As far as the group gathered into the back of the storage unit was concerned, the world had never fallen so quiet and still all at once. The echoing of the night sky came through the broken window, a warm breeze seeping into the musty room and filling the space of unspoken words drifting between the opposite parties.
Mysterion gulped, jaw hanging slightly agape in shock as he watched the far-too-smug Cartman across from them. The brunette grinned cheekily, rocking back and forth from his heels to the balls of his feet, eagerly awaiting just what direction this revelation would take the two of them.
Never before had Mysterion felt so on-the-spot, heart pounding anxiously. He couldn't even bear to look at Kyle right now, not willing to turn his head and see that face twisted and contorted in disgust or humiliation at just who he'd been involved with this whole time. He'd had this moment fucking planned down to the letter. It'd be at Kyle's house, it'd be slow getting there, he'd be across the fucking room from him in case he needed to quickly get out in the slim chance Kyle would be filled with instantaneous regret for his choices and tell him he wanted him to leave. Words had already been scripted, note-by-note. Questions of his own and prepared answers for anything he could think of Kyle asking him.
This was so delicate a situation, one that threw more than just the prospect of a romantic relationship up in the air, but a lifetime of connection as a whole. It needed handled with fragility, in a fucking situation where both of them could clearly think.
And Cartman fucking stole that from them.
Mysterion glowered fiercely at the pompous man, fists clenching and arms shaking as they remained firmly planted around Kyle to keep him covered. He took what was supposed to be something for them to work out together in privacy and threw it into double overtime. There was no time to think, to sit down and discuss just where this left them. No. No instead, he got to be petrified and unable to reassure Kyle as he'd like to, and poor Kyle had no ability to process as he typically would. He couldn't ask questions, couldn't sit down and work his way through the information given to him. They couldn't do this right.
Kyle himself was nearly lost altogether, green eyes wide and staring blankly at the wall across the room. Everything seemed to stop around his aching body, heart racing and throat clenching at the information presented to him. The name echoed loudly around him, bearing down on him with a force in a tumultuous crescendo: Kenny.
Kenny.
Kenny.
His jaw quaked, lashes fluttering as he tried to wrap his weary brain around the facts dancing in front of him. It made sense. It made so much fucking sense.
The automatic need Mysterion had to keep him protected when they'd first met in his office. His constant reassuring touches. Coming from an abusive family. Kenny encouraging him to pursue going further with the caped figure he supposedly knew nothing about. His ability to launch from casual, teasing one-liners into a protective severity in the blink of an eye. The accountant glanced at the left shoulder blade in front of him, eyes narrowing in the slightest. How did he cover up the stab wound so well? Was Kyle just too tired at the time to notice a well-placed bandage and some damn-near professional makeup work? In the end, that didn't really matter, he supposed. Not anymore. The redhead blinked, looking down at the arm shielding him and staring at the subtle muscle tone hiding beneath the rayon.
He'd been working with Kenny.
He'd been protected and saved far too many times by Kenny.
A blush crossed over his face before he could stop it. He'd been making out and had slept with Kenny.
He finally took a shaking breath, pushing himself to inch forward and look up at his hooded head, nearly leaning against his guarding arm. "…Kenny?" he whispered, voice confused and meek. Exhaustion and fear and pain were not aiding him in this moment of shock proclamations, a part of him scared to see just how the hero would react to Cartman blathering out his deepest, most well-kept part of himself.
Mysterion's shoulders slumped guiltily at his nerve-wracked tone, finally forcing himself to look down at Kyle's astounded and bewildered expression. His heart wrenched, reading the miles of disbelief swimming in the algae sea of Kyle's bloodshot eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered back. "God, I'm so sorry, Ky." Kyle's eyes grew wider as they remained staring at each other, falling silent, neither of them having the bearings needed to push the matter forward.
Cartman watched the show and rolled his eyes. "Drop the fuckin' lung cancer voice, Po'Boy," he drawled. "Everyone here goddamn knows who you are."
The man snapped his head back forward and growled, reaching up and tearing down his hood, ripping off his balaclava and throwing it furiously onto the ground at Cartman's feet. Kyle observed those familiar blonde locks coming into full view, heart skipping a beat as he watched the frizzed follicles falling back into place. "Congratu-fuckin'-lations, Fatass," Kenny snapped, voice reverting back to its natural, clear-cut tone. "Fuckin' proud of yourself now? Think you fuckin' win just because ya figured somethin' out for once?"
"He didn't even really figure it out," Kyle said quietly, still reeling. Kenny looked down at him confusedly and he gulped. "He hacked my laptop camera… he saw you take off your mask." He looked over darkly towards the amused brunette and scowled. "His dumb ass couldn't figure out jack shit unless it's right in front of his fat face."
Cartman snorted, "Figured out how to get the upper hand on you, didn't I, Jew?"
"Oh, yeah, good fuckin' job," he snapped. "Sent two people two times my fucking size after me. That's really thinking outside the goddamn box, you sack of shit. I'm writhing in envy of your fuckin' brilliance."
He smirked, crossing his arms and shrugging dismissively. He couldn't lie, he was a bit disappointed with the results revealing Mysterion had gotten him. He'd been banking on Kyle losing his shit at the blonde beside of him, dripping down into a humiliated disaster. But he supposed it didn't really matter.
Either way, he was going to get what he wanted.
"You can cop that little 'mighty' attitude all you want, Kahl, but you're fucking terrified of me," he hissed.
"I'm not terrified of you," he spat bitterly.
"Oh, right. You're terrified because I sold you," he drawled. "And because you know just what the rest of your pathetic Jew life entails. A life of servitude, just where someone with your fuckin' little holier-than-thou-art attitude belongs."
Kenny sneered, "That's not happening, Fatass! He's not going anywhere!"
"Oh I beg to differ, Kinny," he grinned deviously. "You had him a few times, you should just take that as a win and go on your merry way. That'd make it so much easier on all of us. 'Specially Kahl. I think he's had a rough enough day already, don't you? And, hate t' tell you, but he's not exactly gonna be able to help you fight your way outta here, Po'Boy. And I really doubt you can on your own," he cocked his brow.
The blonde tensed, looking back at the redhead and his heart dropping as he took in the full scope of the bruises and bloodstains covering him for the first time. He slowly took his hand off the wall, glancing between the redhead and the group as he pulled Kyle's shirt back up over his arms and onto his shoulders. "I'll get you out," he mouthed, sky blue eyes glimmering with sorrow and promise. Kyle gulped, cautiously moving forward and putting his forehead against his arm, shaking lightly as the overwhelming circumstance tried once again to take its toll on him. Kenny blinked, chest heaving in relief at the motion before turning his attention back forward, arm awkwardly bending backwards to half-wrap around Kyle's quivering form. "What do you want for him?" he asked lowly, feeling Kyle stiffen at the question.
Cartman smirked, "You think he's up for bartering?"
"You always have a fucking price, Fatass," he said lowly. "What'll it take for me to get him out of here and safe?"
He snorted, "Kinny, I don't think you quite understand the gravity of the situation. Which, that's not too surprising, you definitely aren't in this gig for your hyper-intelligence," he drawled. "Were this… Marsh or something, maybe we could've figured somethin' out. Not with him though," he said simply. "Too much conflict with his name. He's gotta go."
He snarled, tightening what grip he could around Kyle's back. Kyle's bound hands twisted a bit, finding Kenny's fingers and awkwardly hooking them together, Ken feeling the pure worry wracking through their touch. "Cartman, I'll fucking kill you if you try," he promised. "You come near him and I am legally allowed to fucking bludgeon your goddamn skull in. Don't fucking think I won't."
"I'm terrified," the brunette replied flatly. "So, tell me, Po'Boy. Why this queer-ass getup?" he cocked his brow. "Surely there's better things for you to be doing with your time."
The blonde narrowed his eyes, "Because people like you are pulling shit like this."
"Psch, and?" he questioned. "But that's just how you are, huh?" he said snidely. "You're like the fuckin' Jew. Fuckin' think you're better than the average person. Think you know how to 'make the world a better place'," he mocked with an eye roll. "Well guess what, Kinny? It ain't lookin' much better, is it? In fact, from your perspective right now, I'd think it'd be lookin' a lot worse."
"Only because we're looking at your ugly mug," Kyle muttered, leaning back up and glaring at him with the blonde.
Amber eyes traced back onto him and he smirked. "Have to say, Kahl, you're takin' the fact that you let Po'Boy stick it in ya pretty well."
Kenny's eye twitched, feeling Kyle shake with anger, fingers clenching tighter around his own. He straightened up primly, forcing himself down into a chilled demeanor and shrugged, "Don't know why you think that's a problem for me," he said coolly, Kenny blinking in shock. Regardless of whether he just said that to appear level-headed in front of Cartman, he couldn't help the racing palpitations of his heart from the declaration. "Ken, Mysterion, doesn't matter. Same person at the end of the day. That's all that's important to me."
"But I bet you feel real fuckin' stupid right now," he snorted, reaching down and picking up Kenny's abandoned mask from the ground, turning it and staring at it curiously with a twitching oleaginous grin. "And you're just wrackin' your little Jew brain wondering how the fuck you missed it."
"Because I wasn't trying to figure it out," he said firmly. "I'm sure that if I was making a legitimate attempt, I would've gotten there on my own eventually. And I wouldn't have to go to the lengths of bugging people's property to get the upper hand. You? You're pathetic," he hissed. "Can't do any of the fucking dirty work on your own. Not the least bit smart enough to get as far ahead as you need to without cheating your way there."
"Cheating? Or being resourceful?" he challenged, finally tearing his view from the balaclava, tossing it casually in his hand.
"Cheating," Kenny and Kyle responded simultaneously.
Kenny took a deep breath, "Cartman, it's fucking over. If anything happens to Kyle, more than just me and Stan know you're involved. It'll fuckin' unravel regardless, so you may as well just let it up."
The brunette's face dropped darkly, shoving his mask into a deep pocket. "Cute. It's really adorably faggy how you think you call any kind of shots here, Kinny." He looked over at Burke and nodded sharply. The man stepped up beside him and reached into his waistband, snagging out a .22 pistol and pointing it towards the two of them. Their eyes widened with the subtle snap of the safety being switched off, Kenny moving more fully in front of Kyle and herding him back fully against the wall. "If Kahl comes over here and quietly complies, no one gets shot," Cartman said nonchalantly. "He doesn't, you both do, and he gets stuffed in a trunk and gets to deal with a minimally patched wound for about 18 hours of flying time. You really want that on your conscious, Kinny?"
"Cartman. Don't do this," he said cautiously.
"I'm giving you two a choice," he stated lowly. "And if the Jew is smart, he'll take the better option."
Kyle stared up at Kenny's head, feeling him trembling around him and biting his lip. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to take a shuddery breath. "What happens to Ken if I do?" he asked emotionlessly.
"Kyle!" Kenny hissed.
Cartman smirked. "See? Now Kinny we can barter for. Leave it to the Jew to know what can be haggled." Kyle scoffed disgustedly and rolled his eyes.
"There's nothing being fucking haggled!" Kenny snapped. "Ky's not fucking going!"
"Kenny, stop!" Kyle pleaded, mind whirling with all the new information and demands flooding over him. He looked down as Kenny once again lightly grabbed his arm, feeling him tremoring, silently begging for him to just stay put, to stay with him.
Cartman chuckled, opening his mouth to speak before the sound of footsteps interrupted him, looking to see the people he sent for cars coming back into the room. Kenny narrowed his eyes, recognizing Myers from his ID profile. "Boss, we gotta go," one of them hissed. "I think the cop saw us."
"Fuck," he spat, eying the worried glances of the rest of his team. "All right, fine. You four, stay with me," he pointed to Burke, Kashkov, and the pilots. "The rest of you take the van and Myer's car and get the fuck out, switch out cars at 13 and get to Bailey. Then split up from there, I'll let you all know when to come back." He directed. The seven remaining nodded, rapidly turning on their heels and heading out towards the vehicles. Cartman turned his attention back forward and cocked his brow. "No time to haggle anymore. Kahl, get out or get Kinny shot. Make up your mind."
The redhead gulped, moving to step out behind him before Kenny shoved him back into place. "Not happening!" he spat viciously.
"Ken… Kenny just-"
"No, Kyle, you fucking stay put!" he demanded.
He scowled, "I'm not letting you get shot!"
The brunette rolled his eyes dramatically, "Oh for fuck's sake just shoot them both!"
"Nyet!" Kashkov snapped. "I pay for Ryzhevolosyy, 'ee ees my property. You do not shoot!"
Cartman growled, rubbing his temple. "Fine. You two get Po'Boy away from him. Kashkov, get your Jew. We're fucking leaving."
Ken growled, reaching into his back waistband and pulling out his own gun, pointing it towards the approaching men. "Stay back," he barked, turning Kyle and moving him down the wall away from them.
The pilots glance at each other before nodding, both of them moving and coming at them from different directions. Kenny yelped as one managed to snare his arm, dropping his gun and punching the assaulter in the nose. The other grabbed him and shoved him down, grabbing Kyle's arm and tossing him away from the wall to land on the ground in a heap. Kashkov calmly walked over and snagged him off the ground, Kyle yelling and cursing, kicking as he tried to get out of his hold. He looked over at Kenny rolling around on the floor with the other two, kicking them away and trying time and again to get to the redhead.
"Ken!" he yelped as his hair was ripped back, trying to fight back forward towards him. He stopped at once as cool metal pressed against the side of his head, eyes widening and glancing sideways towards Burke so casually holding his .22 against his temple.
Kenny looked up from bashing Liam's head against the cement, freezing at the sight in front of him. "Don't," he breathed. "Don't!"
"He won't," Kyle said slowly, wincing at the pistol tracing down his face before it dug into his throat and up into his chin, forcing his head back against Kashkov's chest. Kyle took a shaking breath, forcing his voice to steady out determinedly, "He won't because this fat fuck holding me wouldn't like it."
"I might slip," Burke sneered.
Cartman smirked, "I have a return policy. Burke shoots the Jew and Kashkov will get every cent he paid back. No one here loses. No one but Kahl," Cartman looked superiorly down at the blonde on the ground.
Kenny looked on helplessly, barely reacting as the two down with him grabbed his arms and ripped them back, unable to do anything but watch Kyle's compromised position with a furiously pounding heart. "Cartman, don't do this," he whispered. "Please don't do this."
"Too late," he shrugged, looking at the two holding him. "Get the car started," he ordered. "We're taking the Jew to 38 until you're ready to fly."
"Right," they nodded, hopping up and speeding out the backroom door. Cartman nodded to Burke and Kashkov, both of them and himself rubbing at their ears a bit while Kyle stared angrily at the ceiling and Kenny tried desperately to figure out a strategy to get him out of harm's way.
Cartman clicked his tongue, slowly meandering over towards the blonde still watching Kyle helplessly. "Kinny, Kinny, Kinny," he tutted. "It's a shame really. You coulda just been in bed sleepin' and waitin' to go back to work in the morning, huh? Or you could've at least just stepped out of the way and let the Jew go where he's supposed to and this allllll coulda been avoided," he feigned a pout. "But now, those kids ain't gonna have you anymore. And you're about to make Kahl's night a lot worse."
He narrowed his eyes, finally taking his gaze off of the redhead and looking up, finding himself staring down a barrel and a glaring Cartman. Kyle looked down at his name and the implications surrounding it, eyes widening and jaw dropping, "CARTMAN, DON'T-" he stopped at a deafening bang echoing around the room, flinching from the influx of painful noise.
Kenny's head snapped back, jaw falling slightly agape and blue eyes bulging. Heat passed straight through his forehead, skin and fine hairs singeing as the round broke through flesh, burrowing into his frontal bone. The world went quiet, a last thought of Kyle quickly snuffed out before it could even begin as the projectile tore through tissue, connective fibers unable to keep up with the incredible speed as they stretched and shredded along its pathway. A loud, brittle crack rang through as the occipital was shattered, bullet finally slowed in momentum and landing behind him on his cape, rolling to a bloody halt before Kenny's spinal cord lost cohesion, the man slumping forward to crash face-first onto the ground. Cartman eyed the bits of skull and brain matter littering the floor behind him, glancing down to the blood seeping out through blonde hair down to drown his stilled face and he shrugged, turning on the safety and shoving the gun in his pocket.
Kyle's ears were ringing, entire body shaking as he stared at the fallen man, breath catching. "Ken?" he whimpered before everything snapped at once as the situation took hold, reality cruelly crashing on him like a storm. "KENNY!" he screamed, tears breaking through his bruised eyes, fighting desperately against Kashkov's grip, trying to get to him. "KENNY! KEN NO!" he screeched, thrashing and choking on sobs.
The three of them remaining reached up, pulling their plugs out of their ears. "Shut him up, we're going," Cartman snapped, leading the way towards the door. Kashkov slapped his hand over Kyle's mouth, the redhead continuing to scream in horror, unblinkingly staring at his boyfriend. At his hero. At Kenny.
Fury, terror, and brutal misery slammed into him altogether, his body jerking helplessly to get to the blonde as he was cruelly picked up and hurriedly escorted away. He shrieked shrilly behind the calloused palm, tasting salted tears passing past the lines of Kashkov's hand into his mouth. He couldn't stop wailing, body on complete hysterical autopilot. He flinched, kicking wildly as Burke snagged his legs and hefted him up higher, he and the noirette running him out of the room, out of sight of Kenny's body. The separation made Kyle choke, wanting to throw up, to lose himself entirely and unsee the nightmare he'd just been subjected to.
"C'mon," Cartman demanded, waving his cronies to hurry up with their captive. They sped towards the idling car right outside the overhead door, Myers on standby throwing open the trunk hatch. Cartman motioned to Kashkov, the man moving his hand from Kyle's sobbing lips. The redhead screeched as Cartman snared his chin, shoving Kenny's balaclava into his mouth. "Behave and you won't go the same way," he said dangerously, Kyle unable to hear him through his pained, ringing ears before the man pulled back and headedtowards the passenger seat. The remaining three moved to tie Kyle's new gag tightly into his mouth, the redhead crying hysterically as the taste assaulted his senses, able to feel the smell of Kenny's oiled hair and subtle, sweated musk assaulting his sinuses, heart and chest wrenching hard enough he feared cardiac arrest.
"STOP! POLICE!" they heard in the distance. The three glanced behind them, seeing Stan and Butters charging towards them and they growled, throwing Kyle violently into the trunk and slamming it shut on him, hurrying into the remaining seats of the car, tires squealing as it lurched into motion.
Stan snarled, grabbing his gun and keeping his running steady, squinting and aiming down for the tire. A figure caught his peripheral leaning out the window and he gasped, grabbing Butters' arm from beside him and throwing both of them into the open storage unit door onto the ground, hearing four loud rounds firing off down the alleyway. They both rolled up onto their knees, hearing the car hitting a sharp turn and speeding off and away.
"Stan, Stan what do we do?!" Butters' eyes welled with tears.
His jaw trembled, stumbling up onto his feet, "I-I gotta call-" he paused, noticing the backroom alit and his eyes widened. "Oh no," he whispered, breaking into a sprint and rounding around the door, coming to a stop all at once and slamming his hand over his mouth. He backed away slowly from the bloodied corpse on the ground, fighting down an almost nostalgic wave of bile he'd thought that he'd long since shed. "Ken," he breathed. "Fuck! Ken!" he screamed, tearing at his hair, every ounce of professionalism sinking away in a moment of frenzy.
Butters ran into the room and turned, a horrified shriek leaving his lips at the mess. "Is he… is he…?"
"We gotta get to my car!" Stan snapped, tears leaking down his face. He snared Butters' arm, the both of them turning from their friend and rushing to get back out of the unit and sprint to the front of the facility.
"What if they're still out here?!" Butters asked worriedly, glancing around in fright.
"They won't be, the others already hightailed it out," he said through a choked sob, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. "And they're going to be taking Kyle somewhere to hide him, they don't have time to just wait around for us."
Butters gulped, their feet pounding loudly against the pavement as they sped to the opened gate at the forefront of the lot. "W-whaddya think they're gonna do to him?"
"I don't know," he said shakily. "If they wanted to just kill him, they would've done it here with… with Ken, I'm sure," he blinked out another torrent of tears. They ran out into the street, looking around and gritting their teeth. "I have no fucking clue which way they went," he bit. "FUCK I'm gonna fucking snap Cartman's neck when I get my fucking hands on him!" he screamed furiously, making way down the street towards his car and unlocking it from their distance, Butters right on his tail.
They rushed up to his abandoned vehicle, Stan grabbing the door handle and pausing. Something seemed off. It seemed… lower. He blinked, snagging his phone and turning on his flashlight, pointing it down towards his tires and his face dropping. "Oh fuck," he hissed. "They slashed my fuckin' tires!" He growled, ripping the door open and sliding into the front seat and hurriedly readying his walkie, Butters slipping into the passenger beside him. The blonde watched outside, looking for anyone else suspicious while chewing on his fingernails. "Unit Sam Paul 973 to dispatch," he said sharply.
A few moments of silence passed before a voice responded, "Dispatch to 973"
"I have a code three at 24 East Wilcox at the U-Stor-It," he detailed, running a hand up through his hair. "Code 207, victim taken in a grey mid-sized car from facility in unknown direction. Also have a 10-54 at location, possibly from a 10-72. Unable to follow 207 due to 504."
Another hit of silence passed before static picked up, "Unit 973 we have backup on the way and have issued an APB for suspected vehicle."
Stan nodded, biting his lip, "Thank you, unit 973 out," he finished, placing his walkie back in its hold and moving to once more get out of the car.
Butters clambered after him, meeting him at the grill and both of them looked off towards the facility, hearts aching and tears lining their lashes. "Why'd they kill 'im?" Butters whispered. "What'd Kenny do?"
He took a deep breath, looking at the ground and sniffling. "He tried to be a hero. Like a fucking idiot."
The blonde rubbed his arms uncomfortably, brown eyes lingering on the distant buildings sadly. "I betcha Kyle thought he was."
"Kyle thinks a lot of things," Stan muttered. "Right now he's probably just thinking of how to get himself out of that trunk… or just what happened," he whispered. "God… I bet Cartman made him watch."
Butters shuddered, "I hope not. I can't… why I can't even imagine how awful that'd be," he whimpered. "P-poor Kyle… I-I bet he's heartbroken."
"I bet he's more than just that," he murmured, ears picking up the distant sound of sirens racing towards the both of them and he let out a long sigh, wiping more tears from his eyes. "And the more he is… the better it is."
He narrowed his eyes, cocking his head confusedly, "Whatcha mean?"
"There's no guarantee they'll find the car with such a vague description. If Kyle's just brokenhearted, he's not going to get himself anywhere. But if he's angry…" he looked up towards the clouded night sky, gulping dryly. "Then he has a hell of a chance to get himself out."
Butters nodded slowly in agreement, taking a wavering breath. "Is there… is there anythin' else we can do?"
"Aside from search, I'm not sure," he muttered. "We don't know where they'd take-" he paused, looking back towards his SUV and narrowing his eyes. He briskly walked back towards the vehicle and ripped the door open yet again, snagging the pile of papers from beside his gearshift.
Cartman was a creature of habit, and he'd been thrown into a situation where he was going to feel cornered. Every ounce of detective's intuition told Stan one thing loud and clear: He wasn't going to switch up the habit to hide him. Not just yet. He'd wait, wait until the coast cleared enough that he could get Kyle out to where he needed to, but he'd stow him away somewhere where he felt would be safest. Take him to home territory. He growled lightly under his breath, hands clenching in his paperwork stack and glancing up to the approaching ambulance and fellow squad cars. At least, thanks to Kenny, he had a list.
One down. Thirty nine to go.