A/N: Sorry for the wait, this is the third rewrite of this chapter. I couldn't get it where I wanted it but I needed this damn scene to happen. Maybe not even for plot progression but just my own selfish needs who knows.
Enjoy~
The text had been simple and sweet: 'Can you guys meet me for dinner?' But for Kenny, he in that moment was Sisyphus finally free from his damnation, able to shove that boulder of burden far off and away with nothing but relief. For once in his life, Kyle had listened. He was taking the precautionary advice, something that the redhead rarely did, regardless of just who it was telling him to do so. But, with the relief came that pang of regret yet again. If it was any other run-of-the-mill kind of night before, chances are that Kyle would've stuck to his habits. Kenny wasn't stupid, he knew just what last night had done to the man.
The two of them scouring his house for any kind of camera, any kind of missing items, had procured nothing. It didn't add up in the slightest, and that just made the blonde all the more worried. Those men had been there for something, something that one of them had declared that he'd finished. The more he'd thought about it, the more accurate Kyle's statement seemed to be: Their mission hadn't been to go after him. It'd just been deemed necessary when he came home sooner than expected. They wanted to remain anonymous, finish what they were there to do, and get out.
He shook his head to himself, fingers tightening around his steering wheel as he drifted down the main road. They'd lucked out that he'd had a gut feeling and turned back around. He didn't know what it was, but instinct when the Mysterion persona was donned was rarely wrong, so he'd had little to no choice but to follow it. He shuddered, remembering with terrifying clarity glancing in through Kyle's window, seeing him being strangled against the wall and fighting his goddamn heart out. After that he remembered nothing but red. Nothing but a fury he'd rarely felt before, no matter the personality he was lingering within. Nothing but a pure drive to get revenge, to protect before they'd booked it. Then the world slowly became clear again, adrenaline dying down as he'd looked at how shaken and out of his element Kyle was as he sat there on his living room floor.
It was a horrifying realization, something that he'd kept spouting at Kyle but never taking in the full brunt of the truth himself: This was beyond dangerous. For both of them. Cartman knew and he wanted to stop Kyle in his tracks. If only he could figure out just how the bastard was planning on doing so. He growled to himself, blue eyes narrowing dangerously. He'd find out. He'd get to the bottom of it and make sure this kind of shit couldn't happen again.
He whipped his truck into the crowded parking lot, lips twisting as he wheeled into one of the few vacant spaces, forcing a calming breath through himself and nodding slowly as he mechanically turned off the ignition. Kyle was safe, at least for now. He'd gotten him out of that guy's fucking hands and kept him conscious and breathing. That was what mattered in the end, regardless of losing his perps. He'd just have to take a bit of longer stays with Kyle at night, for his own sake if nothing else.
A flash of movement caught his attention from beside him, looking to see Stan on the other side of his car, cocking his head curiously at Kenny's angered expression. He quickly shed it, digging in deep for those impromptu drama club lessons from high school and plastering a smirk across his face, snagging his keys and hopping out of the truck. "Long time no see," he greeted.
"And in the same place no less," Stan chuckled, waving listlessly to the bar. "Remember when Ky used to tell me that I drank too much?"
Kenny shrugged, walking to meet him at the back of their cars before heading towards the door of Skeeter's. "He has a hard life right now, can't fault him for wanting to knock a few back to calm the hell down. Rather he do that then have a full-fledged nervous breakdown, ya know?"
He nodded slowly, "I mean, at the rate it's going, he may end up with both."
"Well, it's our job to keep that at bay," he said cooly. "That's what he's payin' us for."
Stan snorted, "I want a raise."
Kenny stepped up and opened the door, letting him pass in front of him and grinning. "C'mon, now. His charming smile should be more than enough payment."
The detective quirked his brow, "When's the last time you saw him smile?"
Ken paused, giving him a shrug. "He told off some lady over the phone in his office a few weeks ago. Seemed happy to do that."
"Yeah. That's healthy," he said dryly, leading him inside, both of them glancing around the area before landing on a shock of bright red hair in a far-side booth leaning down onto folded arms. They shared a glance before making their way towards the man, getting intercepted by a waitress.
"Know whatcha want, boys?" she asked.
"Just beer. Any kind of beer," Kenny waved her away, the both of them stepping around her and hurrying towards Kyle's slumped form. "Ky?" Ken asked worriedly. Kyle's head shot up, looking towards the both of them and blinking rapidly, their faces dropping together at a deep purple cresting around his left eye. 'Oh god,' Ken thought, stomach dropping.
"What happened?" Stan nearly shrieked, making a move to rush towards him before Kenny snagged his collar. He calmly led Stan over to the booth and gently pushed him towards the opposite side, sliding himself next to Kyle. Last thing the redhead needed was Stan to try to play his damn close-up examination games.
Kyle shrugged listlessly, taking a long sip of his beer and sighing. "I was super tired and I fell, that's all. You know me and my everlasting grace," he rolled his eyes. "How're you two?"
"Worried to shit about you," Ken said honestly, getting a shamed cringe from the man beside him.
"Aside from you two acting like I'm a child," he clarified, straightening himself up and drumming his fingers against his bottle, nails clicking steadily against the glass.
"What did you fall on?" Stan asked skeptically.
He sighed irritably. "My fucking coffee table, all right?"
He narrowed his eyes. "Oh really? Then why aren't you bruised up here?" he pointed to his own skin resting just under his eyebrow. "You should have hit that, too."
"Maybe I'm just talented," he said through gritted teeth. "Drop it."
"Because it looks like someone punched you," he continued on, tension growing thicker by the second. Kenny looked between the both of them, feeling the subtle tremor of Kyle's body through the padded booth.
He cleared his throat, "He said he fell, Stan. So he fell. You know Ky can't lie," he scoffed, turning to look down at the angered accountant. "To answer your question: Just fine," he fibbed. "Managed to score a few kids a couple of jobs at the store."
The redhead broke from his frustration and smiled at him gratefully. "That's great," he said quietly. "Job market's weak as shit around here."
"Tell me about it," he rolled his eyes. "I mean, a good number of 'em found a job somewhere downtown. Not sure where but they told me they're safe and getting paid, so I ain't gonna question it too much. But I nearly had to offer to suck the manager's goddamn cock to get my kids into fuckin' J-mart." He nodded in thanks as the waitress dropped off his and Stan's bottles before scurrying off.
"Well with your fondness for prostitutes I can't figure that'd bother you too much," Stan said dryly, finally redirecting his focus from Kyle's bruised eye.
He shrugged, "Look man, if I gotta suck some dick for them to get fuckin' food, that's fine."
"How noble," he grumbled, shaking his head in disapproval. He turned back to Kyle who was staring at Kenny with a small smile and Stan sighed irritably. Any mention of selfless deeds always distracted Kyle from the implications. After all, to him, it was intent that mattered above all else. "Did you change, Ky?" he asked.
The redhead broke his admiration and blinked at him. "I'm sorry?"
He waved towards him aimlessly. "You aren't wearing your damn tie and whatnot," he pointed to the zip-up hoodie over his torsos, sleeves hanging halfway down his hands.
Kyle cleared his throat, "I uh... I didn't go to work today." He took another sip of his beer, trying to ignore the surprise that his best friend was showcasing.
"Really? You?"
"My head fucking hurt from my fall," he muttered. "I did my daily report from home and just laid on the couch all day. I was bored to shit so I thought I'd meet up with you two if that's all right," he grumbled.
"I was just asking," Stan narrowed his eyes. He noted the subtle shifting of Kyle's body weight, his eyes focusing down on the table and the light red splashing across his cheeks. He was hiding something else.
Kenny cleared his throat, looping his arm around Kyle's shoulders and shaking him lightly. "Not like we mind," he said cheerfully. "Hell, my dinners are just as lonely as yours, Man. Lots of Hot Pockets."
Kyle snorted, "I taught you how to fucking make actual food."
He shrugged, "Yeah, but I'm lazy." Kyle laughed softly, shoulders sinking warmly under Kenny's hold. He'd needed this. His whole day had been nothing but paranoia and a killer migraine. Green eyes flickered to Stan's concerned face before dropping back towards the table. He probably should've only invited Kenny. He knew when to stop pushing, but Stan couldn't seem to leave work back in his office where it belonged. Ken shook him again, "Me n' you should have date nights," he proclaimed.
Kyle froze, looking up at him and blinking. "Uh. Beg pardon?"
"Two lonely dudes meetin' up for beers once a week and playin' wingman for each other," he grinned. "You use your twink charms to hook me up with guys n' gals and I'll use my buddy-buddy skills to talk you up to some fine young gentlemen."
He narrowed his eyes, "Did you just call me a fucking twink?"
The blonde pinched his cheek lightly, "Aw, c'mon, don't pout," he mocked, getting another glare out of the man. He gestured out towards the bar, "Look around. What kind of guy in here gets yer junk a-pumpin'?"
"Oh my god, don't," Stan begged, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Anyone the opposite of Stan," Kyle said dryly, smirking at the light offense crossing over his best friend's face. He chuckled and looked up at Kenny. "I think I'm good."
"Nonsense, we need to get you laid and get yer mind off of this," he lightly poked Kyle's cheek under his bruising. "Let yer good pal Kenny help ya. Now." He cupped Kyle's chin and pointed it out towards the crowded barscene. "What kinda guy am I sendin' you home with tonight?"
"You realize the low gay population of this town, right?" Stan asked, shaking his head.
He grinned cheekily, "You'd be surprised. Besides, who could resist this face?" he cooed, shaking Kyle's head.
The accountant batted his hand off of his chin and rolled his eyes. "This isn't goddamn high school, Ken. If I want a guy, I'll find one myself."
"Bullshit," Stan scoffed, Kyle looking at him questionably. "Dude, fuck it, Ken's right. You'll never fucking get there yourself. Get laid."
"Okay, what the fuck, I didn't invite you fuckers out to lecture me on my goddamn sex life," he pouted.
Ken shrugged, "Well now that's where we're headin'." He leaned down towards his ear, softly murmuring, "It's either that or Stan keeps askin' bout yer eye." Kyle froze a bit as Ken leaned up with another shrug.
He glanced between the two of them watching him expectantly and sighed tiredly. "Fine. Whatever."
"Don't sound so thrilled," Ken scoffed, smacking his arm lightly. "C'mon, what's yer type?"
Kyle sighed again, looking out around the bar and twisting his lips. "Most of these people are in their damn fifties, Man."
"Nothin' wrong with someone older just for a night," Stan commented.
"Oh. And you're the expert?" he quirked his brow. "Mr. 'I-won't-sleep-with-anyone-if-they're-older-or-taller'?"
He pouted, "We all have preferences, Asstard."
Kyle chuckled quietly, looking as Kenny poked his arm rapidly. "What about that guy there? Tall, dark, and mysterious for ya," he pointed subtly down the way across the room to a tall, olive-skinned man laughing with a group of friends, dark wavy hair smoothly cresting his scalp.
Kyle's pupils widened a bit a the description before clearing his throat and shaking it off. "He's not... awful?" he shrugged.
"Far outta your league, Jew," a sudden voice made them all freeze, looking to see Cartman beside the booth, sliding in next to Stan with a smirk directed at the rigid redhead. "So. Used a sick day, huh?"
"He has a black eye," Stan frowned. "He had a goddamn headache, leave him be."
The brunette snorted, taking a long sip of his beer, eying Kyle's uncomfortable shifting and smacking his lips with a sigh. He shrugged dismissively, "Whatever. Your fuckin' problem for Monday, Kahl."
"Knock it off," Kenny growled, pulling Kyle in closer, resisting every bone in his body urging him to just tackle Cartman down now and end it. He flickered over to Stan, who looked to be on the same wavelength, eying the glutton suspiciously. "Why're you here?"
He scoffed, "Didn't fuckin' realize you owned the bar, Po'Boy. 'Scuse me for getting a fuckin' beer."
"Figured you were 'too good' for this place as much money as you make," Stan muttered.
"By that logic, Kahl's too good, too," he drawled. "Since, you know, I pay him so very much," he cocked his brow, watching Kyle sinking under Kenny's arm, the stewing beginning all at once. "So what happened? Someone finally punch out your homo ass?"
He gritted his teeth. "I fell."
"Uh huh," he rolled his eyes. "So you got yourself a guy who beats ya."
"No," he hissed. "I fucking fell."
Cartman looked over at Stan's piercing gaze and smirked. "You believin' that, Marsh? You'd know. Sure you've seen more battered wives than you can count."
"Knock it off," Kenny repeated angrily, getting the brunette's attention back on him, bristling at the victory gleaming in his amber eyes. He turned back to Kyle and sighed, shaking him again. "Want me to go talk to Mr. Potential?" he jerked his head towards the stranger across the way.
Kyle turned, craning his neck a bit to look at him and consider his options. Hook up when he didn't particularly want to, or deal with Cartman longer? Way too much conflict there. "I'm not sure," he murmured. "I don't think I really want-"
"What happened to your neck?" Cartman's voice popped back up. Kyle's pupils shrank, quickly going to duck back down and hide his neck under his hoodie collar again.
"Whaddya mean?" he tried to say nonchalantly, refusing to look at Stan who he could just feel boring holes into his skin.
He smirked knowingly, "What're you trying to hide, Kahl?"
"Nothing," he spat. "Mind your own fucking- Stan stop!" he yelped as the man reached across the table and yanked down his zipper, tilting his head up with his free hand and eyed the clear purple finger marks resting along the side of his throat.
"Ky, what happened?!" he said in panic, eying the damage before Kyle slapped his hand away and zipped his sweatshirt back up, crossing his arms uncomfortably. "Tell me what happened!" he demanded.
"You're not my mother, I don't have to tell you a goddamn thing!" he spat bitterly.
He took a deep breath, looking at Kenny who was staring at the redhead helplessly, and to Cartman, who was nothing less than amused at the spectacle across the table. "Let me see your hands," Stan said lowly.
Kyle narrowed his eyes, "Why?"
"Let me see 'em, Ky," he ordered.
He scoffed and rolled his eyes, holding up his hands. "There? Fuckin' happy?" He squeaked out in surprise as Stan snared one of his arms, yanking down his sleeve to find a bright red and splotchy circle surrounding his narrow wrist. The noirette's heart dropped, expecting some kind of marks just from probability statistics, but not this.
Cartman let out a low whistle, "Damn. Your boyfriend did beat the shit out of you."
"No one did!" he insisted, trying to pull himself out of Stan's grip and far-too-observant gaze. He reached up, trying to pry off Stan's fingers before the man pulled down his other sleeve to find a twin branding against ashen skin.
Stan finally let him go, watching him hurriedly try to cover himself again. "Those are cuff marks," he finally said, knowing the bruises all too well from seeing them on suspect after suspect. "Who cuffed you?"
"No one-"
"Bullfuckingshit," he spat. "Kyl,e I fuckin' know those when I see 'em. Who cuffed you?!"
Kyle looked from his infuriated glare to Cartman's glee to Kenny's pure sympathy, teeth gritting. "Ken move. I'm going home," he muttered, ripping out his wallet and throwing a ten on the table.
"Kyle, you can't-" Stan stopped as infuriated green eyes locked into his.
"I don't want to talk about it," he hissed. "Ken, move."
The blonde nodded solemnly, scooting out of the booth and letting the redhead clamber out, stomping out towards the door. He snagged his own wallet, throwing a twin bill atop Kyle's. "Good goin', Stan," he snarled at the bewildered noirette, hurrying to follow the rushing accountant outside.
He looked around, spotting Kyle making way for his car, running off behind him. "Ky, Dude, hold up!" he shouted.
Kyle whirled around from his door, quickly battling between hopping in his car and driving off before Kenny could blink before the blonde made it beside him. "I don't want to talk about it," he repeated miserably.
Kenny frowned sympathetically. "I'm not gonna ask you a goddamn thing," he promised gently, leading him towards the front of his car resting at a grassy median looking towards the main road. He snagged his cigarettes from his jeans pocket, offering one to the frazzled man.
Kyle hesitated before taking the slim stick into his fingers. "Thanks," he whispered, letting Kenny light him up before doing the same for himself. Both of them looked towards the town, letting the summer sun and smoke surround the both of them for the briefest of moments before Kenny sighed.
"Okay. I lied. I am gonna ask one thing, but ya don't have t' answer," he winced. Kyle slumped, but nodded him on. "Why'd ya call us out here if ya wanted to hide that shit?" he asked quietly.
Kyle paused before shrugging. "At first I wasn't going to. Or I was gonna stop and buy fucking makeup or something... I don't know," he finally settled on with a sigh. "I spent all day just... lying around and feeling like the worst could happen. I feel awful," he bit his lip, putting his foot on the overhang of the headlight and pushing himself upwards to sit on the hood of his car, Ken following suit and staring at him.
"Ky," Ken said gently. "Dude, if you need to talk or just hang out or whatever, just fuckin' ask."
"I'm a grown ass man, I don't need fucking protected," he snapped, face falling as Kenny recoiled and he slumped again. He sighed, holding the cigarette in his teeth and fighting out of his hoodie, far too fucking hot in the summer sun. Not like Kenny didn't know what was there now anyway. He shoved the fabric behind him, feeling Kenny's stare on his neck. "I'm sorry," he murmured.
"For what?"
He shrugged, "Yelling. I'm sorry, you're just trying to help. There's just... so much going on right now, ya know?" he winced. He gestured to his bruised throat, "Then this happens and it's like... it's like the world is fucking out to destroy me right now," he said miserably.
Kenny nodded softly in agreement, scooting over closer and wrapping his arm around his shoulders. "I won't let it," he promised.
Kyle snorted. "Thanks. If you could make that happen with a snap of your fingers, it'd be pretty sweet."
He smiled sadly, "Wish I could, Man. All I can do is offer to help, though."
The redhead nodded, looking back towards the street, "And I appreciate it. You and Stan both. Nosy as he is and... as oddly determined to get me laid as you are," he quirked his brow.
Ken laughed, shrugging sheepishly. "Gotta play to your strengths, Man. Mine just happens t' be hookin' people up."
"Hm," he mused quietly. He sighed, "I'll be fine. I have you two and..." he paused, eyes drooping a bit, glittering lowly in the sunlight.
Ken smirked to himself at the hesitation, "And who?" he purred.
"No one," he finished quietly.
He rolled his eyes amusedly, "Oh please. Who else is takin' care of ya?" he teased, poking his arm a bit. Kyle folded in his lips a bit and Kenny took the moment to weigh his options, nodding to himself. Not too much risk here. Besides, Kyle knew he was a curious asshole above all else, had to keep on playing the part. "Come oonnnn, tell meeee," he pressed, poking him again.
"No one's 'taking care of me'," he murmured embarrassedly, slowly sipping in another bout of smoke.
Ken snorted quietly. "Okay, fine, who else is in your corner?"
Kyle flickered his eyes over to the eagerness in Kenny's stare, gulping steadily as smoke crept past his lips. Kenny had been the person he'd went to for almost their entire lives when he needed to tell someone something that couldn't be repeated. The blonde was as tight-lipped as they came when it came to private conversations. "Just..." he sighed. "Some guy."
"Aw, Kyle, did you get yourself a boyfriend when I wasn't lookin'?" he teased.
"No!" he shot back defensively, frowning at Kenny barely holding in a bout of snickers. "No, it's just someone else helping me with... work issues," he said slowly, looking at him for understanding.
Kenny nodded softly. "Don't wanna spill me any details, huh?"
"I don't have many to give," he said honestly. "He's just... different."
He hiked his brow. "How so?"
"Let's just say his ideas are a little off-kilter," he shrugged.
Kenny forced down a round of laughter. That was probably the absolute nicest way that Kyle could have ever put that. He let himself stew in thought for a moment, slipping into the metaphorical cloak that was donned so easily as his literal, assessing the risk of the situation. He could pry just the basics, and, most importantly, get a question answered that'd been keeping Mysterion on edge. He cleared his throat, "Okay, off-kilter," he repeated. "What's important is just... do you trust the guy?" he winced.
Kyle sat in silence for a good few moments, taking another drag and letting out the smoke through his nose before nodding subtly. "Yeah. I do..." his fingers traced up towards his neck, a visible gulp receding down his throat. "This could've been so much worse," he whispered, Kenny's heart lurching at the connotation. He sighed, wrapping back around him and gently rubbing his arm.
"I ain't gonna ask ya what happened," he assured him. "But... do me n' Stan need to do anything? Do you need to stay with me for awhile?"
He shook his head. "No. Pretty sure it was a one-time chance incident," he muttered, glancing up at him and forcing a meek smile on his face. "Thanks, though." Kenny just nodded with a sad grin back and a light squeeze, both of them turning their attention back to their cigarettes in peace before another voice broke the tranquility of the mutual understanding they both so desperately needed.
"Kyle?" Stan came up beside the car, hands shoved in his pockets and waiting for the redhead to look at him. He winced. "I'm sorry I yelled. I just don't exactly like seeing you with the crap beaten out of you."
"Don't get gay on me, Stan. You're not my type," he smirked lightly.
He snorted, moving to lean against the front of the car beside Kyle's legs, looking back at him questionably. "Can I suggest something without you freaking out?"
"Depends on the suggestion," he shrugged.
The man rolled his eyes, face dropping worriedly. "Kyle, I want you to consider filling out a report over what happened," he gestured to him.
He frowned, "I don't know who did this. My report would be nothing but me going 'I don't know' over and over..." he sighed, moving his leg up to put out his Marlboro on the bottom of his shoe. "I'm fine. What matters is that I'm just fine," he said, more for himself than the concerned men on either side of him.
"So long as you're sure, Ky," Kenny said softly, shooting Stan a look warning him to just drop it. The noirette pouted but nodded in agreement.
"Well, if things go wrong again..." Stan started slowly.
"Call one of you, you've made this clear, Stan," Kyle said dryly. "I'll figure this all out, get it sorted through, and eventually everything will go back to normal..." He paused, glancing at him suspiciously. "Where's Fatass? He didn't come out to fucking torment me more?"
Stan shrugged casually, "I may have explained to him that I'm within my rights to bash his face in for impeding on an officer's investigation into an incident."
Kenny and Kyle both burst out laughing, shaking their heads. "Isn't that an abuse of power?" Kyle teased.
"You really think anyone would question me of all people?" he cocked his brow. "I'm the 'hippie' cop, remember? Apparently my gun shoots rose petals," he rolled his eyes.
Kenny chuckled, "Nothin' wrong with not usin' force, Man."
"In a town like this, you rarely need to," he shrugged. "I mean, when I was a patrol officer, even then it was rare."
"But now you're stuck in eternal paperwork hell with me," Kyle smirked sadly. "Least you don't have to work for Cartman of all people."
The three of them fell silent for a moment, letting the weight of that truth settle on them like a wave cresting the shore, bursting through the grains of sand that'd tried futilely to mask the swelling misery. "I wish you would quit," Stan said quietly. "I hate seeing you stuck there."
Kyle looked down and shrugged. "I don't have a choice right now, Stan. Maybe one day I will... but right now..." he trailed off miserably and sighed, leaning into Kenny who went back to comfortingly rubbing along his arm.
"One day," Kenny assured him. "One day you'll get out away from that fat sack of shit and we'll find you something that'll make you happy."
Kyle smiled softly at the notion, feeble as it was in his current circumstance. He closed his eyes, shaking his head a bit against his shoulder. "Promise?"
Kenny and Stan glanced at him, lingering on the bruises around his neck before looking back towards the bar, narrowing their eyes. Simultaneously, the anger, the hatred began to bubble all over again. Together they let out a sincere, determined, "Promise."
A/N: These three interacting is my favorite of all things. My best buddies group they make me so happy.
Thanks for R&Ring!