Warning: AU –Second World War

M-Rated!Contains coarse language, violent imaginary related to the context of war, and sex.

I do not own South Park. I do not own anything. I wish I was that f* genius!

It had been the two longest days ever.

Kyle hid in de cellar with Chef's company. The kind cook became Kyle's anchor. It was thanks to him that Kyle didn't lose his sanity. It was thanks to him that the Jew didn't lose hope. Because, after Herr Cartman left, it felt like a part of him had died. The moment the car disappeared out of sight, the world became a colder and darker place to live in. Kyle felt sad all the time. It was a kind of sadness that seemed to consume the core of his very own soul. All his energy and emotions seemed to be sucked by this singular deep sadness. His heart was so filled of sorrow, there was nothing else to feel. Because anything else would be too much and his heart would burst from the overflow of emotions. The result was him becoming indifferent for everything. The war, his friends, his family, the Jews, the Nazi, his dreams, his music. All had become distant and meaningless. They were nothing more than vague thoughts, faded memories, shadows of something he could not really grasp onto. His heart was filled with void and his head with oblivion. So deep was the pain of losing Herr Cartman.

Kyle's thoughts lingered to Herr Cartman all the time. He missed him already and he was worried sick. The uncertainty was killing him. Was he still alive? Did he manage to flee to safety? Would they see each other again? Ever? Or would this separation become permanent? Kyle felt despair fill his hurt heart. And suddenly he wished he had never met Herr Cartman. He wished their lives never crossed paths. Because, if he never knew how it felt to love and be loved back, he would never have to suffer this way. This pain, this sorrow, this agony was the worst torture he ever experienced.

Kyle did not cry. His eyes were dry all the time. But his heart bled rivers of sad tears. Being sad all the time proved to be very tiresome. Kyle felt always exhausted. The smallest movement felt like a painful struggle. All he wanted was to lay down and sleep. But sleep did not come to him. And so, after two long depressive days, his head was throbbing from his insomnias and his eyes burning from lack of sleep. Kyle also barely ate. He would be even skinnier and weaker if it hadn't been for Chef insisting he needed to eat. Because food tasted like paper and hurt when it rested in the bottom of his grumbling stomach.

It had been the two longest days ever. Time was no more. Day and night became all and none. One hundred years could have gone by and Kyle would have easily believed it .The redhead spent his time listening to Chef. Sometimes he sung some messed up sexual-oriented songs. Sometimes he gave disconnected strange advices. Most of the time he talked words about hope and love. Kyle focused in this deep voice, which seldom was silent. This pleasant background sound gave the redhead some sense of security. It gave him just enough comfort to regain some will to live on. It gave him a small push in the right direction. And flickered that dying fire in his soul until its flame grew timidly, but stronger.

So, when Alfred opened the cellar door that one evening, Kyle felt himself slowly reborn. The butler announced the liberation of Dachau by the Allies. There was cheering and celebrating. Even though he still felt too numb for anything, Kyle smiled sincerely. The Jews were free. He was free. And soon, he would reunite with his family. Establish a new life and wait for the return of Eric Cartman. The redhead was ready to face the world again.

After the short jubilation, the three of them decided to divide tasks. While the two men headed to the kitchens and prepare as much food as possible to distribute among the starving survivors; Kyle headed to his little office. He opened one specific drawer and looked at its many files. With a determined look, he took them out and put them in the brown briefcase. Afterwards, he walked into Herr Cartman's office and almost expected to find the Nazi in there. Ignoring the nauseous feeling that grew in the pit of his stomach, Kyle picked up his violin and practically stormed out of the division, barely looking at anything. There were too many memories in this room. Too many objects that shared his history with the Nazi. Too many things that would reopen his scarring heart and suck him down into a deeper depression.

"I'm going to the camp." Kyle announced while he stood at the kitchen's door entrance.

"I guess this is goodbye, then." Alfred said in a sad smile. "If we don't have the pleasure to cross paths in the camp or anywhere else again, I wish you good luck." The butler kindly said. "It was a great pleasure and honor to meet you, Kyle Broflovski." The redhead forced a pained smile and hugged the butler.

"Thank you for everything." Kyle whispered sincerely grateful for the man's continuous help and friendship. The Jew walked afterwards to the large dark man, who had already tears running down his face. They embraced in a tight hug.

"I will miss you." Kyle sincerely spoke. Chef was unable to produce a legible sound, but the redhead was sure he was telling him back he would miss him too.

Kyle exited the house so quickly, he forgot to take a coat with him. He rushed away, because he knew the longer it would take paying goodbye, the more difficult it would be. So, he hastily walked in the grey buildings' direction, while the sun slowly descended in the horizon. He approached the first soldier he saw, noticing the uniform was not of a Nazi's. He showed him the many files of the many dead. And the shocked soldier led him to his leader.

…

The tall and strong American looked at the face of the young Jew. General Dwight D. Eisenhower's experienced eyes could read, in this teenager's face, he had faced more horrible things in his short life than he probably had in his whole military career.

"The death registries are incomplete. I know there were a lot more deaths than I was able to register. Those who were gassed and those who were evacuated to other camps last January are not in here. But, it's all the information I could gather*." Kyle explained the General. Fortunately, this man was fluent in German, so the communication went smoothly.

"It's more than we could ever expect. Thank you, Kyle. This is a valuable piece of information. It needs to be revealed to the world. Humanity must learn about the horrors that happened here. And in other camps. This must never be forgotten. To honor the deaths of these people and to teach the future generations to never repeat the mistakes committed in the past." The American eloquently said and Kyle nodded in agreement. Having nothing else to say further, Kyle left the man and wandered off without a purpose. At a certain moment somebody called out for him.

"Kyle? Kyle Broflovski?" A man asked, unbelief all present in his voice. Kyle turned around and his eyes widened when he recognized him.

"Father Maxi!" He exclaimed marveled the good Christian still lived. The priest quickly embraced the boy.

"I thought you were dead." The priest said. Kyle released a shaky gasp. The Father's words immediately brought Kyle back to that hot afternoon when Herr Cartman saved him. And suddenly, his bruised heart hurt even more. Father Maxi sensing something was wrong, broke the embrace to look at the teenager's face. He saw how Kyle was still skinny, how his eyes were tired and dark. How pale and sick he looked. Father Maxi feared to what had happened to him during all the time he was missing. "Oh, my child…What happened to you?"

Kyle swallowed dry. This was the moment he had been waiting for. He had trained months for this day. It was the time to tell the lies. Nobody would ever understand. How could a Jew fall in love with a Nazi? Even more one that committed such violent, sadistic cruelties. One that preached the extermination of the Jews? Nobody. Even he had a hard time in believing it.

"H-Herr Cartman…h-he assigned me to be his bookkeeper." Kyle said in the verge of tears. Each word came out in a gasp, as he forced himself not to break down. Seeing such a familiar and concerned face, made him feel the more exposed and vulnerable.

"Where is Herr Cartman?" Father Maxi urgently demanded and Kyle could see the anger and revolt in the other man's eyes.

"He…escaped two days ago. Ran away with another Nazi, from another camp." Kyle could feel himself crumbling apart. His whole body was shaking. All the pressure he had been holding back was boiling up to an unbearable point, demanding to burst out. Still he repressed it as long as he could.

"He didn't kill you? How did you survive?"

"I had to hide for my life. I hid in the cellar with the cook. The butler helped us." Telling these lies was harder than he ever imagined. Because it had been Herr Cartman who told him and Chef to hide. "The butler…h-he provided food and protection for us during these days. He and the cook are right now in the house, trying to gather as much food as possible to distribute among the prisoners. But it's not much."

"We are grateful with all the little food we can spare." Father Maxi said compassionately and then looked seriously at the teenager. "Kyle, may I ask you how…why you became his bookkeeper? He hated Jews. You above all." The redhead froze at the question. He saved my life. He probably already liked me back then.

"H-He discovered I played the violin…He was an immoral dick, but he had a great love for music. Thought it would be a waste if I would die." Kyle said and the first stubborn tears slip from his eyes, drawing two perfect lines on his pale skin.

Kyle could barely hold it back anymore. He felt his heart pang when it finally shattered and broke. He became desperate when suddenly the memory of the fat Nazi's face started to fade away. The more he tried to grasp onto the memory, the more it seemed vanish. Father Maxi didn't dare to make any other questions. It had become clear to him that Kyle had been more than mistreated. The teenager was so broken, he didn't even need to pretend to be hurt. It was easy to mistake his suffering for trauma. Father Maxi truly feared the redhead had been tortured and abused. The catholic gave him a compassionate smile, realizing Kyle had had the infortune of falling in the Nazi's interest. He decided he preferred not to know what kind of perversities Kyle had to endure during all this time. Because, knowing this Jew and for him to be in this total mess, it had to be bad. It had to be more than horrible. Father Maxi held Kyle in his arms, and cradled him like a little child. He was unaware of the real reason Kyle wept. Unaware the Jew was in truth heart-broken. But one thing he knew well. As weak as Kyle now looked, he had in fact a very a strong-character. He remembered how brave Kyle had been when he was the bodies' fetcher. He remembered the gossips that travelled the camp, about the boy that had been in the Dark Room for longer than two weeks. This was a child of perseverance and he would difficulty be defeated. Father Maxi knew Kyle Broflovski was a born-survivor and he would come out of this dark pit stronger than ever.

…

The days that followed were vaguely registered by Kyle's mind. Everything was so strange, so unreal. He had seen more dead bodies than before, when he helped the American Soldiers bury them. He accompanied Father Maxi in his charitable work and watched how the holy man comforted desperate souls, the sickened and the dying ones. For the first time, he witnessed life depart from dark or light eyes. He shivered every time, never getting used to it. Now, he assisted Jews when walking and struggling on the endless road. A mob of Jews and prisoners of war walked a steady march. This was the result of the Final Solution. Herr Cartman's dream. The one he fiercely defended in an 80-page essay. Fiercely defended in the Waanse Conference. So fiercely that it ended up being followed. Torture. Gas Chambers. Extermination. Death. In some ways, Kyle felt like a traitor. Even now, he would die to protect the monster that had brought indescribable pain and suffering to his people.

The march was slow. Some trucks had already departed to Munich and would return as quickly as possible to take another group with them. While they walked, Kyle listened to the voices around him. There were voices speaking about joy. They were free again. The war has ended**. The world wasn't insane anymore. There was new hope. The world would slowly restore itself again. There were voices about sadness. Many lost loved-ones. Many were still dying. Sometimes in the arms of a dear one. Sometimes alone. Many were scared, not knowing what the future would give them. Having already forgotten how it was to have a normal life. Kyle looked around. There were few faces he recognized. So many died and so many more had come to the camp.

Kyle listened to voices of mourning, soft cries and weeping. His right hand tightened the only possession he allowed himself to bring: his violin. Suddenly he stopped and stood on the side of the road. People passed by without giving him a second glance. Without seeing him. Kyle opened the case and took the violin out of it. Placed it under his chin. Closed his eyes. And while thousands and thousands of saddened Jews walked this long march, he played the grief their hearts felt.

The violin cried along the souls of the many. Its melody spoke about their losses and the faces they would never see again. It spoke about their tortured past and haunted memories. It spoke about suffering and sadness. It told them, all this had come to an end. Kyle's violin told them, this chapter was now closed and a new beginning awaited them. A brighter future, with new loved-ones, with bright warm colors, with happiness. And so the strings created beautiful sounds that filled the hearts of the many with hope. Because this was the Life March, welcoming them to a new start.

…

"Butters, someone is at the door!" A demanding female´s voice shouted. The blond teenager headed to the door while he fidgeted in his clothes and mumbled illegible words under his breath. When he opened his door, he stared surprised at the person standing opposite him. He would recognize those green eyes anywhere. But the young man was unrecognizable with his shaved head.

"Kyle!" Butters exclaimed ant threw his arms around his friend without second thought. Kyle hugged back and closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth and friendship his body emanated. Butters released to look better at him. "W-What happened to your hair?"

"Oh, that." Kyle said with a shy smile, while his hand caressed his bald head. He had already forgotten it. "Everybody had to have all the hair on our bodies shaved off because of the typhus fever*." Butters' eyes widened greatly at the mention of the horrible disease. "But I don't have it. Don't worry, Butters. I don't have a single symptom. It was done merely for precaution."

"Oh, hamburgers. You scared me for moments." Butters said with a sigh of relieve. "Well, don't stand there at the doorstep. Come inside. Did you find my house easily?"

"Thank you. And, yes. It was easy to find." Kyle kindly said.

"M-Mom, D-Dad. This is Kyle. He's the Jew I told you about." Butters announced while he guided his friend to the living room. Both his parents stood immediately up from the couch. His mother put her hand in front of her mouth to hide a gasp of shock, while her husband immediately came to shake the Jew's hand.

"Welcome Kyle. I am Stephen Stotch. This is my wife Linda." Butters's father quickly introduced himself. "I want you to know you are free to stay here as long as you want. And that we never voted for the Nazi."

"Thank you. And it's okay. You never could have known." Kyle dismissed the man's obvious lie. He knew very well, from Butters' stories, his family supported the Nazi. They probably knew about the concentration camps too, since their son was a close friend to the high-positioned SS. But the war was over now. The world had given many turns. People switched sides. He was more than thankful this couple allowed him in their house. Mr. Sotch stared a few seconds caught and gave an embarrassed smile.

"Kyle, dear boy." Linda said in a sweet voice while he walked to him and cupped his face in her hands. "Our home is your home." Kyle smiled and could read the sincerity in her eyes. They were the same as Butters', large and bright blue. It was easy to be drawn to the depths of this ocean.

"Thank you." He whispered and Linda's thumb caressed his cheek, before leaving his face.

"Would you like to eat something?" She asked.

"No thanks. I lunched just before I came here. I'm not really hungry." The redhead could tell by the woman's face she did not believe him, but still, she didn't insist.

"Perhaps a bath and some clean clothes, than."

"That would be nice."

And so, a short while after, Kyle sat in a bathtub, filled with perfumed hot water. How wonderful it felt. Such a relive to be able to clean himself properly again. To scrub his skin off from any contagious disease. He closed his eyes and reclined back, lying on the tub. He felt exhausted. All his muscles were so sore, so the warmth felt even the better. He sighed feeling completely safe and relaxed for the first time in days. He didn't even stir when someone knocked on the door.

"Yes?" Kyle asked, his eyes still shut.

"I-I have clean clothes for you." Butters' voice was heard behind the door. There was a short pause. "Can… Could I come in?"

"Sure." Kyle answered and opened his eyes to watch Butters enter the bathroom. He put the toiled lid down and sat on it. The Jew noticed he avoided to look at him, even though his naked body was hidden under the foam.

"S-So…What now?" Butters asked while he hesitantly faced Kyle.

"Stan has his factory in Lindenhof, nearby Mannhein." The Jew said, while he closed his eyes again and rested his head back on the cold ceramic base. "We start our search from there."

A/N

*When the Americans liberated camp Dachau from the Nazis, they found approximately 32.000 prisoners, from which 25.000 were Jews. From 1933 to 1945, 206.200 prisoners had been registered at Dachau. Many died in evacuation marches (Death Marches) in an attempt of the Nazi to eliminate the Jewish race in the dawn of Germany's fall. These deaths were never registered. The International Tracing Service in Arolson reports 31.591 dead among the prisoners that were registered. The total number of Jews who died at Dachau from 1933 to 1945 was relatively low, probably no more than 5.000. The true total number of dead will never be known.

**May 8, 1945 is the V-E Day (Victory in Europe). General Alfred Jodl (German High Command) signs the unconditional surrender of all German forces. Hitler was already longer than a week dead. On the 29th April 1945, the same day Camp Dachau was liberated by the Americans; Hitler, who was still hidden in the bunker, marries his companion Eva Braun. The next day they both commit suicide (combination of poison and a gunshot).

After Hitler's death, Joseph Goebbels (Minister of Propaganda) commented: "The heart of Germany has ceased to beat. The Führer is dead". According to Vice-Admiral Hans-Erich Voss, Goebbels also said: "For us, everything is lost now and the only way left for us is the one which Hitler chose. I shall follow his example". Goebbels stayed in the history not only for his zealously to Hitler, his extreme anti-Semitic ideologies and for being an absolute adept of the Final Solution; but also because for the shocking action he and his wife took shortly after Hitler's death. At 8 pm, on the 1st May, (according to Kunz's testimony) he gave morphine injections to his six young children so they would be unconscious when his wife, Magda Goebbels and Stumpfegger (Hitler's personal doctor) crushed ampoules of cyanide in each of their mouths. Shortly afterwards, Goebbels and his wife killed themselves too. The details of their suicides are uncertain.

I highly recommend the German movie "Der Untergang". It is great because it's almost a documentary of the final days of the war, as it portrays the last days of Hitler's life in the bunker, as well as the hours that followed his suicide.

*** Private Gentry, from the previous chapter, stated in his interview in 2000 that, and I quote: «We stayed there in that camp, about three days, trying to help secure the camp and to get rid of literally thousands of dead bodies. Load them onto trucks, get them out of there, this awful smell. And we were able to do that and after about three days we left the camp and went out and had all the hair on our bodies shaved off because of the typhus fever.»