Ten Candies: Part One: Two Couples

by KKJxHatter

"Stan and Kyle saw this job as the opportunity of a lifetime. . .They had no idea just how right they were. Nor how devastatingly wrong. . ." various pairings/het/yaoi/yuri

10. Watchful Eyes

The red droplets of blood splattered soundlessly to the lightly blue tiled floor of the upstairs Marsh bathroom. Stan watched them fall in frozen stillness, his breath shallowly striking the air between where he stood and Kyle sat on the rim of the tub. Thick, dried streams glistened in the florescent lighting as they stained the pale flesh of the Jew's wrist. From new, skinner threads, the drops fell in quick succession. Their stunning color cut through the air before they crashed into the clean floors below. The activist watched them fall without a word. He didn't know what could be said as he unfurled the gauze bandages kept beneath the sink. Kyle kept his head lowered, his curls of familiar red color blocking the view to his blanched expression. This bandage, Stan draped about the mutilated digit of his best friend's right hand. A sickeningly iced emotion similar to disgust, coupled with faint acknowledgement, spread within as Stan's fingers felt the missing piece of skin and flesh. Glancing up from his handiwork, his aqua orbs traced the blood over those tight jeans to where two red smeared lips gasped in apparent agony.

There was no need to mention the obvious fact that Kyle had bitten off part of his own finger.

Lowering his eyes, then, Stan fastened the bandages already tainting red to the hand shivering in his grip. He saw the Jew's knuckles whiten when he gritted his teeth. The activist recoiled slightly at the misplaced rage, for minute fear of being lashed at, before he eased forth again. A heavy weight pressed him forward, as he was far too dedicated to this unstable individual to run at a slight sign of anger. Kyle was a deathly enraged person and it was not a new fact. Yet, Stan found himself faltering in the comforting phase of this ritual. His words choked in his throat, as his eyes raced over the bandages to the blood on the floor.

Regret swam through the glacier blocking his words. Stan opened his mouth to plead nothing he could have ever expressed in verbal form. His hands trembled as they slipped forward to grab hold of those slender shoulders quaking in silent, internal hell. The draw of the words, however, was far too blood letting of a trial to force through the barricade. Rather, Stan felt his fingers dig into the shirt of his companion. Pain washed over Stan, cutting into his flesh with fresh hellfire the likes of which he has experienced only once before. Still, nothing came from it, but the worry of what he was seeing and what he wasn't. Frozen, he remained poised, staring through the self inflicted horror of being confronted with such bloody reminders of instability. As he gathered his breath, though, two striking emeralds raised through the frost to peer up at him with a condemning source of burning fire. The ice slipped down his spine as a jolt when Kyle looked at him with such a frightening level of conviction.

Knowing not what else to do, Stan guided Kyle up from the rim of the tub. Kyle went willingly, leaning heavily into the activist as he always did when utterly defeated by his own devices. With one arm around the Jew's waist and the other holding his cupped hands, the other thus led them from the bathroom to the beaten bedroom door of his blue haven. He made quick work of getting them inside. Once there, he led Kyle to his bed, where he sat him down without argument. Kyle sat there, his hands resting in his blood stained lap, while his eyes blankly stared at nothing. The vacancy there was hauntingly similar to the look Stan had seen many times before down at the edge of Stark's Pond during many summers. The sudden memory of blood splashed over rocks clutched Stan's mind for only a second before replaced by the image before him of his suffering friend.

" Jesus Christ, Kyle," he whispered softly. The words cascaded into the air with a loud crash of glass shattering. Although Stan found himself startled, the redhead didn't even shudder. Slowly, Stan smoothed his hands over those tangled curls in what was almost a possessed motion. His touch married with the maternal gesture of loving stroking without his consent. Gently, then, he eased the quivering Jew down onto the cerulean sheets. He carefully drew these sheets around the curled up form and tucked them around him. A soothing voice slipped from his lips with every sense of the soothing motion of water, " Don't worry. You'll be fine,"

Tucking those curls back, Stan pressed his lips softly to Kyle's forehead. Those emeralds closed only then, shutting that damaged soul from whatever else surrounded them. Kyle merely buried his face in the pillows of the activist's bed. There was desperation in the action. Yet, it was not the desperation Stan thought he ought to be seeing within the delicately destroyed body of the Jew. Biting his lower lip, then, he withdrew a fraction of an inch. He longed to question what must of happened to ruin the fiery fury he had heard on the phone only minutes before he had found Kyle tearing a piece of flesh from his finger. He knew names that might have played a part. He could even guess the method of destruction which had raped Kyle of his passionate nature and diminished him to such a state of incapacity. The words of question never left Stan's mouth. He choked them away, for he knew the answer was not his to pry.

Unfortunately well versed in this moment, Stan miserably recognized the unfurling embers touching the air as those hands gripped his sheets. Cautiously, he ran his fingers over Kyle's back in a slow, steady motion. Before he moved away, he pressed his palm down over the other's shoulder to apply as much warmth to that smoldering soul as he could manage to give. Nodding stiffly, he removed his lingering touch as he rose to his feet. A brush of raging inferno graced his flesh as he pulled his hand back. Another nod was presented as he rubbed his own arm in long, weightless strides.

" Will you be okay if I leave?" he solemnly asked, his eyes taking in the way the other shifted his body underneath the sheets. There was a moment of repose, where the question was left to be answered by the returning flush of hatred and rage. The voice that finally drew out from that lifeless body, however, was devoid of all sense of emotion. The emptiness resounded as hollow death as it spiraled heavily into the tension trickling between the bed and the activist.

" . . .Yeah. . .I think I'm just gonna. . . .go to sleep. . ."

" . . .Okay. . .I'll be back in a little bit," Stan muttered, turning from the bed where Kyle drew the sheets up a bit more. He took a few steps towards the door before he found his aqua gaze returning to the shaking form. His eyes moved over the way those fingers gripped the red curls and the way the light melded to the blood stains. A jolt of ice pierced through his very essence as the breath stole his words, " Call if you need me,"

" . . .Okay. . ."

With a curt nod in response, Stan flicked the light off and left the darkness without another cast away stare into the depths of human suffering. He dragged the door shut behind him. There, he stayed, his hand gripping the handle and his head back to rest against the wood. Hesitation robbed him of the ability to walk away. He knew he shouldn't leave, as he knew the fire brewing was one that shouldn't be dealt with alone. Yet, he knew that returning to that room was asking too much of Kyle. Eleven years of faithful friendship had in return granted Stan the unfavorable knowledge of the Jew's temperament. When cracks and breaks cut through that emotional inferno, Kyle would never express the pain when backed into a corner. Addressing the problem would never provide a solution. Kyle was a refusal waiting to happen, as he mended himself in the solitude of his own mind. Pressure applied to alter that had always resulted in wounding the help but never helping the wounds. Thus, Stan knew that he would never be allowed to attend to the scars within if he didn't allow Kyle a chance to heal what he could. Kyle wished to be alone, with himself and only himself, as he always did. It was a wish Stan granted with heavy heart and a furious desire to find someone, anyone, who could actually get the Jew to admit when he was damaged.

Sighing in somber acceptance, Stan headed away from the burning door of his bedroom and let his feet take him downstairs. The Marsh house was a quiet sanctuary, as no one was home outside of the two of them. A second passed where Stan lingered in the doorway, his hands holding the doorknob. His gaze followed the faint blood drops to the stairs before he flinched and squeezed his eyes shut. A scream echoed throughout the house with immeasurable volume as it collided with the world around it. The sound of wood breaking echoed after the shriek as crashes smashed into the shattering stillness. Fighting the urge to turn, to return to that boy, Stan slammed his fist into the doorframe. He heard a cry, a single sob strike the air in a plead for mercy from a Lord that never listened to the words of the four lost lambs of South Park.

The tears fell from his cheeks as he eased open the door to the sunshine of summertime. Stan wiped them away as he left Kyle to the memories of that day. He had never been told what had happened. He had never asked. He refused to go up those stairs and attack the sobbing Jew for what could never be reversed. Shutting the door on those days, when they hadn't known any better, when they hadn't seen those scars traced in the sand of a lakeside shore, he ran from the memories. His feet struck the sidewalk hard as he did, pulling himself from the sun of that tragic day and into the light of the day slowly fading before him.

He went to Kenny.

The lawn to the McCormick place was littered with empty vodka bottles and scattered with crushed boxes of poptarts. The trash had built up near the front door, where a rusted can without a bottom laid on its side. Stan looked over the debris as he absentmindedly knocked on the flimsy front door. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed part of the fence had fallen in again. The rotten pieces were tossed into the decayed backyard amongst the canisters of lighter fluid and gasoline. Hearing the lock clink open, he returned his aqua orbs to the door with its fragmented wooden solidarity of pieces.

Kevin McCormick stared through the darkness into Stan's soul.

Tuffs of striking brown hair streaked over the dirty forehead of the oldest of the seven children. Eyes cut from stone stared through a bruised face emaciated from years of poverty. There was nothing remotely salvageable in that harsh face, looking through the crack in the doorway to where the activist stood on the very edge of the steps. Slowly, the door was eased open as Kevin tilted his head to the side, revealing a long neck stained with red marks. Ghostly shadows befell his eyes as Stan looked to the cracked, broken knuckles on those filth stained fingers touching the wood with ginger lightness. Blood was under those fingernails. Swallowing a wave of frozen emotion, the activist looked back at the face that regarded him with obvious dislike.

" Uh, hey," Stan unsurely greeted the McCormick he had rarely ever spoken to. Kevin adjusted his gaze further into the pressing darkness, although he never once made a motion that acknowledged the presence of the younger boy. Nervously, the activist shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he idly pointed towards the house he could barely see into for the broad shoulders of the McCormick, " Is Ken here?"

" Bedroom,"

The word was venomously snarled as Kevin thumbed over his shoulder. He said nothing else as he left the doorway, leaving the door wide open to all advances and retreats. Stan hesitantly walked inside the damp world of the McCormick place, lightly pushing the door shut. The couch was overturned and pushed against what had at one time been a television stand. A pink child's coat was sprawled on the floor along with various elements of molding trash and glass bottles. Footsteps echoed in the heavy air as doors crept open and slammed shut like a soundtrack. Swallowing the bitterness lingering there, Stan stepped over the reminisces of a battleground as he turned his eyes to the only eye catching element.

Appearing from nowhere, the kitchen cut through the middle of the house like a festering wound. The white washed floors were a glaring omission from the dirty remains of the disastrous shambles of the rest of the house. The countertops were stuffed full of green, white, and brown bottles baring striking labels of varying degrees of proof. A single cooking instrument laid out on the grim laden stove. A bent, broken frying pan caked in burnt grease rested on the burner like a faint recollection of a family gathering. This black metal monstrosity stuck out of the white back splash like blood on the bathroom floor. It seemed to bleed itself as Stan looked upon it with a growing distaste for its out of place grimness. Drawing towards it, he reached the outer limits where the frayed carpet spilled into the cracked gray tiles of the blinding kitchen. There, however, he jerked back in utter recoil as his hand jumped away from the hellish, nightmarish reminder of days lost to the decay of the home.

Seated at the circular dining room table was Carol McCormick.

Her skinny back was facing him, protruding through the off white tank she was dressed in. The harsh straps of her blood red bra contained her chest as the shirt slumped off her skeleton form. Her hand rested on the neck of a vodka bottle, her knuckles bruised in multiple hues. The tangles of her red hair spilled down in front of her face, hiding her from view and him from hers. As he watched, she rested her head down on her forearm, her other fingers sliding down the length of the bottle as if the life was gone from her.

Leaving her as such, Stan left the living room with solid resolve never to look about it again. Instead, he made his way to the door in the back corner of the skinny hallway on the other side of the house. He didn't bother with knocking. He just pushed open the thing and walked inside his boyfriend's bedroom. Sprawled out on the bed was Kenny. His blond hair was splashed about his pillow, for his orange jacket was undone and left loose around his jeans and tee shirt. A dirty magazine was resting on his stomach as he flipped through the exotic poses of women dressed as leather bound hellcats. The breathtaking sapphires of the pervert glanced over with amusement as a sly, catty grin crossed those succulent lips. The activist strolled over to the bed and dropped down next to the lovely angel watching him with such interest for his unannounced arrival.

" Hey, Ken," the activist felt the ice melting down his flesh and into his blood with a pleasingly cold sensation of longing desire. There was a childish, almost innocent, chuckle from the blond. The sound made Stan lean down, pushing one hand into the hard mattress on the other side of those plentiful hips. Kenny folded the magazine over his chest with a pucker of lips.

" Hey, Lover Boy," he cooed out, tossing the dirty rag over the edge of the bed. Rolling onto his side, he pushed his tender lips against Stan's thigh, for that was the part of his boyfriend closest to him. A soft smile formed on the activist's cold expression as he lightly stroked his fingers over the side of his angel. Kenny grinned up at him through his messy blond hair with the beauty of the creature that he truly was beyond the dirt and grim.

Beneath the roughness of the worn clothes, Stan felt the softness to the poor boy's body. There was a radiating warmth of the skin and the plumpness of weight. Blinking in mild intrigue to the sudden shift from waist to hip, the brunette turned his aqua stare down. He rubbed Kenny's waist a little more, drawing his knuckles over the tightness at the hemline and the intoxicatingly soft thigh. As he did, his boyfriend rested his head in his lap, lovingly nuzzling his ink stained jeans in honest enjoyment of the physical contact. There was a moment where only the physical changes registered. Stan found himself incapable of discerning any visible changes in that luscious body as he had with his best friend's. Yet, as he rubbed his fingertips over the succulent curves, he began to see the wideness of those hips and the arch to that gorgeous bottom. Whereas he saw without seeing, he did feel the gentle rolling of the tiniest bit of weight at the hemline as he moved his fingers over his angel's side, his barely plump waist, his formidable hips, his plump thighs and back again. A light touch of a smile found his lips as he traced his hands up to the grinning cheeks of the poor boy. There, he eased his fingers into that mess of blond.

Slowly caressing those locks of gold, Stan found himself twirling one piece in a vaguely familiar manner of speaking. Just as it dawned on him whose action he was mirroring, his hand was smacked away with considerable force. The sound echoed in the air as Kenny stared at the activist's hand was mild distaste and muted confusion.

" Don't do that," the angel sharply ordered, his nose scrunching up in utter dismissal of the very idea. Stan, on the other hand, seemed oblivious to the notion being addressed. Rather, he looked upon that pretty face with such fair features with a blankly empty expression.

" Do what?" he idly questioned, allowing his slightly throbbing hand to fall away from the tangled hair. His fingers fell to Kenny's waist, where he rubbed his knuckles over the soft flesh there. A dirty finger was jabbed at his hand in a manner reflective of true accusation.

" Twirl my hair," Kenny stated, turning his sapphire gems quickly to the side. The activist watched him do this, but he never mentioned the place he was staring. Removing his gaze from the boarded up window, the poor boy shook his head. When he spoke again, his voice had lost much of its initial bite, although the assertive quality was clearly discernable," I don't like it when people twirl my hair,"

" Really?" he asked as he nodded his head. His fingers traced over the worn out fabric of the dirty tee shirt stretched over the gorgeously shaped waist of his boyfriend. Feeling the less than firm flesh there, Stan slightly nudged the ratty garment up so that the lightly bruised skin was shown off in the glistening light trickling into the room. The pale skin was silky as his fingers slipped effortlessly over the faded, old purple marks and the flecks of glitter.

" Yeah,"

" Oh. I. . . hadn't noticed," the activist mumbled, staring down at the way the glitter caught and threw the light over the lines of that belly. Kenny giggled a bit, his body shifting to the way those fingers melted into the warmth dancing off him.

" Yeah, well, remember it," Kenny curtly stated through his light snickers, his hands running up the wrists of the other. Another nod was given in answer, although Stan honestly wasn't aware to what he was agreeing. He never mentioned the obvious fact that one certain Nazi was allowed to twist the blond locks of the poor boy. There was no need to, so he didn't say anything as he gazed down through the heat to the pretty boy looking up at him.

Turning his head to the side, Kenny yawned into the back of his hand. Slowly, he rubbed one eye as he rested his head against one of Stan's thighs. The motion was loving in its seduction, which drew a chilling smile to the lips of the activist. Easing his hands up those sides, he raised his hands from the skin that teased him. With great consideration to the action, Stan gently tucked a lock of blond back over one of those pierced ears. A secondary urge to twist the hair was replaced by a stroke of knuckles over the barely plump cheeks of the angel. Tracing his thumb over those lips, Stan smiled down into the sapphire pools of the oceans within Kenny. As he did, the angel kissed his finger lightly.

A brief flicker of blood washed through Stan's mind like an electric splash of ice crashing into his being. The bloodied hands of the Jew stained his memories, crying out in that holy language in that tragic voice. Looking upon Kenny's innocence, Stan felt his mouth opening to express the horror he had witnessed on the steps of the Broflovski house. Before he said a word, however, he stopped himself with a freezing motion within. He chewed on his lower lip, desperately trying not to bring the subject to light with Kenny. Whereas he knew that if anyone could sort through the mess with calculating indifference, it was Kenny McCormick, he also knew that Kyle would never forgive him. Betrayal was a bitter taste to the activist. He decided against it in the very moment his lover reached up through the spiraling realm of melting and freezing ice. Two hands touched his cheeks without a word spoken, though the gems gazing up at him were livid with emotion and gestures. Startled from his own recollection of red stained memories, Stan cast a confused look down at Kenny.

" Yes?"

" Nothin'," the poor boy said, allowing his hands to fall back to the sheets tangled beneath his body. He continued to stare through Stan with an all knowing gaze as penetrating as a bullet through the chest. Yet, the brunette found himself smiling into the barrel. Gently, he ran his fingertips over those full cheeks splashed with gold.

" I love you," Stan whispered, captured by the simple elegance he saw in that dirty ruffian child. The smile he received in return was breathtaking in all its giggling glory as he felt Kenny move into the gesture.

" I love you too," he answered, his eyes moving behind his messy hair. Stan remained as he was, stroking those cheeks, although he realized he was being watched as much as he was watching. However, as he looked down, he found his mind wandering from the beauty that was before him. Rather, he bit down on his lower lip again, seeing the blood in his mind's eye. Glancing away for a second, he fell into the iced waters of a moonless night. He was lost to those dark currents, then, his head tilted away from the pervert.

A second passed where Stan was devoid of expression. His body shivered in spite of himself as he reeled to the horrifying afternoon he hadn't intended to endure. Just as he was becoming aware that Kenny was eyeing him, he figured out that he had been found out. Hands cut through his frozen stare before they grabbed hold of his waist. In a shocking display of strength, Kenny jerked Stan down on top of him, his arms wrapped about the skinny waist of the brunette. A scream smashed into the air before Stan's cheek was pushed into the slightly curved belly of Kenny. Immediately, the activist struggled against the pressure on his back as his face was buried in the shirt and flesh of his lover's plump waist. Yet, he heard snickering as he was stopped at every turn to escape. He was locked in the embrace as he jerked and twisted. Laughter then broke over his head as Kenny pushed him out of the hug, his hands releasing him from the entrapment. Released into his own, Stan sputtered in the wild freedom, his eyes jumping over the glowing face beneath him. Unsure of how to proceed next, Stan remained in the cage, pressing his face down into the belly. There was confusion in every motion as desperation to be embraced again trickled into his actions. Decidedly not enjoying this wild freedom, Stan fell back into the position his boyfriend had pulled him. Sensing this desire, Kenny wrapped his arms about one of the legs his dirty cheek was pressed into. In this frighteningly entangled position, they remained, a sense of fluid heat warming the cold confusion into gentle acceptance.

Acceptance of what, however, was the question.

" What's on your mind?" Kenny's voice slipped through the air with a light firmness to it. Stan didn't answer right away, as he wasn't sure what to say. There was again hesitation to confess what he had seen. Sighing then, the activist said the only thing which sounded even remotely vague enough to avoid what had actually taken place.

" Nothin',"

" Liar," the poor boy hissed under his breath. The grip on Stan's leg increased in emphasis. Lightly, Stan turned his head into the tantalizing flesh of that little belly. The ice melting into his blood was discomforting, for it threatened his tongue and his words. Nevertheless, he could only sigh and confess to the one part of the equation he felt he owed a true explanation to.

" It's. . . .Kyle," Stan muttered, closing his eyes to the image of the wound he had bandaged. Kenny didn't offer anything in the way of surprise. That in itself wasn't surprising, even if the activist wished it had been.

" What'd he do this time?" there was an interesting lack of concern to the angel's voice that suggested a mute distrust of his own question. The aqua gaze of the brunette opened to that in a slight intrigue. He nuzzled the belly he embraced, glancing down to the legs bound in those snug jeans. A second passed where Stan considered addressing the timbre he heard rather than struggling through a conversation that danced about the self inflicted wound that had slipped fresh blood on the tiles of his bathroom. He didn't.

" Nothin'. . ." the activist lied without emotion. Slowly, he turned his head again into the weight of his lover. He felt fingers easing up his leg as though Kenny where fighting to stop himself from squeezing his hands together. Wetting his lips, Stan offered the only bit of truth he was willing to commit to. Saying even that, however, left him feeling cold and hollow within his very core, " I'm jus' worried about him,"

" That's 'cause Kyle's a psychotic person," Kenny plainly informed him, his cheek moving away from his inner thigh as he said it. A jolt spiked throughout Stan's whole body, striking his blood and sending an outpouring of hellishly bleak waves down to his previously nonchalant soul. Even as he shook his head, the activist knew nothing to say in protest of the heartless assessment. Nevertheless, his words spilled into the air like shards of glass cutting into the skin.

" Yeah. . . I think I should go check on him. . ." he absentmindedly asserted, looking towards the boarded up window that faced the street of suburban hell he had come from. The immense concern brewing under the sheet of ice in his throat seemed to bubble through, for he felt a jerk as those hands gripped his skin tightly and firmly. His aqua stare moved from the window to the way the light folded so gently over those thighs and hips. All he really saw, though, was the blood splattered over the lips gasping for breath. Pain found his heart in a freezing and halting clutch.

" You can't leave. Ya jus' got here," the blond protested, his tone shifting into a whine that was never a whine. A heavy sigh slammed into the air as Stan moved from the caged position. Instead, he collapsed to the side, falling down onto the unforgiving mattress. Sapphires watched his every move as he curled his much taller frame about the soft, succulent body of the ruffian. Kenny's arms coiled about his waist, his fingertips pressing into his back. He found comfort in those spiraling blond locks as he pulled that plump creature to him.

" I miss you," Stan breathed out in utter despair. His words choked his very essence as he squeezed his eyes shut to something he couldn't identify. He felt those hands twisting up in his shirt before a cold voice slipped over his flesh, speaking into his chest and into his heart in the same motion.

" How can you miss me? We're still here," Kenny assured him, his grip solid and protective. His words fell into the air in shocking disregard for their meaning or their purpose. The icy resolve not to hear either left Stan in the same position as the angel. The effortless nature of their world seemed to crack just slightly then, as the words were left to their own and they to their own as well. Stan merely closed his eyes to them as he pressed his forehead to those locks.

" I know. It's just. . ." the sentence was left unfinished for Stan didn't wish to mention the situation at hand. He felt the presence within his skull of those emeralds peering through his soul and into his words. There was a lingering dread at the notion of what had taken place, what hadn't been expressed, and who was the likely cause to the blood spill. While he struggled not to say any of the words he felt burning into his throat, Kenny's arms wrapped tighter about him. He was drawn close as he shook his head slowly, " I. . .I don't know,"

" I know,"

The assurance of the angel fell on deaf ears as the other bit his lower lip to the fiery hell he had been immersed in without his consent since he had met the redheaded demon eleven years ago. As far as Stan was concerned, no one outside of him could ever truly know the torment of befriending the green eyed monster that was Kyle Broflovski.

If only Stan knew how wrong he was.

The door was painted white, but it was wooden, like all the others in the little mountain town. Like all of them, in the middle of the summer pleasure, it was unlocked. Kyle pressed his palm to the warm wood and shoved it open without consideration for it. It swung open with a soft creak from neglect, but failed to slam into the wall behind it. The foyer was devoid of life, with all the lights turned down and all the rooms empty. The van was missing from the drive way. Not a sound echoed in the dark quiet of the living room with its little couch and its little end tables with little lamps on them. A small meow darted through the air as he shut the door behind him, easing it closed by leaning his weight into the scorching wood.

Wetting his lips, Kyle looked to the side as his hardened emeralds took in the wood work of the Cartmans' living room. Slowly, though, he slipped away and headed through the still air enveloping the two story home stuck in the middle of a nonchalant block. His boots made soft thuds on the carpet stained from years of wear and tear of a single mother and a single hellion. His fingers, bloody and bound, ran along the dented walls as he found his way to the stairs. Cracks shot up and down the aged, twisting things from an ancient past lost in the heat of the Jew's mindset. Breathing in the sugary smell of the pathway to hell, he crept up to the second floor one stair at a time.

Moving swiftly, though cautiously, he made his way to the second floor. There, the hallway ripped to the side in either direction. He ignored the right as he turned in favor of the left. Three doors pierced through the shadowed walls framing the narrow walkway into the inner realm of the deranged. One to nothing important, one to the remarkably forbidden, and one to the torture chamber beckoning the Jew forward. Dragging his fingers along the wall, he stepped over to the door with the swastika cut deep into the dark, twisted wood. He traced the outline of the symbol of his oppression, leaving a faint trail of blood from his injured hand, as he lightly rubbed the hollow of his throat. The golden chain of his religious icon was ice against his burning flesh. He rubbed a thumb over the Star of David which had guarded the lives of many Jews within his bloodline since the days of Hitler. Drawing upon that strength, he creaked open the door and held it open only a fraction of an inch. Into hell, Kyle did peer, his eyes looking only briefly at the black and red world he had seen far too many times for comfort.

The room was a notoriously infamous place within the likes of the Jew's world. The walls were the shade of freshly drawn blood, while all the decorations were the color of death. Darkness resigned heavily in every sharp jerking corner, washing over the wooden floor from the bookcase bearing numerous thick, leather bound books. The titles were gold wrought in German and Italian, spiraling over the dark spines like spider webs snaring the eye. The shadows over these perverse books of the medieval tortures and the reign of monsters fell on the littered jewels of clothing accessories and metal weapons. An array of bloodied knives were half hidden beneath a scattering of leather boots and mesh gloves. The mess was coupled with the neat alignment of clothes hanging in the open closet. The black painted chest within the closet, however, cut through the various colors of the untold bout of fashionable items hanging there. A padlock bore a striking resemblance to the one lost within the Jew's memories as he looked upon the tightly locked case of unknown contents. The thin line of red running down to the floor, though, bore great witness to what had occupied it at one time or another.

Still, for all the design and all the darkness, Kyle found his eyes drawn to the queen sized bed on the opposing side of the room from that closet and those books. Blood red sheets were tossed half on it, with the other half laying over the floor. The end tables were hidden underneath stacks of thin comics, thick books in the foreign tongues of the others, and the plastic cases of modern music. A clock was glowing blue beneath a slightly askew hat bearing the swastika symbol on a bubblegum pink pin. Another hat was resting on one of the points to a plain headboard. The wooden headboard was dented slightly and littered with various burn marks much like the ends of cigarettes. Pillows of varying sizes and shades of red were pushed against this board, as the owner of them was leaning against them, his shockingly honey eyes poised on his black cell phone. His fingers clicked on the keyboard to the tiny thing, obviously sending some devious message to someone much like the innocent that was Butters.

Eric never saw Kyle watching him with those hollow eyes of emerald.

The clicking of the phone echoed in the quiet of the house as Kyle looked through that tiny crack and into that ominous bedroom. The Nazi sent and received several different messages as he was observed. In between them, he flipped through a book with various images of headless souls being dragged to and from the guillotine. The bloodied images were striking in a haunting way as the Jew slowly lowered his fiery gaze away from the empty face of the brunette. His stare found the rolling arch of that creature's waistline. For a second, Kyle looked on at the vast amount of weight Eric had gained in the years since they had last spoken of that day. A smile eased its way over his face as he noted the way his Nazi appeared in that oblivious moment when the Jew held all of the power. Easing his bloodied fingers up the wood, Kyle slipped away from the bedroom that lingered in the depths of his memories. A grin remained poised sickeningly on his lips as he made his way from the upstairs to the living room. Never once did he consider what he had done. He merely relished in the result as he opened the front door and slammed it shut behind him with a crashing, colliding sound that pierced through the last rays of the day.

The heated pleasure, however, was torn from him as he heard that voice calling out for Kenny McCormick in shocked confusion.

Blinding horror stopped Kyle in his steps as his heart were gripped by the overwhelming implications of that shout. His body jerked away, jerked towards the leering house of the monster that plagued him. The drowning of the still waters smashed into him as he saw the black curtains shift. He saw the eyes of death looking down upon him in a honey stare that raped him of every possible shred of passion. His body shivered in the freezing air surrounding him as he frighteningly looked up at Eric. In the moment that their eyes met, he entertained the sickening thought that perhaps, just perhaps, they hadn't been separated.

That perhaps, just perhaps, Eric had been expecting Kenny.

The ringing of Kyle's cell phone shattered the moment. The Jew continued to stare at the window before he slowly turned from it. He pulled out his phone, recognizing the ring as the Raging Pussy song he had designated to his best friend. He flipped it open, beginning to head back down the street towards the Marsh place he had abandoned.

" Stan?" he asked without any need to clarify. He heard a soft sigh of relief running down his freezing flesh like a breath of fresh air. Kyle reveled in it, falling into it's familiarity with earnest.

" Where the hell are you?" the activist demanded in what could have passed for a truly frustrated tone. The redhead found he wasn't adverse to that measure of agitation as he stepped through the freezing underbelly of unreal fears. Instead, he allowed himself to feel the crawling heat of his blood inside. For all the heat, however, his voice literally tasted empty as he rubbed one hand over his neck in a flicker of uncertainty to the words within.

" I went for a walk. . . to clear my head," Kyle informed the other. Although the answer wasn't at all true, he felt embers in his assertion that it was. Kyle himself was surprised by the lie. Nevertheless, he spoke it as he drifted over the cracked and bent sidewalk stretching the entire block of mirroring houses. He saw lights turning on in some windows while they flashed out in others. Of all the houses he pasted between the porch of the Marshes and the porch of the Cartmans, he never once looked to the darkened windows of his own.

" Oh. . .I was worried about you," Stan told him in a voice that seemed unconvinced with the answer presented as fact. Kyle shook his head to no one, gripping his waist as he felt a rush of fire licking along the base of his skull. Assurance cut through his curt voice, but the comfort of the words was so hollow, they fell like knives through the darkening air.

" I'm fine,"

" I wanna see you," the activist flatly expressed in the devoid timbre so common within his voice. Something about the way he said it, however, made Kyle look up. The sunset before his eyes was wrought of deep purples and heavy blues as the sun sank behind the curtain of buildings. In the lingering distance, there was the McCormick place, which the Jew avoided looking at by turning his gaze to his boots as they walked.

" Your place, not mine," the Jew spat out, turning his head as he walked past the house he hatefully referred to as his home. He vaguely heard an agreement before the phone line went dead.

Slowly, Kyle shut his phone as he heard the cutting sound of glass creaking up and wood groaning. Behind him, footsteps darted from the blackened Broflovski home to the asphalt of the street. Tiny thumps echoed in the frozen hell as Kyle gripped his cell phone in an inferno that welded up inside him. Those thumps ran from the street, from the suburban outstretch of anonymity, into the bleak horizon of the darkened city just over the shoulder of the Jew. Gritting his teeth, Kyle swallowed the cry on his tongue. Rather, he bolted forth, into the moonless waters of the still lit world. His feet took him through the trickling remnants of daylight to the footsteps of the Marsh house.

Kyle saw that the light was on in the window he knew to be Stan's. Without knocking, he entered the house and began to head up to said room. In the near distance, the lyrics of Paralyzer slipped through the warm air of growing summer. Leaving the music behind him, the redhead scaled the stairs to the second floor and walked over to the desired room. Inside he swept, kicking the thin wooden thing shut behind him. He made his way over to the bed, where he promptly sat down beside the activist. Stan sat there, his legs pulled up, without expression to his blank face. As soon as Kyle was seated, though, the emptiness was replaced by what could have easily of passed for empathy.

" How you doin'?" Stan casually presented the serious question resigning in both of their minds. Kyle looked up, into the piercing stare of aqua. The fires poured into his blood with a touch of frozen fear. Despite not knowing where the emotions originated, he breathed them in and he turned his head to the side. The red of his hair fell into his emerald gaze as he quickly derailed this attempt to peer into the inferno of a core within his burning soul.

" I woke up and you weren't here," the Jew idly whispered without any idle notion to his empty voice. He never mentioned his own unsaid request to the activist as he peered through the tangles to the face that watched over him. His head tilted again as he gripped the sheets, " Where'd you go?"

" I thought you'd. . .wanna be alone," was the carefully worded response given to the question left unanswered. The brunette eyed Kyle without any recognizable emotion to his hardened face. Kyle moved away for a second before he drew closer, running his fingers smoothly along the blue sheets below. When he spoke, he looked towards the opposing wall instead of meeting the heavy gaze assessing him.

" Did I ask to be?"

There was no answer to give but the honestly cold one.

" No,"

The gemstones of their freezing and burning realms met as the word cascaded into the tense air gathered in the bedroom. The Jew said nothing as he wet his lips and removed his gaze to the stitching of the ocean hued sheets. Never once did Stan turn his eyes away. He took in every chilling detail of that shockingly hollow face with cold indifference. Then Kyle looked back towards him. The smile which crossed his face was cleverly disguised in the veil of gratitude. Still, the smile melted through the tension so that Stan felt his body ignoring the pull of the dark waters pooling up inside his icy center.

" Thanks for leaving," the redhead utterly softly, reaching his hand forward to press his fingers into the ankle of the activist. Stan nodded slightly as he felt the sudden heat jolt into his flesh and enter his blood with a feeling similar to an electric shock.

" Sure," he muttered, moving his feet as he shifted his position so he was laying out on his sheets. Kyle didn't adjust his position, although he did lower his eyes to observe as the activist did. Moving his feet yet again, Stan nudged the Jew with one, pushing them into the plump thigh of his fattened friend. Kyle idly ran his fingers over the black sock, tugging it off. Stan didn't stop him as he swallowed his fear at admitting where it was he had been, knowing the fear to be misplaced in the moment, " I went to see Kenny,"

" I'm surprised you're not still there," Kyle admitted as he began to play with Stan's toes. A rush of water consumed the fear, whiting it out in a blinding explosion of resentment. The snarl filled his every word as he gripped his hands in a vain attempt to hide the contempt.

" Carol kicked me out," he growled, his aqua stare quickly changing into a darkened glare poised on the wall facing towards the west. Stan knew that beyond that wall there was the McCormick place where he had been intent on spending the evening until he was summoned by the well meaning Kyle. Yet, it had not been so. Nothing he did could control the ice from striking his words and thus, striking the air. His companion, of course, was unmoved.

" Again?" the redhead probed, his fingers smoothing over the sole of Stan's foot in a similar fashion to a massage. A shiver slipped up the spine of the brunette at the gentle pressure drawing out his stress. Into this he melted, slumping down into the embrace of his plush, tired mattress.

" Yeah," Stan groaned, rubbing his forehead absentmindedly. Kyle switched his position at last, moving so he was seated further into the world of blue. He rested his friend's heel on his knee so he could press his thumbs into the aching muscle there, " I don't think she likes me,"

" Well, you are fuckin' her youngest boy," the Jew curtly teased, his mouth moving into a casual, off collar smile. There was an underlying fire to that smile, but it was easily ignored, for there was no bait to this imploring nature. Stan thus only shrugged lightly as he wiggled his toes in the grasp of the other. Kyle grinned playfully, squeezing the things.

Jumping for the ante, Stan asked the question lingering unspoken in their seemingly relaxed world.

" Where'd you go?" he gently implored, his eyes looking towards those emeralds for the confirmation he wasn't expecting in verbal terms. Kyle looked up with a certain hue of venomous disgust quickly replaced by defiant apathy. The Jew idly shrugged as he flexed his fingers. The stress to his words was answer enough, although Stan was disheartened not to hear the actual location.

" No where important," Kyle assured him with all the lying pressure of a soul on fire and desiring nothing better than a good argument. The activist sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Still, he didn't fight to gather the answer. He already knew it, anyways, so there was no need to hear it. He knew, eventually, something would ignite those flames and he would be subject to the screaming that would tell all he ever wanted to know about just where it was the Jew disappeared to when he went 'no where important'.

" Yeah, okay," he mumbled dejectedly, glancing away. The pressure on his foot flared momentarily before lowering back to a comforting level. The conversation was left to the words unspoken as another seduction of language found its way tracing through Stan's blood. A rush of electricity found the waters and he was jolted by a flash through his mind of two sapphires and a length of white flesh. Swallowing hard, this impressively sinful image flushed his skin in a tingling tinge that crossed his face. Kyle's attention was immediately drawn to cheeks that blushed red as Stan attempted to suggest what was teasing his memories so playfully, " So. . ."

The words caught in Stan's throat as he returned his gaze to the Jew. Kyle stared at him in what could have been shock, although it was difficult to tell. Shivering to the images melding into physical lingerings, the activist bit his lower lip slightly. There was a desire to keep the succulent feeling of the angel's lush body a secret. Perhaps if he did, the deeply seductive nature of the curves would remain a tantalizing treat. However, the need to verbalize his building excitement could not withhold the words. Struggling still, he attempted again to say what he wanted to as he felt heat pouring into his cheeks.

" Ken's. . ." Stan faltered on the words. In desperation, he gestured to the plump waistline of the redhead staring so intently at him. For a minute moment, the gaze was empty before Kyle slowly drew back as if in recoil. There was nothing outside of amazement to those widened emeralds, though. Letting his hand drop to his lap, Stan quivered as a small smile flashed briefly over his lips, " Yeah,"

" I told you eating KFC morning, noon, and night wasn't good for you," Kyle sneered with that customarily vicious, biting smile of his. The smile was coupled with an almost mocking pat to the leg that truly expressed the Jew's haughty, although usually good natured, personality, " I hope you didn't tell him he was getting fat,"

" I didn't. You're the only one I'd tell," the activist replied with similar bite to his own tone. Kyle answered him with a falsely sweet smile and an equally fake laugh. Regardless of the mockery, Stan found himself swimming in a lost, mindless heat as the dancing images of that gorgeous, little blond twirled about his mind. He felt the way his hands had molded over those plumped hips and he could not help the fiery red which rushed to his cheeks.

" I can't believe you're blushing," Kyle muttered with an intrigued tone. Stan gave him the beginnings of a venomous glare, although the furious chill of the memories of Kenny prevented him from fully doing so.

" I'm not,"

" And my hair's not red," he teased, pointing towards his gloriously ruby locks. The brunette turned his eyes away as he felt an unprecedented rush of embarrassment overtake his usually empty core. He jerked his fingers through his hair several times in a vain attempt to rid himself of this frustratingly powerful emotion that left him so vulnerable. Unable to do so, he felt annoyance trickling to the surface while he tried yet again to express himself to those prying eyes.

" It's. . . .well. . ." his voice struggled to get out of his closed off throat so not used to emotional expressions such as this. Just as he was starting to flounder, however, Kyle pointed at him with an all knowing manner.

" You like it, don't you?" the Jew asked in a breathy voice as Stan watched the pleasure of discovery stretch those fires to those emeralds. The activist didn't say anything, for the words were gripped by the hands of frozen disposition nearly lost within the turbulent waters. All he could do was slowly, unsurely, nod his head once, twice, three times. Yet, as he did, he found himself unable to meet that stare. Thus, he tore his eyes to the blue walls covered in posters as he felt Kyle drawing closer, gripping harder, " You like it. That is so. . . grade school. Could you please stop having a crush on your boyfriend?"

" I can't help it," he weakly protested, scrunching up his nose. There was a roll of green that dismissed the answer while Stan allowed himself the guilty pleasure of smiling softly, " I think it's cute,"

" At least he's not skin and bones anymore," Kyle said, ignoring the presence of such an honest admittance. For that, Stan was unsurprisingly grateful. Still, he covered his face for a second in an effort to push back the blush. He was unsuccessful once more.

" Yeah. . . He's not," he idly said as the smile slowly disappeared to return his face to the masque of indifference. Kyle arched an eyebrow as he rubbed his thumbs over the foot he still held, for whatever absentminded reason he had.

" How much, do you think?" he questioned with more interest than he probably should of held. Stan found his eyes sharpening only slightly to the question, although not even he was sure as to why. Nevertheless, when he answered, there was an underlying bite to the wholly teasing statement.

" No more than you," the activist sneered with noted ice. The ice was met with fire, even if he hadn't meant to draw up the retaliation. He saw a flare of fire within those eyes as Kyle gritted his teeth and gripped his foot with anger.

" We're not talking about me, Stanley," the Jew spat out, making a quick, snap of a cutting motion with one hand. The gesture was dripping with pent up fury that actually licked over the air. Without taking much notice to it, Stan shrugged in an expectant manner of disarming. Despite the unintentional venom, the activist wasn't at all surprised with the direction of warning. He had known Kyle long enough to know what he would and what he wouldn't discuss in open conversation. Refusing to answer the bait, however, left Kyle falling back to his previously curious nature, " How does he feel about it?"

" About what? You?" Stan asked, jabbing a finger at the slight curves at the hemline of Kyle's jeans. He was given a frustrated look as he smiled in a mildly pleased manner, " He doesn't know about you,"

" Not about me. I know he doesn't know about me," Kyle sneered back, his voice swirling with a mixture of spite and fresh fire. The texture wasn't enjoyable, but it wasn't something new. Stan allowed him the moment of cold hatred before he saw the way the Jew physically withdrew his obviously misplaced rage. He wet his lips and turned his head slightly; the signs even he recognized he was out of line with his bite, " I meant about him,"

" Oh. I have no idea," the brunette plainly answered with an nonchalant shrug. There was a second where Kyle looked like he didn't believe him. Then those eyes narrowed in utter disbelief, though this was directed at Stan as a whole rather than the answer.

" You didn't ask?"

" Why would I?" Stan asked in return, folding his arms behind his head. Kyle made a face that was devoid of emotion, followed closely by another roll of the eyes and a sigh that was wicked in its intent. The activist felt the ice shooting up to form a barricade to whatever the embers had to offer in the way of counter attack. Yet, he didn't receive any of the fury. Instead, he was treated to the other unpleasant side of the Jew.

" Well, don't you think you should have?" Kyle chided, his tone dropping perilously close to patronizing in only a moment. The way his timbre shifted from the burning fire to the scorching scolding was impressive. Still, it was an unwelcome impressive, for Stan felt a jolt of annoyance follow it. The Jew, of course, scolded him further with a sickening grin of being lost to his own devices of trying to pierce the flesh and get under the skin, " I mean, Kenny's always been . . .so. . petite. This might really bother him,"

" Are you speaking from experience?" Stan jeered with a similar grin in place. The words were strikingly close to a true insult, so much so that Kyle was prompted into the churning flames within. The scolding vanished before it got going as the Jew gritted his teeth in agonizing rage.

" I mean-t Kenny is especially sensitive. He might be upset if he notices he's getting fat," he snapped, jerked back as if being so close to Stan was no longer comfortable for him. The lingering sense of scathing heat, though, drew from the mouth of the activist another poised remark fashioned like a needle. He quickly disarmed that biting demon with it.

" Yeah. . . He's a lot like you,"

" You're asking for it, you know," Kyle snarled in vicious spitfire as he gripped hold of that foot with furious pressure. Stan cringed in the pain, although his face held defiant apathy towards the return of the fanged fire. To further express his victory, he wiggled his toes in resistance and cast a reposed look down the bed to where he was met with an emerald enraged gaze.

" Yeah, whatever. Okay," he muttered innocently while the grip pushed the envelope of true pain. Feeling a thrust of sheer agony tear into his leg, Stan held up his hands in surrender, " Ow. Stop,"

" Stop bringing up my weight," Kyle commanded of him, baring his teeth in a shivering reveal of that monstrous inferno within. Stan watched him struggle not to lash out as he felt the moonless waters of darkness reaching up to slip into his veins with a cold sensation of violation. When he spoke, he turned his aquamarine eyes into the depths of those burning stones without fear of the obvious danger.

" I could bring up today,"

The words struck the air in heavy, penetrating silence. There was shock in Kyle's face as he recoiled almost entirely from the activist. His shoulders tensed as he covered his injured hand with the other in a protective fashion. Yet, the ice that spilled into the air was all damning and all commanding. The fire was washed away to be replaced with a deathly empty face wrought with a haunting sense of displacement. The Jew looked first to the side, then to the bed sheets twisted below. Finally, he squeezed his eyes shut as he quivered and gripped the necklace he wore everyday, hidden from sight beneath his shirt. Stan swallowed a hollow dread as the golden Star was revealed in that halting moment of sheer weakness, of sheer agony. For a moment, he wished to withdraw the words, but he couldn't. Rather, he laid there, watching the break of the crack as the fire flickered out and his best friend crumpled beneath the only words he found in the freezing damnation that befell the room.

" Today was an accident," Kyle whispered to no one besides himself. As his eyes opened, they did not see. They stared into the void of the abyss surrounding their lost souls. Emotion never filtered through the only answer ever offered in regards to that bloody afternoon. There was a sense of finality to them, but Stan felt the words leaving his lips even as he knew he shouldn't press further into this wound.

" Are you sure?" he tried to sound strong, as if he wasn't at all deterred by the emptiness he wasn't used to seeing in the Jew. He faltered in his strength, however, as those slender fingers smoothed along the lines of that religious icon. A sense of solitude resigned in the only word spoken in that chasm of a moment.

" No,"

" Should I ask?" Stan posed the question as he knew what the answer was going to be. There was a small clink as the Star disappeared behind the deeply green shirt stained with blood. Once removed from sight, the air ceased to be so heavily pressed upon their backs. Life returned to Kyle's eyes as he turned them up to the activist through twisted locks of red.

" You won't get an answer," he calmly informed him as the misery lifted from his fair face. The brunette solemnly nodded, wishing he could look elsewhere. He didn't, of course, as he needed to see the return of the fire to be sure it was safe to proceed anywhere within the threat of breaking that mind any further than it already was.

" I didn't think so,"

" Are you going to tell Kenny?" Kyle abruptly asked, moving back towards Stan with fluid motions melting with embers. His touch was burning hot as he returned to massaging the foot of his best friend. The sudden shift was shocking, even if the activist was unfortunately immune to it. Exhaling a cold breath he hadn't been aware he was holding, Stan slumped back against the pillows in a mild relief to have left that devoid realm of agony behind.

" That's he's getting fat?" Stan repeated, just to be sure of where this conversation was heading. He saw a comforting roll of eyes that dismissed his question as utterly unnecessary; which it was.

" Yeah,"

" No,"

" Are you going to mention it at all?" the redhead demanded as he tilted his head to the side in what could be called honest interest. The spite in the words, however, painted a much different picture.

" Why would I?" the activist shortly implored, crossing his arms over his chest with disregard to whatever colorful side he brought to life by doing so. Kyle gave him a halting stare. There was a moment when Stan wanted to wave at him, just to see how far he could push him. Settling for something less likely to end with his foot being forcibly amputated, he wiggled his toes.

" Because if he notices it on his own, he's probably gonna be really fat. And then he'll be really upset," the Jew heatedly explained, gripping the wiggling toes as though they offended him. Stan felt a jolt of unknown emotions overtake his ability to speak, although he wasn't sure as to why. A light flush washed over his cheeks before Kyle idly sighed and shrugged, " He doesn't notice these things,"

A nod was given on the side of the brunette. As much as he would of liked to, he couldn't say Kyle wasn't telling the truth. If he knew one thing about the poor boy, and he had to say he knew more than he was admitting to, Kenny wasn't the most observant child. His preoccupation with the perverse prevented him from being so. As years had passed before the McCormick had become aware that he was, in fact, a feminine looking male, Stan had to admit Kyle was probably right. When it came to himself, the blond was almost entirely devoid of emotion. He had never mentioned his own thoughts concerning his own appearance for nine of the eleven years of their friendship. The day he had finally stated something, it had been under tremendous pressure from the Nazi. Even then, though, Kenny had reserved the sentiment to a simple 'I think I'm a pretty boy' when Cartman had twisted his arm, so to speak, into admitting how he felt about his golden locks, fair face, and luscious body. Of course, Kenny had made numerous jokes at his own expense and the like. However, that one utterance had been the only serious statement he had ever made in eleven years about his appearance. When asked why he'd never mentioned it, Kenny had even shrugged and said he just hadn't noticed.

Unfortunately, that lack of interest in his own appearance made Stan sigh in a defeated manner. Kyle was, as usual, correct in his assumption. Sinking down a bit further into the sheets, the activist had no choice but to consent to the facts. If no one else mentioned the plumpness, Kenny probably wouldn't notice until he really had gained more weight. As the blond had a tendency to overreact when he did get emotional, he knew the Jew was right to say if he didn't notice now, he would be viciously upset when he finally did. As he fell into accepting this, Kyle rubbed his thumbs into the sole of his foot.

Stan found only one word to express his feelings towards this acceptance.

" Dammit,"

" Why don't you just give him a call and ask if he's even noticed?" the other suggested, sensing the amount of frustration that one word held. Stan sighed, squeezing his eyes shut as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

" Okay. . ." he moaned out, pulling out his phone from his pocket. As he flipped it open, Kyle wagged a finger in his face with a certain air of haughty indifference that was customary of that redhead. When he spoke, his words were so close to stern that the activist wanted to kick him in the leg to return him to the playful friend he had come to love.

" Just be nice about it. No one likes being told they're fat,"

The only look Stan could give was one of utter exasperation. He almost said something about the sheer audacity of Kyle Broflovski, of all people, stating such a thing. Rather than tread into that unknown territory, the activist looked away as he punched in the phone number he knew better than his own. The disbelief he held for that apathetic expression didn't subside until he heard the first ringing. Then, slowly, it faded into the background as he felt the smallest of smiles beginning to form on his flushed face. As he heard that slang, Southern voice, a pleasing, freezing sensation overwhelmed his senses.

" Hey, Baby,"

" Hey, Ken," he cooed out, a widely happy smile overtaking his empty expression. The thrill of speaking to this angel made him shiver with delight as he felt a jolt of electricity cut into his flesh. Two wide and seemingly caught off guard emeralds stared at him as he gripped his free hand.

" What chu want?" the blond asked without any bite to the normally spiteful question. Stan could taste the smile in the words even as he floundered in actually admitting to what it was he was calling to talk about. He stuttered on the question as he frantically searched his mind for a way to ask. He found nothing within as he desperately tried to find anything to assist him.

" Uh. . ." he weakly began, turning his panicked stare to the only other person in the room. He motioned for Kyle to help him in any way, his motions jerky and disconnected.

" Just ask him," the Jew whispered sharply, making a motion of his own for the activist to say something. Whereas the suggestion was nothing helpful, the heat of the words prompted Stan to speak. As he did, he felt himself slowly shaking in what most would of taken for fear. That wasn't it, of course. He wasn't sure what it was, but he felt a burning cold within as he tried his best to bring this sensitive topic to light.

" Uh. . .Hey, baby. . . have you. . .uh. . .noticed any. . .changes?" Stan stumbled to say, unable to actually say the words he needed to. He received a dark glare from Kyle, which he completely ignored. In his ear, he heard a bit of a laugh that rolled over his flesh like silk.

" Yeah, the weather's changin'. Gettin' hot as hell out there," Kenny said with a tremendous disregard to the nervousness that spilled from the activist's mouth. Stan felt his body descending quickly into furious panic as he heard his boyfriend spitting out his hatred for the one free season they had from the mountain snowfall of the year, " Fuckin' pisses me off. That's fer fuckin' sure,"

Stan shot Kyle a pleading, pressing look of desperation.

" Ask him if he's gained weight," the redhead snarled in a low voice. He furthered his point with a cutting motion to proceed. There was obvious annoyance and agitation to those motions that suggested that if Stan couldn't force himself to do it, Kyle most certainly could. Swallowing his nerves for fear of however the Jew might ask, the activist forced himself to direct the conversation as best he could.

" Uh. . . I meant with you," he mumbled, twisting his fingers up in his shirt. Kyle watched him for the answer he couldn't hear as Stan listened to a moment of confused silence on the line. Then, as he expected, he heard the one utterance to vocalize the feeling coming across.

" Huh?"

" Y'know. . . you. . .your. . . weight," Stan finally convinced himself to say. As soon as he did, he felt his throat close in as ice sealed it shut to anything else he might be forced into expressing. A cold chill washed through his blood in steady streams as he swallowed dryly and listened to another brief silence. Then, he heard what could have been a laugh, but was far too distant to be able to truly tell.

" You mean the fact that I'm gettin' fat?"

There was such emptiness to those words that Stan felt his body jolt in both shock and bewilderment. Yet, there was no telling what emotion presided over that surprising statement. Nevertheless, Stan felt himself looking at the phone before he pushed it back to his ear to listen in to the nothingness waiting on the McCormick's side of the universe.

" Huh? Yeah, that. You know about that?" Stan asked even when he probably shouldn't. In front of him, he saw Kyle fall over onto the bed in disbelief and grinning, unspoken, laughter. Giving him a blank look, Stan harassed the Jew with his foot for the sake of doing it. In his ear, he heard a snarky laugh that was followed by an equally nasty question.

" How the fuck wouldn't I know 'bout that?" Kenny sneered with a bit of humor to his seductive voice. Stan answered with a shrug that couldn't be seen, then with a smile that meant nothing to anyone but him. He idly traced his fingers along his sheets as he gave the ceiling a cast away glance.

" I dunno. Ask Kyle,"

" Don't bring me into this!" the Jew shouted, smacking at his leg a couple of times. He ignored the slaps, for they weren't hard enough to mean anything. Instead, he just gave him the bird as he shifted his position slightly. He held the phone from his mouth as he addressed the redhead before pushing it back as he heard that spiraling voice beckoning him.

" Shut up,"

" Dude, it's my body, my temple. I know everything about it," the angel informed him, despite all the evidence to the contrary. Stan blinked as he heard this, although he didn't question it. Rather, he lightly smiled as he heard a snicker and felt the hands of that laughter running over his shoulders, " I gained a couple pounds. No big deal,"

" Cool," the activist simply stated, grinning to no one. He had a moment to entertain the possibility that his boyfriend could feel the smile before he was plunged into the depths of dark waters by a wholly frozen voice.

" Does it bother you?"

Never before had Stan heard such a voice. There was a crawling timbre of hell within the words that spoke of ill intentions. The overwhelming sense of emptiness to the voice itself, though, was the most horrifying sound. Nothing was in that voice, as if the speaker felt nothing, not even the coldest, hardest, most depraved emotions. The voice belonged to a monster, but he heard it spoken in the clear accent of his lovely angel. The shocking combination of the two made his blood turn to ice as it ceased to flow in his veins.

" What?"

" Does it bother you?" Kenny repeated in a much lighter tone, dripping with calm concern towards the answer. The way his timbre smoothed through the air was intoxicating enough to erase the fear of that previous question. Rather, Stan felt a rush of burning desire to express his pent up emotions at the serious implication to disliking the change in his lover's body type.

" Hell no!" he exclaimed beyond his will. Almost immediately thereafter, he felt a rush of blush overcome his pale cheeks. He even covered his mouth to prevent any more emotional outbursts to escape. Horror descended upon him again, only this was a much warmer horror, for it was at the tremendous emotion he had just expressed. Whereas Kyle eyed him suspiciously, Kenny didn't even seem to have heard.

" Then why are you askin'?" he implored, sounding interested without being invested in the emotion. The underlying pressure to the question, however, seemed to indicate a contradiction of opinion. Still, Stan was caught up in his own revel and horror to answer anything but truthfully.

" Huh? Oh. . . Kyle told me to," he responded with a light shrug. He saw the Jew give him a nasty look, which he answered by harassing the redhead with both his feet. He was given another smack that he ignored as he turned his attention back to the phone and the waiting pause, " Make sure you were okay with it,"

" Tell Kyle I'm not the one he needs to be worryin' 'bout,"

Kenny's threatening words struck the air with a stillness that pierced into Stan's soul. Before another word from either could be said, however, there came a shrill scream from the McCormick's side. A loud clanging thud rang out as banging smacked into the activist's ear. He was about to ask when he heard her screaming, crying, out in a slurred voice torn from the wenches beneath in the sulfur pits.

" KIN-NY! GET OUT HERE! " Carol bellowed, the banging growing harder and louder in the momentary silence of a harsh breath inhaled. Stan felt ice freeze himself as he gripped his phone tightly. Carol's scream echoed on, the same words repeated over, over, over again, in increasingly hysterical manners. The clanging overtook the banging as her voice peaked at a decibel where the words were indistinguishable from one another.

" KENNY, YOU GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE!"

The command of Stuart McCormick's voice was unmistakable as it collided with the shrill cries of his wife.

" Fuck. . . ." Kenny hissed under his breath as Stan felt himself sitting up. Somewhere in the depths of his mind, he almost asked what was going on. A shattering of glass and a child's cry pierced his words. Darkness grabbed hold of his words like the hands reaching desperately through the waters of his memories. Something prevented him from begging to come to that place. He felt the words leaving his mouth as he shivered under the pressure of the hands of fate.

" I'll let you go," Stan whispered in a voice that was hardly his own. The ice of his words felt heavy on his tongue as he slowly drew his arms about him. On the other side of the glass, he heard footsteps moving across creaking, groaning wood.

" Yeah, okay. Bye,"

" I love you," he whispered to the haunted voice he heard in his ear. When Kenny answered, he heard Carol's scream overriding every other sound in the whole of the universe like the cry of the damned.

" Yeah,"

Kenny's voice cut off as the line went dead like a clatter of stone into the pool of lightless seas. Swallowed up in the darkness, he was gone before Stan ever realized the conversation was over and he was sitting upright in utter horror. The emptiness of his mind barely recognized itself as the sound of the detached voice faded from his memory. Shutting the phone, the activist felt the connection snap in half, severing and leaving him to the pull of his own world. Slowly, he tossed the phone onto the end table as he turned to see Kyle watching him through the mess of red that cascaded down his shoulders. Seeing him there, Stan went back to harassing him with his foot until the Jew grabbed his leg and dragged him away from the phone that never rang.

The darkness of the burning summer night pressed upon the window of the activist's bedroom as Kyle and Stan tumbled and rolled on the mattress in a play wrestling match. Their yelps echoed into the bleak skyline as the minutes dripped into time well spent. As the minutes pulled into an hour gone, however, the match faded like the sun. In place of it, the two laid on the bed with red backed cards fished out from the end table. As they usually did when the video games were played out and the conversation waning, they drew out cards and played the game they had been taught eleven years ago by one honey eyed demon. The cards were held in hands as Stan picked up a card at the words 'Go Fish'.

" God, I hate this game," the activist groaned, folding one arm underneath his head for better support than his deflated pillow could offer. Kyle sighed softly as he shuffled his cards absentmindedly.

" It's completely pointless," he agreed in a voice that was on the edge of sounding fed up with it. Stan nodded tiredly as a the cards of the Jew were motioned in his general direction, " Go Fish,"

" Fish what? It's your turn,"

" Oh. I forfeit,"

" You can't forfeit Go Fish. That's not how it works," Stan reminded him as he looked over his cards for the sake of doing so. He saw his friend cast him a forlorn glare that was more or less meaningless. He answered it with a playful grin and shrug of one shoulder.

" Fine. I. . . .dammit this game sucks," the redhead sneered, gritting his teeth as he tapped his fingers on the cards held tightly in his hand. The other patiently waited, his eyes following the lines of the light as it melded over the curves of his friend's plumped waistline. He heard a sigh, however, and he returned to looking at those emeralds, " Got any threes?"

" Wait. I just picked up a card. It was my turn," he answered the question, turning his eyes to the card he had just placed in the deck; the Ace of hearts. He was shot a venomous look that slipped over his flesh with considerable heat.

" Fine, then go,"

" Got any threes?" he causally asked with a remarkably controlled grin. Kyle threw the card at him with a swear in Hebrew uttered to express his anger at such a trick. The activist merely chuckled, tugging the set from his deck and placing them neatly on his stacks of won cards. Beside him, Kyle rolled onto his back, looking passionately up at the ceiling as if he could see something in the plaster that was much more surreal than anything Stan had ever seen.

" I know how much Cartman weighs,"

The words were so empty that Stan lowered his eyes in respect to what was left unsaid.

" Yeah?" he muttered as he adjusted his little pile of cards to perfect. The Jew was silent although the heat that licked over his blanched knuckles was enough to admit his mental persuasion. The distance in those emeralds made the activist look up, arching an eyebrow. Kyle merely drummed his cards on his slightly fat belly, continuing to stare into the abyss, " How much?"

" It's tragic really," Kyle whispered, his eyes closing slowly as though what he saw wasn't what he wanted to. Stan tilted his head to the side, folding his cards upon the sheets that suddenly didn't seem soft or comforting. A lingering sense of dread made the brunette ask for clarification despite the fact that he knew what was said wasn't an answer to his own question.

" What? That's he's fat?"

" No. . . .That we're just sitting here. Playing Go Fish," the Jew stated, turning his head as his eyes slowly opened to reveal their stunning color. He peered at Stan through those locks as if he was lost to himself. Slowly, however, he smiled a half smile that was more somber than playful, " Like we're eight again,"

" That's funny. I remember eight being much more interesting," Stan lightly said, returning to his cards. The words he wanted to say never pierced his tongue, for he removed himself from the heavy gaze resting on his shoulders. He knew the few words that would cause the breakage that led to all the implications that day had been leading towards. Rather than ask what had taken place between the two, Stan allowed Kyle to suggest whatever he wanted to about the obvious conversation he had shared with Eric Cartman.

Kyle said nothing of importance.

" I can't tell you, you know,"

" Then why bring it up?"

Those aquamarine eyes looked into the depths of the emerald gems desperately fighting back the tainted memory. The day stained with laughter from five years ago, the day of celebration that had ended with two souls torn asunder, lingered just beyond their lips. Stan felt himself reaching over and taking Kyle's hand in his own, squeezing it to share with him the indifference needed to avoid the screaming of those days when they didn't know any better. The Jew gripped his hand, gripped the necklace around his throat, and the words almost escaped. He almost said the words he had never allowed himself to utter.

The blaring sound of sirens cut through the broken moonless night.

Heading towards the McCormick place.

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