come, come," The general pointed to a black chair that was so carefully placed near the dining room table. Kyle glanced at the fat man sideways, but sat down defiantly and straightened his striped "uniform".
"Winter is coming," The general breathed the words, staring out one of the windows at the work camp below. Kyle grunted and sat up, glaring at the general's back.
"You smell terrible." the general scrunched his nose comically and winked.
"You're terrible."
"Aww, don't be like that, Jew...Why don't you take a bath?" The general turned and acknowledged a door just off the kitchen.
"I'd rather not, sir," Kyle spat the words that might have been innocent if they weren't filled with such hate. The general looked taken aback, but changed his face to that ugly smile.
"Why not? Well, if you won't, what's your name?" Kyle glared.
"Kyle Broflovski. Is my little brother, Ike, okay?" The general smiled again.
"He's safe. A little mouthy, but he's sharp. I promise on mah life, Kahl. Now, are you satisfied? Will you bathe now?"
Kyle breathed a sigh of relief. Thank you.
After he bathed, the general was sitting at the table eating chicken skins with gravy.
"Do you want this piece, Kahl?" Kyle shook his head, water flying off his poofy red hair.
He tried to ignore the constant gnawing of starvation, but it was so apparent, it seemed that his stomach watered like a starving dog. He may be starving, but he still had his pride, and he was NOT going to show how scared he truly was.
The general stared at the red-head for a good minute, and pushed the plate in his general direction. The smell was intoxicating. Kyle tried to resist, but he couldn't. He sat in the seat he'd been in before and ate ravenously without pleasantries. The general smiled at Kyle, and wiped his mouth very neatly with a napkin. Kyle looked up into those cold brown eyes and realized he didn't say thank you. But he honestly didn't give a damn.
No, he wouldn't say thank you. He still had his pride.
"Who are you?" Kyle asked, raising a scraggly red eyebrow.
The general faked shock, but then straightened his face and smiled.
"Eric Cartman, General of the Third Reich." He smiled again, flashing bright white teeth. Kyle shot daggers at him.
"You're lucky I like you, Jew." Cartman got up from his seat and walked to the red-head, and leaned down into his face. He stared into his deep green eyes. He smelled like mint aftershave. He disgusted Kyle. He swallowed his fear and spat square in his face.
"I hate you," he seethed, eyes burning with hatred. Cartman backed up, shock apparent on his otherwise stoic face. He wiped his face with his old napkin and threw it into the red-headed Jew's face.
Cartman calmly walked to the entrance of his room and opened it, screaming down the hallway for his second in charge. A young man with bright blonde hair ran to his call and saluted him nervously.
"Y-Yes, Eric?" The man's eyes were large like milk bowls and the color of the day-time sky. Cartman slapped his back forcefully and grimaced.
"Get him out of here, Butters,"
"W-Where Eric, sir?"
"The Chambers." The blonde man's eyes widened with fear.
"A-are you sure, Eric?" He whispered the words, his eyes already watering.
"HEY! BUTTERS! TAKE HIM! GOODBAH, KAHL. THIS SHOULD TEACH YOU TO RESPECT MY AUTHORITAH!" His face was red.
Butters grabbed Kyle's arm and led him out of the room as Cartman cackled. Butters was a small fellow, and he couldn't handle Kyle, even when he was so weak. The red-head ripped his arm out of Butters' light-as-a-butterfly grip and walked alongside him. If he had nothing else, he had his pride, and that's all that mattered.
Hey, thanks for reading! I absolutely loved this idea, and just thinking about writing the next chapter gives me shivers! This is gonna be...a little more...hmmm...serious, but I think this is a really good idea. I ship Kyman more than life, so I thought this'd be fun. Please favorite/follow/review!
Have a great day, everyone!
~Zaki-Chan~~~~