Authors Note: Special thanks to KyleisGod for helping out with some Cartman-lines. ;) And thanks to everyone who reviewed. I hope you continue to like it... got big plans for this story. More reviews, sooner it gets done cause I'll be eager, and the sooner I can work on Dreams, Rain, Go Insane again. :P Nah, not bribing you, but I'd love to know what you think.

Chapter 5- Playing for Cartman

Stan said nothing about his little "performance", and I never brought it up again. I don't know if he even remembered; He was asleep when I had gotten back home, snoring loudly and woke up with a bad headache the next morning. I think he had been more intoxicated than I originally thought. I guess some people don't get all that crazy when they're drunk, like the media tries to make you believe.

So it's been a week, and that helpless feeling is still there, but it doesn't feel like my chest is going to collapse…

Most of the time.

Stan never did get his weekend alone with Wendy. I think the story I made up about a serial killer that had escaped from death row and was at large around Aspen, where the Marsh's were destined to spend their weekend, may have had something to do with it. And maybe Cartman slashing their tires and stealing their check book and credit cards was part of the reason they cancelled. Only it actually didn't do anything except buy more time, because they're now having their weekend get away next weekend.

Stan couldn't be happier, and I'm just trying to think of anything else in the whole world that might keep the Marsh's from ever going anywhere again in their lives. I want to stop it from happening, but how can you stop the inevitable? If Stan and Wendy are going to stay together, eventually they're going to screw around.

But it kills me…

Ignoring the pain in my chest the best I can, I close my eyes and turn my face upward, feeling sunlight warm my skin. I tell myself it'll be alright. I remind myself to breathe.

"Ball!"

The moment the word blares out, I'm pummeled in the side of the head. The pain is sharp and immediate, shooting through my entire body.

"I said ball." Cartman snorts.

I can feel him beside me, only my head is spinning with too many stars to see him. And then there's warmth against my arm and Stan's voice.

"Why do you always have to pick on Kyle?"

"Time!" Someone in the distance yells. I think it's Craig.

"Why do you always have to mollycoddle Kyle?" Cartman retorts. "God, maybe if he'd get his head out of his ass and pay attention once in a goddamn while, he would have seen it coming!"

"Christ, you're such a bastard!" Stan wails.

"Marsh, Cartman, Broflovski!" I hear the gym teacher, Mr. Riser, scream out our names, even though he's only about six feet away by this point. "What in Sam Hill is the problem?"

"Cartman hit Kyle in the head with the ball." Stan tattles openly. "Again."

"I'm sorry Kahl…" He apologizes in a taunting, singsong sort of way, rolling his eyes with disinterest.

My hand is on my head, and I pull it away with bloody fingers.

"You made him bleed, asshole!" Stan's outraged cry startles both me and Cartman, and we both jump slightly.

"Marsh," Mr. Riser points at him. "Save that passion for the game. You should be calm off the field. Cartman!" He barks at the snickering boy. "You know the drill. Get Broflovski to the nurse. Pronto. I want you back on this field in five minutes or you will receive a failing grade."

Cartman flips him the bird the second his back is turned, cursing profoundly beneath his breath. Stan's face is so close to mine I can count individual lashes, and his fingers are still curled around my forearm.

"You alright, Ky?"

When he calls me that, when he looks at me, my world, my everything… is perfect. I feel myself shiver against a gust of wind and blindly touch my bloody hair.

"He's fahn." Cartman cuts in, slamming his body into Stan's and knocking him away from me. "Lets go, Jew."

"It's okay." I smile weakly at Stan, keeping eye contact for a moment even after I begin trailing behind fat fuck. He stands, one lone figure watching carefully until we disappear inside the building, ready to pounce the moment Cartman tries anything else. But I honestly don't think Cartman would ever really hurt me, or he'd have done it by now. Plus, I've taken him on in many fights before.

"We've got to do something, Kahl!" He springs on me the moment the door closes, cornering me against the wall.

"What the-"

"Lets just skip all the bullshitting around." He waves his hands in front of me, as if erasing every hard feeling between us. His eyes are wide with something that resembles concern and panic. "You hate me and I hate you. But right now Kahl, we need each other."

"I don't need you." I laugh. His eyebrows furrow.

"Do you want Stan screwing around with Wendy next weekend?"

My stomach flops at the reminder, and the feeling reflects on my face.

"That's what I thought." He begins pacing up and back, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "I don't say things like this to people; but Kahl," He pauses, looks at me with a sigh. His eyes are sad, and that's something I've never seen there before. My heart immediately goes out to him. "Kahl, we can't… we can't let it happen. Please, I-" He sighs again, wracking his fingers through his hair.

There's been so many times I've trusted Cartman. Too many. Every time it has been fake, his emotions hadn't been real. I always want to give him the benefit of the doubt and I don't know why. Part of me cares about him a lot, because in a way, he is my friend, and as much as I hate to see him happy, I can't stand it when he's sad, either; when he's honestly, truly sad. Not when he's being the deceitful bastard he usually is.

"…Y-you've got to help me stop it."

"Cartman," My voice is gentle, something that normally only happens when I talk to Stan. I never have personally emotional talks with anybody else. "what can we do? Really? Are we going to continue to slash Stan's parents car tires every weekend?" His eyes flash with something I might consider guilt if it were anybody else. "nuke every form of birth control within a thousand mile radius so that they'll be too nervous to do anything together?"

"You're telling me you're okay with this?" He counters. "You're telling me you're just going to let it happen and do nothing?!"

"There's nothing we can do, short of killing one of them or misleading them with lies to break them apart!" Cartman's eyes brighten at the idea. "NO!" I scream. "I wont do it!"

"Why not!? You hate it as much as I do! I've seen the way you look at him lately, Kahl!"

It's that feeling you get in your gut when you hit a drop on a roller coaster; that weightless, airless feeling. My voice is unusually high when I speak again. "I haven't looked at him any differently." I tell myself as much as I tell Cartman, not admitting to either of us that his words scare me.

A lot.

"Are you seriously?!" I stare at him, lips parted slightly. My knees feel weak, and not in the good way, like Stan makes them feel. "Jesus… you really-" he laughs, in total disbelief. "you're really that stupid!"

"Fuck you, Cartman!"

"Okay," He holds his hands up again, stopping me from flying past him. "But I've got a plan."

I freeze; interested though I shouldn't be. Cartman's plans are evil and corrupt, but I'm desperate, and he's a mastermind at getting what he wants. For once in probably our entire lives, we both want the same thing. If he can help me get that, why shouldn't I at least hear him out?

"And you think this plan of yours will work?"

"Of course it will, asshole. My plans always work until you get in the way." I scowl at the remark, but manage to hold my tongue. "I need your help because you have Stan's full trust."

"Yeah, and you don't." I point out, just because it makes me feel better. Cartman mutters something darkly about the holocaust. "So what exactly am I suppose to do?" I ignore it.

His anger melts instantly. "Well you know, they can't have sex if they aren't physically together."

"No shit."

Cartman's anger resurfaces. "Just save the attitude, you whiny little pussy, I'm not here to battle your PMS!" I remain quiet, silently fuming as he continues. "Stan said he was going to see her this weekend. I say we invite Stan over Friday night, right?"

"Right." I agree.

"We bring him down to mah basement and distract him with video games."

"Yeah…?" I smile, getting more into the idea.

"He's got a huge boner for video games. We can make him play all night until he's nice and tired."

"Yeah…?" My smile widens.

Cartman holds his hands up, looking around like he's making sure no one snuck in; he smirks when he's sure it's safe. "Then, I knock him out with a baseball bat, tie him up, and cut his dick off. then-"

I blink. "What?"

He pauses a moment. "I said; we cut his-"

"I heard what you said!" His expression goes blank. "We are not going to cut his dick off!"

"…Pleeeeease?" He folds his hands together like he's praying.

"NO!"

"Why not?!" He thunders. "You're not going to get to use it anyway."

"Shut up, fat ass!"

"You want to play with it and that's the reason you don't want me to cut it off, isn't it, Kahl?"

"WE'RE NOT GOING TO CUT HIS DICK OFF AND THAT'S ALL YOU NEED TO KNOW!!!"

"Fahn! That's fahn!" He decides, as if I'm a huge baby and he's the mature one giving in to my tantrum. I may be throwing a tizzy, but he's fucking insane. "Then what if you just talked him out of it?"

"Stan's a guy and it's going to be really hard to talk him out of sex, retard. Why don't you just scare Wendy out of it?"

"Tried it." He assures. "I don't think it worked. They're still all over each other. Maybe it'll sink in before she does anything too graphic, but I'm not willing to take chances on a gamble like that, are you?"

His eyes are so sincere; so honest. Dammit, I'm believing him again, aren't I? I'm being sucked into his world of never-ending lies and manipulation. And still… I can't help it.

"This is really important to you, isn't it?"

"Nothing, Kahl… nothing has ever mattered more to me."

I stare at him for a long time, considering it carefully. His expression never wavers; the one of hope and torment. This is killing him, so badly that he's asking, begging for my help.

And then I consider my own hopeless, agonized emotions. How terrible it makes me feel inside whenever I see Stan and Wendy together. How badly I wish I could undo what I created in the first place; the thing I wake up and hate myself for every single day. And I think about how good it makes me feel when Stan is with me, and how those moments are rapidly disappearing.

I sigh carefully, my shoulder's sagging in defeat. "You're… right Cartman." I look down, seeing Stan's face instead of the floor like I should. "I don't want to lose him and… and I am."

My nose starts to sting; I hate myself for needing so badly to cry. I sniff and try to stay in contact with my anger, because it's the only thing that'll keep me from breaking down.

"Stan will listen to you," Cartman assures. "He trusts you more than any other person in the whole world." For some reason he looks like the words leave a foul taste in his mouth. "I know he'll at least consider what you have to say. He always thinks about you first."

Cartman has never made me feel so good in my life. I needed that boost; that reminder that no matter what, I am Stan's best friend.

"You've just got to make it good," He goes on. "Just remind him how painful and bloody it's gonna be for Wendy. And be graphic. Talk in detail about STD's and how they can end up with malicious little bastard babies sucking at her titties in no time."

"But what if that doesn't work?" I frown and try hard not to envision that last scenario.

"That's why you always have to have a Plan B." He grins.

"Plan B?" I repeat. He nods. "Okay. So what's plan B?"

"This is gonna be hard," he pauses for dramatic effect. All it does is makes me feel impatient. "you're going to have to lie."

"Lie?"

"Lie." He confirms. "To Stan."

Oh God…

I feel my throat constrict painfully. "I… I can't lie to Stan."

"Sure you can." He encourages. "It's easy."

"Maybe for you!" My throat is starting to get scratchy from yelling so much. "I've only lied to him once in my entire life, for that stupid egg project in Mrs. Garrison's class, and I felt horrible the entire time! I can't go the rest of my life that way!"

"Can you go the rest of your life without him?" Cartman asks. "Can you honestly be happy watching them together, knowing what they're doing behind closed doors? Can you really stand up there by him and be best man at his wedding one day? Will you be able to sleep at night knowing she's curled up in his arms and he's not even giving you a second thought? Can you, Kahl? Because I can't."

Why does he have to make such a good point? I never even considered the fact that I might one day have to listen to Stan pledging his soul to Wendy forever. What would that do to me?

I'd die. I would die of a broken heart if I had to endure it.

"That wont happen." I don't recognize the determination in my own voice; it's been solemn and broken for so many weeks. "I can't…" I look up into Cartman's eyes. "I couldn't stand to let that happen."

"Then what's one little lie going to hurt?" He asks. "You're just going to have to make up a story about how Wendy went down on you behind the cafeteria when he was absent last week."

"WHA-"

His hand crashes against my mouth, startling me silent. "Shut the fuck up, Broflovski!" He hiss-whispers. His brown eyes burn wickedly into mine. "It's the only way! He'll take your word for it, Kyle!"

I pull his hand off, keeping a firm grasp on it so he can't plug me up again. "Yeah, and he'll also get pissed at me for it!"

"No he won't. Just tell him you were testing her to make sure she wasn't whoring around behind his back."

"Why can't I just say I saw her with you?!"

"You can't tell him that. Then he'll hate me."

I scowl. "What the hell do you care?"

"I don't, but don't you think he'd think I put you up to it if you use my name?"

Silence.

"If you're going to be such a pussy about it, then use someone else's name, like Craig or that black asshole, Token. He already hates them."

"Okay." I agree, then realized he just talked me into lying to Stan and completely sabotaging his relationship with the only person he's ever loved. And for some reason… I'm eager to do it.

Cartman pats my shoulder, his smile proud and every bit as determined as the one I give back. "Don't let me down."

And for once in my life, I want nothing more than to help Cartman win.

The nurse checks my head and sends me back out in less than five minutes. Just a minor bruise to my left temple. Even though it broke the skin, it wasn't even bad enough for a band aid.

When I get back on the field, I feel something good inside, and I return Stan's smile, this time with genuine happiness. The grass feels thick and alive beneath my shoes. I run hard, play hard, throw the ball further than I ever have in my life.

"Damn, dude," Stan catches up with me between plays, out of breath. Sweat beads across his forehead. "What's gotten into you? Pretending the ball is Cartman's face?"

I laugh, realizing how out of breath I am myself. "Not exactly."

He watches me, smiling as I take my turn to bat. He's supposed to be the catcher, but when I miss a hit, he doesn't catch it. Every time I look at him, he's crouched down like he's ready to play, only he's too busy watching me.

He's impressed that I'm playing so well. Hell, I'm impressed; I fucking hate baseball. But I have to admit that having all of his attention directed at me for once is a welcome change. I wonder if he watches this intently when he comes to my basketball games. I know that when I watch him play football, my eyes stick to him the entire time. Being completely honest, football's okay, but I don't really give a shit about it. I'm never there to watch the game.

Apparently I'm so unfocused I can't even pay attention to the sport I'm in the middle of now, because the ball comes at me so quickly I don't even have time to flinch; still, I somehow manage to hit it dead-on, sending it reeling through the sky.

"Whoa, dude!" Stan shouts, and I beam, completely caught up in how well I've impressed him. "Damn, Kyle, you kick ass!"

"What are you doing?!" I hear Cartman scream at me. "Run, you stupid Jew!"

I drop the bat, breaking into a dead run from where I stand. My blood sugar is low and it makes me feel weak, but I can hear Stan cheering me on, which makes my heart swell and my legs pump faster.

Nearing second base, there's a loud whistle off in the distance, and Stan's encouraging shouts abruptly stop. I glance back, only to find him running across the field toward Wendy, who's appeared out of nowhere and is standing where the grass and blacktop meet. I stop dead in my tracks, ignoring everyone screaming and insulting me for messing up a rare hit like that. But I don't care. They can suck my balls, I still don't give a shit.

Stan's arms slide around Wendy; I cross mine over my chest and feel my face screw up in hatred. Craig runs to my side, shoving me with both hands. My feet stay cemented to the ground.

"What the hell, Kyle?! We could have won!"

I snort, feeling hot air puff out my nose like a pissed-off bull.

"Goddammit!" He raves again, tossing his baseball cap to the ground and kicking up dust as he walks away.

I'm unaffected by his words, because I'm too affected by the sound of Stan and Wendy's laughter carrying off the wind and swirling all around me. That used to be me he laughed with; it used to be me he ran off the field in the middle of games for. I used to make him that happy.

Craig is still cussing up a storm somewhere in the distance, and Cartman appears behind me; suddenly, slowly, like a snake slithering and sneaking toward its pray. He places both of his hands on my shoulders, understanding why I stopped.

He gets it. He gets me.

"You hate him right now, don't you Kahl?" His voice is like warm poison, seeping into my ears, tainting my mind. And I think that maybe I do hate him. Maybe… just a little…

"Think about how he's making you feel right now," He squeezes my shoulders as Stan kisses Wendy and then starts back toward us. "It isn't the first time and it sure as shit isn't going to be the last. Not as long as he keeps the skank around. He cares about her more than he does about you. Actually, I think he's starting to care less about you. It's so obvious." My fists ball and I peel back my lips, grinding my teeth together. "End it, and you'll never have to feel this way again."

Maybe it's the anger thinking for me, but he's right. He's absolutely, positively, one hundred percent right. Wendy stole everything from me. And yeah, Stan is everything to me. I don't even care if that sounds gay, it's the fucking truth. I'm not complete without him, and I've been without him far too often recently. It needs to be stopped; something needs to be done.

"Good Jew." Cartman pats my head like a dog who's just brought him slippers, shuffling off before I can hiss a reply. Stan reaches me just as the bell rings, smiling like the perverted, love-sick, dick hole he is.

"Ky, you were awesome!" He claps me on the shoulder. "How do you feel?"

I look at him; just stare, my eyes wide and wounded. My heart aches, and he doesn't have a clue how incredibly lonely I am when he isn't with me; like a part of my soul is missing.

"…Incomplete." I finally answer, and it's the only answer I can come up with.

He's confused for a moment, and then he smiles again, letting his hand drop away. I close my eyes, hating the feeling off losing that physical contact.

"Don't worry. You'll make it around all the bases next time. At least it's just gym class."

I let out a small laugh that sounds something between a scoff, a sigh, and maybe even a sob as he starts for the locker room.

He's so oblivious he just doesn't understand; I wasn't even talking about gym class.

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To Be Continued...

-BratChild3