A.N- It's valentines day! Derp! And so this is my little present to you. Sorry for the wait. Thanks for reading and reviewing! Mwa!

Hope you enjoy~

21

Kyle flinched and pulled his eyes out of the pillow made with his arms. Footsteps… Was it Kenny? Or was it Stan with his next meal? Was it Cartman who finally decided that Kyle would be weak enough to submit to him? Or was the sound all in his head?

The door opened and Kyle shuffled to the corner of his cell like a frightened insect. His fingers tried to dig into the wall as he stared at the visitor, and his heart sank like an anchor as he saw who it was. He was right. It was Cartman.

'Hello, dirty rat,' Cartman said, and Kyle quickly noticed something strange in Cartman's voice. He pushed away from the wall to observe Cartman deeply, and the guard grinned. It wasn't his imagination… Cartman was shaking.

'I've come to bring you a present,' the guard said, pushing his hand into his pocket. Kyle watched with unblinking eyes. What Cartman drew out, or more so what it was that fell from his pocket, was a small metal cylinder. It hit the ground with a beautiful soft cling, and the metal cylinder, no bigger than the end of his pinkie, rolled quietly until it hit Kyle's knee. With weak, nervous fingers, Kyle picked the metal up and shook his head.

'What is this?' he asked with a fearful voice. Cartman's smile widened; there was sweat glistening on his temple.

'It's the shell of a bullet,' Cartman explained. 'It came out of my gun when I pulled the trigger.'

Kyle turned his gaze from the shell to Cartman and his eyes were dyed in a mix of disbelief and denial. So Cartman explained to him as clearly as he could:

'I shot someone Kyle. With that gun I shoved into your mouth and made you suck? This evening. Not many hours ago.' The brunet had stopped shaking, but now Kyle was to the point that he was almost whimpering without tears. 'And do you know who I shot Kyle?'

'No…' he shook his head.

'Come on, guess.' Cartman calmly walked up to Kyle.

'No—'

'Guess!'

'No!'

'KENNY MCCORMICK!' Cartman shouted into Kyle's averted face. A painful wail leaked out of Kyle as he covered his ears and head, pressing deeper into the wall, desperate to be dissolved into it.

'I don't believe you…' Kyle hissed into the wall, which only made Cartman sneer.

'Oh, I shot him all right. I shot that arrogant prince and he didn't even expect me to do it. I guess even the immortal prince doesn't expect a gun to be shot from behind a closed door.'

'…What?' Kyle looked up, eyes still wide in agony.

'He came to my room, led by Butters for some reason. And he knocked on my door— no. He banged his fist against my door, and he even had the fucking nerve to threaten me! That good-for-nothing trash threatened an officer! Not knowing that he had a gun pointing at him from behind the door! And so I shot him. I didn't know where I was shooting at. But through the small hole the bullet made in my door, I saw the stupid blond. I saw him on the ground, silent and still, with blood staining his shirt. Blood all around… I shot him—' Cartman grasped Kyle's shirt and turned him around, then poked into the centre of his left breast. 'Right here.'

Kyle screamed in rage and hate, and whipped his arm around to fling Cartman's hand off of him. The metal shell in his hand scraped the tip of Cartman's cheek as it shot by, leaving a thin red scrape right under his left eye. But a small scratch did nothing for Kyle. He wanted to rip Cartman's face right off of his bones. He glared at Cartman with eyes burning like nothing before and he was panting steam. Cartman looked down on him, eyes now cold with sadistic pleasure.

'And you know what the best part is?' The guard drew in again, closing the gap between their faces until his lips touched the tip of Kyle's ear. And he said with the most soft, excited whisper: 'He came to convince me to get you out of here.'

You're not the Immortal Prince anymore Kenny, if anything

You're the mortal Prince now.

Because I'm your Achilles' heal…

Kyle couldn't feel anything, or maybe he did and he just couldn't respond to it. He gripped the small shell of the bullet tight in his hand until its edges threatened to rip his skin and bring out the blood.

He couldn't move a muscle in his body, except for the ones around his eyes. His eyes moved and looked above Cartman's shoulder as the guard dragged him to the ground by the leg. But Cartman wasn't there to Kyle. No, he was there, or something was. But that something was nothing more than a shadow, a golem, a cursed doll made of mud and rock that grabbed and hurt him. And as that doll of mud and rock began to touch him, Kyle stared at the shadow behind it, staring down at him with cold, unamused blue eyes.

Well? Aren't you going to resist him?

Aren't you going to fight him?

Aren't you going to struggle like all those times you have before?

Kyle didn't say anything. He simply looked at the invisible figure that stared at him from behind Cartman's back.

Are you just going to let him rape you?

The floor underneath him pierced his naked skin like ice, and yet Kyle didn't move. He couldn't feel anything.

You're just telling yourself that. Inside, you're tearing apart. Because if you admit that you can feel, you think you will die from the pain.

A tear streaked down Kyle's still eyes as he rocked against the floor. The mud and rock was coming inside him, yet the only thing he cared about was the small bullet shell inside his hand, and the person that the bullet had shot through the chest.

That's all you care about? That Kenny McCormick? You are being raped by that pig and the only thing you can care about is your dead cellmate? How can you? This is happening right now! How can you take it? Just push him off!

'How different is this from what you've been doing to me?'

His blue eyes widened and his small mouth pierced shut. And when Kyle blinked and opened his eyes, he had disappeared.

Now it was just the rock, the blood, the mud, the skin, and the bones, crashing together like a war, no… a massacre. Even after it finished, Kyle stayed quiet. Without the boy to look at over Cartman's shoulder, he had nothing to look at. Nothing to feel for. Nothing to think for.

Even after Cartman left, the pain stayed. The cold sting pinning into his body like splinters of ice was agonising, yet somehow, all Kyle could feel was the burning heat. Fire, burning him, Hell fire.

Small hands wrapped around his throat, and Kyle's eyes returned again to see the boy straddling his broken body.

It's different… What I did to you was completely different to what that guard does! He said, hands still pressing into Kyle's throat, yet nothing but Kyle's eyes responded, as if his body was already dead.

'How?' Kyle's eyes asked, but he wasn't questioning. He was just asking for the boy to voice the answer out.

The small hands around his throat loosened and slipped up until they cupped Kyle's cheeks. He kissed his mouth gently, lingering his lips on Kyle's as his hands trailed down and held Kyle's wrists, bringing them up until they spread out over Kyle's head.

What he does is to fulfil his own desire for power. To feel the pleasure of dominance…For him, it doesn't have to be you. It's just that your defiance and your upper class upbringing that triggers his interest.

But for me, it has to be you, Kyle. Only you. Because what I do Kyle… it is out of love.

Kyle knew this… and that is why, it hurt more than anything.

.

'Kyle…' A gentle voice called.

Kyle twitched awake and squinted at the painful light. He had fallen unconscious again. His body didn't seem like it belong to him, rather it felt like it existed far away, his mind barely attached to it with a thin thread like a balloon and its string.

Stan leaned down beside him and placed down the trey of food. It looked like breakfast, which meant that another day had past. Unfortunately, Kyle had lost track of how many days had past, so he had no idea how long he had left. It didn't matter though. He had nothing left in him. With just a small snap and the thread would break, and then the balloon will fly up so high it will never come down again. The isolation cell was just a façade: this darkness was his tomb.

'Come on, Kyle, eat. I got some extra juice on your cereal so that it's mushier. I know its gross but it will be easier to eat…' Kyle didn't respond, and now, Stan was quickly becoming worried. Normally, even if it were a lie, Kyle would try to smile or smirk and respond, even if he hesitated to eat. But now, Kyle wouldn't even show him his face. He looked away and crossed his arms over his face, hiding everything but his round lips tense and quivering above his chin.

'Are you crying…?' Stan whispered. Had Kyle heard the news? No, that was impossible… Who would he have to tell him? It was probably the torture of being in the isolation cell finally getting to him… The thought was like a cane to his stomach. He had the key… Stan had the key that could get Kyle out of here, and yet he kept Kyle locked inside. He didn't have the guts to let Kyle out. He didn't have the guts to break the rules as an officer and risk his existence in this prison, risk being sent home and… and… leaving Kyle here alone.

Stan's hand hovered towards Kyle, wanting to comfort him, but just as he was about to feel Kyle's curls, he saw Kyle's lips shake in the formation of a name. 'Ken-n-ny…'

Stan slipped his hand back in surprise and fear. Why would Kyle say his name? Why would Kyle say his name so painfully? Did he know…? He couldn't possibly know…

'Do you know what happened to Kenny?' he asked with wide eyes, frozen. Kyle's arms slowly crossed away from his face, revealing red, puffy eyes. And then Stan noticed that Kyle had one of his hands closed, and Kyle lightly drew that hand out to him. His fingers stretched and his hand opened, and then a small silver cylinder fell out of his palm.

It clicked on the ground with a small, beautiful bell, and Stan snatched it up to examine it. He had never seen or used a gun before, and the small silver cylinder was not familiar to him.

'What is it?' he asked, inspecting the cylinder with one eye closed.

'It's the shell of a bullet…' Kyle explained weakly. 'From when a gun is shot.'

Stan almost dropped the cylinder at Kyle's words. So Kyle knew… He definitely knew…

'You know what happened to Kenny…?' he still asked quietly. Kyle crossed his arms over his eyes again. It was enough of an answer. 'Look, Kyle… I don't know what to say… You— I know you're worried and all but—'

'Worried?' Kyle showed his face again, eyes blazing. 'Why the fuck would I be worried Stan? I'm not fucking worried about what might happen to me now that my precious Prince is gone! I don't care! Kenny is fucking dead!' Kyle sobbed powerlessly. 'He's fucking dead because of me! The Mortal Prince—!'

Stan squinted at Kyle's words.

'The Immortal Prince, Kyle,' he corrected confusedly. Kyle looked up again. 'It's not like he's dead.'

'What?' Kyle stared with disbelief.

'He's not dead, Kyle. Did you think he was? He was shot in the shoulder. The bullet shot through. It didn't even hit a bone. He's not called the Immortal Prince for nothing, with that luck on his side.'

. 13 hours ago .

'Keh—' Butters' hand hovered over the unmoving body. His whole body shook, even his throat, and it was almost impossible to call out the blond's name. '…Kenny?'

A small groan leaked out of the lying blond, lifting up Butters' heart so high that it almost made him tear up. He is alive! It wasn't just a name. He really is the immortal Prince!

'Motherfucker…' Kenny leaned up, his fiery eyes strained in pain. He was holding his shoulder, which made Butters blush. He thought Kenny was shot in the heart… The Prince got to his feet, completely ignoring Butters' presence as he stared ragingly at the small hole in the door. Butters' blush instantly faded as he realised what the Prince was about to do, and he jumped up and grasped the tall blond by the stomach before he could take a single step.

'Ow!' Kenny twitched, the pain of Butters' squeezing shooting to his wound. 'Watch it! I just got fucking shot—'

'I know!' Butters let go of Kenny's stomach and grasped his uninjured arm instead. 'So forget Eric for now and get to the infirmary! I'm taking you!'

'What? I'm not gonna leave that asshole in one piece!'

'You just got shot!'

'I know!'

'So doesn't it hurt?'

'It fucking kills!'

'Then shut up!'

But still Kenny struggled, and even with a shot arm Butters knew that he wouldn't be able to hold Kenny for much longer. He knew what he needed to say in order to shut the blond up, but he didn't want to say it. He didn't want to admit to how much Kenny really cared for Kyle.

'Nurse!' Butters cried, banging the infirmary door with his forehead. He knew he wouldn't be able to hold Kenny with only one arm. Soon, Butters heard the flapping of the nurse's slippers hitting the floor and the door opened to show the nurse's face half hidden with his thick glasses.

'McCormick,' he said.

'Asshole,' Kenny returned.

'He's a bit frustrated at the moment,' Butters explained, sweating tiredly as he continued to squeeze Kenny beside him. 'He got shot, ya see?'

'Tis but a flesh wound,' Kenny growled sarcastically.

The nurse observed without a word and slammed the door shut on them. For a second Butters stared dumb-founded in disbelief that the nurse had just shut the door on a boy who had just been shot by a gun.

'What—' Butters gasped, 'the fudgenugget—'

The door opened again, showing the nurse's face that seemed to have not changed since a moment ago. Butters glared at him, but the nurse was not looking at Butters. Kenny soon noticed the silent stare of the nurse and looked his way angrily.

'What?' he opened his mouth, and that was when the nurse stuffed a white cloth against his nose and mouth.

Everything went black, and his heavy body finally slipped out of Butters' arms as he fell unconscious.

.

Kenny knew he was awake. He could feel the thumping pain in his skull and the hot and cold of his body covered in sweat, so he knew that he had to be conscious to feel all of this uncomfortableness. But he hadn't opened his eyes yet. He didn't want to. He thought that the pain would only get worse if he did. So he tried to raise his arm instead, the good arm, to wipe the sweat off of his burning forehead, and then he heard the sound of metal rings clinking together. Kenny shot his eyes open and looked at his hand, and found handcuffs connecting him to the bed. His other wrist and his ankles were bound the same way to the bed and Kenny felt a new heat begin to boil inside him.

'NURSE!' he shouted in rage. The nurse soon came out, but there was no sign of surprise on his face, which only made Kenny angrier. 'What the fuck is this?' he accused, pulling his wrists up to show the handcuffs.

'I tied you to the bed because I thought you would run away after you wake up, by the way you resisted coming here.'

'Haven't you finished patching me up yet while I was unconscious?'

'Well, yes. You were lucky. The bullet didn't hit any—'

'THEN GET ME THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!'

The nurse fell quiet with his arms in front of his chest as he looked at Kenny. He didn't seem very impressed with Kenny's violent attitude.

'You have to stay here for another two or three weeks. Then you can leave after rehab, but it's going to take another few months until it completely heals.'

'A few—? Come on, I'm fine, I had worse. You can let me go now and I swear I will keep my bad arm rested.'

'Unfortunately, this is not up for negotiation. You will stay here for at least a week and then we can start your rehab depending on how healed your wound is.'

Kenny slammed his head down on the pillow in desperate frustration. One week? Two weeks? Three weeks? Kyle still had four weeks in isolation, and he was already getting weak. Who would he have if Kenny was going to be here locked against the bed? Marsh? That spineless wimp who didn't have the guts to get Kyle out despite having the key? His reading friends who knew that they were too weak to do anything but get Kyle into deeper trouble? The librarians who only acted as observers by principle on the matters outside the library door? No… There was no one Kenny could rely on, no one he could trust. The only person Kenny trusted was Kyle, and he was locked up in the dark with himself, and that was the most worrying of all.

How could such a kind-hearted person be so merciless on himself?

.

'Wait, Kenny…' Kyle pushed himself up, ignoring his body crying out in pain and inching close to Stan. 'Kenny's alive?'

'Dude, he's strapped to the bed in the infirmary, but he's fine! He's calling out wanting to be released, but the nurse won't let him. Yeah, I was pretty shocked when I heard the news, but when I saw him, I knew there was nothing to be worried about.'

Kyle looked down. His breath was heavy, but short, like small bursts of air being released through his mouth.

'Kenny's okay…' he said to himself, letting Stan's shoulder go.

'Yeah, I'm telling you, he's fine.'

A single small laugh was released from Kyle's mouth and he clasped his lips. Tears that he had held in began to stream down his cheeks uncontrollably.

'Kyle?' Stan asked worriedly, searching Kyle's face. 'Who told you about this? Who told you that Kenny was shot?'

Kyle froze, and although his hand was covering his mouth, Stan knew that the smile had disappeared from underneath. At the same time, his tears had stopped. His tears of joy…

'The same person who gave me the cylinder…' he said, making Stan notice and feel the metal shell in his hand again. 'The same person who shot him…'

.

Stan held his chin in thought, his other hand holding the trey of food that he could barely make Kyle smell. The skin on his jaw felt slightly coarse. He hadn't shaved that morning, rushing to the infirmary with his uniform thrown on after hearing the news that Kenny had been shot. He didn't care so dearly for the blond, but the blond cared for Kyle, and Kyle cared for the blond. Kenny was important to Kyle, both physically and emotionally, and that meant that he was important to Stan too.

When he saw the blond in bed with a firm, annoyed pout, he knew his worry had been in vain and he regretted not making himself presentable before rushing to the infirmary. He tucked in his shirt into his pants and did his belt as he listened to Kenny's story. But after talking to Kenny, and even after talking to Kyle hours later, he still didn't know who the shooter was. Neither Kenny nor Kyle seemed to want to mention that to him.

Well, if Stan hadn't heard the rumour that the prince had been shot by his roommate that morning, he probably wouldn't have known until hours later, although now the whole prison seemed to be echoing with the whispers of the rumour.

Who killed Cock Robin? Wait, he wasn't dead.

Who shot Kenny? It must have been an important person, a high ranked officer, otherwise he couldn't have had a gun. Only officers in high ranks could carry a gun, after years of service and some hard training and testing. Only the chief officer and a couple others had a gun that Stan knew of.

A large clue was handed to him soon enough as he arrived back at his room. He hadn't noticed this before, and shame on him for not doing so, but there was a significant hole in the middle of his bedroom door. He fingered the hole testingly, and found that it was almost big enough for his thick, bony pinkie to make it through. This wasn't here before… the thought chilled him. But it couldn't be. His partner wasn't high-ranked enough to be carrying a gun. But… it also made perfect sense.

Cartman was the one that locked Kyle up in the solitary cell. And while Stan visited Kenny in the infirmary, although he wouldn't say why he was shot, Kenny showed how desperate he was to leave the infirmary and get Kyle out of isolation.

Kenny was shot trying to get Kyle out of isolation…

Stan shivered and slipped into his room. He knew Cartman wasn't back: he could tell that the lights were off from the small hole in the door. He had probably gone to breakfast. Stan took a short breath and shuffled his thoughts around.

Well, even if there were some hints showing that Kenny may have been shot here, like the hole in the door and Kenny having a motivation to make Cartman release Kyle…

Stan gulped and looked over his shoulder to the door, just to ease his mind by checking that no one was there. Then he rushed over to his roommate's bed and checked underneath. There were a few boxes, one filled with magazines that Stan had no interest in looking through, and another small box with little plastic bags with dry grass or white powder, which Stan decided to ignore for now. All he was looking for was one thing, and neither under the bed, in the bed, or under the pillow could it be found. Stan let out a relieved breath. There was no gun anywhere. See? Cartman couldn't have been the one who had shot Kenny…

Then where did Kyle get that bullet shell? Who was it that gave that shell to Kyle and told him that Kenny was shot as if to mentally torture the poor boy so sadistically?

Stan held his head painfully and moaned. Who could it be? Who could it be?

He didn't know if he couldn't believe, or if he didn't want to.

.

It had been a week and Kenny still had his limbs tied to the bed by handcuffs. The curtains were drawn around him and so far no one has come in to challenge his power as he lied vulnerable in bed. It was good to know that he was still feared even with his limbs secured by cuffs. He hadn't been worried though. In fact, he expected a couple of arrogant dicks to come and try and get him in his sleep. Even without his arms or legs, Kenny was confident that his mouth would have been enough to tear anyone's hand or head off.

'God, they don't call you the Immortal Prince for nothing,' the nurse said as he observed Kenny's wound. 'The wound is healing quicker than I expected. I think it'll be safe to start exercising it soon.'

'Great. Give me a weight now and I'll be out by dinner.'

'Ha ha. Very funny. You won't be out for another week.'

The sound Kenny's handcuffs hitting the bed as he tried to lunge at the nurse rang, making the nurse smirk.

'Good behaviour will also be taken into account,' he said before returning back to his office, drawing the cream-coloured curtains around Kenny again.

'Fuck…' Kenny muttered, staring at the stained ceiling.

.

Stan sat on the bottom of the stairs with Kyle's finished dinner next to him, fingering his keys as he dwelled in his thoughts. Kyle had hardly touched the dinner that Stan had brought. In fact, Kyle had hardly moved, hardly talked, hardly even acknowledged him when Stan had opened the cell door. It almost went to the point that Stan wanted to feed Kyle by his mouth: the redhead was that weak. Stan looked up to where it led to Kyle's isolation cell around the corner. His fingers continued to fondle around with the keys, flipping the keys around in its round key holder like a revolving door. The movement portrayed his thoughts perfectly: going around and around.

He wanted nothing more than to get Kyle out of that darkness, and he had the ability to. The thing was, he didn't have the power to. Stan cursed his own cowardice. He knew that if he got Kyle out, he might be punished for it in the way that he most feared: be sent back to the city. He didn't want that… He wanted to stay here and look after these kids, look after Kyle. But now watching Kyle suffer, and watching himself do nothing about it, hurt him more than anything. This was reality.

Stan slipped his keys back into his belt and climbed up the stairs with Kyle's tray. He past Cartman as he made his way through the hallway, but didn't notice, still deep in his thoughts of self-contempt. Another day was about to pass. Another day which he didn't get Kyle out.

.

He comes into my room with bare feet. I know because his footsteps are silent, except for the subtle noise of the skin of his heels sticking to the floor.

'What's wrong, Ike?' I ask him as he comes towards my bed. I spread my arms and he comes into me, nuzzling his nose into my chest.

'Can I sleep with you Kyle?' He asks with a voice barely making it on his breath. I hesitate, but only because his actions remind me of how I used to go to my parents' room in the middle of the night when I couldn't sleep, only until recently.

'Sure…' I say, pulling our bodies into the bed. He keeps his face against my chest, breathing heavily, but slowly, as if he was inhaling my nightgown. 'What's the matter? Did you have a nightmare?'

'…Yes…' he says. I smile and stroke his hair. 'I dream that… I'm all alone. Every night. Sometimes I'm on the top of the mountain, so high it's above the clouds, but even so it's dark, and I'm alone. Other times, I'm in the middle of ice and snow, a whole desert of white blizzard trying to eat me, and I'm alone. Today, I was… I was on the edge of a lake. A dark, cold lake. But I was not alone. In the distance, on the shore, you were smiling and waving at me. I thought you were calling me, even though you didn't say anything. So I went into the lake to try and swim over, but the water was too heavy and too cold. I didn't make it half way until I began to sink and— and you just stood there… you just stood there smiling as if you didn't see me drowning, even if I was just there… you wouldn't come to help me…'

'Oh, Ike, Ike. I'm right here. I'm right here with you and even if I wasn't, wherever you are, I would come to help you if you need it.'

'Really…?'

'Of course…'

'Even if I'm drowning, you will come and save me?'

'Yes.'

'You would come into the thick, dark lake to come and save me?'

'Yes.'

'…But what if you can't?'

I squint in confusion at Ike's words and lean up to look at him. He continues, staring into my eyes: 'If you can't save me… If I drown… Will you drown with me?'

I stare at him. My lips are frozen, and I hope he knows it's because I'm confused at the question, not because it's a difficult question to answer. Although… it is…

But Ike quickly looks down again and nuzzles into my chest like before. His hands slip into my nightgown and his arms squeeze around my naked waist, but that's okay. He had just seen a nightmare and probably feeling someone's naked skin makes him feel better. It probably helps him feel the heat of someone's presence more closely.

I hope he doesn't have a nightmare like this again.

I don't want him to feel as if he was alone.

I know how much that hurts.

.

Cartman released inside Kyle with a loud grunt, but the redhead hardly made a noise. His lifeless eyes closed for a brief second and opened again after the guard drew out.

'What are you a fucking doll?' Cartman said with an unbeatable grin, wiping away the thick sweat from his double chin. 'Come on! What happened to your rattish feistiness?' He laughed, kicking into Kyle's thigh, seeing if the human doll had any life in it. Kyle groaned and rolled over, pulling up his pants, but still he said no words. Cartman huffed and did up his zipper. Even he could tell that Kyle was weak. Especially when he undid his clothes and saw his bones popping out from his transparently white skin. The thought that the redhead might die in here swept through his head, but still Cartman didn't feel an inch of a nerve to let the redhead out before his time was done in isolation. If he was to die, then at least he died after Cartman fucked him. And until he does die, Cartman will continue to fuck him. He didn't care if he had become a broken doll, because at least it was Cartman that had broken him.

But in truth it wasn't Cartman that broke him. The guard didn't know of the other figure that was in the cell, the figure that always stayed with Kyle, living in his brain, living behind his eyelids. He was the one that Kyle always saw. He was the one that ripped into him and tore him apart. He was the one that cared for him. He was the one that kept him company. But Cartman wouldn't know that, nobody could. This was Kyle's little secret.

As Cartman locked Kyle's cell and made his way back to his room he hummed a romantic tune. A few words slipped out of his mouth to the melody. He couldn't have felt more refreshed, more clean, more in power. Nothing could ruin these last minutes of the day before he went to bed.

He ignored Stan, spread on his bed and reading a book, as he pushed through to his own small corner. He hoped the brunet to have fallen asleep by now, just so that he was sure that Stan wouldn't find him putting away a gun under his pillow. Oh well. He just had to be careful.

Stan, on the other hand, was waiting for Cartman to come back. He held a book above his head, hiding his eyes, pretending to read, but his mind didn't process any words. When Cartman had arrived on his bed, Stan finally put the book down and faced him. He didn't say a word, but his behaviour was strange enough to get his senior's attention.

'What?' the fat guard asked with his hazel brow raised. Stan gulped and cleared his throat.

'Don't you think it's time to let Kyle out of there?' He finally said.

'What?'

'He's a good kid, he hasn't done anything wrong. He has already been down there for almost three weeks—'

'And he stays there for another two more!' Cartman bellowed, making Stan flinch. Contrasting to his vicious voice, Cartman adopted a reassuring smile and took his steps towards Stan, placing a hand on his shoulder.

'I told you to be careful. I told you to not let those criminals walk all over you.'

'What are you talking about?'

'I know you've been carrying his meals to him, Marsh. Why is that?'

'Because he'll starve otherwise, that's why!'

'No… That's not the only reason. I think, you have a tender spot for this one and not just because of that kiss. You feel all warm and gooey for him. You want to help him. You want to free him. You are willing to take his side, the criminal's side, over ours, or that's what some people may believe if they saw how you are behaving.'

'What do you mean?' Stan asked, his quickly beating heart slowly climbing up his chest. Cartman's voice turned a notch softer.

'Some officers aren't happy with what happened with Shadow Labour. More specifically, they are not happy with the fact that someone, one of us, has turned on us and sent a secret letter to the warden. A traitor, some would even think of him. A lot, maybe.'

'What would they… what do you think would happen to that— that person who sent the let- letter?'

Cartman smiled and squeezed Stan's shoulder before smoothing out the wrinkles on his shirt.

'He will probably be let go. That's all. Lucky bastard to be able to leave here.' Cartman went back to his bed and sat down, grinning up at Stan one last time. 'Don't you think so?'

'Yeah—' Stan forced a smile onto his lips, sinking back down onto his own bed, leaning forwards to let his empty eyes stare at the floor. 'Yeah…' he repeated.

Cartman smiled and swiftly slipped his gun under his pillow while Stan stared at the space between his feet on the ground. But what he didn't know, was that Stan had looked up at that moment, and had saw a hint of black being pushed underneath Cartman's pillow. He looked back down before Cartman turned back around, but quickly, new sweat was forming on the edges of his forehead.

A gun! He grit his teeth behind his firmly sealed lips. If the killing device hadn't been in the back of his head, he would have missed it. But he saw it, he knew he saw it. Cartman had a gun. Cartman was the one that shot Kenny. His partner. Cartman—

Stan held his mouth and lied down, throwing the sheets over his head.

Come to think of it, Cartman had always hated Kyle. He wasn't exactly an angel to any of the inmates, but Kyle seemed to get up his nose more than any of the other inmates. Kyle wasn't just another inmate to Cartman; he was a nuisance. Was it his kind-heartedness that the other inmates didn't have, or was it the wealthy, naïve upbringing that surrounded Kyle's air? …That didn't matter. What mattered was, was that Cartman put Kyle in isolation as a personal attack on him, not because he was an unlucky inmate that had stepped a millimetre out of line. This was personal to Kyle, and Cartman would have shot someone if it were to keep Kyle in there.

Cartman was insane. No, this whole prison was insane. The inmates were the criminals, but it was this place that was sin.

.

Stan sat by Kyle's cell door, grating an apple into a small bowl. The juice and the white meat of the fruit shaved into the bowl turning into a food soft enough for a baby without a single tooth to gulp down.

When he came down with Kyle's dinner, he had found Kyle's friend Craig sitting next to the cell door. He wasn't saying anything, probably because Kyle was not in any physical or emotion condition to talk, and neither had he been in days. The raven was simply sitting there quietly, probably feeling Kyle's presence and cursing his own powerlessness as Stan did. When he noticed Stan's entrance though, Craig got to his feet and left. As he passed Stan, he gave the guard a cold, disdainful look. 'How long are you going to keep him in there for?' his eyes said to him. 'You're the one with a key. You're the one who has the power to let him out any time you want.'

'And you call yourself his friend?' Stan heard the bitter criticism echo in his ear. 'You're no different from all those other heartless guards in here…'

Kyle didn't eat his dinner again. He had his eyes closed when Stan opened the door and they stayed closed until Stan shook his body over and over, panicked that something dreadful might have happened to him. After enough shaking, the redhead finally opened his eyes, just for a second, but that was enough for Stan to be ensured that Kyle was still alive and conscious.

Although Kyle showed no sign of eating, he did gulp down a tiny amount of water, which was reassuring enough for Stan. It encouraged him to grate down the apple. Maybe dinner was too chunky for him. He was desperate to feed Kyle something, anything, because the redhead had hardly eaten in days.

'Here, Kyle. I grated an apple for you. It should be soft and fresh enough to eat,' Stan said, placing the bowl of watery apple by the redhead's face. Stan noticed the bucket of warm water that had now cooled down and the small towel he had left at lunch for Kyle to use to wash himself and took it up. 'I hope the washing revived you a bit. I guess the poor sanitation might be the worse thing in here, huh?'

Kyle didn't say anything, but took a tiny spoon of apple into his mouth and forced it down his throat, which may have been a better response than any. Stan smiled weakly, as he watched Kyle cough on what he had just gulped down.

'Here,' he said, dampening the towel with water and moving towards Kyle. 'You missed a bit—'

But the second the edge of the towel contacted Kyle's cheek, the redhead jolted and flung Stan's hand away, crawled to the corner and squeezed himself against the wall with his back on Stan. He was shaking. Stan would have apologised for surprising Kyle, for scaring him, but Kyle's overt reaction shocked him into a painful silence. He couldn't say anything.

This place was much more cruel to Kyle than he had thought it to be. For days Kyle had said nothing to him, had hardly acknowledged his existence when he opened the door, but this acknowledgement, acting as if he believed that Stan was going to hurt him, was extreme. What nightmares was he having in here? But even Stan's most horrible imaginations couldn't come close to how dreadful Kyle's reality was.

'I'm sorry…' Stan finally said through trembling lips, picking up the damp towel Kyle had slapped out of his hand. The soft voice seemed to have touched Kyle, and the redhead slowly looked back with wide, glistening eyes. But Stan was too immersed in himself. Too focused on his anger towards his own cowardice and pomposity that he had some significance and importance to this prison. How stupid he was, to think for even a second that he could help many people, while he couldn't even help his own one friend…

'Kyle…' Stan got up to his feet and opened up the door a little wider until the dim lights of the room outside leaked in and reached Kyle's face. 'Come out.'

Kyle's eyes developed a hint of confusion, but he showed no sign of responding to Stan's words, so Stan drew out a hand and smiled.

'You're coming out. Now.'

Kyle still didn't blink, but the sheer confidence in Stan's words was enough to make him take Stan's hand. The redhead gasped as Stan pulled him out of the cell and into his chest, and the cell door slammed shut behind him.

'Come on,' Stan smiled reassuringly, holding Kyle up, as his legs seemed unable to support even his feathery weight. 'I'm sorry,' Stan said again, making Kyle look up with curious eyes. 'I should have done this… so much sooner…'

'Wh—' A hint of a voice leaked out from between Kyle's chapped lips. For a second Stan thought that he had imagined it, but then he thought he could hear Kyle's voice breathing out, so he paid deep attention to his ghostly words. 'Why would you let me out at- o- all?'

'Because this is wrong,' Stan said, stroking Kyle's cheek. The inmate's glistening eyes finally spilled a tear that rolled down his cheek, which had now revived a hint of its familiar blush. For a while, Stan had worried that Kyle may have lost his heart over the weeks in the isolation cell, and he thanked the heavens that he had been wrong. Kyle still had his heart. His warm, kind, beautiful heart…

'But you'll get in trouble?' Kyle continued.

'Ah— Don't worry about me. The worse that they can do to me is send me back to the city, and then I'll get a much better job than being trapped in this hell-hole.'

Kyle laughed, or Stan guessed he did. Kyle looked down and his stomach twitched in Stan's grasp, but there was an air of a smile on his face. Kyle must have known that he was lying. No matter how much this place was like hell, Stan had volunteered to be here, even before he knew that Kyle would come. And now that Kyle was here with him, there would have been nothing Stan would have given to stay. Anything, except for Kyle's wellbeing.

It was slow, carrying Kyle out of the dungeons and walking through its short corridor. He had to take a long breath of a rest with every step up the stairs, which seemed to go on forever.

'Are you okay?' Kyle asked, the weak, skinny bastard that was about to fall apart against his shoulder.

'I'm— fine…' Stan gasped, but there were beads of sweat forming on the back of his neck, making his black hair stick to his skin.

If Stan had moved a little faster, if his fatigue had kicked in just a little later, then maybe Kyle would have been able to breathe in the fresh air above the ground. But before they could reach the last few steps of the stairs, the door creaked open above them. Kyle jerked in fear in his arms, and even Stan's heart jolted and let out cold sweat. A large shadow hung on them, and only Stan looked up, as Kyle kept his eyes firmly to the ground, but even without looking Kyle knew who it was. There was only one person who would come at this time of night.

'What is this?' Cartman said with a razor grin, grey eyes almost glowing down of them. Stan's heart pounded. He knew this confrontation had to come, but he didn't think it would be so soon.

'I'm letting him out, Cartman,' he tried to say it as strongly as possible. 'He's been down there long enough. Look how weak he is.'

Stan shifted Kyle, indicating the fat guard to look at him, and Kyle turned his head as far back as possible, as having Cartman observe him was the last thing he could have possibly wanted.

'I don't see him dead.'

'What?'

Cartman crossed his arms.

'If he was dead, then I might consider letting him out early, but apparently he's not weak enough to have died yet.'

Stan stared at Cartman with eyes of disbelief. He didn't have any words for Cartman. He was too shocked towards the guard's complete lack of heart.

'You've stepped totally out of line…' Stan finally murmured, eyes still frozen on his partner. 'We're meant to look after the inmates… Not torture them.'

The hint of a sarcastic grin dropped from Cartman's face and he untied his arms to reach the baton strapped onto his belt. He gripped the baton in his hand provokingly, but Stan's eyes still didn't move from his.

'You're the one stepping out of line, Marsh. Feeding an inmate in isolation is one thing, but disobeying your senior and releasing him without permission? That's another matter. A much more… serious matter.'

Cartman poked the baton into Kyle's ribs, yet he now accepted Stan's gaze with his own menacing one.

'Let go of him,' Cartman ordered, but Stan didn't say anything and neither did he move. 'Let go of him so I can take him back to his solitary cell.'

'No…'

'You don't want to get in trouble do you?'

'No Cartman,' Stan didn't back down, breathing deeply through his nose. 'I'm not backing down, not this time. This is wrong. And you can punish me however you want, but you're not taking Kyle back to that hellhole.'

Cartman's eyes quietened down. The tension left his shoulders and his baton fell beside him as his hand dangled down.

'I didn't want it to come to this—'

That is all he said before he raised his baton again and slammed in into Kyle's face. The force knocked Kyle out of Stan's tired arms and his weak body was sent tumbling down the stairs. He fell to the ground and turned still. He made no sound, made no movement, and Stan watched in horror.

'What the FUCK—' Stan shouted and took a step down, but was soon stopped by the point of Cartman's baton. He looked down on the weapon angrily and glared at Cartman, but when he met his cold grey eyes, he instantly lost all strength in him.

'You wait outside.

'What?' Stan managed to voice out under the pressure of Cartman's quiet menace.

'You wait behind that door quietly, while I put that redheaded rat back in its cage. Then I'm going to take you to the chief's office and tell him what you've been doing. I'll tell him how you've been flapping around with that inmate, how you've ignored my orders and tried to help him, how you side with the criminals more than with us, and I will tell him…' The baton pressed into Stan's chest, and Stan felt as if it was pushing cold sweat out of his pores. 'I will tell him how you were the traitor who sent that anonymous letter to the warden that ended up closing the Shadow Labour.'

Stan couldn't take it any more and he looked down, and it was that action of weakness that freed him of Cartman's baton.

'Now go. By tomorrow, you'll be packing up your bags and sent back home. So much for your volunteering.' Stan still didn't move, keeping his shocked eyes on Kyle. 'Go. Or I'll fucking finish him off now.'

That was enough to push Stan up towards the door. He had prepared for the threat of being punished himself, but he hadn't prepared himself for the threat of Kyle being punished instead. He closed the door and leaned against the wall beside it, waiting for Cartman to come for him. Stan had tried his best, and still nothing came out of it. How weak… How terribly weak he was…

.

Cartman looked down on Kyle and nudged him in the ribs with his shoe.

'Get up,' he said, but the redhead wouldn't respond, didn't even make a twitch. Feeling a chill in his chest, Cartman leaned down and felt Kyle's neck. There was a pulse. Relieved, Cartman pulled Kyle up by the arm and ordered him to stand on his own feet, but still Kyle wouldn't move. Maybe he wasn't dead, but he was probably unconscious. Cartman clicked his tongue and pulled Kyle over his shoulders.

Once he had arrived at the cell he dropped Kyle tiredly and pushed him in with his foot. Kyle was still unconscious, so Cartman huffed, unamused, and began to push the door closed, until he heard a dying voice from the redhead.

'What are you going to do to him?' Kyle asked, voice coming from his lips peaking out from the red hair spread across his face. To this, Cartman grinned his playful sadistic smile, his hands gripping a little tighter against the door.

'Oh, don't worry. We won't hurt him like you inmates. He's a normal human being,' he said gently. 'It's just you'll never see him again.'

This made Kyle jerk, and the movement made the red hair slide down from Kyle's face to reveal a horribly weak and pained emerald eye. It was glistening, and Cartman continued to close the door, casting a shadow over the watered eye. Cartman regretted the fact that he couldn't see the tear finally fall.

'Sorry we couldn't play tonight.' He said as a final stab to Kyle's wounded heart. 'But I have an officer I need to get fired.'