title ; After Hours

chapter ; The Return

characters ; Kyle, Christophe, Cartman

setting ; After High School in Detroit, MI

rating ; T for swearing, sex references, violence, and general South-Park-ness

disclaimer ; I quite obviously do not own South Park or its characters

disclaimer 2 ; I do own what is written here, so please don't steal it

author's note ; Quick update - the first chapter was quite short and I couldn't leave anyone hanging for too long. Should be uploading the third and fourth chapter in the next few days. Then the final fifth chapter, and the story shall come to a very interesting end. Hope you enjoy.

Ding.... Ding.... Ding....

Striking three, the clock went silent again, the stillness settling as the soft ticking filled the air. Sitting at the table, Cartman held a cold cup of coffee in his hands, staring out the front window. Shifting, the chair creaked beneath his weight. He'd managed to shed quite a few pounds since leaving South Park, but by no means was he thin and athletic. Few people cared anymore. He worked in a kitchen at a fancy restaurant, and no one bothered to ask the dish boy anything. They simply expected him to do his job, do it well, and leave without eating anything for free.

Kyle was late.

The only conceivable reason Eric Cartman would be awake at three in the morning on a Monday night - or was it Tuesday? - was simply that.

Kyle was late.

The Jew had impeccable timing. Never late to a single thing, always a few minutes early. Except the time he had been stuck in traffic and had called an hour early to inform Cartman of the minor altercation. He had still arrived five minutes early. Today was different. This late into the wee hours of morning felt wrong.

A knock on their shared apartment confirmed that feeling.

Pushing the chair out, he stood up, pushing the coffee cup into the center of the table. Hearing another impatient knock, he grit his teeth. "I'm coming, you impatient bastard!" he shouted angrily, louder than he needed to, voice cracking with his dwindling nerves.

"Open ze fucking door!"

Freezing midway to the mudroom, Cartman realized something was wrong. Far more wrong than he could have ever imagined. He didn't give two shits about 'liberating ze fucking Americans from zeir oppressive government' or whatever nonsense Mole spewed. He didn't pay attention to the things Kyle did, because that was Kyle's business. Despite their budding intimate relationship, the emotional part hadn't kicked in quite yet. Cartman lived his life, went to work, and came home to play WoW and order pizza. Not much had really changed since High School.

Except the very real possibility of Kyle's death, looming over them like a titan.

Unlocking the deadbolt, Cartman threw open the door, face already ashen at the thoughts running through his head.

Standing on the step, shovel strapped to his back, hair messy and disheveled, Mole held Kyle in his muscular arms. Once the door was opened, he shoved his way inside, taking care not to bump Kyle. "Make sure no one followed us," he ordered.

Cartman watched, dimly aware of the order. Kyle's face, smeared in blood, was pale white. His body remained limp, probably cold to the touch. Then he was gone, Mole rounding the corner to the livingroom. Cartman looked outside, peering into the darkness for a moment before slamming the door and locking it three different ways.

"Ees zer clean towels in ze bathroom?" Mole called out from the living room.

"Sure," Cartman said dully, standing in the doorway.

"Eet ees a yes or no question, fat ass."

"Shut up, you British pile of shit."

"Watch him."

Cartman rolled his eyes, stepping into the room as Mole walked out, rummaging through every door to find the bathroom. Instead of pointing it out to him, Cartman looked down at Kyle. A black eye, a broken nose, bloody teeth, gravel pressed into his cheeks. Squatting next to the couch, Cartman pushed a strand of curly Jew fro out of Kyle's face, smudging a spot of blood with his thumb. Confusion mingled with distress as the biggest asshole of South Park watched his former victim's ragged breathing.

Sure, Cartman had taken a lot out on Kyle. His frustrations over his mother, his sexuality, his inferiority complex... But over the years, he had claimed Kyle in a weird way. When anyone else pointed out flaws or said cruel things to the red-head, Cartman jumped in to defend him. No one could pick on Kyle but Cartman, and that was just the way things worked.

Anger rose to the top of his emotion list. Mole stepped in, and Cartman was on his feet. "What the hell is this?" he demanded. "The little bastard said he was doing something simple!"

Mole looked at him, shook his head, and walked past, two towels in hand. Kneeling next to Kyle, he winced slightly before dabbing at the younger's face with the damp towel. Caked blood flaked off, revealing the pasty white skin beneath. There was no word between the two as Kyle was cleaned up. Dabbing the younger's eye, Mole was satisfied to see the Jew stir.

Groaning, Kyle opened his good eye, the other being far too swollen to move. Seeing familiar surroundings, his eyes fell on Mole. Recognition dawned and he opened his mouth to say something. A dull, hoarse croak came out, and he closed his mouth, an apologetic look in his emerald eye. Mole patted his shoulder lightly.

"If your little gay moment is over, I'd like some answers," Cartman said, crossing his arms.

Kyle seemed to perk up at the sound of Cartman's voice. Mole moved aside so the injured kid could see the man he, for some reason, loved. It was a one-way relationship, in that aspect, but it worked for Kyle. Seeing Cartman, Kyle's lips turned in a painful smile and he closed his eye, laying back against the couch.

Mole sighed. "I don't know what happened," he confessed. "I showed up too late to stop eet."

"What the fuck was going on?" Cartman demanded.

"Reconnisance. Notzhing out of ze ordinary."

"Then how did this happen?"

Mole sat on the floor, placing his back against the couch, taking care to ease his right leg onto the floor gently. Obviously, he hadn't gotten away clean either. Taking out a cigarette, he looked up at Cartman. "I told you," he answered, sticking the cigarette between his lips and lighting it with a swift flick of a match. Burning sulphur assailed his nose, keeping him awake. No telling what would happen now. If he fell asleep, he wouldn't be able to protect his personal hacker. Mole was all about protecting people important to him. And, so what, maybe he had grown attached to the kid who talked geek as a second language. It was a nice change.

Cartman eased himself into an arm chair, staring across the room. "Then what the hell do we do?" he asked snidely.

"Wait." Mole exhaled smoke. "Se what happens."

"Hos-"

"No hospitals. Zey have records."

"You're a paranoid fuck, you know that?"