Disclaimer: I do not own anything even remotely related to South Park. I don't own Kyle, or Stan, or Cartman, or Kenny. Honestly, do you think I'd be writing this if I did?

Warnings: Finally, real slash! Implied violence, minimal blood, swearing, it's almost a songfic in the beginning, but I swear that goes away very quickly

Notes: Thank you all of my reviewers! I am so very sorry for the long time in between updates. I know excuses are stupid, but school and musical practice and forensics and family trouble and friend trouble and homework and threatening bad grades and everything else ate my soul. I can't make any promises, but I am trying.

The song used in the very beginning is Presumed Lost, by Splashdown.

-

Keeping Secrets

Chapter 4

"The man who can keep a secret may be wise, but he is not
half as wise as the man with no secrets to keep."
Edgard Watson Howe

-

- Present day -

Zoë's Café was a small, out of the way restaurant in the basement of a mini-mart. The lighting was dim and the walls were plastered with letters and paper. Quotes were scrawled across every available surface. Newspaper articles formed a baseboard. There were posters advertising small, local acts that would be playing in the café.

Tonight there was a girl sitting on a stool on the small stage. She had an acoustic guitar in her lap, and a microphone in front of her to catch the song spilling from her lips.

Stan arrived at eight-thirty, partly due to construction, and partly because his sudden anxiety caused him to reject more than fifteen shirts before finally settling on the one he wore now.

He stepped lightly down the stairs and into the café, immediately spotting Kyle at a darkened booth in the back. He weaved his way through the tables and slid smoothly into the booth.

Kyle looked up into his eyes and smiled. Stan couldn't keep his own grin back.

The girl on stage sang softly, hauntingly into the microphone.

"If they try to clip your wings
Fly away, far away
I know why the caged bird sings
I'll await my next escape to meet with you again
Only to meet with you again
My shadow's here to meet with me again"

Kyle smiled. "How have you been this week?"

Stan looked away. "I'm moving."

The words didn't seem to surprise Kyle. He only nodded. "You were living here because of the mission." It was halfway between a question and a statement, and Stan knew that he understood. "Do you know where you're going?"

"No." He slid off his jacket. "I'll find out this week. They'll give me a ticket somewhere and I'll be gone that day."

Kyle smiled again, but this time it was grim. "I'm finished with this mission. I'll probably be transferred somewhere else." The two sat in the dim lights and studied each other out of the corner of their eyes.

Stan suddenly saw Kyle's whole body tense up, just a bit. He looked at him and Kyle was staring back, but Stan could tell that his focus wasn't there.

"What is it?" Stan said quietly, trying to appear normal.

Kyle's gaze returned to Stan and, although he seemed normal, Stan could see the fear written in his eyes. "They followed."

"Ask my heart
If there's a place to be alone
Someone tell my head
There's a place to be alone by myself
Do these restless eyes
Tell you I have found a home for myself"

Stan didn't have to ask who 'they' were. He knew. 'They' were Kyle's captors. The people who had robbed Kyle of a life and everyone else of Kyle himself. He was flooded with rage, and it drowned out the fear of being followed by men that powerful and deadly.

Kyle reached into his pocket and pulled out a billfold, peeling off a twenty and laying it on the table. "I know a back exit. We have to go." He picked his jacket off the seat next to him and stood, slowly. "Be normal."

Stan slid out of the seat, using every technique he'd learned over the years to try and appear calm. His heart was beating franticly and he could feel the blood racing through his body. Adrenaline thrummed in his veins.

He slipped on his jacket and saw Kyle nod towards what had to be the exit. Stan went first and Kyle hissed directions under his breath. Stan snuck a peak at the bar out of the corner of his eye. He noticed two men, well-dressed but not unusually so, talking to the bartender. He saw the friendly bartender point at the booth they'd just vacated.

Kyle was directing him towards a darkened door behind the stage. Stan hurried through, Kyle almost stepping on his heels in his haste.

"If in tears you should awake
In Memory's arms
Withdraw embrace
Silent pools are gathering
Be still my dear, my shadow's here to meet with me again
Only to meet with me again
My shadow's here to meet with me again."

The hallway they stepped into was nondescript and boring. The walls were grey cement and there were pipes running alongside and above them. It was thin and although there were dim lights hanging from the ceiling, everything had a slight red tint from the glow of the exit sign.

Out of sight now, they ran down the hallway. Their shoes were light against the pavement, and Stan hit the door at a run.

It swung wide and the two were in an alley. Kyle stepped ahead of him, surveying their surroundings. A nanosecond was spent in complete stillness. He nodded at the fire escape and Stan raced ahead. He was taller than Kyle, and so it would be easier for him to grasp the ladder. Just as he was about to jump for it, Kyle's hand on his arm stopped him.

"Too much noise." Kyle moved towards a dumpster next to the other end of the fire escape and pulled himself on top of it, quickly moving from it over the iron railing and onto the metal grating of the fire escape. Stan followed his example perfectly, and the two took off up the stairs.

They were five floors up when Kyle stopped and jammed a pocket knife that had appeared out of thin air into the bottom of a window and then wrenched it open in one graceful movement. He stepped back and Stan climbed in. Kyle tumbled through after. Stan slammed it shut behind him.

Safe for a second, the two took the time to catch their breath.

"How long?" Stan asked breathlessly.

Kyle's face was stoic; his voice was steady. "Not long enough." He seemed to make up his mind about something, and turned to Stan. "They didn't see you. You're safe."

Stan looked at him sharply. "What?"

"Are you armed?" Stan nodded. "They have to catch me."

"What?" he hissed again.

Kyle's mouth was in a thin line. "They'll never stop looking, Stan. I'm too important. You have to hide. Get into another apartment. Stay there. I'm going back out."

Stan shook his head at the thought of being separated. "No, it's dangerous."

"I know."

His tone turned frantic. "But—"

"Listen, Stan, I know the dangers." Kyle grasped at Stan's shoulders tightly. His eyes searched Stan's, urging him to listen. "They could kill me. But no matter what they do to me, I won't let them hurt you." His voice was pleading.

Stan shook his head again. He grabbed Kyle's wrists and held them there. "Don't go, Kyle. Come with me. We'll leave... leave the country. We'll make sure they never find you."

"I can't. They'll always find me. So long as I'm alive, they'll always find me." His voice tightened and almost cracked, but he knew that if he did, he'd shatter.

"Don't leave."

"I have to."

Kyle surged forward, and his lips met Stan's. The kiss was hungry and raw, saying all the things they didn't have the time for. Teeth clashed and the scent of fear and desire was sharp in their noses. They broke apart just as fiercely, but something had passed between them.

Kyle's hands released Stan and Stan let go with effort. Kyle's eyes flashed dangerously in the dark. His voice was strong and determined. "They won't kill me. Go, Stan. I will find you again."

And he was gone.

-

A month passed, and Stan struggled everyday to appear normal. If someone suspected anything, it could mean death for them both. And that was assuming that Kyle wasn't already...

But, no, Stan couldn't accept even the chance that Kyle could be dead. Not then. Not when he'd just found him again. Not after having to come to terms with his death once before. Not after finally accepting that he had been giving a second chance. He was given a new locale, a new mission, and once again he completed it to the letter.

Another month passed, and although his superiors and friends in the department had noticed the dark smudges around his eyes, they said nothing about them, and he gave them no reason to question his state of mind.

And then it was December. Every year, failing some urgent disaster or mission that couldn't be resolved any other time, the department had a few weeks around Christmas off to visit their loved ones. This year, just like every other year that he could, Stan was going back to South Park.

"Hey, Marsh, you taking off?" Stan turned around to see Michael Norman walked up to him, a smile spread across his tall face.

Stan nodded, and smiled. Norman was probably the closest thing to a friend he had in the service. They'd gone through basic training together, and now Stan led their team. He was a friendly, gangly man who, although he was two years Stan's senior, still didn't seem to have outgrown his teenage awkwardness. The man was a crack shot, though, and Stan considered himself lucky to have the talented marksman on his team.

"South Park, right? The middle of bum-fuck nowhere, Colorado?"

Stan rolled his eyes at the familiar teasing. His small-town origins made him the resident target of all redneck jokes. "Yup. Going back to milking my own cow for breakfast. But if you saw the farmers' daughters, you'd go back too."

Norman laughed heartily. "Yeah, too bad they're probably your own sisters."

"And to imagine they want to outlaw that." Stan shook his head in mock contempt.

Norman smirked at the old joke. "You're lucky that you're getting out of here now, though. Someone higher up is on the warpath."

This news caught Stan by surprise. "What?"

Norman shrugged. "I don't know. Nothing much is trickling down to the rumor mill. But I can tell you that something big is going on. I'm thinking about taking back my vacation." Norman had agreed to stay on as one of the skeleton crew during the holidays.

Stan grinned, but he had a feeling that the expression was half-hearted. "Weird." Making a show of glancing at his watch, he started backing toward the elevator. "Oh, man, my flight is in two hours. Gotta go, man. See ya." With that he took off, ready to try and forget about his troubles in the comfort of home.

-

"Hey, fag!"

Stan started, jerking his head up too look across the table. Eric Cartman sat opposite him, taking up almost an entire side of the booth. He was smirking.

"I don't care what homo-dreams you were having, I was talking, queer."

Stan rolled his eyes at his friend's words. Cartman had been annoying when he'd called Stan gay as a child, but when Stan had finally come out to them, Cartman had become insufferable.

Kenny, sitting next to Stan because there wasn't enough room on Cartman's side, laughed. "I don't blame Stan. Any fantasies beat listening to you."

"Shut up, fag!"

Kenny raised an eyebrow and smirked. Seeing as he was the only one at the table with a wife, he knew that the insult was pointless. Cartman shut up and just glared at the blonde man. Kenny turned calm eyes to Stan. "But the fatass—"

"Don't fucking call me fat!"

"—does have a point, Stan. You do seem a little out of it."

At that moment, Stan wanted to tell him. Kenny was a pretty collected and reasonable person. If anyone could help, it would be him. And the pressure of constantly thinking about where Kyle was, and if he was even still alive, was weighing on him.

Then the moment passed and Stan came to his senses. His friends didn't even know what he did for a living. They thought he had a desk job somewhere in D.C.

"You have a new boyfriend, don't you?" Kenny stated more than asked, a grin gracing his slender face.

Stan's eyebrows shot up and he tried to look surprised at the statement, but Kenny just laughed. "Dude, you are so obvious."

"Yeah, you're really gay, man."

Kenny ignored Cartman. "So, what's his name?"

Stan flushed, just a little bit. It was on the tip of his tongue. 'Kyle'. But he knew that the questions that would lead to. "Andrew."

"Gay name," Cartman muttered.

"Are we going to meet him?" Kenny asked.

Stan blinked because he couldn't even comprehend Kyle here, among their old group. "I don't know."

Cartman threw a glance at his watch and broke the quiet moment with his abrasive nature. "Well, if you fudge-packers are done being queer over there, I have to go." He waved a hand at the waitress and pulled out a few bills.

Grateful for the excuse to leave, Stan nodded his agreement. "I gotta leave too."

"Hey, ass-rammers, you gonna be at the party tonight?" Cartman had a huge Christmas party every year, and every year it got more elaborate and expensive.

"Yeah," Kenny said. "I can always use a good laugh."

"Hey!"

"I'll be there," Stan broke in, throwing some money on the table. "See ya guys."

He started walking out of the diner, and Kenny fell into step next to him. "Don't listen to Cartman, dude. He's just jealous. Bring Andrew."

Stan shook his head, pausing at the door. "Nah, he had to work. Couldn't make it this year. But I'll bring him over Easter or something." He gave Kenny a smile, to put the other man at ease. It didn't appear to work.

"Take care, man."

Stan nodded and watched Kenny retreat back into the diner. He stepped outside.

-

Stan was already late for the party. It started at seven and he'd taken a nap after having lunch with the guys. It had been his first somewhat restful sleep in recent memory, and he'd woken at ten to seven feeling more alert and refreshed than he had in weeks. After brushing his teeth and pulling on some nice dress clothes, he'd been out the flimsy door of his motel room.

As much as he wanted to rush, the ice on the roads prevented him from bringing his car even near the speed limit. He crawled along, drumming his fingers impatiently against the steering wheel at every stop sign.

By the time he reached the street that Cartman's mom still lived on, he was over half an hour late. He swore softly at the lines of parked cars running up and down the street. Most of South Park was invited to Cartman's party, and almost all of them came. He was forced to park five houses down.

The temperature had dropped in the past few hours, and Stan rubbed his hands together as he jogged up the curb and onto the sidewalk. He was about to head down the street when some movement caught his eye.

There was no streetlight here, but the light pollution reflected off of the snow and the air was lit up enough to make out an outline. He crept forward. "Hello? Who's there?"

Suddenly the form lurched forward and he froze.

"Stan?"

His stomach dropped to his feet and he rushed forward just in time to catch Kyle as the man collapsed. "Kyle?" He looped an arm under his knees and scooped the man up like a child. He was too light.

Something bad had happened. Kyle's face was worn and haggard, with a few days of beard underlining the bags under his eyes. There was a bruise on his cheek. Even as Stan rushed towards Cartman's, a plan was forming.

He laid Kyle on the ground near the house, apologizing quickly under his breath for the cold. He ran up to the door and knocked franticly until it swung open.

"Stan!"

He almost swore out loud, and was running through his lexicon of curses in his head, but on the outside he managed a strained smile. "Wendy. Nice to see you. Is Kenny there?"

She nodded. "I haven't seen you in so long! How are you?"

"I'm fine. Can you get Kenny? Please?" His voice was polite, but his tone was turning sour with annoyance.

Wendy looked upset, but she leaned back and yelled for Kenny. A second later the blonde head poked around the door. He looked back and forth between the former boyfriend and girlfriend. "Goodbye, Wendy," he said, and she rolled her eyes and walked off. "What?"

"Can you go and open Cartman's back door?" Stan schooled his face and tried to keep from shooting a glance over at Kyle.

"What?"

"Just do it, please?" Kenny nodded and disappeared back inside. Stan rushed over and picked Kyle up, trying to brush the excess snow off of him. Kyle's head lolled against Stan's shoulder and his breath caught in his throat. He spared a second to run a finger softly down Kyle's cheek. The moment was broken by a loud laugh from inside, and Stan knew he had to get Kyle out of the cold.

Although he only saw Cartman's house once a year, and sometimes not even that, he still knew the layout by heart. He made his way carefully through the snow and around the side of the house. He was only a few feet from the back door when it swung open.

"Holy shit!" Kenny exclaimed, jumping down the step into the snow. "Who the hell is that?"

"Just help me get him inside. Keep everyone away." Stan's voice wasn't friendly; it was the voice his team heard when on a mission. It was authoritative. It was cold.

The space just inside that back door was Cartman's laundry room, a room that Stan was sure Cartman himself had never stepped foot in. Kenny pushed the towels and various clothes off of the washer and dryer and Stan set Kyle's still form on top of the silent machines.

"Who is that?" Kenny asked again as he closed the back door, glancing at the sliding laundry room door.

Stan was unbuttoning Kyle's shirt and he swore when it revealed a myriad of bruises. The man had been beaten. Badly. He had cuts running up and down his body, even on his face. The worst ones were crudely bandaged, but it was clear that the bandages hadn't been changed in days. Stan knew from experience that infection might be a problem.

"Holy fuck," Kenny muttered, falling into old habits. Kelly didn't like him swearing.

Stan turned to face his friend. "Do you know where the first aid supplies are?" Kenny shook his head. "Can you get Cartman for me?"

"Yeah, dude." He slid open the laundry room door a little bit and slipped out, intent on finding the party host.

Stan turned his gaze back to Kyle. The man was breathing raggedly and his extremities were tinted blue with cold. Looking around he grabbed a towel off the floor and draped it over the still figure. "God, Kyle, what happened to you?" He whispered as he began removing the old bandages.

In all honesty, Stan knew what happened to him. He knew that Kyle had been caught doing something he wasn't supposed to. It wasn't as if the people in charge of Kyle's missions had any official government to answer to. They had free range over their agents. Kyle was lucky to be alive.

The door suddenly slid open and Stan spun around. His breathing settled when he saw that it was only Kenny and now Cartman. Kenny slid the door closed behind them.

"Dude, what the hell is going on in here? Who is that?"

Kenny moved forward, his arms full of supplies. Stan looked through them and grabbed a few small bandages, placing them carefully across one of the larger cuts on Kyle's chest. It wasn't a butterfly bandage, but it would have to do. Nothing on Kyle appeared to be broken or sprained, but there was a nasty bullet wound in his arm. He placed some gauze on the wound and wrapped the ace bandage around it.

Stan felt an arm on his shoulder and spun around to see Kenny standing in front of him, looking concerned. "Stan, who is that?"

Stan bit his lip. "My boyfriend."

"That's Andrew?" Kenny asked incredulously.

"Dude, what kind of loser fag are you dating?" Cartman sneered.

Stan saw red for a second. "Shut the fuck up about things you don't understand, Cartman." He shot back angrily.

"Stan, what happened to him?" Kenny's tone was the same one would use to coax a frightened animal, and Stan almost called him on it.

"I..." He glanced around. "I... His name isn't Andrew."

"Huh?" Kenny asked, thrown by the sudden confession.

Stan couldn't help the words. It may have been a combination of the sleep deprivation he suffered those past few weeks, or the fear at finding Kyle bruised and battered and freezing, but the words wouldn't be held back. "His name's Kyle. Kyle Broflovski."

-