A/N: Onward, Chillins :3
Enjoy~
He slowly paced the outside of the church, his blue eyes flickering up now and again up the gargantuan structure. He laced his fingers together behind his back thoughtfully as he paced, a part of him completely lost in thought. Why was he so looking forward to just catching a glimpse of that red hair in the pale moonlight? Why couldn't he help but see those bright, challenging green eyes every time he closed his own?
The past two years of his life had been nothing but fighting. He'd seen countless men going into war and putting on their best fronts. Nothing though had matched what he could always see in Kyle's eyes: Undying fear. He'd seen the gaze of many a dying man, the look of unadulterated terror passing through them as they left this earth to ascend into the next life.
No matter how many times he could count, though, no matter how vividly his imagination and his memory could play upon him, he could never place Kyle into that look. He couldn't see the gypsy falling into Cartman's plans as the fat man dreamt of. He couldn't see him begging for mercy, or ever apologizing for being as he was. It just didn't seem probable.
He could easily see Kyle going out in the same way that they had met. A glimmer to those emerald eyes, taunting them; telling them that they were not going to win over him and that he was set for whatever this life or the next had in store for him.
He bit his lip slightly upon this thought; the thought of Kyle actually being able to be apprehended by the likes of Eric Cartman. At this point however, he didn't find it to be that much of an improbability.
The small gypsy was literally trapped in the priest's domain. He couldn't wriggle out of trouble by simply walking out the door or sneaking out of a window. From what Cartman had told the soldier, Kyle was in the bell tower. He was a sitting duck, able to do nothing but sit and wait. From what he'd been hearing, he was still being given food and necessities to keep him going, so he wasn't going to be driven out by mere facts such as those; but Stan had sen enough of his kind to know one thing: Gypsies can't stand being trapped. They're too used to being out in the open air to be able to function on the inside.
Stan sighed. From what he'd seen of Kyle, he knew all-too-well that Kyle was comfortable on the streets. He knew the games and he knew how to break the rules to suit his own situations.
In the cathedral, though? He was in Cartman's territory. He didn't know where the fat man could be lurking, he didn't know any ways to get out as he was probably looking for as Stan stared up the wall.
Stan couldn't help but feel his heart twist nauseatingly as he thought of Kyle trapped up there by himself. He couldn't help but find himself wishing for the best for the young gypsy. Stan himself never minded the street performers and the way that they made their living on such a harsh world's penance. In fact, he admired it. He found them all to be brave and somewhat strong, no matter how frail or sickly they tended to appear.
Worst of all was his fleeting images of Kyle actually being in Cartman's grasp. Although he couldn't see the pride dying from Kyle's gaze, the thought of him dying in general was heart-wrenching to the soldier. He could just hear Cartman's relentless taunting of the boy as he tortured him to death. He had no idea of what the man would do with him, how he would go about his plans. The millions of ideas that circulated the boy's mind were enough to make him vomit slightly in his mouth, his stomach clenching in fear that he had never felt before.
He sighed, leaning back against a pillar at the front of the cathedral and staring up at the dark bell tower.
There was so much to the small gypsy that a part of him couldn't help but want to know more about. He'd seen glimpses of him before he left for the war, but had never had much contact with him outside of what he'd witnessed in the last few days.
He wanted to know more about what he'd said earlier, how he didn't want to be a gypsy. Perhaps he was a prisoner to the lifestyle he'd been raised in. It's more than possible. A gypsy code is that you stick together until there's someone chasing you. Then it's every heretic for themselves. Stan let his mind wander on this a bit, thinking of Kyle being so intertwined with his society that it took being locked away in a church to be able to escape their grasp.
He jolted slightly as the heavy door of the church creaked open. He looked over, finding Cartman himself stepping out and looking over at him.
"Marsh, come with me," he curled his index finger towards the door. Another guard stepped out, saluting Stan before the black-haired boy stepped past the man and walked in after Cartman, a sinking feeling in his gullet.
"What is it?" he asked warily.
"I need for you to fetch me someone from the bell tower," he said drolly, turning around and stopping with the soldier.
They stared at each other for a few moments before Stan narrowed his blue eyes. "Cartman, you know that I'm not allowed to touch Kyle, let alone drag him down here to you."
"No, no, not the gypsy," Cartman muttered, an obvious anger in his tone. "There's a blonde-headed boy who lives up there. The heretic has been staying with him the past few days. I need for you to tell him to come down here and then watch the gypsy while you're up there, do you understand?"
Stan considered telling him off, the back of his mind screaming that this was just a way for Cartman to be able to get a hold on Kyle. But the other part of him couldn't help but be grateful to be able to see Kyle for himself and know that he was all right.
"Fine," he nodded curtly, starting to turn the steps to head up to the tower.
"Oh, and make sure the blonde wears his cloak, will you?" Cartman asked.
"Sure," he called back as he continued up the steps, his mind scattering in worried directions. He wasn't stupid. Cartman was going to try something to get Kyle out of hiding. He had no idea who this blonde kid was that Cartman was so intent on talking to, but he must hold some sort of significance if he were to be up there with Kyle. Stan narrowed his eyes slightly in thought. Was he maybe a cleric from the church? He'd never seen any blonde priests when he was here before the war. Maybe he was a new apprentice of the sort or something...
He headed up to the top of the flight and pushed the door above him open just slightly, peeking up through. He looked around, finding Kyle and the blonde sitting with each other by a crate, picking at bread and grapes and laughing with each other. Stan couldn't help but bite his lip in jealousy at the closeness of the two of them. They were practically touching legs, Kyle leaning over into him just slightly. He gritted his teeth, pushing up the door with all his might and letting it slam into the floor.
Both Kyle and the blonde jumped in fright, leaping off their seats and staring as Stan emerged from the stairwell.
"Soldier boy," Kyle spit angrily. "What do you want?"
"Calm down," Stan sighed, raising his hands in defense. "I'm not here to hurt anyone or take anyone hostage or anything." He looked over at the tall blonde who seemed intent on staying by Kyle's side. "You," he nodded.
"Kenny," Kyle corrected, narrowing his green gaze. "Not 'you'."
"I'm sorry," Stan smiled softly, trying to ease up the gypsy's infuriated stance. "Kenny," he said gently. "Cartman needs to talk to you downstairs."
Kenny recoiled slightly and Stan raised his brow. "What?" he asked, blinking. "He...he never lets me downstairs..." he looked down at Kyle who looked back up at him with a worried glance.
Stan stared confusedly. "He...um, said to wear your cloak," he stated slowly.
Kenny gulped, reaching behind him on a scaffold and grabbing his orange cloak from its bearings.
"Kenny, whatever you do, stay. Calm," Kyle enunciated, grabbing the blonde's hands. Stan felt his heart lurch as he watched them staring at each other. "Don't let him get to you, you'll be fine," he whispered.
Kenny nodded, squeezing Kyle's hands before letting go and swinging his cloak on, throwing his hood up over his head. He started heading back towards the stairs, but not before stopping and staring at Stan from under his hood. He leaned forward, keeping out of earshot of Kyle. "Hurt him and I'll hurt you," he muttered before leaning back up and slowly heading down the stairs.
Stan watched him in astonishment before looking back at Kyle, who was staring at him intently. He moved over towards the gypsy and he backed away cautiously.
"You still don't trust me?" he asked.
"I can't trust you," he glared. "After what you did to me in the streets that day? It's your fault that I'm in this mess to begin with!"
"But were it not for me, you never would have met Kenny," he couldn't help but roll his eyes.
"You're right," Kyle agreed, still holding firm away from him. "At least now I know there's someone in this godforsaken town that I can trust. Unlike you," he hissed.
Stan opened his mouth to speak before just opting for sighing and shaking his head. "It's my job, Kyle."
"Fuck you and your job, you pathetic soldier-boy!" he shouted. "Killing my people, trapping me in a fucking church...God, I hate you more than you could imagine."
"I doubt that," he smirked. "You just don't like my job description. But I think that you're all right with me as a person."
"You're not a person, you're a doll! A doll under the strings of that worthless apprentice down there!"
"A 'doll' who could take you at any moment's time should he choose," he raised his brow. "Notice my lack of doing so."
"Then why did you send Kenny out and leave me alone?" Kyle lowered his voice.
He shrugged, "Wasn't by my hand," he jerked his head towards the door. "It was Cartman's. I'm just here to make sure you don't try to run."
"Lucky me," he murmured, his eyes drifting down towards the stairwell. The gypsy couldn't help but bite his lip as his mind went back to the blonde on his way downstairs. There was no way that what Cartman was up to was of any good intentions...He closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh.
Hopefully Kenny would just remember who his friend in this whole mess was.
As Kenny left the sanctity of his tower, he couldn't help but feel cold. When he'd left to see the festival, he felt nothing but an encompassing warmth surrounding him. He was exhilarated and free. But this...this was a death march.
Regardless of what the deacon made him promise to do, Cartman was still determined to get Kyle out of the church and into his hands. The blonde wasn't an idiot, he knew that that's exactly what Cartman was calling him out to do...
"Well, hello and welcome to the rest of your home, Kenny," the dark voice boomed around him in the empty large space. He gulped, looking up from under his hood to see Cartman staring at him with a smile. It wasn't an evil smile, it was one that any member of the church would trust. But Kenny knew better. He knew that that was never Cartman's true face.
"Come sit," he beckoned, walking to the front of the congregation hall. Kenny bit his lip, following him slowly. He looked around at the statues staring down on him, he couldn't help but feel intimidated by their piercing glares. He shook lightly before clearing his throat and hurrying up towards the large man, wanting to just get this talk over with as soon as possible.
He slowed up as he neared the first pew on which Cartman sat, his head bowed in prayer.
"What do you want?" he asked as firmly as he could manage, not able to shake the nervousness in his voice.
Cartman raised his head up slowly and his lips twisted into more of a grin. "You're well aware of what I want," he said lowly, patting the seat beside him. Kenny took a wavering breath, sitting down beside him, sure to keep a decent amount of space between them. "Let's talk about what you want, Kenny," the brunette stated.
"What...what do you mean?" he narrowed his eyes at him.
Cartman leaned back in the pew, staring up at the large stained glass window in front of them. "Look at it," he gestured. Kenny followed his stare, entranced all at once by the large colorations and beautifully crafted images. "See it, Kenny? See what you've been missing for all these lonely years?" he asked with a sympathetic guise to his voice. "Look at those colors, look at the people on the glass," he said dramatically. "And that's just a taste of what there is," he whispered. "You saw the festival, you saw all the people out there, all the different shapes and colors that you've been denied for so long."
"What about it?" he broke his gaze from the window, feeling a pang with each of Cartman's words. he didn't need to state it, all he'd been able to think about was getting back into that world since he'd been thrown back into his tower.
"You want more," he grinned at him. "You want to be able to be amongst those of the colors, you want to be able to twirl in the streets and shake the hands of those who walk them alongside you. You want to be back to being just a normal boy in this town, don't you?"
"What of it?" he asked impatiently, his eyes stinging from the truth. God he wanted it...he wanted to be free so much...
"I can make it happen," he leaned towards him and whispered. "I have more authority at this point than the archdeacon over you. I can make you a free man once again, Kenny."
Kenny backed up and blinked at him. "For...what?" he narrowed his eyes.
Cartman leaned back up, clasping his hands and laughing lowly. "All I ask in return is for you to give me that gypsy. Just one little gypsy for a lifetime of freedom, Kenny. Is he really worth you spending the rest of your life in that miserable place?"
Kenny gritted his teeth. He should've known...
"I'm not giving you Kyle," he said firmly, any ounce of nervousness diminished.
"And why not?"
"Because...he doesn't...deserve what you'd do to him," Kenny replied.
"Oh?" he cocked his head and blinked at him. "And...what is making your answer so hesitant, Kenneth?" he asked innocently.
"Because you threw me off guard," he snapped.
"Hmm," he mused, smirking to himself. "No...no I think there's more to it than that." He looked over at him, his eyes narrowing with a dangerous tint. Kenny gulped. He knew to be afraid of that look. "I think that you've fallen for that little poor excuse of a beggar, haven't you?"
"What?" he practically shouted, his eyes fleeting around nervously. "N-no! He's a friend! I'm not letting you hurt my friend!"
"Oh," he chuckled. "Just a friend, hm? So tell me, why are you blushing like a young child at their first confessional, hm?"
"Cartman, I'm not giving him to you," he said through gritted teeth. "He's not yours."
"Do you consider him to be yours then?" He asked, his tone starting to lose the airy questioning and starting to gain ounces of anger with each syllable. "Tell me, Kenneth, do you plan on him just staying up there with you forever?"
"If it keeps him safe, he will," he retorted curtly.
Cartman got to his feet, pacing in front of the boy in deep thought. "Kenny," he looked at him, "You know nothing of this world. You don't know what gypsies are like. He's not going to be there to be your 'friend' nor anything more," he glared. "He's built his entire life upon deceiving, upon being nothing more than a menace to society. His only objective is to steal what people value and run off with it," he spat.
Kenny got to his feet, his own anger beginning to build. "Kyle isn't like that!" he shot back.
Cartman stood in front of him. Despite being shorter than the blonde, his fierce stance still made the boy cringe slightly in intimidation. "You've known him only a few short days, Kenneth! He's going to do nothing but deceive you! He'll lead you on, making you believe that you and he are good friends, but in the end, he'll run off and take your heart along with him!"
"No he wouldn't!" He shouted back in the priest's face. "What do you know of him? You think he's nothing more than some filthy thing but you don't know the real side of him at all! He's a person, Cartman! A person with feelings and a lot of care for others! He's not just here for himself, he's here for anyone who needs a hand!"
"And what makes you so certain of that?"
"Because he told me so," he growled. "He told me all the stories of his friends, he told me how he never eats so they can even when he's the one who gets the money. He told me how he's done nothing but work for years and years just because he can't stand to see the other gypsies suffer!"
"And you believed him?" he laughed. "Kenny, Kenny, Kenny," he shook his head. "Gypsies are nothing but petty liars. They'll say anything to make you pity them and give them some sort of comfort or food or money. Or in your case, your trust...And your love," he batted his eyelashes mockingly. Kenny's face went up in flames at the mention of love, his heart beating uncontrollably in his chest.
His feelings felt marred, mixed, hurt. Cartman was right, he didn't know about the outside. But Kyle was different than the stories that this glutton had told him so many times in the past. Kyle was kind, he cared about him. He held his hand and he hugged him when he started feeling sad. He listened to the blonde, he told him stories and made him laugh and smile when he hadn't gotten that from anyone for so long...
Kyle wasn't just a gypsy. He was a boy trapped in the gypsy's world.
"No," he said with a wavering breath. "I trust Kyle."
"And it will be your downfall," Cartman warned. "Know this: He will try to run. He will be captured and brought to me. You will remain in that tower the rest of your life should you refuse to bring him to me yourself."
Kenny flinched lightly at that remark, thinking of his and Kyle's plans to escape later that night. "No. I won't."
Cartman paused, staring at the blonde intently before another grin crawled up his face. "All right," he shrugged. "Go on then. Go enjoy your last few moments with that vermin. Just know that you will both die miserably by the church's hand in your own fashions."
Kenny bit his lip, daunted by the gleam in the brunette's eyes before he turned and started walking back towards his staircase.
"So," Stan started, looking at the small redhead who was still tensed against the wall. "Are you all right?"
"Wonderful," he scoffed. "You know how much I love being a confined prisoner."
"I meant are you hurt," he sighed. "Is the blonde treating you all right?"
"He's the only real friend I've made in my lifetime," he glowered. "Yes. I'm happy that he's here, otherwise I would have already lost my senses."
"Great," Stan grumbled.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Kyle demanded. "Mad that I'm not asking you to be my friend or something? Hate to tell you but I don't play kindly with the enemy."
"So I've noticed," he commented, walking up in front of the gypsy. Kyle backed up as much as he could against the wall, glaring at the soldier evilly.
"What are you trying to do, Stanley?" he asked lowly.
"Listen to me, Kyle," he said firmly, placing his hands on either side of Kyle's head. "I don't want you hurt. I'm not exactly on the side of trying to get you captured. To be honest, I hate Cartman's ideals. They're not very Catholic when it comes down to it."
"Then why do you work for him?" he sneered.
"Because one: I need a job. And two:..." he sighed. "Two, Being a soldier is all I know how to do. But you should have been able to catch on that I've never intended on actually capturing you. I've never captured any gypsy and I'm not about to start with you."
"Why not?" he asked warily.
"Because, you're smarter than the fatass gives you credit for," he rolled his eyes. "You could do a lot for this town, and you have," he shrugs. "You make a lot of people happy. I don't see the evil that he says you possess."
"That's because I'm NOT evil," he shouted. "I'm just a fucking kid for God's sake," he sighed. "All I do is tell stories and twirl around until I can't see straight. I don't see how that defines me as some evil being or whatnot."
"I agree," he nodded. "You're not evil, you're a good person. I don't want to see an innocent killed for nothing."
Kyle looked up at him hesitantly. "You're a soldier, Stanley. I...I don't think I can trust you. I believe your intentions...but I'm not going to be able to listen to you without being cautious."
"You're a gypsy, that's to be expected," he chuckled.
"No, I mean...," he trailed off and sighed. "Stanley. If I run. If I just...ran out the front door of the cathedral, would you stop me?"
Stan paused, staring at him a moment. "I...Would you expect me to?"
"I don't know," he said honestly. "I'm...I want to trust you. I'm sick of not trusting anyone enough to let them say something without me hiding...But you're...you," he shrugged. "I can't expect the guard leader to let Cartman's first target just slip by."
Stan and he stared at each other before Kyle yelped as Stan's hands grasped around his frail arms. He leaned his face down towards the redhead's and they blinked at each other. "I wouldn't let him touch you," he whispered before pressing their mouths together, pushing Kyle back into the wall. The gypsy screamed in surprise and flinched violently. The soldier's strong arms kept him restrained, Kyle's fighting giving way to panic as he froze in fear.
His arms were caught. He was trapped between a soldier and a wall. This could be a trap.
Stan's tongue dove into his mouth and he groaned trying to pull his head back before Stan pushed his skull back as well, keeping him still. He shut his eyes, shaking in terror as Stan's tongue roamed around his non-responsive mouth, the man's breathing heavy against his reddened face.
After what seemed like forever, Stan finally pulled away from his lips, staring down at him with deep, lustful eyes. Kyle looked back at him, shrinking down in embarrassment, in anger, in fear of more to come. They stared at each other in utter silence, Kyle wanting to get him away, Stan wanting to do nothing but repeat himself over and over again.
They heard a sniffle and both looked back towards the door, finding Kenny standing at the foot of the hole, looking at Kyle with devastated eyes. Kyle's face paled while Stan grew a triumphant smirk.
"Ken...," Kyle started, trying to move but unable to as Stan's arms kept him still. "Goddammit, let go!" he yelled at the man.
"Why?"
"Because Ken...," he looked over to find the blonde sulking up towards the bells, hopping up the makeshift rope ladder briskly before pulling it up beside him. "Kenny, please, it didn't mean anything!" Kyle called up to him. "Ken!" he tried again, biting his lip.
"Pft, geez, not like you two are together or anything," Stan rolled his eyes.
"And neither are we," Kyle hissed, taking his arms back and stepping away from him. "Get out, Stanley."
"But I-"
"I SAID GET OUT," Kyle's voice rang through the silenced bells. Stan stared at him a moment before glancing up at Kenny and sighing.
"All right, all right," he held up his hands in defeat. "Just remember what I told you," he said softly, turning towards the stairs. As he turned his back, he could hear Kyle pleading for Kenny to come down and talk to him, that it didn't mean anything and that Stan was nothing but an asshole.
He let out a sigh as he traveled down the steps. It was worth a shot.
He apparently blew it.
As he reached the foot of the stairs, he yelped as someone grabbed his arm and pulled him to the side. He looked to see Token and Clyde restraining his arms.
"What are you doing?" he barked. "Release me!"
"Not so fast, Stanley," the voice he'd grown to loathe spoke up.
He looked up to find Cartman staring at him with a smirk. "You were up there and did nothing of the sort to try to apprehend that little wretch. In fact, you tried to make peace with him, to become his friend in order to escape me, did you not?"
Stan merely glared at him. Great...
"Stanley Marsh, by order of the Church and by the word of God himself, you are under arrest for going against the laws dictated to you by the Holy Sanction," he stated plainly. "Guards, please take him to the location I specified. We'll have quite a treat for him within the next few days," he grinned at him madly.
"What are you doing, Cartman?" he demanded as he started to be dragged away. "What are you going to do to Kyle?"
"Please silence the traitor," he waved dismissively. "We don't need his annoying bantering going throughout the streets." Stan shouted as a gag was tied over his mouth and his men started dragging him down and away to the prison cart in front of the church.
His eyes flickered up towards the bell tower and he couldn't help but shake as he was thrown into the cart and locked away. He felt it being towed by the horses at the forefront and gulped, closing his eyes in prayer as he felt each gallop taking him further and further away from the one he felt he needed to protect.
'God help him...Kyle, please, stay where you are...'
A/n: Oh uh spaghetti-o's :x
Thanks for R&Ring!
