Author Note: My undying gratitude goes out to angelswillfall, let's point out the obvious, J.E. McCormickgal, xxSay and Rib the Unicorn for the lovely reviews! I was actually sort of worried about the reveal, I'm glad that it went down well!
This is the last real chapter of this story, just the epilogue to go – which really doesn't want to be written, the number of times I've started and then erased the lot! I was rather hoping that it would be up a couple of days after posting the last chapter and although that might still happen, it could take as long as a week. This chapter has some of the answers and was written prior to me seeing episode 201. Which was unjustly banned in this country, thank God for the internet. The episode didn't change anything in the story, but if I had seen it first then probably I would have made different references.
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The air around me still feels like a cage and love is just a camouflage for what resembles rage...
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Eric Cartman has not felt this confused and enraged and impotent since he was eight years old and he was ripped off by Scott Tennorman. His phone is in the passenger seat, switched off as if to prevent more images from coming through, but he can still see that picture. He can still see the way Kyle's hand is on Kenny's chest, his lips touching Stan's. Stan's arm on Kenny's side, almost smiling eyes closing. Kenny looking reverently up at both of them as they kiss.
It's Kyle he comes back to most. Kyle's hands on Kenny. Kyle's lips on Stan. His mind on them.
Kyle was not thinking of Eric Cartman when that picture was taken. Cartman was not at the centre of his mind, was not even at the corners. He was not getting worked up over Cartman's words and actions, he was not imagining ways to get even, he was not dwelling on their mutual hatred. He was not thinking of Cartman at all.
Cartman doesn't like that. He fucking hates it. He hates that Kyle was able to let go of that obsessive, destructive anger long enough to work out not only that he is gay, but that he has been able to use some kind of Jew mind-control to get two men, two. Normal guys, not losers or freaks or perverts, at least on the surface. He hates that he didn't work it out sooner. He hates that they kept it their secret, that they left him out again. He hates that he is out in the cold.
He hates that he was not there with them.
He hates that Stan and Kenny were the ones with Kyle like that. He hates that they were there at all. He hates that it was not him.
He hates Kyle Broflovski for making him feel this way.
He drives, tasting the sour vomit on his breath and smelling the chicken that he has no more appetite for. Usually, when he is upset or afraid, he eats. Right now, he feels that he might never be able to eat again. He does not know where he is going, he could not say where he has been. The streets are the ones he has walked or driven his entire life and although he knows them, it is as if they are a whole new country.
His mind keeps giving him images that he does not want to see, and yet he cannot get them out of his head. The three of them shedding the rest of their clothes, lying on Kyle's bed. The sheets tangling beneath them. Stan kissing his way over Kyle's chest, Kenny burying his head in red pubic hair. Kyle moaning, Kyle grabbing at the sheets, Kyle's eyes closing, Kyle's lips parting, Kyle's pleasure. Kyle, Kyle, Kyle.
Kyle.
Cartman becomes conscious that he is sporting an erection. He tries to will it away, gripping the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles turn white. It makes no difference, not when he can barely see the road ahead because of the images in front of his eyes, when all he can hear is Kyle's phantom cries and his own blood pounding in his ears.
They have been deceiving him, cheating him. And he is aroused, embarrassed and angry. So very, very angry.
He has to do something.
Stan is in the hospital, he knows this much already. He was not at the game, but it was big news and he got a text about it from Butters. He had laughed when he read it. He is not laughing now. Stan is safe from his anger... for now.
Kyle and Kenny will probably be at the hospital with him – until they are forced to leave. If Stan is merely having his leg set, then they will be thrown out once it gets too late. Or at least, one of them will. They might let one stay and that one will probably be Kyle. Kyle will be too much of a scared pussy to leave, in case Stan dies while he is gone and Kenny is not fond of hospitals. And should both of them leave, the Broflovski's will be home Saturday night but the McCormick's are unlikely to return from the bar until late. Kyle and Kenny will be comforting each other on Kenny's threadbare mattress, in a room that smells like piss and mould and damp. Or else Kenny might be alone. But it is Kenny who he is most likely to find.
He hits the brakes, works out where he is and how he can get to the slum that Kenny calls home. He is almost all the way across the other side of town, but he has plenty of gas – his mom knows better than to not get him a full tank – and he has to do something. His mind is so clouded with fury that he doesn't know what that something is, but a plan will come to him. It always does.
And maybe God does provide for him, because as he is still about five minutes from Kenny's, he sees Kyle walking down the street. Kyle's face is dark with rage, his strides are long and his hands are shoved in his pockets. He radiates his fury as he walks. Just another angry Jew trying to get out of the ghetto. Just like the good old days.
He pulls over to the side of the pavement, winding down the window. Kyle is so infuriated that he almost walks right past. Cartman sighs. "AY! KAAHHLL!" But he pitches his voice low. It seems like a safe thing to do and Cartman never ignores his instincts at times like this.
Kyle glares at Cartman. "Goddammit Cartman, I'm not in the mood for your crap right now."
Usually Cartman would snap right back at him, but these are unusual circumstances. "I was gonna offer you a ride back to the hospital." He looks at the sky as if for emphasis on the weather, it is snowing hard now and Kyle is not really dressed for it, still wearing the clothes he wore to the game earlier.
Kyle hesitates, perhaps recalling that Cartman has been a part of their gang all these years too. Okay to hang out with, if not good enough to fuck. "I'm not going to the hospital. Stan's out of surgery, but he won't wake up until tomorrow sometime, what with all the drugs. Even then, family only, y'know?"
Cartman nods. "Home then?"
Kyle gives a short, humourless laugh and shakes his head. "No. I'm just..." He indicates to the empty street. "Walking. Thinking."
Cartman does not reply. Most people would think that Kyle is trying to walk off his upset at Stan being badly hurt, but those are people who have not been watching Kyle almost every day of his life. Kyle is upset, sure, but he is also angry. Extremely angry. Kyle has always had a hair-trigger temper, he is the kind to lash out without thinking. His emotions take over his thoughts and that's when he makes bad decisions.
And he is looking at Cartman thoughtfully. Cartman has seen that look before, usually directed at himself. The need to hurt, to strike back. The need for revenge. In Kyle's eyes, he can see the memory of Scott Tennorman. Kyle needs to get payback and is coming up short on ideas; his fury demands something no less than apocalyptic.
He goes over to the car, leaning against the frame with one hand while speaking to Cartman quietly. "I'll give you a hundred dollars if you help me come up with a way to pay back the entire football team."
Briefly, Cartman thinks that this car must have seen this scene played out before, with his mother in the driver's seat and some lowlife pervert offering the money. He banishes the thought; it is one that is used to being dismissed. He glances up and down the street and although he sees a shadowy figure strolling in the other direction, there is no one else in sight.
When Kyle is angry, he makes bad decisions.
"Get in the car."
Kyle goes around to the passenger side, eyes the fried chicken with some distaste – he probably feels as much like eating as Cartman himself does – and moves it to the back so that he can be seated. Once in, Cartman takes off, heading for the observation deck. His plan at this point is simple; he has some serious demoralising to do. And he intends to make this his crowning glory in that field, to use the view of an entire town to emphasise the points he has to make.
No words pass between them, the only sound the radio playing low, Freddy Mercury asking what is this thing that fills our dreams then slips away from us. Another fucking faggot thinks Cartman irritably. He breathes easier now, does not grip the wheel so hard, although his erection remains. He doubts Kyle will be looking in that direction and he's pretty sure his stomach covers it anyway. He has lost some of the fat, true, but he is still overweight, still has to lean forward or shift some flab to see his balls in the shower.
He pulls the car up at the same spot where, some ten years later, Ike Broflovski will park his own and gets out. Kyle opens his own door and steps out too, but gives Cartman a look that is both questioning and irritated.
"Come on," says Cartman, jerking his head toward the observation deck. "I wanna show you something."
Kyle sighs, wrapping his arms around his body and clearly questioning the wisdom of what he is doing. But he follows and that is all that matters. Cartman leads the way to the railing and leans against it. There is no give in the wood, it may not look like much but it is sturdy enough.
"You see what's out there?" he asks.
Kyle stands beside him, far enough so that accidental touch would be impossible. Cartman notices this and it fuels his own hidden anger. Kyle does not trust him. Nor does Kyle want them to come into contact, even through their clothes, even accidentally. Although he is okay with Kenny's germ-ridden poor-boy hands all over his naked form, or Stan's no doubt too-gentle hippy tantric touch.
He is quite sure that he could not be gentle with Kyle. He thinks it might be just fine to be rough, to hurt him, mark him some. Anything that would make Kyle call out his name and show those Jew-loving bastards to keep their dirty hippy hands to themselves.
There is quiet while Kyle checks out the view. Clearly, he does not know where Cartman is going with this. "South Park?"
"Right." Cartman's voice is low, as if they are making friendly but confidential chat. The way Kyle sometimes talks to his two boy-toys, probably when he doesn't want to be overheard discussing the duel ass-ramming he received the night before. More visions flit through Cartman's head of the three of them, more fuel for the fire.
He walks away from the railing, Kyle remaining where he is but turning to watch Cartman's progression. Grandly, theatrically, Cartman sweeps a hand out to gesture at the view. "South Park. A redneck town full of assholes and dickweeds. And by the time word of your little ménage a trios comes out, every one of them is gonna be after blood."
Kyle's eyes flash and Cartman feels the familiar thrill of gratification. He is once again front and centre of Kyle's thoughts. Just where he belongs.
"I'm not in the mood for your fucking games, fat ass."
"Oh, it's no game Kyle." Cartman smirks widely. "Those assholes have probably put that picture on the school website by now."
"Picture?" Kyle is pale, clearly it is the first he has heard of it. "What picture?"
Cartman laughs. "It's a helluva sight. You crawling all over Kenny, sticking your tongue down Stan's throat – shit, I'm surprised you didn't have to be surgically removed. Didn't know you had it in you. You sick fuck."
"It's not sick!" Kyle clenches his fists, face reddening. "It's – it's not. It's not." His anger seems to subside suddenly. "I love them both. I guess you couldn't understand loving anyone but yourself, but I do. It's special."
"It's sick," repeats Cartman, his laughter gone. He has expected the outrage, but not the confession of love. He loves them. He has enough love for both of them, but he has excluded Cartman from it. Again. "And when it gets out, it's not just the football team going after Stan you need to worry about. Fuck, they were never going to accept a queer on the team, even if he is the star player. It's every single person down there, all of them, going after him, after Kenny. And after you."
Kyle shakes his head. "Those guys are just jerks and they ruined Stan's career over it, but the people in town are pretty accepting of gays..."
"Normal gays," interrupts Cartman, back on level footing. "Gays who stick to one man at a time. Not perverts who hold orgies. You're all finished. Kenny's stuck here and so's Stan now. They'll never be able to get away from it."
"Goddammit Cartman, they're your friends!" Kyle is trying for reasonable, as he occasionally does when he really needs to win an argument. "Can't you do something, apart from laugh at them? Something to help? If we can strike back at the football team, it's a sign for everyone else not to mess with us! I know you don't wanna help me, but can't you do it for them?"
"No," says Cartman simply. "I hate those guys. So very, very much."
Kyle is momentarily lost for words, the silence a build up to the inevitable explosion. Cartman loves that moment. He knows it means he has gotten under Kyle's skin in the way no one else ever can. Not even his boyfriends.
"But I offered you a hundred dollars! Can't you come up with something for a hundred dollars?"
"I'm not Kenny and I'm not a whore for the cash." Cartman knows he should be feeling triumphant. He isn't. It's still all about revenge for Kyle. He knows that Cartman has discovered his secret and still isn't as infuriated by him or as afraid of what he might do as he should be. Instead, Kyle wants nothing but revenge for Stan. He does not seem to care that the whole world will know of his perversion, as long as his boyfriends are okay. Everything he is doing and saying is because of them.
"Fine." Kyle pushes himself away from the railing. "I'm going. I was only going to clear my head anyway, come up with some way to make them pay."
Cartman's rage grows. Kyle is talking about them. Even now, he is still focused only on Stan and Kenny.
"What they did to Stan today, it might have been an accident – I thought it was a stupid prank gone wrong. But then they went after Kenny – beat him up pretty badly. He should be in the hospital himself. Not that he'll go." He gives Cartman a look of disgust. "And not that you care. If you're not gonna help us, then I've got to get back to him."
That is the last straw. Kyle is returning to Kenny, to tend to his war wounds and in the morning, they will go to Stan. They will be there when he wakes and they will tell each other that they can deal with this as long as they have each other. Like the three fucking Musketeers. They will not be thinking of Cartman, he will not be thinking of Cartman, Cartman will cease to matter. He will mean nothing. He will be left out again and this time, there will be no going back to normal after the fact.
Kyle takes a couple of steps toward him and Cartman reaches out and without thinking about it, shoves Kyle backward. Kyle stumbles away from him, backing into the railing. Kyle is no lightweight but he is slender and shorter than Cartman and the move has taken him by surprise.
"You fat fuck," he snarls. "Fuck you. I don't have time for your shit right now."
He makes another move away from the railing and Cartman sees red. It is this dismissal, this suggestion that he is not here, that he does not even matter that pisses him off the most. Kyle cannot even raise enough emotion toward him to punch him. Too preoccupied with them.
Cartman moves forward to meet him with a speed those who have seen him walk would never expect, actions totally unconscious. He grabs the front of Kyle's jacket and lifts him three inches clear of the ground, propelling him backwards, intending to shove him against the wall and spray the words into his face, make him understand; he is Eric Cartman, he is supposed to be the one Kyle thinks about, the person he obsesses over. And he will damn sure make sure that he is.
Only there is no wall.
Kyle's back hits nothing, the back of his legs brushing against the railing. At the same time Cartman slips on the snow and almost falls forward, his self-preservation instinct making him release his grip on Kyle and search for purchase to keep himself upright.
Unhindered by the railing, Kyle falls.
The railing kicks his legs up, causing him to fall facing upward. Cartman has a view of his pale, startled face, eyes open wide, hand stretched out as if grasping for aid. He grips the rail and leans over, barely able to believe as Kyle hits the ground with a muffled thud. The snow scatters and only then does Cartman reach out his own hand, as if to save Kyle's life.
The snow's deep he thinks. It will be fine.
From fuck you to fall took maybe ten seconds, but the wait for Kyle to move seems to last forever. Cartman keeps thinking – hoping – that Kyle will blink, sit up and start screaming at him. And he will laugh, mock the boy and leave him where he damn well sits, soaked through and with a long walk home awaiting him.
But Kyle's eyes are already open. Even from this distance, he can see the flat shine of the whites, the way he is still, still. The way that the air does not cloud up as he breathes out, because he is not breathing at all.
He is quite annoyed by this turn of events. This was not how things were supposed to go. And now Kyle appears to be dead and he has to cover his tracks – but no, he doesn't. No one knows he is out here and no one knows that he and Kyle met up. No one has seen them up here; there is no DNA to find. And as for tracks from his feet or the car, the rapidly falling snow will take care of it.
Knowing this, he has the time to leave the observation deck and climb safely down to where Kyle lies. He almost thinks that Kyle is laying a trap, faking it until Cartman gets to him and then jumping up to administer a beating. But Kyle has not moved and he is still not breathing. His head lies at an odd angle and there is blood beneath his head, not much but some. Cartman thinks he understands, there is less snow here because the observation deck means it is somewhat sheltered. It did not break his fall; rather the ground broke his neck.
He puts his fingers to the pulse point on Kyle's neck, thinking that perhaps his boyfriends have kissed that spot, feeling the heartbeat beneath. There is nothing to feel now. Kyle Broflovski is dead. Cartman stares into his face, thinking that it was not supposed to be like this – but it is he that is there with him, not them. What has happened is a little secret between the two of them.
He plants a hand at either side of Kyle's head, unmindful of the snow, seeing the way Kyle's eyes are rolled up. It could almost be pleasure. Almost. Tentatively, he leans forward and their lips touch. Cartman runs his tongue over Kyle's bottom lip, noticing how already they are cold. It is the only form of mouth-to-mouth he attempts.
He pulls away, runs his tongue over his own thick lips, smiles. "I was the last person to kiss you Kyle," he tells the dead boy. "It was me. It was always me."
He reaches out to close Kyle's eyes before leaving him for the last time, knowing that the snow will cover him as the night wears on and it might be days until he is recovered. He climbs into the car, recoiling slightly at the smell of fried chicken. From that day onward, any time he smells that, he will be instantly transported back to that night, Kyle's face as he fell, the way his lips felt, the cold. Always the cold.
He gets home as quickly as the conditions allow and calls his mother out of her room for a stern warning that he has been there all night, should anyone ask. Then he retires to his own room, glad he has the chicken. He's hungry.
"You bastard," whispers Kenny, pale and unmoving. "You bastard. You murdered Kyle. You threw him over the ledge and just left him there. Bastard."
"Why now?" asked Stan and Ike can see the way his knuckles are white around the cane. "Why did you come here, why did you tell us? Not because your conscience was troubling you."
"Nah," replies Cartman, smiling gently and thumping at his chest. "Ticker. Been bad for a while and the doctors think I might not have long to go. My insurance won't cover the surgery but if I'm in jail, then I get what I need on the state. We all know I won't get more than five years for accidentally killing some pervert Jew back when I was eighteen. And I just bet that po'boy is recording everything I said."
Wordlessly, Kenny removes his phone and sure enough, it is set to voice record. Ike is not sure that it is powerful enough to catch everything that Cartman had to say, but given the three independent witnesses, it is probable that he will be arrested anyway. None of them will let him get away with it.
"I knew it," says Cartman, looking almost gleeful at being proven right. "I knew you'd have every damn piece of tech on the market just as soon as you had any cash at all. And it's not like you've got anyone else to spend it on but yourself." This time, his chuckle has a cruel edge.
"You're lying," says Ike quietly, almost meditatively. Cartman whips his head around to look at the youngest of the group but Ike barely notices. "You're not confessing to murder for free health care. Not when there are safer bets. That's just another way to make us all bitter." His brow creases as he thinks it over. "It's because you're afraid we might have forgotten about Kyle."
"Bullshit," growls Cartman.
Ike's head jerks up and his dark eyes meet Cartman's, anger reflected in them. "No, it's not. You knew all these years that we had to be wondering, theorising, wishing we knew what happened. But you knew, even if the rest of the world didn't and that made you feel smart, didn't it? Like you'd got one over on everyone. But time marches on and – what triggered it? The reunion? Or just that you woke up one morning and realised that perhaps Kenny and Stan were over it, they'd moved on with their lives. That there was a chance my parents could be showering love on their grandchildren instead of their oldest child, or maybe I couldn't remember exactly what Kyle sounded like anymore. But you couldn't forget him. We might have come to terms with not knowing, and you didn't want that. Coming here tonight, finally telling the truth – that was nothing to do with the heart you don't have. It was just to make sure you were still affecting all of our lives. To tell us and everyone else just how much cleverer you are. If you're as sick as you say you are, you couldn't bear dying without us not knowing how you finally beat Kyle in the end."
Cartman tries to hold Ike's gaze, but is unable and looks away. "You sound just like he did," he snorts. "And before you say anything, that is not a compliment."
Stan glares back at Cartman. "We hated you then and we hate you now. You're scum Cartman, worse than scum. I hope you fucking die, in agony."
"At least you're thinking of me," replies Cartman, sounding unusually cheerful for someone who has just confessed to murder. "It was fucking hilarious, watching you two go out of your minds wondering what had happened. Watching you fall apart. Serves you both right though for being fucking deviants. I assume you're gonna call the cops now?"
It is Ike that actually does so, telling them to alert Sergeant Yates because this concerns him too. Cartman seems weirdly unconcerned by the call, while Kenny positions himself in front of Stan, apparently to fend off any thought the man has of attacking Cartman. Ike thinks that would be most satisfying. To see Cartman fall from the same place that Kyle fell… yes, that would be fitting.
It is less than five minutes before the first of the flashing lights comes into view, but to Ike it feels like an eternity. Like ten years of not knowing, condensed into a few minutes of knowing the truth. He keeps thinking back to how Cartman was so protective of him before he moved with his parents, thinking that it is some kind of debt to his brother. Now he knows better. It was all some sick game.
When the first cops arrive and he tells them that Cartman has admitted to murder, they do not seem surprised.
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Ike stands alone, his back touching the railing over which Kyle took that final, fatal drop. There is a cop talking to Stan and Kenny, but they both look wearied and Ike is sure they are telling him the bare bones, that they will fill out the rest much later on. At the police station. Two more cops are cuffing Cartman and the fat man turns briefly to meet Ike's eyes. He cannot read the expression there; but he seems simultaneously sad and without remorse. As if he truly believes he was driven to it.
And then they are guiding him away and Cartman hangs his head as he walks past Stan and Kenny. They watch as he is taken away, wearing matching expressions of hurt and sorrow. He does not acknowledge them and Ike's last view of him is hidden as the cops push him out of sight.
Ike turns to stare down at the spot where Kyle was found, all those years ago. The scene is bathed with flashing red lights from the police car, which is not in view. He reflects that it should look like blood, but it doesn't. It must have been like this ten years ago, he thinks. Once the ambulance has taken Kyle away, while the police are breaking the news to their parents while a devastated eleven year old Ike Broflovski listens from the stairs, thinking it cannot be true, it just can't. While the police looked for clues and found only easy answers.
He looks back to Stan and Kenny. The police officer who was talking to them is leaving and they barely notice. They are looking at each other. A small smile starts on Kenny's face and he says something that Ike cannot hear. Stan replies briefly, a similar expression on his own face. There is loss there, but something else too. A new beginning perhaps.
Stan reaches out and takes Kenny's hand, lacing their fingers together. Less than a second later, Kenny's arms go around Stan and they are hugging, Kenny's head on Stan's neck, Stan's arms around Kenny's back. The hold is tight, determined, comforting. And too long overdue.
Feeling intrusive, Ike turns back to stare across the town. A new beginning then for all of them, with those old questions laid to rest – but starting again means letting go of the past. Letting go of Kyle. And the memory of Kyle has been the one thing that Ike has been able to call his anchor for the second half of his life. He has done what he intended to do and the loss of purpose frightens him. He feels keenly just as he did when he realised the cop talking to his parents was not lying, that he truly never would see Kyle again.
He covers his face with his hands as a sob breaks out of his mouth. He does not want to make a noise but the mingled feelings of grief, loss and weird emptiness need some kind of outlet. They will not stay locked away anymore. Ike feels tears running down his face and his shoulders shake as he sobs like a child, thinking that finally knowing should have set him free. He should not feel so desolate.
And then a hand is on his shoulder and he turns almost blindly to fall into Kenny's arms, still sobbing. Stan is there too, his own arm going around Ike's shoulders, the other around Kenny. Ike reaches out for both of them. He feels as if he is no longer a part of his own mind, his own body, his own feelings.
He feels as if he is saying goodbye.