A/N: Special thanks to my beta Lady Mayflower and TEP Redux. Also because this site's formatting can be annoying, whatever is underlined is supposed to have a strike-through so yeah just clarifying that bit.

I do not own South Park all rights reserved to Trey Parker and Matt Stone.

VII. Kyle- Winter

In which Kyle sometimes wishes he wasn't always right.

I rarely hate being right. Being right is the very thing that assures me that, no matter what I do, I'm always better than Cartman, and it's the very thing that'll get me out of this shithole.

The thing I hate being right about?

The fact that some psycho with a grudge is after me and my friends. This was one of those times I hoped Stan was right about it being a sick joke.

But after hearing about what happened to Butters and Yates asking us about the leaflet with our names on it, it's clear some serious shit is going down.

I never thought I'd see the day when Stan is insisting we study for an English midterm. Then again, I don't blame him for not wanting to think about it… Usually I'd wanna get to the bottom of something like this, but in high school every grade counts, and I can't afford to let anything ruin my streak of good grades - especially with my parents all over my ass about that shit. So far, I'm doing alright. I have mostly A's, maybe a B-plus or two. The one class I need to study extra-hard for is Spanish; I'm still wavering between a C-plus and B-minus there. The only reason Stan and I are studying English and not Spanish (since those are our only two classes we have together) is because I need an excuse to study without Mom hovering over my shoulder all night. I know she means well, but if she wants her "little bubbeleh" to succeed, she needs to understand personal space.

"Kyle, you write down those three prompts Mr. Peterson gave us that might show up on the test?"

"Yeah, hold on… Okay, first one's Lord of the Flies and how the pig head and the conch shell symbolize power and what kind and all that bullcrap… second one's about the roles of family in Fall of the House of Usher and Cask of Amontillado… and the last one's Romeo and Juliet and what Shakespeare was trying to say by connecting young love to committing suicide." While Stan scribbled some bullet points in his notebook, I paused to rub my temples. "I really hope we don't get that last one. It's such a headache."

"Why's that?"

"'Cause it's so fuckin' stupid! I mean, they basically end up killing each other, just because they can't get their shit together! And they're our fucking age! I mean, c'mon, just get over your shit already!"

Of course Stan, the one with the on-again/off-again girlfriend, was laughing. "That's kind of the fuckin' point, man."

"Sorry, what?"

He took a few breaths to stop laughing, then explained, "I mean, think about it. The whole play is basically just saying that if parents don't let their kids do dumb shit, they'll find a way to do dumber shit, and then everyone just gets even more fucked in the end."

I thought about that for a few moments.

"That's gotta be the gayest fucking thing you've said today... But I guess you've got a point... I dunno. I mean, the closest I ever had to a relationship was Cotswolds's homeschooled sister in third grade."

"Dude, that wasn't even a relationship, that was you having a lame crush that turned her into a slut, and then she disappeared."

"C'mon man, gimme some credit! It's not like I've got time for relationship crap!"

"Well, maybe Wendy could hook you up with someone for a double date."

"Whoa, wait, what?!"

Stan quickly looked back down at his notebook, trying to hide his face behind his hand. "I-I mean, you said you don't get out much, and-"

I gotta feelin'~ that tonight's gonna be a good night! That tonight's gonna be a good, good night~!

Luckily, I was saved from that awkward conversation by the obnoxious blaring of my phone. Not so luckily, it was Mom…

"Kyle Abraham Broflovski, where in God's name are you?"

"Studying with Stan, Mom, I told you that!"

"And I'm sure that's going wonderfully, bubbie, but it's about time you bring that tokhes of yours back home, okay?"

Ignoring Stan (who was doing a shit job of trying not to laugh), I tried to think up an excuse to stay over. It was the third night of Chanukah, which meant Skyping with Mom's family in Connecticut, and I did not want to put up with my cousin Kyle tonight.

Suddenly, I caught a glimpse of my Español Uno book. "But Mom, we're just about to start going over Spanish! A-And if I don't get an A on this next test, my grade might drop from a B to a C! And Stan's way better at this than I am, I really need his help!"

I held my breath when the other end of the line went silent. After a few seconds, though, she said, "Alright, bubbie, just make sure you wish Cousin Kyle a Chanukah Sameach on Facebook. And make sure you're home by eight, 'cause I don't want you missing the candle-lighting, okay?"

"Okay, thanks Mom, bye."

I quickly hung up the call, just in time to see Stan biting his lips to hold back an explosive laugh. I rolled my eyes as I grabbed my Spanish binder and flash cards. "Just spit it out and get it over with, ass-face."

Rather than full-out laughing, Stan opened his book, and in a frighteningly-accurate Jersey accent, said, "Nothin', now come on, my little bubbie-tokhes, time to go over yer Spanish."

I hid my face in my hands so Stan wouldn't see the smile accompanying my laugh, as if denying him the satisfaction of my embarrassment. "Bubbie-tokhes? The fuck, man?" I challenged.

"It's not like your middle name would've worked, that embarrassment tactic died a while ago."

"More like it only works when my Mom uses it."

"I know, right? It's like the entire reason parents give us middle names is to just humiliate us when we get older."

"Easy for you to say. You didn't have Bar Mitzvah invitations with your full name and Hebrew name sent out to everyone in town."

"Oh, yeah… Man, Cartman had a ball with that for fuckin' months."

"Don't remind me. Doesn't help that he nearly ruined the whole damn weekend on top of that."

"Yeah, seriously. So, you need me to help you study Spanish?"

"Yeah. Man, I'm so glad we get to go on break after these tests."

"I know, me too! I still gotta think of what to get Wendy for Christmas, though. Her birthday was a few days ago, but she said she wanted to wait to celebrate it after finals, so I figured I would just combine her birthday with Christmas, but I just don't know what the fuck I'm going to get her…"

I figured the conversation would circle back to Wendy eventually. Stan's a great guy and all, but if he wants things to work with Wendy for the next few years, he's gotta actually know what the fuck she likes. "Why don't you ask Bebe? They're still best friends, right? I mean, only thing I could think of is some girl power shit or whatever."

Stan pinched his nose with a groan. "That doesn't help. Wendy's room is the National Feminist Library, no way I could find something she doesn't already have. Seriously, she wants me to read Jane Eyre with her this summer before we read it for class so the teacher doesn't 'ruin the enjoyment' or whatever."

Now it was my turn to bite back a snicker. "Dude, you're fuckin' whipped."

"Don't remind me. Can we just study Spanish already?"

"Kyle! Kyle!"

I shifted in my bed to sit up as I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes only to find Stan sitting beside my bed, the door slightly ajar.

Another thing about being super best friends: knowing about the extra key under the doormat and getting inside without a problem. It's nothing unusual at this point. I used to show up at Stan's place in the middle of the night plenty of times when we were ten. "The fuck, man, aren't you supposed to be asleep? It's Christmas Eve."

"Yeah, but I need your help to set up Wendy's birthday slash Christmas surprise!"

"What?" I threw off the covers and moved toward the closet to find a pair of pants to throw over my boxers as Stan explained.

"Look, I finally got a hold of Bebe, and I think I have the perfect plan. After she finishes her debate thing with Cartman, I'm going to bring her out to Stark's Pond and then surprise her with a picnic and birthday cake!"

"Then why are you waking me up at 5AM?" I asked, zipping up my pants before grabbing my jacket and ushanka.

"Because I have to go set it up now before the sun comes up so that no one notices it and ruins the surprise! And I have to go write 'happy birthday' on the lake! And I need you to come guard it with me until Wendy gets there."

I really wanted to go back to sleep, but after everything that's been going on, I also wanted to make sure things would work out with Stan and Wendy. There was a maniac on the loose, she was probably worried sick about him. Plus, he's my super best friend, how could I say no? So I adjusted my hat and turned to Stan and gave him the best smile I could muster at that hour:

"Okay, man, where do we start?"

Wendy better be fucking grateful when she gets out here. As soon as she shows up, I'm going home and going back to bed. We've been sitting out at Stark's Pond for hours; I don't care what they say about jet lag, I can barely keep my eyes open.

Since 6:30 am, we've been getting the right kinds of spray paint for ice, hiring a homeless guy doing chalk art to write the message in big bright purple cursive letters, paying said homeless guy, having Stan watch the ice while I went to buy decorations and signs for Wendy to follow (I suggested tree carving, but he said that'd just make Wendy go on a rampage about harming trees and the environment), and then I watched everything while Stan went to pick up the cake, the food, candles, lighter, and picnic blanket. Then I went home to get us breakfast while he set things up and now he was finally getting back from picking up his present.

"What did ya get her, lover boy?" I joked as he stopped running, panting with his hands on his knees like he just finished a football game.

"I made her a mix tape."

I had to fight so hard not to burst out laughing. "Are you kidding? Haven't you made her, like, a billion mixtapes by now?"

Clearly flustered, he sat down beside me with the gift box and said, "Well, the last one I gave her was in fifth grade, and then we broke up to see if it was just a 'kiddie thing' or not, and this time I want her to know that I'm just as serious as she is!"

I stopped laughing as I noticed Stan picking at his fingers through his gloves. "Stan? You okay, something wrong?"

He took in and let out a heavy breath before looking up to face me. "I think Wendy wants to do it."

"Didn't we have this conversation before?"

"Not really... I mean, that time was me feeling peer pressure, but when we had our last date night we went over to her place after the movie. Her parents were still out, so she invited me in and then just locked the door and closed the windows, and after we made out a little, she said she wanted to take it to the next level."

"Oh... Oh wow... Whoa... I mean so... What happened?"

"Her parents pulled up in the driveway so we went downstairs and turned on the TV so they wouldn't suspect anything, and then I went home… I mean it was just making out…Still... But the thing is... I was kinda relieved they got back before anything happened. I mean it's nice to know that she's ready, but..."

"You still aren't ready." I didn't even ask it as a question; it was clear as day that Stan was really hesitant about having sex with Wendy.

"Don't get me wrong, I love her and all... But I'm scared that she'll think less of me for not wanting to do it...yet. A-and I don't want her to think that I don't love her or anything, but then there's some part of me that's worried I'll regret it."

At least now I understood why he woke me up so damn early. But something still didn't add up. "Regret it? Why?"

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Stan exclaimed, "Dude, I don't know! I know I shouldn't be scared of any of this, but I just don't wanna fuck it up again between us by, well..." Releasing the bridge of his nose he turned away, as if saying to no one, "You know what? Never mind, forget it. It doesn't matter, I'm just being a fuckin' pussy."

"Stan you're not-"

"AAHHHH! GUYS! YAH GUYS! CALL 9-1-1!"

"Cartman?!" Yeah, that was the fat-ass, alright, actually running out of the woods and towards us across the lake… with- wait, what the hell is that thing? Is he holding an urn-

BANG! BANG!

The ice at the center of the pond shattered, sending frozen shards and splashes of slushy water all over the place. Cartman's leg followed right behind, crumpling under him in a massive splatter of blood. CRASH! Without his leg to hold him up, he went down hard, smashing straight through the layer of ice and sinking straight down into the pond.

"The fuck do you think you're going?!"

"Dude, I think that was Wendy!"

"911, what's your emergency?"

After watching Stan dart off towards the woods, hearing the operator's voice in my ear snapped me back to reality. I hardly even remembered dialing the phone in all of the rush. "U-Uh, yeah, we're at Stark's Pond, send help! I-I think our friend just got shot at and fell through the ice-"

"Wendy, no!"

SPLASH! I looked up a little bit too late, just in time to see Stan shouting at the water with a purple jacket in his hand and a pair of black boots by his feet.

"Just get to Stark's Pond as quick as you can!" I snapped at the operator. I hung up right afterwards. Don't think you're supposed to do that, actually. I wasn't thinking; all I was focused on was running over there.

Before I got there, Wendy's head popped up above the water. She gasped for breath a few times before half-paddling herself back to solid land in what felt like no time at all, with God-knows-how-many pounds of anti-Semitic bastard hooked under her left arm. And without missing a beat, she was barking orders at Stan to try and stop the bleeding while she went straight into doing CPR.

There was a crumpled piece of paper in the snow next to where Wendy dragged Cartman. It was sopping wet and about to fall apart, but I could still see writing on it. I picked it up to see what was on it… and then immediately wished I hadn't.

WEEOOEEOO!

The paramedics were on the scene in minutes; half of them were tending to Cartman, who was still mumbling to himself as they hauled him off in the ambulance, while two others and a cop were tending to Wendy and asking her all sorts of questions.

The snow behind me crunched, up until I felt a nudge on my arm.

"What's that?"

I looked down at the paper in my hand before showing Stan what it said. It didn't take long before the same look of fear and panic that I just had showed up on his face, too.

"Dude, we are in some seriously fucked-up shit now."

Kenny McCormick

Butters Stotch

Eric Cartman

Kyle Broflovski

Stan Marsh