Wow, the last chapter! This is the end of my very first fan fic, and I'm so glad that people actually liked it and reviewed it. The ending's a little sloppy, but that's OK.

Anyway, I'd like to thank everyone who has followed this fic. I realize that it went up too fast to garner much of a fan base, but I still appreciate it. In particular, I'd like to thank OPL, DarkDeSkull, 81tch, Flabz, and Allin Aspire for their reviews.

Also, I'm probably not going to start my next fic for at least a couple of weeks, but I might be able to do two at once when I return.

So, without any further ado, here is the last chapter!

Disclaimer: I don't own South Park.

Ch. 9: Live by the Bomb

"Kyle!" The voice was shockingly familiar, and it wasn't Stan's. Kyle opened his eyes.

"Mom!" Sheila Broflovski stood in front of Kyle's sofa, looking extremely angry. Kyle sat up.

"Bubbe, what happened? You're as thin as a rail." Sheila could clearly see Kyle's cheekbones, and most of his baby fat was gone.

"Mom, I'm sorry I left you guys. I really am..."

"We thought you had died!" Sheila enveloped him in one of her smothering hugs. "We were so worried, bubbelah!"

"Wait. How did you find me?"

"Your little friend Eric told us where you were." Asshole. "Listen, we have to go. There's a helicopter coming to take us to Canada."

"What?"

"Didn't you hear? They're evacuating the whole town."

"Do you know if the Marshes have left yet?"

"No, they haven't, bubbe. Why, have you seen Stan? Sharon has been beside herself."

"Yeah. He's upstairs."

"What, what, WHAT? He's been here the whole time?"

"Yeah. He has amnesia, and his leg's broken, but he's alive."

"Well, I'll send Mr. and Mrs. Marsh over here. Come on, bubbe. We need to get on the helicopter. They're picking us up at the bus stop."

"Wait. Are we all going to the same place?"

"I don't know. But as soon as it's safe, they'll send us back to South Park."

"But that could be a few years from now!"

"Come on, bubbe."

"OK. Could I say goodbye to Stan first?"

"I suppose. Really quick." Kyle ran upstairs. First he went to the closet. He pulled out the pair of crutches he had found. Kyle had meant them as a surprise, but there was no time now. He went into Stan's room and propped the crutches against the wall. He found a book and tore out a blank sheet of paper. He grabbed the closest pen. He scribbled four words and put the paper onto the bedside table. Kyle then looked at the sleeping Stan. He kissed him on the forehead, and walked out.

Later that day, the Marshes came to collect Stan. He had seen the crutches and pocketed the note. Stan wrapped up in an old bathrobe of his dad's. They decided that, since he had a broken leg, he should sleep on the bench while they waited for the helicopter.

Stan didn't know what was going to happen to him. He didn't know where exactly Kyle was, if they had even left yet. All he had was the note. And he knew Kyle had written it. He'd know that handwriting anywhere.

So he went to sleep, hoping and dreaming that he would see Kyle again. He had lost his memory, his home, his life. But he wouldn't lose Kyle Broflovski. Not if he had anything to say about it.