Bomb Shelter

by InTheNameOfAsgard

"They'll worry. They'll cry. They'll wonder where you are. But in a matter of months, no one will care about you. You'll be forgotten. Out of my life forever." Cartman carelessly let Kyle's body drop to the floor, and moved to his backpack, packing up his things. "And I'll enjoy every bit of peace I get after you're gone." (Stan x Kyle Fic. I don't own any of the characters! :3)

9. Chapter 9

Warning: The following chapter contains heavy offensive language and may contain adult themes that may not be suitable for sensitive/young readers. If you're not used to the South Park humor and/or don't like it, then please don't read this fan fiction. If you are not a fan of Yaoi or this particular pairing, then please don't read this Fan Fiction. If you're a perfectionist who insists that the author must get absolutely everything right or it's the end of the world, then PLEASE don't read this fan fiction. XD
***I do not own any of the mentioned characters. All characters belong to Trey Parker and Matt Stone.***

Chapter Nine

Sometimes, Eric was glad Butters was a dumbass.

...Okay, maybe that was an understatement. Leopold 'Butters' Stotch was so damned easy to manipulate, and Eric was thankful every day that God had made him that way. Without the will and the stupidity of the blonde, Eric was sure that at least half of the bullshit he'd pulled on others in the past wouldn't have been completed. With Butters' easily-manipulated personality and Eric's smarts, the two could do anything.

Even blow up a house to keep his worst enemies locked away.

Okay, so the story of ManBearPig murdering Stan and Kyle was false. And if Butters had found out, Eric was sure that the younger teenager would be furious. If word got out that Stan and Kyle had been locked away in a bomb shelter by Eric's doing, he was sure that the consequences for his actions would be grave. Worst of all – everyone would hate him. Like... everyone super LOVED Eric, right? ...Of 'course everyone really loved Eric. He was super awesome, and everyone wanted to be just like him! ...Right? Right! He couldn't risk loosing all of his friends if Butters had found out that Stan and Kyle had been locked away. If the family that wanted to purchase the house actually moved in, they'd discover Stan and Kyle in the bomb shelter, and report them to the police. Stan and Kyle would tell everyone what had happened, and Eric would have to suffer. So... he truly thought that the story of ManBearPig bringing Stan and Kyle to their doom was necessary to tell Butters. Because not only would Butters help him get rid of the family trying to move in, and the house, but the damage done to the house and some of the land around it would take months to fix, thus... hopefully... drawing attention away from the bomb shelter. If it came to it... Eric would have to move Stan and Kyle to a different location... keep them locked up somewhere else. But that's only worst-case-scenario. For now, he had to focus on destroying the house that had just come into his view, several yards beyond his dark blue vehicle.

The small car's pace began to slow, eventually rolling to a halt as Eric shifted the gear into PARK again. He was quick to grab the keys from the ignition, sliding his thumb up and down the metal base of the main car key. His auburn-colored eyes were focused upon the house, his brows slightly knitting together to form an expression of concentration, as he watched the activity going on around the building. A familiar orange and white moving truck sat in the parking space of the house, it's company's name printed in bold, yellow letters against the side of the van. Movers were walking in and out of the house and the back of the van – taking boxes of stuff to move inside the house. Upon the front porch, a casual-dressed man (who Eric assumed was the "Man Of The House") calmly chatted with a man in a blue uniform. Eric's fear of the man being a cop quickly died when he realized that the man was carrying a white Mail-Bag. He then noticed the mail-truck parked next to the moving van. He couldn't help but feel a little stupid for not noticing it before.

Through the window of the house, Eric could see a young woman moving about the kitchen, decorating the room with a big smile on her face. Unlike her husband (who had short brown hair), her hair was long and blonde, traveling just a bit past her shoulders. And if Eric was correct, that would be the mother, and the little girl that Butters had mentioned in school was exploring the rest of the house.

"They don't even know they're in danger... Look at them, Eric. They're all smiley and happy... they're happy they have a new home. I feel so bad for them..."

Butters' soft voice piped up from the passenger's seat of the car. Eric took a moment to steal a glance toward the blonde. The youth was sitting in the leather seat, hands nervously fidgeting together, like they always had. His glasses were beginning to slide down his nose... but Butters was quick to readjust them again. It was clear the boy was nervous. Eric knew he didn't want anything to do with an apparently 'real' creature that could possibly eat him if he came into contact with it. Luckily, Eric knew this wouldn't stop Butters from helping him blow up the house. Butters said that he'd help Eric. He was behind him one-hundred percent. No going back, now.

"Sure, they seem happy, but they don't know their lives are at risk, Butters." Eric reminded the younger male, sending his gaze toward the house again. "Believe me... we're doing them a favor. They'll never understand why. And if we," (Butters) "get caught after, at least we know that we saved them from loosing their lives."

"That's true..." Butters' voice grew quieter. Eric ignored the slight change in Butters' tone and opened his door. Pushing the door open, he slid out of his leather seat and onto the cold ground. His face – the only part of his body that was exposed – was immediately attacked by tiny slow-flakes... each one giving a cold bite to his bare skin. Eric lightly shivered, brushing the melting flakes of water off of his face. Gently... and quietly, he shut the door to his car, and began to make his way toward the trunk. On the other side, Butters had slowly exited his door and shut it... and continued to stare at the house.

Once at the back of his car, he pressed the trunk button on the keys. The trunk popped open, allowing Eric to slide his hand under the flap and pull it up, exposing the inside of the small space in the back of his car. The leather trunk was loaded... from the floor to the top of the seats... with boxes of explosives. A small grin spread across Eric's lips. Quickly, he began to grab boxes from the trunk – handling them with care – before dropping them into Butters' arms (who had joined Eric after a few seconds of viewing the house again). The blonde gave a light grunt as more boxes began to stack on top of each other in his arms.

"Eric... these boxes are heavy..." He complained. "I don't know if I can carry all of them."

"Just try your best, Butters." Eric sighed. He pulled more boxes from the trunk and settled them into his own arms, before shutting the lid and locking the car. He turned away from Butters and looked around, his eyes finally setting on a small bunch of large bushes near the house. Giving a silent nod to Butters, Eric took off in that direction, the blonde following close behind.

(*P.O.V. Transition*)

Stan wasn't sure how much more of the cold he could take.

His whole body was shaking and shivering, trying to battle the frost that was nipping at his dry skin, and the back of his neck. He was leaned against the wall, arms hugging his bent knees, head resting against the stone of the wall. His eyes were closed, his chest shakily rising and falling with deep breaths. He didn't have to see the air to know that each breath he took was became visible as it slipped past his lips. The only sound that invaded the silence of the dimly-lit room was the nervous tap of his foot against the ground... and the uneven breathing of the unconscious redhead beside him. Stan dared open one eye, and lightly tilt his head to peek in the Jewish boy's direction.

Kyle was curled against the wall, his red hair hidden away by Stan's blue and red hat. Underneath the two thin blankets tucked tightly around him, he wore Stan's shirt and warm brown coat. The short shirt he had been wearing before had been forgotten somewhere else in the room. His hands were also covered by Stan's dark red gloves... which left Stan's fingers to the fate of the cold.

...Stan didn't mind.

When Kyle had fallen, Stan had done everything he could to try to wake him up. But he'd remained unconscious... limp in Stan's arms. At first, Stan thought Kyle was dead. That he'd somehow hurt himself in some sort of fatal way at the end of his fall. But the more he had investigated, the more he realized that Kyle had only been knocked unconscious, and the only thing really damaged was his right arm. It had been broken, twisted in an angle it shouldn't have been in. As much as Stan hated it, he'd popped Kyle's arm back into the angle it was supposed to go. However, it still wouldn't move right, and Stan knew that the only way he'd get his arm fixed... or even keep it at this point... would be to go to the hospital. After Stan took off his coat and shirt and put them on Kyle, along with his hat and his gloves so Kyle could be warm (seeing how Kyle needed the warmth more than Stan did at that moment), he'd slipped on two of Jimbo's big shirts for himself, before he'd gone and searched for the exit of the bomb shelter, like the two of them had planned on before. But, unfortunately, this wasn't like the movies. There was no hidden passage or secret that could lead to their freedom. Stan and Kyle were stuck. Hopelessly, and utterly, stuck.

And the worst part, is that it's been two and a half days since Kyle had fallen... and he hadn't woken up. Stan's worry only grew more and more by the days that started to go by. He began to care less about how much of an idiot Cartman was, and focused more on the fact that Kyle may never wake again. The thought made Stan sick to the stomach. With Kyle unconscious, and no one coming to rescue them, and knowing there was no way out of the bomb-shelter, Stan was beginning to loose hope.

Or he was, that is, until a small cough from the redhead grabbed his attention.

Stan's blue eyes widened with surprise as he snapped his head to his right to cast his gaze upon Kyle's curled up figure. The Jewish boy's head had risen to cough for a moment, before letting out a soft, raspy, pained groan. Stan was out of his spot in moments and at the redhead's side, though he refrained from laying a hand on Kyle's body... worried he'd only hurt him if he did so. Instead, he waited, and in time, Kyle's eyes opened to reveal their familiar green tint. Stan studied them closely, staring... and Kyle stared right back, and then, his eyes lit with recognition, and he gave another little cough.

"S-Stan?"

A small smile broke out on Stan's features as Kyle's familiar voice invaded the cold silence that he'd left Stan with in the first place. Stan held back tears of relief when he noticed Kyle's awakening, and gave a small sigh. "Hey, dude..." He spoke gently. "How're you feeling?"

Kyle was hesitant on replying, still trying to clear away the fog of the sleep he'd just woken from. His green eyes kept disappearing under his closed eyelids and then reappearing as his eyes opened in several blinks. Then, he let out another pained groan-like gasp and looked up to catch Stan's very concerned gaze again.

"Well, my arm feels like a car ran over it, I'm thirsty and starving, and the rest of me feels like shit. However..." He paused for a moment, taking all things into consideration. He didn't move as Stan got up, but only watched as Stan ventured off to fetch a bottle of water and some chicken-noodle soup. As he watched, he continued on with what he was saying. "I feel warmer than before... and you look like you've changed clothes... your hat is gone..."

"I gave you my clothes," Stan quickly spoke. He stopped a moment. Wow. That was a weird thing to say out loud. He shook his head and continued, reaching into a box to grab a bottle of water. "I don't know if you remember dude, but you fell from the top of the latter up there," He gestured to the latter. "And broke your arm when you hit the ground. You've been out for a couple days."

Kyle's voice didn't hesitate this time. "Days?!" He repeated quickly. "I've been out for a couple days?! Didn't you try waking me up?"

"Of 'course I did," Stan told his best friend, reaching into another box and picking up a can of chicken-noodle soup. He turned back to Kyle, who was still laying on his side upon the ground. He began to move closer to the redhead. "But you never woke. Believe me, I tried everything. Shaking you, slapping you, pouring water on your face..." He listed off the attempts he'd done. "But nothing worked. You finally just woke up on your own about a minute ago."

Kyle thought for a moment, staring at Stan with a look of deep concentration as he began to sort out the situation in his head. As he did so, Stan approached, got onto his knees, set the water and soup down, and then gently, gently moved Kyle into a sitting position. Of 'course Kyle could do it on his own, but Stan – for some reason – felt the need to baby Kyle while he was injured. Kyle gasped with pain, but stuck it out until he was sitting. The blankets were still tightly wrapped around him, his arms snug underneath. Finally, Stan opened up the chicken-noodle soup, grabbed a fork, spun up some noodles on the fork, then looked to Kyle.

"Say 'Ahh'." Stan commanded, raising the fork up. He watched with slight amusement as Kyle eyed the food curiously, still with tired eyes, before looking to Stan and raising a brow in question.

"Seriously? You're going to feed me?" He asked. "I have a broken arm... but I'm not a five-year old. I can feed myself."

Stan frowned as he thought for a moment, and then shook his head again, pushing the fork even closer to Kyle's lips. "You were stupid enough to let go of the latter with both of your hands a couple days ago. I'm not going to risk you doing anything else stupid. You might... poke yourself in the eye with the fork... or something."

Kyle obviously didn't like Stan's reasoning, but he didn't argue further. Instead, he only rolled his eyes with a This-Is-Ridiculous expression, and then lazily opened his mouth and made an "Ahh" sound. Stan's eyes lit with delight, and he gave a slightly amused smile as he gently stuck the fork into Kyle's mouth. Kyle's lips came down on the fork, pulling the food off of the tongs, and then gently eating. Stan reached the fork into the can to grab another bite for his redheaded friend. He watched as Kyle's eyes slowly lit this time, with satisfaction to get food in his stomach for the first time in a while. Kyle even made a happy humming noise, which caused Stan to break out in another smile. The two sat in silence for several moments while Stan continued to feed Kyle as if he was a baby. Then, finally, breaking the silence once more, after finishing up a bite of the soup, Kyle looked to Stan with curiosity.

"Stan..." Kyle mumbled a moment. "You... gave me your clothes?"

Stan felt his face flush as a bright red hue spread across his cheeks. He suddenly found the can of noodles in his hands very interesting, staring at the single noodle that slipped in between the plastic prongs on the fork. He wasn't sure why he felt such a wave of embarrassment or awkwardness, but... it was there. Slowly, he swallowed, before raising the fork to slip into Kyle's mouth. Kyle obeyed the silent command and waited for an answer. Stan almost decided to not answer Kyle's question... but he quickly sided against it, knowing that his friend would absolutely not go without an answer. After slipping the fork away from Kyle's lips, he put it into the can, and fished for another noodle.

"Well, yeah..." The raven-haired boy's tone was nearly a whisper. "I mean, that shirt was really short, dude... and you were cold... I was worried."

"But I bet you're freezing." Kyle retorted, looking into Stan's eyes, even though his friend wouldn't look back. "You should at least take back your coat, Stan. You need to be warm."

Stan shook his head in refusal, and lifted another fork to meet Kyle's mouth. Kyle rejected the bite this time, though, out of stubbornness. Stan finally gave up and put the can and the fork down. He stared at the ground a moment, feeling Kyle's persistent gaze burning into his skin. He slowly looked up to his friend, and showed the tiniest of smiles. Everything would have been cool, but... he found that it wasn't his usual smile. That usual Hey, no worries friend smile was replaced with something of... a deeper meaning. But what?

"Kyle, really, I'm fine. It doesn't bother me..." Stan paused, trying to phrase his wording carefully. He didn't want to have what he was about to say sound... weird. "When I saw you fall from the latter, the only thing on my mind was helping you. I can't take you to a fucking hospital, and I'm pissed about that, but... I want to do whatever I can to make sure you're comfortable through this. And if that means giving you the things you need to be warm and letting myself be cold, then... it's okay. The only thing that matters to me is getting you in a better condition."

Kyle stared at Stan like he'd never seen him before. There was some sort of unfamiliar look in Kyle's gaze that had chills running down Stan's back. He felt himself lightly squeezing the bottom of the extra-long brown shirt covering his chest. Why was he feeling this way? Why was he feeling so... nervous and needy? Needy... yeah, he guessed that could fit. He didn't just want Kyle to get better. He needed Kyle to get better. Without Kyle, Stan would be here by himself, and... he didn't know if he'd last without Kyle with him. And only Kyle. No one else had made Stan feel this way before... Kyle had been the only one. Kyle, Kyle, Kyle...

Suddenly, Stan's eyes widened as Kyle moved to get up. The black-haired boy crawled backward and watched the redhead get to his feet. Kyle had groaned in the process, and held his arm as he moved. Stan could imagine sharp pains shooting up and down that limb, probably crawling all the way up to the shoulder. When the Jewish boy stood, he wavered for a second, and Stan was almost worried the kid was going to fall. But he quickly regained balance, looked to Stan with a deep gaze, and then looked around. The blankets had fallen from his body and softly hit the ground at his feet. Stan couldn't help but notice how cute Kyle looked in his sweater and his ha-...

What the fuck is wrong with me?!

Stan mentally slapped himself. He couldn't think that way right now. Whatever had gotten over him needed to stop. This growing affection for Kyle... where had that been coming from? He'd always seen Kyle as his best friend. He loved the guy. ...Friendly like. Right? Right. He was like a brother. Besides... Stan had a relationship with Wendy. Er... it was on and off, and currently off, but there was still something there. Wasn't she enough proof that Stan was straight, anyway? Liking Kyle in... that sort of way made him sound gay, and... there wasn't any possibility that he'd liked the same sex before. He found homosexual stuff a little gross, really. So how come with Kyle... how come he felt like the way he was feeling was right?

Wait a minute, what was he talking about? How could he even be sure that what he was saying was fact. He didn't like Kyle, didn't he? It was tension. That had to be it. Sexual Tension. He'd been around his best friend too long. Wait... sexual tension? How the hell was any of this sexual?! ...Stan's head started to hurt from all the thinking. ...He felt sick...

"Stan?" Kyle asked, raising an eyebrow curiously at his friend. "You don't look so good..."

Stan shook his head, staggering to his feet. He put a hand on his stomach, only feeling a little sicker. Looking at Kyle made him want to... oh no...

Before Kyle could say anything more, Stan turned, embarrassment flushing on his face once more as he ran to the corner of the room and vomited. He heard a sound of disgust coming from Kyle's direction. Stan groaned after he finished ruining the floor and held his stomach, grabbing a spare shirt out of a random box and wiping his mouth up. He heard footsteps come from behind him... and then felt a hand gently rest against his left shoulder. Then he felt an arm across his back.

"Stan, are you okay? Are you sick?"

Kyle's voice actually shown concern, now, instead of disgust. Stan still embarrassed. Way to kill whatever unintentional moment they were having. Stan refrained from shaking his head. He hadn't thrown up like that in a while. The last time he did that was for Wendy, and that's because, for some odd reason, liking someone in a certain way made him want to...

His eyes widened.

"I-I'm fine..." He coughed and mumbled his words, holding in another round as he leaned back up into a straight standing position. Kyle's arm was still wrapped around his shoulder. He felt the redhead give him a light squeeze, and he looked down at Kyle's face. Kyle's curly red hair was poking out of Stan's hat at the bottom. His green eyes were almost intense as he stared up into Stan's. Stan nearly frowned with confusion. Had Kyle's eyes always looked so beautiful?

SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!

Stan bit his lip and looked away from Kyle, crossing his arms over his chest a moment. If he didn't look at his friend, he wouldn't feel this way. Shrugging out of Kyle's grasp, Stan began to walk over to the center of the room. He expected Kyle to follow, but instead, he heard his friend step in a different direction. Risking his chances of throwing up again, Stan looked toward Kyle, and watched as Kyle picked up one of Jimbo's shirts, and proceeded to try to make a makeshift cast out of it for his arm. He was having trouble doing this all on his own... and increasing his chances of vomiting again, Stan slowly walked over to Kyle and began to tie up the shirt. It wasn't long before Kyle's arm rested comfortably in the shirt that was tied around his shoulder. When it was finished, he smiled up at Stan with an adorable, thankful look.

"Thanks, dude." He spoke casually.

Stan's face flushed. He opened his mouth to speak, but suddenly, something cut him off. It wasn't Kyle. It wasn't something falling off of a shelf. It wasn't the lights flickering. It was a noise. A noise from the bomb shelter's lid.

Both boys spun around to look up at the lid, eyes widening to the size of dinner plates with uncertainty and surprise as a shifting sound started, followed by the sudden show of natural sunlight flooding into the room from the top of the latter. Hands shaking, Stan slowly began to approach the later, Kyle following behind them. They stared up toward the entrance, and watched as the lid opened all the way up. The light was white and blinding at first, but it quickly faded, and revealed the image of a young figure. A little girl, with long blonde hair and pale skin. She looked down at the boys with curiosity, then spoke in a little high-pitched voice...

"What are you guys doing down there?"

(*P.O.V. Transition*)

Eric had never seen Butters run so fast in his life.

After the two of them had set the explosives around the house and on the inside (in which Butters had sent on that brave mission, making sure to get the basement as well), they both decided that Eric would hide far enough away with the trigger in his hand, and he'd hit the button as soon as everyone was out of the house. However, he knew he wouldn't get the family and the movers away that easily. He couldn't just ask them to leave, and he knew they wouldn't fall for the ManBearPig story. So, Eric had to come up with a new plan. It was stupid, but what parts of his plans hadn't been stupid and totally out-of-character, lately?

When the bombs were set, Eric had told Butters to go inside the house, steal an item that everyone would find of great importance, and then run. Butters had questioned why he had to be the one to do it, and as much as Eric hated admitting it, he pointed out that Butters was faster on his feet because he was skinnier and lighter. Butters still didn't understand, so Eric went on to then say that this whole thing was kind of like football. Take the ball and run to the goal. This seemed to put Butters into a better mood about it... and right as he left... he slapped Eric's ass. If anyone had seen how red Eric's face was, they would have died from laughing so hard.

Anyway, long story short, Butters had retrieved something important (like a special plate or something... Eric couldn't quite tell) and then tore down the street with the mother and father of the family and all of the moving employees chasing after him. Eric had watched with slight amusement as Butters' glasses fell off of his face, forcing the blonde to leave them behind and run with insecurity then. When they had been far enough, Eric looked back toward the house, and to the bunches of explosives crowding the outside. This was going to be great. However... he felt like he was forgetting someone. Had he gotten everyone far away from the house? Yes. Was everything supposed to work? Yes. Would this explosion possibly kill Kyle and Stan in the bomb shelter? ...Possibly. Yep, this all seemed clear. Cartman wickedly grinned as he moved to press the button. But right before his thumb could even slide over the shiny red button begging for his attention... he saw something. Out of the corner of his eye.

The bomb shelter's lid... was opened.

In front of it stood a little girl, and another figure had been climbing out from inside. It took Eric a minute to register who it was. It was obviously a teenage boy, but he looked so fucking dirty and miserable, that it was hard to tell who it was. His hair was dirty and messy, and caught in all sorts of tangles. His skin was very pale... nearly completely white. There were dark circles under his eyes, indicating that he hadn't gotten much sleep. He looked skinny... too skinny for someone his age. He wore an oversized shirt or two, along with dirty pants and shoes. He shook for a moment as he looked around the wide and opened world... before a big smile spread along his face. He leaned over the entry of the bomb shelter and shouted something to the inside, before looking to the little girl. His lips moved to form the words "Thank You" over and over again as he gave her an excited hug. Then, he looked to the house... and his smile faded as he saw the explosives. His joyful expression had grown to become one of concern. His eyes followed the line of the explosives... which lead right to Eric's hiding spot. He squinted a little bit, but as soon as he saw ERic, his eyes focused. Eric felt his breath hitch.

It was Stan. Pure anger suddenly flushed across his face. He looked like he was ready to move toward him. Not even thinking it through, Eric looked to the trigger in his hand... and then slammed his palm atop it, pressing the button down into the hole.

Everything seemed to go into slow motion from there. Stan's body had darted forward and thrown itself on top of the little girl, burying her underneath him before he held his head under his arms. A fire suddenly ignited from one of the explosives, and then suddenly, a loud sound pierced Eric's ears as every explosive began to erupt into excited flames. The force had knocked Eric onto his ass, jolting the trigger out of his hand, and into the snow beside a bush. He hit his head against the ground, and for a moment, everything to him was black and silent.

Luckily for him, he'd regained consciousness only moments later. His head ached like a bitch, but he wasn't in the least bit concerned about that. Instead, he found himself abandoning the trigger as he sprinted in Stan's direction. The teenage boy was on top of the little girl, and both of them were unconscious. Their skin was burning up from the heat of the explosion, though somehow, no flames or any heat had burned them or caught them on fire... and the explosion itself hadn't killed them. Eric hesitated, but then moved past Stan, and to the bomb shelter. He got down onto his knees and peered inside.

The single most awful person that Eric hated with all his being was still in the bomb-shelter, but... in a terrible condition. All the big-boned teen could see was the redhead's curly hair atop his head. The Jew's body was under a heavy shelf, which must have fallen with the explosion. He didn't look like he was hoping... and all Eric could hope was that the Jewish boy had died. Died a horrible shelf-crushing death.

Eric removed himself from the ground's cold surface and moved to close the lid... only to finally notice that the lid had been knocked out of it's hinges, and lay in the snow several feet away from the bomb shelter itself. Eric found himself raising an eyebrow in wonder of exactly how that managed to happen, but decided to ignore it. He knew something else, now. Now that the bomb-shelter's lid was broken, Kyle could escape. But Kyle was most-likely injured when the shelf fell, indicating that he wouldn't be able to get up the latter. Eric almost considered going down and dragging Kyle out, because he knew that it was only a matter of time before people showed up and discovered him. But the soft groans coming from Stan made Eric realize that he had absolutely no time before more shit hit the fan. He had to act, now. So, he moved and grabbed Stan's body, hoisting the unconscious boy over his shoulder, before turning and running from the bomb-shelter.

Eric had run as quick as he can, but it was taking a lot of his breath away. By the time he reached his car, be found a panting, wide-eyed Butters waiting for him, who's eyes only got wider when he saw Stan in his arms. But before the blonde could ask any questions, Eric shoved past him and shoved Stan's body into the back seat.

"We have to go!" Eric demanded, locking the back doors of the car and sliding into the driver's seat. He watched as Butters began to move toward the passenger's chair. "We've successfully killed ManBearPig, Butters, but it turns out that he was holding Stan captive! We have to go... NOW!"

When Butters got in and shut his door, Eric slammed his foot onto the gas pedal, and the car began zooming off toward South Park at an alarmingly fast rate. As they drove, several cop cars and ambulances sped the opposite way... toward the house. Eric could hear Butters breathing heavily with fear.

"I can't believe you found Stan!" He panted. "What are we going to do with him?!"

"My basement!" Eric spat before he could even think about what he was saying. "We'll tie him up in my basement until I can figure out where else to put him! We can't let him escape!" Butters went to speak again, but I screamed, "JUST SHUT UP BUTTERS AND LET ME HANDLE THIS!", and slammed my foot harder on the gas petal. The car went even faster, and Butters whimpered with fear and nervousness. My heart raced in my chest. What the fuck am I doing?

(7/1/14) Okay. I owe you all a huge apology. It's been a LONG TIME since I last updated. I am SO sorry for the super long wait. I know some of you are dying to know about Kyle's condition, and others have just become followers who are eager to see what happens next. When I last posted, I was very eager to get the next chapter out. I know it's kind of a disappointment to see an Update instead of a new Chapter out. RIGHT AFTER I posted that chapter, I was all like, "I'm gonna get this next chapter out, and it's gonna be SO badass!" ...And then... and then my computer's all like, "Nope. Fuck you. I'm going to stop working for a couple months and make you feel like a jackass." So that's what happened. My computer took a shit and wouldn't start up again. Because of this, I've been unable to update any chapters, post any notifications about the situation, or even continue writing the story. Again, I greatly apologize. Now that my computer is fixed up (and hopefully won't crap out again), I'm going to get right back onto completing the next chapter. I knew I should tell you all about the situation first though. Everything is cleared, and we can get started again. Thank you SO MUCH for your patients! I promise I'll get this next chapter out as soon as I can. Thank you for all the wonderful reviews. Don't worry. Stan and Kyle's tale doesn't end here. I hope none of you are too pissed off at me for not updating in a long time. x.x 3

UPDATE (7/2/14): I wanted to post yesterday's update first just so no one was still confused on what happened. We can move on from that, now. What a crappy way to end the chapter, huh? XD I know it looks a bit rushed. I stayed up really late writing this last chapter... but hey, I fucking got it done! WHOOO HOOOO! If any of you caught the hidden reference in that chapter, you get a cookie. A big fat cookie of whatever your favorite is. The next chapter will be out soon. I have company over for the next week or so, so I don't have time to just continuously write and write and write like I usually do (I have lots and lots of time, usually), but I promise it WILL NOT take several months to post the next chapter. Now... as much as I hate to admit it, the story is coming dangerously close to the end. Please don't worry, because there will be lots of romance coming up... the stuff I know you've all been waiting so long for... XD. This has been my first multi-chapter Fan Fiction... and if it isn't obvious... I'm not the greatest at plots. But it's your guys' positive feedback that keep me going. Thank you all so much for helping me get through this. If it wasn't for all the wonderful comments, this story probably would have stopped a LONG time ago.
ALSO. ON ANOTHER NOTE. I need your guys' opinion. I'm seriously considering making a short one-shot about Butters getting his glasses for the first time. I at least know that I am interested to see why Butters needs them and how he got them, and I'm sure you all are at least a little curious as well. If I end up writing it, I think I might as well just make it a Bunny (Butters x Kenny) fic. Would you guys be interested in something like that?
Okay. That's it. Thanks everyone! Next chapter is coming soon! X.O.X.O!

UPDATE: I now realize that the last paragraph was written in first-person. I apologize. I have a weird habit of writing my stories First Person, and I usually go back and edit it to third-person when I realize I made that mistake. But I guess I didn't catch myself on that last part. Sorry, guys!