When Kyle was thirteen years old, his mother had had what she called 'the realization that he was unprepared for the real world'. He'd spent all of his Sunday morning as she'd dragged him out of bed at six a.m. on a warm September day reminding her groggily that he wasn't supposed to be prepared for that yet. She'd shooed off the notion, insisting time and again that she'd be an awful mother if she didn't make sure her little bubbeleh was ready to take on the responsibilities of life. Because after all, "You never know where life will take you, Kyle."
So, on that September morning, while Kyle grumbled and pouted at his phone knowing Stan and Kenny wouldn't be up for another six hours at least, that he was all alone with the wrath of his mother, she'd sat him down and began her prepared speech. "A growing boy should learn to cook, Kyle," she'd insisted. "Too many mothers believe a wife will take care of that, or a girlfriend."
Kyle had looked at her wryly, "What, you don't think I'll have that?"
His mother had stopped and cleared her throat before marching on, one of those few moments where Kyle realized later on in his life that the woman was much more observant than he gave her credit for. "No matter who you have with you, it's important to be independent, Bubbie. We're going to get you cooking so, when you grow up and leave me," she'd said with a cracking voice, Kyle blatantly rolling his eyes as she'd petted through his wild bedhead, "you can take care of yourself."
The teen had come to the weary conclusion that he was already goddamn awake, no point in fighting since she'd keep him from going back to the comfort of his bed regardless. And so, with trudging feet and a nonstop barrage of under-his-breath muttering, he'd assisted his mother in a trip to the farmer's market. She'd led him through the stands of ripened fruits and vegetables fresh from the recent harvest, Kyle baffled as she bought basket upon basket of the goodies. "Ma, we can't eat all this before it goes bad, holy shit!" he'd exclaimed as the worn cashier calmly sifted through their assortment.
"Kyle, language," she'd frowned before smirking and shrugging. "How do you think we have fresh fruit every morning and veggies every night? Even when they're not in season?"
He'd blinked, more dumbfounded by that question than anything Algebra had ever handed him. "They're fresh? I thought it was that frozen shit."
"Oh, Bubbie," she'd sighed, telling him to just wait and see. With crates full of their bounty, they'd headed home, Kyle looking between the mess filling the backseat of their car and his mother's proud smile as she rambled about how well Kyle had done procuring the freshest of foods, how easily he'd caught on to various checking methods passed on through the generations. Kyle was far too tired to tell her that if she ever repeated that in front of the guys, he'd lose his shit.
He'd helped her bring their harvest into the house, watching and listening as his mother washed off collections of berries and set a large stockpot to boil, explaining the vitalness of keeping his food cleaned and bacteria minimal. Then, her true mission had begun all at once, telling him to help her carry a tote in through their garage. With some struggling, they'd managed to bring in the heavy burden, Sheila pulling back the lid and showing Kyle the collection of mason jars and Ziplocs full of new lids and screw bands. "Today you're going to learn how to can," she'd told him proudly. It was something important to their family, something her own mother had drilled into her when she was a child. Kept the food fresher longer, saved money in the long run.
"How very Jewish," he'd drawled before getting a smack over the back of the head and being forced to begin setting in jars to boil and sterilize. He'd stood on a chair and watched the glass shimmering as bubbles danced around them before his mother told him to get them out with long, silicone tipped tongs and set them aside to come help her with their fruit.
Kyle's first cooking lesson had been Sheila's homemade jam, the thirteen-year-old astounded as he'd thought what they had for their daily toast was merely Welch's with the label peeled off. Together they'd boiled down the contents, his mother leading him through as she let him take the reins over stirring and measuring, watching with a beaming pride as he got into the rhythm far quicker than his father had believed he would when she'd told him of her idea. He'd carefully poured his batches into the sterilized jars, watching with wide eyes as clear became marred with stark reds and purples. "Only ¾ full, Bubbeleh," she'd coached him. "Leave room for it to expand when we boil it again." After six perfectly measured jars were set, they moved to set the thin lids atop their correlating jars and snap on the screw bands. They'd set them in Sheila's jar basket, lowering them into the boiling pot and leaving them be for a half hour as they began to clean the jam mess. "It seems like a lot of work, but trust me, you'll appreciate this one day, Bubbie," she'd promised him.
Kyle always imagined that appreciation was merely the sliver of pride he felt throughout the rest of the year when one of his canned mixed veggie varieties was taken from the pantry's top shelf for dinner, from every morning eating part of his own creation. Or even when he'd grown older and found himself canning foods on a free Saturday so he wasn't living on pizza every night with his beyond-hectic schedule.
Never before had he imagined those lessons would come to a head here, handcuffed, gagged, and bruised on the floor, tensely working a jar from behind his back as his captors drifted off to sleep. He'd waited a good ten minutes after grabbing his canister, staring with bated breath for Kashkov to finally be the last one to slump down from watching him blearily in his chair. After that, he'd forced himself to wait another hour, measuring his time with a constant looping in his head of a particularly long song that he knew was precisely eight minutes and forty-nine seconds in length. He had been beyond impatient, worn mentality trying to speed up the song with the frivolous notion that it'd remain the same length regardless and he'd be able to try his plan quicker.
But no, he had to be patient, had to let them fall into the deeper stages of sleep. He had maybe one shot, and he didn't even know if he could pull it off. But it was his only chance, and he'd be damned if he was just going to quietly and obediently wait until they were roused from sleep and took him to their fucking plane.
When he deemed enough time had passed, not making out the twitching of eyes and muscles through his squinted vision, he'd tipped the jar in one hand with a shaking breath, twisting the other awkwardly to snare the screw band. Tediously and silently, he gripped it with shaking fingers and began to twist, wincing at the pressure on his interphalangeal joints as he struggled to get it started.
He kept his eyes wide and focused on the men across from him, straightening up a bit as he continued to work the band, shoulders sinking in relief as it finally gave to his insistence. Silently, he let the band make its way around the glass rim time and again, jaw shaking at the light sound filling the cement room. But his captors seemed to take no notice, so onward he pressed, feeling it popping off with the second go-round and gulping. That was his only easy step, now came the challenges.
He moved to set the jar flat on the floor, turning the band in his hand and feeling around with the other around the rim of the jar. He caught his nail under the sealed lid, running another finger around the top and narrowing his eyes as he felt the surface. He paused, running his digit over a light lump time and again, some relief cresting within him. An air bubble, which meant the sealant wasn't as tight as it should be. Fantastic.
Kyle twisted the screw band upside down in his hand, pressing the sharp edge right under the slight lid overhang and gulping, knowing the popping that was about to ensue. "Honestly, Kyle," his mother had rambled, "Don't overcomplicate the process. I know Stanley's mother bought a can opener of all things for the fruit I gave her! What a waste! Use the band, Sweetie. It's much easier and you won't cut yourself like if you tried to just use your fingers."
Never before had he appreciated such solid advice, knowing he had lost damn well enough blood for the night, he didn't need to add accidental self-inflicted injury onto the growing list of wounds. His brow crinkled in concentration, tilting the band to catch the lid more firmly and letting out a long breath before jerking it upward, flinching at the telltale pop that circulated the room. He glanced between the three other occupants, none of them making the slightest of stirring motions and he allowed himself another breath. He snagged the thin lid from the jar, feeling the weakened sealing compound lining the underside of the metal and nodding to himself. Genially, he pushed the opened container further away from himself to prevent himself from knocking it over and creating a new mess of problems to handle. He silently placed the band on the ground as well, twisting his wrists awkwardly to grip the lid with both hands. He felt around for a dent, finding one near the popping edge and gripping on either side of the marking.
He rolled his shoulders, bending the metal along the line up and down time and again, feeling it giving minimal way between his fingers. That was fine, this needed to be slow. Didn't need to risk a full-on snap from the lid, just needed the components to separate, for them to slowly come apart in his touch. He kept his gaze set steadily on his opponents as he worked, soft telltale snores coming from their side of the room setting him at minor ease. They were definitely hitting their deep sleep peaks, something that Kyle desperately needed if he wanted to have this chance.
"You have to be careful, Bubbie," Sheila had told him. "The lids can only be used once, and if they're bent, you can't use them at all! The darn things will dent before you know it, so try to keep them stored flat and safe atop your spare jars."
He couldn't help the wry feeling crawling through him as he continued to warp the metal. If only his mother could see him now, see just how he was letting a jar of tomatoes behind him become exposed to the air and bacteria and not automatically dumping them in a pot to stew for dinner. If she could just see how her impromptu lessons may just save his fucking life.
He gulped, glancing towards the hatch before settling his eyes back on the men, fingers working more quickly to twist the metal as it gave more and more with each change in motion. 'If I make it out of this alive, first thing I'm doing is going to find her and goddamn thanking her,' he thought exhaustedly. 'I'll have dinner with them every goddamn week. No, fuck it. Every fucking Saturday morning I'll go with them to temple and take them out to breakfast. And then I'll come help make dinner every Sunday night. Every week. And I'll pay Ike to come visit at least one weekend a month. Because goddamn she deserves it if this works.'
A tired part of him couldn't help but wonder what other valuable wisdom she'd bestowed upon him in his lifetime that he'd brushed off or forgotten about entirely. He wanted to go back in time and shake down that condescending preteen doing nothing but playing basketball and video games or that rebellious teenager sneaking out at night and sleeping around. Tell him to get back in his house and listen to his mother. To take notes. To make sure she was hugged every goddamn opportunity he got, because it turns out that that kid was wrong; in some instances, Mother truly did know best.
His eyes widened at a subtle snapping sound, the metal coming apart in his hands. He took a shaking breath, feeling the long, slim edge no wider than a centimeter and he nodded. This should work. God he hoped it would work. He contorted enough to place the larger piece silently on the ground, thumb working quickly to rub off remaining sealant residue on his narrow prize. Carefully, he handled it with precision, getting all the adhesive he could off and away, rubbing what he gathered onto the back of his hand to clear his thumb.
Gulping, he let his mind flicker around nearly month-old memories, forcing tears off and away. No. No time for that. His breakdown could come later. Vaguely, he recalled Mysterion and himself on his living room floor, Kyle's throat aching from intense pressure and head throbbing from a direct punch to the eye. Shaken and startled, not quite able to comprehend what had happened as Mysterion had pulled out a sliver of metal and began to work cold cuffs off his front-bound wrists. He narrowed his eyes, looking down at his legs as he tried to piece together exactly what the hero had done.
He clearly remembered the metal slipping between the teeth and cuff, that much was obvious. He gulped, fingers twisting to feel the hold around his right wrist, squinting in concentration as he hit the feeling of jagged metal leading into an opening. He looked up in thought. Okay. He'd slid it right into the locking mechanism, he knew that much. The redhead rolled his shoulders a bit, trying to angle himself well enough to get the thin lid to come into contact with the teeth. He narrowed his eyes, slowly pressing it down between the parts. A slight scraping noise entered the air, subtle enough he was more than sure it wasn't travelling far enough to hit the sleeping bodies across the room. He felt it hit the bottom of the locking mechanism and gulped, trying to pry apart the cuff that way.
He panicked a bit at the lack of give. 'Shit, what did I do wrong?!' he wondered, lashes fluttering as he tried again to visit the past. He closed his eyes, trying ignore just who it was that had rescued him at the time. Getting bitterly upset over the feeling of leather gloves cupping his hands was not going to do him any favors. He tried to force himself back into concentration, ignoring the words that were spoken, focusing instead on the memory of watching and feeling the man working to get him freed. His brow creased. He could distinctly remember pressure on his wrist, Mysterion's thumb still atop the shim before it'd popped right off.
So he'd pushed the cuff down, Kyle surmised. He winced as he twisted his right arm a bit, keeping his middle finger held down against the makeshift shim as he turned. His thumb and index finger wrapped down around the metal snare and he took a deep breath. Slowly, he lowered the cuff enough to feel another notch tightening before he let go, narrowing his eyes as it remained firmly snug around his wrist.
Okay, something there had been wrong. He thought over the scenario again, picking apart every detail. He remembered the continued hold Mysterion had had on the shim, recalling the teeth had been facing upwards, he wouldn't have needed to hold it to keep it in place… so he was making contact for a different reason.
Kyle let out a long, determined breath. One more shot on this wrist, he figured. Otherwise he'd tighten it too much and lose his damn circulation. At that point he'd have to choose between losing his hand or waking up the fuckers down the way to save his wrist so they could beat the shit out of him for trying to escape, but at least letting him keep his hand. He once more pinched down, letting another notch tighten, feeling the metal digging further into his raw wrists and wincing as it delved into a cut. With his middle finger, he firmly pressed down onto the shim, saying a short prayer and keeping the pressure down as he released the cuffs, eyes widening at a distinct click and a lack of confinement hitting him all at once.
His breath hitched, heart leaping ecstatically as he felt the cuff dangling off his wrist. He gulped, forcing a short cough through his throat to watch for any signs of stirring across from him. Nothing but snoring and stillness.
The redhead genially brought his arms back in front of him, wincing at how fucking strained the muscles were. He glared, he could only suppose that spending over twelve hours as such would fucking lead to some stiffness. He went to undo the other chain before pausing. No. No he needed to go now. And he could take these to the fucking cops as evidence. All three of the men had had their fucking fingers on them, no doubt they could lift some prints. He slowly slipped the freed cuff to his left wrist and snapped it down over the skin to keep it in place, sliding his sleeve over both rings and the chain to keep them from making noise.
He glanced to the hatch and took a deep breath, slowly moving up higher onto his knees before dropping down into a crawl, inching forward towards the ladder. He gulped, keeping his eyes locked on the slumbering criminals, none of them making the slightest bit of movement. Stubbornly, the man ignored the protest of his muscles, adrenaline pressing him further towards his goal. He grabbed the ladder rungs, getting himself genially back onto his feet and breathing around his gag. He reminded himself firmly that he could take it out once he was outside. There was no time right now.
With gradual steps, he began to climb the ladder, holding back a pained groan each time he shifted the weight onto his left leg. Didn't matter. None of that mattered. The hospital would fix that, he needed to keep fucking moving. Ten feet up, that's all he needed. Fifteen steps total. No big deal. Just keep quiet and keep going up. He gulped, looking between the approaching door and the men as he got himself further and further away. A shudder ran down his spine as he finally meandered his way up to the top of the hold, wrapping one hand around the hatch wheel and genially beginning to crank it counterclockwise. The slight creaking made his heart race and eyes widen, keeping his sight honed in on his enemies, breath hitched as he forced himself to stop from going too quickly and blowing his secrecy.
He winced, pressing his weight further into his right leg, trying desperately to keep himself from whining at the shooting pain rocketing through his left knee. His aching arm slowly continued to swivel the wheel around, heart pounding furiously, nearly shaking him from his weakly-held stance.
Kyle stopped as the latch above him clicked, glancing up at the wheel coming to a halt, at the end of its round. He gulped, taking another step upwards and leaning his weight forward, cringing as he slowly began lifting the heavy door, the sunlight peaking in through the initial crack and beaming into his eyes. God it was already well past sunrise. He'd been taken yesterday fucking evening. So much had happened in that time span it was beyond surreal, though he could certainly attest some of the fuzziness to exhaustion.
He cracked it open enough to move up a little farther, poking his head out into the world and blinking, assaulted with such color compared to his drab holdings for the night it was nearly overwhelming. He attempted to begin slithering out, halting in horror with a mumbled, frantic noise.
"Hey, hey! He's gettin' out!" a voice barked.
Kyle snapped his head down, seeing sunlight had directed itself straight onto Burke's face, rousing him from sleep. He gasped as the three of them tried to stumble up in shock, forcing himself to quickly clamber out of the hole and re-latch the wheel. Anything to slow them down. He glanced around in a panic, spotting the thick forest beside them and hopping his way towards them. Kyle growled, reaching around his head and tearing off the cloth around his head, ripping out Kenny's balaclava and tossing it in the opposite direction, hoping he could somewhat lead them astray.
He whimpered, right leg pulsing as he forced himself to keep upright and moving, slipping into the trees and awkwardly maneuvering around branches and plant life in his path. He looked down, seeing a large, long branch in his path and he stopped, sweeping down to grab it before using it to propel himself forward and keep his balance. He whined quietly, hearing the metal slamming up in the distance and hoping to god he was out of their sight already as he jumped in and around trees. The redhead's eyes flickered desperately. The pond was behind him, which meant the road on either side of town would be spanning away from it. He had to just keep moving forward, get himself into the public eye.
Wincing, he continued his furious path onwards, hearing Cartman barking orders loudly in the background and he took a shaking, scared breath through a hanging mouth. The quick rustling of grass and leaves nearly froze him as the sound picked up behind him before his flight instinct kicked in, forcing his injuries to quell and increasing his pace. He had to get away. Fucking had to. This was his one shot, if they caught him now, it was over. He'd be choked out, kept unconscious until he woke up in a cargo hold hours later. Then he'd probably just be knocked out time and again until he was secure wherever the hell in fucking Russia they wanted to take him.
Kyle shuddered, forcing down a bout of nausea at the notion. No time for that. The only thing that idea was allowed to do was make him stronger, increase the determination, get him out of dodge. He could find a phone and call Stan, get his protection, be kept with him at all times until Cartman and his fucking lackeys were out of the way. He just had to get to fucking town.
The rustling behind him picked up pace, his chest heaving in fearful gasps as he continued onward, dodging trees at random directions, trying to throw his pursuer off his trail. The branch supporting his hopping lightly bent with his weight, leaving little nicks in the dirt as he continued towards safety. The bark cut into his shaking hand, eyes burning at the influx of pollen and the overwhelming scent of pine sap wrapping around him.
'It doesn't matter,' he repeated to himself frantically, falling into a nonstop barraging mantra of the phrase. His ears perked with more of the noise and he let out another terrified whimper, praying to God that it wasn't one of them on his trail with their gun pulled, ready to shoot through his kneecaps and make him nothing but an immobile body to carry about and do with as they pleased. 'Please God, fucking help me,' he prayed, catching himself from stumbling with a hand landing against a large pine tree, taking a deep breath before forcing himself to push off again.
He was stopped, branch dropping from his grip and his throat clenched as something grabbed around his waist, a hand gently pressing itself down over his mouth. Kyle attempted to scream, trying to fight his way out of the hold, tears welling in his eyes. He fucked up, he couldn't get away. He'd wasted his chance. He whined, scrambling to get away before warmth came beside his ear and a "Shhhh you're safe, Kyle," broke through the riptide of emotions. Kyle froze, the grating tone eerily familiar.
He whirled his head around, eyes widening at a familiar purple-clad figure behind him. His heart began to ache all over again, turning and shoving the figure away, jaw trembling. "That's not funny," he whispered, tremoring like mad.
He narrowed his eyes in bewilderment at Kyle's frightened and devastated state, opening his mouth before hearing movement in the distance. "Come on," he whispered harshly, "into the tree!" Kyle just stared in teary fear before the caped man stepped forward and grabbed around him, moving him towards the towering pine and bending down, cupping his hands. "Kyle, trust me, get into the tree!" he begged.
The redhead gulped, weighing his options and deciding that he had a better chance this way than with those in pursuit of him. He nodded briskly and stepped onto his waiting palm with his right leg, catching himself on the trunk as he was slowly hefted into the air. He clawed his way up as the man lifted him until he hit the lowest branch, gripping around it and whimpering as he struggled to pull himself onto the limb with his aching arms.
The caped man nodded satisfactorily as Kyle managed to swing himself onto the branch, leaning against the trunk in exhaustion. He backed up a bit from the tree and licked over his lips, knowing time was definitely of the essence here. He gritted his teeth, bursting into a run towards the bark and jumping, twisting to hit the trunk with his treaded boot and propelling himself up to hit the branch as well, Kyle scrambling back out of his way as he tried to struggle onto the limb. The redhead blinked before reaching forward and grabbing his jumpsuit, helping haul him onto the bough. The man nodded in thanks before motioning up. "Come on, higher," he urged, helping Kyle get onto shaking feet and move upwards through the close-lying branches, following as they concealed themselves in thicker layers of pine needles before Kyle nearly slipped, the man catching him in panic.
Kyle half-sobbed, body trembling with exhaustion and pain as he clutched around the trunk to keep steadier. "I-I can't," he whispered, vision blurring.
"Okay, okay, this is high enough," he assured him worriedly, moving him further to lean against the trunk. He glanced down at more movement heard from below, glancing through pine needles and barely making out the trace of a figure searching the area. He silently growled, moving slowly to pull his cape up and around himself and Kyle, shield them as best as he could from wandering eyes and holding the redhead close to his chest. Kyle quietly took a wavering breath against him, mind whirring at the cruel joke being played in front of him. But he supposed for now, that didn't matter. At least he was being protected at the very least. He flinched a bit before settling as a gentle hand came into his hair, comfortingly petting over his scalp.
The man watched below them suspiciously until the figure quickly moved off and away into the distance, taking a shaking breath of relief and gulping. "Okay," he whispered, unraveling from around the injured redhead. "He's gone."
Kyle backed up, looking at the figure with teary eyes and gritting his teeth angrily. "Who the fuck are you?!" he hissed.
He blinked, "My…Mysterion," he said gruffly. "Kyle, you know that."
"Kenny's fucking dead, you piece of shit!" he spat, reaching up and throwing back the man's hood, freezing as he found an unmasked, wide-eyed blonde staring at him in shock. His jaw shook as he took in the sight before him. "…Ken?" he breathed in disbelief. "I… Cartman… Y-you…" he backed up against the trunk in fear, everything toppling on top of him at once as Kenny remained staring at him in his own state of shock. Trembling fingers reached forward, brushing lightly over Kenny's forehead; clean of a bullet hole, in one complete piece. Not so much as a scar.
The blonde blinked at him slowly, "Kyle?" he asked quietly, leaning more towards him, backing off as the redhead gulped and whimpered quietly, his fingers curling and body beginning to shake once again.
"You're not dead," he whispered, mind in a panicked frenzy. Had he fucking lost it over the course of the night? Was this some fevered unconscious dream he was caught in?
Light blue eyes narrowed in bewilderment, heart pounding. "How do you remember that?" he asked quietly.
The phrase may as well have been a physical form slapping into Kyle's face as hard as they made him recoil, Kenny having to reach forward and grab around him to keep him seated on the bough. "Remember?" he squeaked, tears welling once more.
"No one ever does," he murmured, staring at the redhead in awe. "Kyle… Ky. Kyle?" he tried to get the man back with him as green eyes glossed over in loss and overwhelming circumstance. "Ky, I'm fine, I promise," he insisted. "It happens sometimes," he winced. "But I always come back. Okay? I came back and knew where to find you. And you're away from them. I'll keep you safe."
The redhead blinked rapidly and gulped, realizing all at once how much his throat scratched and his tongue lacked moisture from his night-long gag. "Your mask," he whispered, touching Kenny's cheek, still not sure if he was dealing with a tangible form or not.
He frowned, "I couldn't find it with the rest of my uniform. Usually I come back wearing whatever I had on when I died, but that wasn't there."
Kyle's other hand raised to his own mouth, fingers dragging down his lips as he tried to find some semblance of comprehension in this mess. "I had it," he croaked.
Kenny cocked his head, "You did?"
"In… m-my mouth," he stammered out. "After he… shot you…" his shoulders dropped, mind failing to wrap around this situation in the slightest.
The blonde bit his lip, scooting a bit closer to him and watching him carefully. "Kyle? Did you… sleep? Or get knocked out after all that or anything?" Kyle shook his head slowly, looking so meek and lost it tore Kenny apart. His lips twisted, "Maybe that's why," he murmured. "Not sure, but it's the only thing I can figure." Kyle just stared at him and he sighed sadly, "God, what did they do to you?" he whispered brokenly, reaching up hesitantly and placing his hand on Kyle's left cheek, eying the damage with a heart torn asunder.
"Just… tied me up," he whispered back. "Nothing else…" his eyes finally began to settle, heart picking up a relieved rhythm after being tossed around so cruelly in such a short span of time. He gulped, reaching up and weakly grabbing his cowl, tugging him forward. Kenny followed his dictation curiously.
"You all right?"
He bit his lip, "It's been you… right?" he croaked timidly. "The whole time?"
He sank guiltily, nodding. "Yeah. I'm sorry I didn't tell you," he winced, rubbing his thumb along Kyle's cheek bone. "Thought you'd be safer that way…," he let out an angry breath. "Guess that was a fucking waste of time," he grumbled. "God, Ky, I'm so sorry this happened," he said, voice cracking.
Kyle just tugged him up closer, softly planting their lips together before separating and taking a shaking breath. "Not your fault," he whispered. "How'd you know where to find me?"
"Before he shot me he said they were taking you to thirty-eight," he shrugged. "You and I had talked about it so I knew where to go."
The redhead smiled sadly, "I've always told you your memory is better than you let on."
Kenny snorted and shook his head, kissing his forehead gently. "How'd you get out?"
He shrugged, "They fell asleep so I um… I broke a metal lid a-and got a cuff off," he said pulling down his sleeve with both metal rings secured around his thin arm.
The blonde looked between him and the cuffs and broke into a smile, "Atta boy," he winked, reaching back into his cape pocket and pulling out his own shim, moving Kyle's arm gently to get the metal monstrosities off him at last. "Now we just need to figure out where to go from here," he mumbled, popping off one cuff before quickly beginning work on the other.
Kyle took a shaking breath, "Stan's out looking for me, but there's cops on the search team that're part of the ring. Two came to the bunker and said the three of them needed to get out of town quick as possible with me because he was cracking down on the case."
"That's our Stanny," he murmured, getting the second ring off and watching Kyle pull his arm back, rubbing the skin gently around the irritated cuts. "Well… you can't really run for it," he motioned to his beaten form.
The redhead frowned, "Nor should I. Kenny, if we make a break for it, I guarantee there's gonna be someone else in town working for Cartman that he's called waiting for us. Well… waiting for me at least," he sighed. "And I fucking hate to admit it, but Lardass was right, I can't really fight my way out of anything right now."
"Well not only that, but with how they're scopin' around I don't know if we could even make it to town," he grumbled.
Kyle looked down towards the ground and gulped. "We need to get them out of the way, make a clear path to get out."
Kenny nodded slowly in agreement. "Right. Just not sure what to do."
The redhead paused, brows furrowing in thought before worn green eyes gleamed. A renewed confidence soared through him with Kenny back on his side. He could ignore the logistics for now, right now all that mattered was getting them both out of this, same as it had been since the beginning. Kenny watched him curiously, lips curling up as he could recognize that look of Kyle's brain whirring from a mile away. They met stares, Kyle's bloodied face quirking with a light smirk. "I think I have an idea."