Disclaimer: See previous chapter…

Author's Note: Thank you for all of those, who reviewed! It gave me the will to go on with this story! :)

Again, My apologies for spelling or grammar mistakes…


Four Days

Into Friday: Evidences

Stan worked on Kyle slowly, making sure to be gentle around the scratches and blue marks. His face were still wet from crying, but he figured it won't help Kyle any, so he took the underwear off quickly and gently laid him in the tub, making sure the head was above the water.

He took the sponge and soaped Kyle, cleaning the dirt and the blood. He took slow and deep breaths to calm himself down, so he won't have the urge to do anything.

This wasn't right; here Kyle was, badly hurt, and all Stan could think about was… he shook his head furiously, feeling the blood rushing to his face once again. Kyle's eyes were closed, and it looked like he was sleeping calmly. Stan licked his lips, and then, realizing his thoughts, hit his forehead with his palm. "I am not a fucking fag…" he said quietly to himself. "I'm not…."

He returned his gaze to Kyle's face, and his heart skipped a beat as he saw his best friend's eyelids flutter open, and after a second Kyle paled, shouted, and sat up quickly, splashing water everywhere.

He tried to get away, Stan realized. He tried to get away… from him. "Kyle! Kyle!" Stan shouted, gripping his best friend's shoulders in an attempt to prevent him from hurting himself further.

Kyle's scared eyes roamed about, and his breathing was fast. "They're after me…" he said, and repeated this sentence time and time again, still not quite getting where he was at the moment.

"Kyle!" Stan tried again, but as he saw that there was still no response, he bit his bottom lip - pleading for forgiveness for what he was about to do – and slapped his friend across the face. It seemed to help: Kyle was silent for a moment, but then returned to flap about in the water.

Stan watched his distressed friend with unsure eyes. Never before had he seen Kyle, or anyone for that matter, acting like that. Stan knew that he had to do something and that he couldn't leave Kyle like that, so he took a deep breath and wrapped his arms around Kyle's upper body and held him, not minding the water that soaked his clothes. It took awhile, but eventually Kyle calmed down.

"S-Stan?" he whispered hoarsely.

"I'm here. Calm down, Kyle, please…" Stan whispered back. Someone tugged at his sleeve, and Stan heard Kyle crying, feeling him burying his head in his chest. "Shh…" Stan tried to sooth, but Kyle only cried harder.

At some point or another, Kyle fell asleep once more in Stan's protecting arms, and Stan finished bathing him quickly and dressed him with that ugly pajamas his grandfather bought him for his sixteenth birthday last year. It was a bit big on Kyle's body, but it still did the work.

Gently, Stan carried Kyle to his bedroom and laid him on the bed, relieved (and… happy?) at the fact that the bed was big enough to have both of them on it, and at the fact that apparently, Kyle's condition was not fatal.

It was pretty late into the night when Stan was done, and only when he made sure that Kyle was sleeping soundly did he allow his own tiredness to creep in, and lay down next to Kyle.

He was lying awake for a few moments, thoughts flooding his mind like a Tsunami over an island and preventing the so-awaited-for-sleep from him.

How would Kyle react when he'll wake up in the morning? Would he be able to tell him what had happened? Would he be somewhat delirious again? Would he be sick after lying almost naked in the snow?

Stan sighed heavily and ran his hand through his black hair. Even in the silence of the night he couldn't even hear Kyle's breathing, and every few seconds he looked sideways and made sure his best friend was still alive.

When he felt his eyes closing by themselves he brushed his hand against Kyle's and left it there, for as long as he felt it's warmth it meant that Kyle was alive, and he hoped that if Kyle would wake up before he does, that touch would calm him down and he wouldn't go into hysterics again.

And so, Stanley Marsh fell asleep just three hours before dawn.

oOo

He was standing alone in a dark room, and the silence was heaving upon his ears. He was about to call for someone, but he had no idea just how he even got there, so he had no idea who was supposed to be there with him, making calling out for someone quite… useless..

Suddenly he heard a voice from afar, which got closer and closer by the second. "Jew!" the high-pitched voice called. "Stupid Jew!"

Almost by an instinct, Kyle backed away from the taunting voice, which he identified as Cartman's. Kyle bumped into something in the process, and before he could move away from there and run, a small pocket-knife was held to his face as three men laughed behind him and joined Cartman in his taunting. Cartman's voice got weaker, and those men's got louder as they punched him all over his body. Kyle wanted to scream, he wanted to run, but he had nowhere to go. When he felt it was all too much, two strong arms pulled him out of the chaos. "Shh…" another, new voice, soothed. "Calm down, I'm here…"

Kyle awoke with a start, sweating all over and breathing fast. He felt the lunch he had thatday making it's way up, and he threw his hand to his mouth. He stood up and painfully made his way out of the room he was currently in, his feet wobbling and his body aching all over. He quickly (and luckily) realized it was Stan's home (just not fully realizing how he got there…) and ran to the bathroom. He fell to his knees in front of the toilet and his lunch spewed out of his mouth and into the ceramic seat. When he was done, he coughed and wiped his mouth with his sleeve and stood up, feeling dizzy. With one hand Kyle held his head, and with the other he held the edge of the sink. The light was dim, for some of the candles were still lit.

Kyle breathed in deeply, calming his nerves. He then opened the tap and drank some water, not minding the fact they were freezing nor the fact that it would add to his own freezing and shakes. He had to get that terrible taste out of his mouth.

He remembered the men, he remembered the punches. He had no idea what he was doing in Stan's house and not at some morgue, though. He was sure he'd die…

Kyle wrapped his arms around his body. He was cold, so very cold…

He looked at his reflection in the mirror, light from the window beginning to enter the room as the sun rose, and Kyle was able to see his face full with scratches. He pulled his sleeves up, and noticed the blue marks on his arms, and… swastikas?

Those neo-Nazis drew swastikas on him with their knife?

Kyle panicked at the silent evidence engraved into his arms, and quickly unbuttoned the Pajama he was wearing, wondering where the heck did Stan get that ugly piece of cloth, and watched in horror as more Swastikas came into the light.

Kyle touched them gently, as if trying to erase them and their existence, and tears streamed out of his eyes. He felt ashamed. Why on earth would God let this kind of thing happen to one of his chosen people? Had Kyle did something wrong? So very wrong it was unforgiven? He did have a fight with his mom earlier this morning about a car issue (again), and he did say he hated her, but… he wasn't serious. Heck, he was quite sure that even his mother knew he wasn't serious! So why would mighty, know-it-all God think otherwise?

He did much worse things when he was just a little kid, and never before his punishment had been so drastic… Well, God did send Cartman to him, but…

Kyle checked his legs, and was somewhat relieved to find them free from Nazi symbols. He sniffed and wiped his eyes, only managing to make himself sob harder into his hands. He slowly fell to his knees and wept, touching the Swastikas from a time to time, yet not managing to make them disappear. He felt sick.

Sick, sick sick.

He held his head and sobbed, then coughed, and then sobbed again.

Cold, cold, cold.

Yet no matter how much he cried, or how much the tears spilled and wet his body, or how much he willed it… the Swastikas stayed there, and he knew that some would leave scars that would remind him that terrible day forever.

Sick. He felt sick, mentally and physically.

Sick.

He wanted to disappear. And just when he felt that he was invisible, when the small fire on the candles didn't burn any longer and the sunrays remained somewhat dark, the light turned on in the bathroom.

Kyle gasped and looked at the doorway, seeing Stan standing there and looking at him through sad eyes, his hand on the wall where the switch is. "Looks like the electricity is back…" he said, and Kyle almost wanted to kick him for having turned the light on and making the evidences so much more visible. No matter how hard he tried, he wouldn't be able to hide them from his best friend. There were too many.

"Don't look!" Kyle shouted, trying to cover his abdomen with his arms and shutting his eyes. "Fuck off and don't look at me!"

The light was turned off, and Kyle heard Stan stepping closer to him and felt him stroking his hair gently. "Is that better?' he asked.

"Don't look…" Kyle whispered and bowed his head in shame. "Don't look at the evidences…"

Then Stan pulled Kyle into a tight hug, and for a second, just for a second, Kyle felt like those marks weren't there anymore.


To Be Continued…