Yo! Sorry for the late day! I have a lot of stuff to do and midterms to study for OTL. Anyone know Quantitative Methods? ; A ;

Wendy was on a wild rampage. If she were a cartoon character, her face would be bright red and steam would be blowing out of her ears. She was furious, but it wasn't Kyle's fault. He was only doing what he thought was best. If anyone should be blamed, it should be Eric.

But, then again, that was part of the problem.

He raced down the hallway after her, calling her name and telling her to stop, but she was determined. "Wendy, just wait a minute, you don't know what you're talking about!"

There was no answer.

Kyle ran past a nurse, who immediately stopped him. "Mr. Broflovski, you cannot be out of bed. You don't want to pull your stitches again!"

"But, just let me go outside for a minute."

"I'm sorry, no. Back to your room, now."

And back he went, anxious and confused. Would the force believe her that Eric was alive? What if they did? They would probably assume everyone was alive that way. If only there was a way to know where Kenny and Clyde were. He could at least warn them.

Jeez, where was Eric when he needed to talk to him the most?

.ooo.

"Stan, I'm gonna go buy some vegetables for dinner, okay?"

"Alright, Lola," he smiled at her. "I'll come with you."

"No, that's okay, I can handle it. But you can get out the big pot and boil some water for me."

"Will do!"

She giggled and waved to him before leaving the condo. Stan turned around to grab the big pot from underneath the counter. He hoisted it onto the stove and filled it halfway with water, then put it on boil. Once he was done, he sat down at the kitchen table and returned to his comic.

"Stan," he heard a whisper and lifted his head. Seeing no one, he returned to reading.

"Hey, pussy," the same voice whispered.

"What the fuck... Did I leave the TV on or something?" he looked over into the living room and saw nothing.

"Over here, dumbass," there was a knock on the open window from behind him. He turned around seeing a tall male dressed in black.

"Holy shit, dude!"

The man hopped inside when he knew Stan could see him. He pulled his hood down to reveal none other than Eric Cartman. Stan's eyes narrowed and he grimaced.

"So you are alive? Figures. What the hell do you want?"

"A chance."

"What?"

"Give me a chance."

"What?"

Eric clenched his teeth. He couldn't tell if Stan was doing that on purpose or not. "I said, give me a fucking chance to explain myself and then I'll be on my way."

"Why do you care what I think? More importantly, I don't care what you have to say. You're a scumbag, so get out of here."

Eric sighed and sat down on one of Stan's couches. "Listen, man, I'm not kidding anymore. I'm tired and confused and I really hate what I'm feeling, but I need your help."

"My help? You want my help?"

"I don't want it, I need it."

"Well, screw that. I'm not helping you."

"I knew you were going to say that and I'm past threatening to hurt your new girlfriend," he spat. "So, I have a proposition. Help me this one time and you will never have to deal with me again."

"Why should I believe you?"

"You shouldn't, but I'm telling the truth this time. I swear it."

Stan crossed his arms, "Say I was going to help you, which I'm not, what, exactly, do you want help with?"

Eric could feel his face heating up. He was worried, but now was a good time if any to tell. "Kyle," he mumbled quietly.

"What was that?"

"Kyle," he mumbled again.

"Sorry, I can't hear you."

"I said, Kyle, God damn it!"

Stain raised an eyebrow, "Oh, so shooting him wasn't enough? You want to finish him off too? And you're asking my help to do so!? Get the hell out of my house, you sick bastard!"

Eric stood up, "That's not what I'm asking, you little asshole. Just listen to me for a second!"

Stan tapped his foot on the floor after Eric didn't speak for a moment. "I'm waiting!"

"I'm feeling... regretful for what I did. I know Kyle knows it too, because he said he believed me."

"When was that?"

"I dunno, a little while ago when I went to visit him in the hospital."

Stan threw his hands up in the air, "You know what, Cartman? Kyle has too much sympathy for jerks like you. You seriously hurt him, you know that! If I were him, I'd never forgive you. Just remember that."

"Well, you're not him. Now, are you gonna help me or not?"

"With what?! You still haven't told me!"

"I like him, okay? That's what you wanna hear? I like him."

"...You mean...?"

"Yes, that's what I mean," he snapped.

"Isn't this just like that time where you told everyone you were lovers just 'cuz you didn't want him to have Nichole? What, you want him to have a shitty life now, too? Isn't it enough that he lost his job and can't pay his rent anymore?"

"That's why! I want to help him. Stan, I don't ask you for a lot of things, I never have! But this is one thing I'm absolutely serious about. I want to help him because I... care," he almost sounded disgusted to say those words.

"Damn..." Stan's eyes were locked on the floor. He didn't want to look up, for fear of what Eric's face would tell him. "You're not joking, are you?"

"No, I'm not."

Stan ran a hand through his dark hair. "If I do this, you promise you'll never come near me again?"

"If that's what you really want."

"It is."

"Then, yes. I promise."

"Good. Then, just hurry up and tell me what I have to do. Before I change my mind and before Lola comes home."

"Not now. I haven't come up with a plan yet. I'll contact you later."

"When?"

"Before the night is over."

Stan sighed, "Fine, whatever. Just get out of here."

Eric cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his head. "...Thanks."

Stan's eyes went wide, "Eh?"

"You heard me," he mumbled, climbing out the window and disappearing from sight.

"Shit," Stan breathed. "He really is serious..."