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Chapter 4 summary: In the aftermath of what happened to Cartman in December, Kyle is... not doing okay,

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The eerie silence of a cold winter's night is broken by Kyle's frantic screaming.

"Don't you FUCKING die on me, you piece of shit!"

His voice wobbles uncontrollably, hot tears streaming down his face nonstop. He pushes his palms down against the bullet wounds in Cartman's chest, trying to keep as much pressure as he possibly can, but no matter how hard he pushes there's just… more blood, endlessly oozing through his fingers.

There's so much fucking blood, and it won't stop.

Cartman has long since gone quiet, his skin clammy and pale, eyes half-open and staring up unseeing at the sky. Somehow, though, he's still breathing. It's almost impossible to see, but Kyle can feel his chest expand and retract with each shallow breath.

He's still holding on. Still fighting.

"SOMEBODY HELP!" Kyle shrieks. He looks frantically down one end of the street, and then the other, like he's already done dozens of times, but there's no one coming. He called for an ambulance fucking ages ago, but there's not a hint of life anywhere on this horribly silent street. There are no cars, no footsteps, no voices to be heard.

There's only the snow, falling soundlessly onto the ground before it's soaked in crimson.

That disgusting fucker who shot Cartman is long gone, but Kyle can't think about that right now. As much as his fury is begging Kyle to go hunt him down and shoot him right between the eyes like the pig he is, he can't leave Cartman alone. He can kill that waste of space later.

Right now, he just needs to get this bleeding to fucking stop.

"Fuck. Oh fuck," Kyle cries out in a desperate whisper. He blinks and another heavy tear falls onto his hands, barely making a dent in the sea of red. "Hold on just a little longer, Cartman, okay? The ambulance is gonna be here any second. Please, just hold on…"

Cartman doesn't respond.

The light in those wide brown eyes is fading, becoming more glazed-over by the second, and Kyle feels the horrid ache that's been building in his chest rip open.

No. Oh God please, no.

A heavy sob catches in Kyle's throat, making him choke. He tries to push down even harder on Cartman's chest, locking his arms and leaning all of his weight over his hands. He closes his eyes and two more tears stream down his face.

He grits his teeth, a fresh wave of determination rushing over him, his breaths ragged and hitched.

"No—! Don't you fucking DARE die on me, Cartman! If you die over something this fucking stupid I will never forgive you, do you hear me?! You stay RIGHT HERE with me, okay?!"

Cartman doesn't respond.

He doesn't know how much time passes, but eventually… he can't feel Cartman's chest moving anymore.

In fact, Cartman isn't moving at all.

Kyle stares into Cartman's unseeing eyes and shakes his head in disbelief.

"No. NO," Kyle growls, shaking his head again, over and over. "Wake up. Wake up RIGHT NOW, Cartman."

Cartman does not respond.

Kyle finally moves his blood-drenched hands to hold Cartman by the shoulders, shaking him.

His body is cold and limp, and his eyes are dark and empty.

He's… gone.

There's only pain. E xcruciating pain tears through Kyle's body, and it's unlike anything he's ever felt.

Something has reached inside Kyle's chest and ripped his heart out, bloody and raw, leaving nothing but an aching black hole. The ground has fallen out from underneath him and he's plummeting down into an endless, wretched abyss.

Kyle sobs.

He sobs and sobs, and he shakes Cartman's lifeless body again and again, violent and desperate.

Cartman can't die. He just can't.

"Fucking WAKE UP, GODDAMMIT!" Kyle screams. "WAKE UP! WAKE UP—!"

Kyle jolts upright in bed and gasps.

He clutches a hand to his chest. His heart is pounding so loud and fast he can hear it rushing in his ears.

Fuck.

He squeezes his eyes shut and swallows thickly, trying to control his rapid breaths. He forces air in through his nose, out through his mouth, but it's shaky and not very well controlled at all.

Behind his eyelids, he can still see Cartman's body, covered in his own blood.

Fear forces his eyes open again and Kyle shakes his head to try to clear his thoughts, but it doesn't work.

God. He was there again.

Dragged back by his own stupid goddamn subconscious to what was, without a shred of doubt, the worst day of his fucking life.

It's nearly pitch dark outside his window, but the weak light of a faraway street lamp allows him to see snow falling and blowing wildly in the wind.

He blinks and sniffles. Belatedly, he realizes he's been crying in his sleep. His face is wet and hot and his nose is running like a faucet.

"Fuck," Kyle whispers aloud, wiping his face on his sleeve. He forces his shaking limbs to move and pushes aside the covers to stand.

In a daze, he walks to the bathroom. He wads up a shitload of tissues and blows his nose until he feels lightheaded, then turns on the sink as cold as he can stand and washes his face.

Every time he closes his eyes, his mind uselessly supplies him with another flash of a memory from that day, making it impossible for Kyle's heart rate to slow down like he desperately needs it to.

He stumbles back through the hall to his bedroom again and gets under the blankets. With a deep breath, he lies down and attempts once again to chill the fuck out.

After ten minutes of staring at his ceiling, he realizes he's actually afraid to close his eyes again. No matter how much he tells himself it was just a dream, it was just a bad memory, that everything is fine and should just go to sleep, he can't make himself do it.

He can't stand it anymore.

Pushing aside the covers once again, Kyle fumbles with his hands in the dark to find his cell phone, set down somewhere on his bedside table before he went to sleep.

It's almost four in the morning according to his phone, but Kyle doesn't care. He unlocks it, scrolls to his recent calls, and presses the redial button.

He clutches the phone to his ear. It rings once. Twice.

"Come on, pick up, pick up, pick up," he murmurs, praying for an answer.

The line clicks and Kyle hears Cartman's stupid, wonderfully familiar voice on the other end.

"Huh?" Cartman croaks, nasal and scratchy from sleep.

Kyle's chest immediately feels lighter and he sighs in relief.

"Cartman," he says.

Cartman yawns, loud and obnoxious, and for some reason it makes Kyle smile.

"Kyle? Whaddya want, it's the middle of the fuckin' night," Cartman grumbles, stifling another yawn.

"Um. Can I—" Kyle starts.

The words catch in his throat and he yanks the phone away from his ear, covering the receiver with his other hand.

"Shit," he murmurs to himself. He forces himself to take a deep breath before bringing the phone back to his ear. "Can I come over?"

"Wuh—? Right now?" Cartman asks.

"Yeah."

It's silent for a moment as Cartman thinks.

"Uh…I guess?" Cartman finally replies, sounding confused. "You do realize it's cold as balls outside, right?"

"I'll be there in five minutes," Kyle says, already up and searching for his shoes.

"Uh. Okay," Cartman says, even more confused.

Kyle hangs up the phone and quickly pulls on his boots and winter coat, not bothering to change out of his pajamas. Sneaking through his house as quietly as possible, he makes his way downstairs and out the front door.

As soon as the cold winter wind hits him, he tenses and wraps his arms around himself, suppressing a shiver. Snowflakes whip around in the air before falling in big fluffy clumps on the ground, a few landing on Kyle's face and melting as soon as they touch his skin. He wipes off the moisture and turns down the street toward Cartman's house.

Using the light from the streetlamps to guide him, he trudges through the snow, determination and anxiety spurring him on. At this point the snow has accumulated a good foot and a half deep, maybe more, so Kyle has to lift his legs high with every step before his boots plunge back down into the snow. A block into his journey his breaths are heavy and fast from the exertion, but he refuses to slow down.

As he makes his way past Stan's house, he can't help pausing for a second to look up at Stan's bedroom window, blinking away the snow that falls onto his eyelashes.

He hasn't talked to Stan in almost two weeks, not even once since he and Cartman told him they were dating. It's impressive, to be honest, given how much time they're forced to be in proximity of each other on the bus and at school.

Stan has been keeping to himself, not a single phone call or text. He doesn't sit with the rest of the gang at lunch or on the bus. He doesn't meet Kyle's eyes or acknowledge him at all when they pass each other in the hallway. More often than not, he blocks out everyone else with his headphones on full blast, making it very clear he's not in the mood for conversation.

It's such a harsh contrast from before, when Stan and Kyle would at least text each other stupid memes every other day. To his knowledge, Stan hasn't even talked to Kenny since that day either, which is shocking.

It's really messing with Kyle's head. He misses Stan, and it fucking sucks.

Kyle shuts his eyes for a brief moment and sighs heavily. There's nothing he can do, and right now his anxiety from that horrible dream severely outweighs whatever stress he has about Stan. He reminds himself that his best friend probably just needs time to process everything.

Either way, Kyle hopes Stan's at least getting a better night's sleep than he is.

He continues on his path down the snowy street and eventually makes it to Cartman's house. At this point he's full-on shivering and the chunks of snow that have fallen into his boots are starting to melt and make his socks uncomfortably damp, but he ignores it. He trudges around to the back porch of the house and digs through the snow with his bare hands, searching for the fake plastic rock Cartman's mom keeps by the door with a spare key inside.

When he finds it, he slides open the little compartment and shakes it until the key falls into his other hand. He fumbles with it because his hands are fucking freezing now, but he somehow manages to get the back door open and lets himself inside the house.

Kyle sighs in relief when a wave of heated air hits him. He closes the door as quickly as possible before locking it again, then rests his forehead on the door because he feels exhausted.

His eyes squeeze shut as he catches his breath.

"Jesus, Kyle, you didn't even wear mittens or anything?" Cartman says tiredly from the other side of the kitchen.

Kyle turns back around and instead of responding, he runs over to where Cartman is standing and pulls him into a tight hug.

"H-hey, woah, where's the fire?" Cartman says, tentatively hugging him back.

Kyle still doesn't say anything, because suddenly there's a heavy lump in his throat and he's overwhelmed with how fucking happy he is to see his stupid fucking boyfriend. His numb fingers slowly tingle back to life as they absorb the heat from Cartman's body and Kyle squeezes him harder, burying his face in the crook of his shoulder.

God. He's so warm and familiar and alive.

He's alive.

Kyle feels his eyes prickle.

"Dude, are you okay?" Cartman asks.

Kyle takes a deep breath and lets it out in a rush. No, he's not okay. Or, at least he wasn't thirty seconds ago.

"I'm fine," he lies, words muffled in Cartman's pajama shirt. "I just… needed to see you."

Cartman is silent for a few seconds before responding, "Alright." He sounds confused, but Kyle is grateful Cartman doesn't ask the obvious question as to why exactly Kyle needed to see him at four in the morning in the middle of a snowstorm.

They stay in the embrace for a while before Cartman clears his throat and speaks up again.

"Hey, uh. We should go upstairs. It's cold down here."

Kyle reluctantly pulls away. In the low light, Kyle can see Cartman looking at him with gentle concern, searching Kyle's eyes.

It's then that Kyle notices Cartman's shirt is soaked with melted snow from his coat.

"Ah shit," Kyle mumbles, hands hovering over the wet spot on Cartman's chest in a panic. He looks down and realizes he didn't even take his stupid boots off and they're standing in a giant puddle of cold, snowy slush. Kyle cringes with embarrassment.

"Fuck. Sorry."

He braces for Cartman to snap at him for making a mess and getting him all wet, but he doesn't say a word. Cartman just keeps looking at him with surprising patience, waiting.

Kyle belatedly removes his boots and places them on the doormat, then takes his coat off and hangs it on the door handle. As soon as he takes a step to walk back towards Cartman, his already damp sock is soaked through from the freezing puddle on the floor.

Groaning in annoyance, he shakes his foot to fruitlessly dispel the water before giving up and accepting his fate of soggy feet. Kyle scans the kitchen for a towel or something he can use to try and soak up the puddle, but Cartman interrupts him.

"Kyle, it's okay, just leave it. Let's go upstairs," he says, turning around and gesturing for Kyle to follow him.

He doesn't want to be a jackass and have Mrs. Cartman come downstairs in the morning and inadvertently get her own socks wet, but Kyle's too tired and cold to argue. So, he nods and follows Cartman out of the kitchen.

The air gets warmer as they ascend the stairs, but Kyle is still shivering slightly. When they get to Cartman's room, Cartman wordlessly goes to his dresser drawer and starts rifling around for something, then turns and holds it out for Kyle to take.

Kyle realizes he's offering him a pair of fuzzy, striped socks. They're a couple years old, which Kyle knows because he remembers Cartman impulse-buying them at the mall several winters ago because they looked, as Cartman said, "cozy as shit". Blinking, Kyle stares at his hand for a few seconds too long before reaching out and taking them.

"Um… thanks," Kyle mumbles.

Cartman doesn't reply, but goes back to rifling in his drawer and pulls out a clean long-sleeved T-shirt. As Kyle busies himself with changing his socks, Cartman takes off his wet pajama shirt, and Kyle can't help but stare at the exposed bullet wound scars on his back.

Three months ago, Cartman was shot four times in the chest, all on the left side, but only two went all the way through his body. The exit wound scars are a few inches apart from each other, twin marks of raised pale skin just under his shoulder-blade. Cartman turns around as he pulls the new shirt over his head, and Kyle gets a brief glimpse of the four other marks at the front of his chest, all clustered right by his heart.

His mind flashes with another too-familiar memory, of those same bits of skin once ripped open and gushing blood; Kyle flinches and has to look away.

Ignoring his shaking hands, he finishes putting the clean socks on. He wiggles his toes and has to admit that they are, in fact, cozy as shit, because he can feel his toes unfreezing by the second.

Cartman walks to his bed and gets under the covers, holding them up in an invitation that Kyle quickly accepts.

Before he lies down though, he is surprised by Cartman yanking off his green trapper hat and tossing it onto the floor. Kyle frowns and opens his mouth to protest, but Cartman interrupts him.

"Your hat's covered in snow, dude. Relax," Cartman says.

"…Oh."

They both lie down facing each other, pulling the covers over themselves. Once they're settled, Cartman reaches up and starts carding his fingers through Kyle's hair to brush away the bits of half-melted snow still clinging to his curls. The comforting touch makes goosebumps tingle along his scalp and down his back, and Kyle closes his eyes with a sigh.

Cartman always runs hot, so Kyle's frozen limbs quickly start to warm up under the covers from the body heat. Kyle can't help scooting closer and pulling Cartman into another hug, and Cartman squeezes him right back.

God, this is nice. He's so glad he came over.

He ducks his head in the crook of Cartman's shoulder, takes a deep breath, and finally feels the tension in his body ease up.

Since they're so close together right now, with Kyle's face tucked in Cartman's neck and enveloped by his bedsheets, he can't help noticing how weirdly comforting Cartman's scent has become.

Kyle's been spending a lot of time in Cartman's personal space lately, especially compared to before when Kyle always pushed him away if he tried to get too touchy-feely. Now though, he's way more familiar with Cartman's body in general and how he smells is part of that. Cartman's mom has been using the same cheap Wall-Mart brand laundry detergent since they were kids and that's the most noticeable, but there's also the fainter smell of Cartman's sweat and skin that's unique to him.

Without thinking, Kyle tilts his head to the side and kisses Cartman's neck.

Cartman inhales quietly, and Kyle kisses him again. And again, slow and lingering.

It feels so nice that Kyle can't help moving closer and tangling his legs with Cartman's, hugging him tighter.

There's a soft smacking sound from his own lips when he pulls away from Cartman's skin, and he can feel Cartman's hand slowly curl to grip the back of Kyle's shirt.

"Kyle," Cartman murmurs.

Kyle opens his mouth a bit so he can taste him, sucking gently at his skin. Cartman sighs and tilts his neck back, so Kyle starts working a trail of kisses up his throat, humming quietly in approval.

God. Why does it always feel so fucking good to kiss him? Like, every fucking time? A wave of possessiveness floods through his body and Kyle threads his fingers into Cartman's hair, tugging gently, pressing his lips to every part of Cartman's neck he can reach.

In the midst of ravishing his boyfriend, Kyle's brain painfully reminds him that they almost didn't have this.

He... could have lost Cartman that day. In a different world, Kyle would be doomed to a life of horrible grief and he never would have gotten to experience how incredible it feels being with him. The thought makes his chest ache.

At the same time, he knows that even if Cartman hadn't been shot, they would have missed each other too. It would have been so, so simple to keep their relationship going the way it was before in perpetuity, because, well… that's all both of them knew. It was infuriating, filled with constant annoyance and anxiety and moments of genuine hatred, but it was also like…their routine. Consistent and familiar, not liable to change.

They never would've realized what they could have together.

It scares Kyle shitless to think they so easily could have passed each other like ships in the night, but he's forever grateful that somehow they ended up crashing into each other instead.

Damn it, he knows he's way far gone if he's thinking about sentimental shit like that.

Kyle tries to ignore the depressing thoughts running through his head and keeps kissing his boyfriend's neck, taking in his taste and the comforting warmth of his body. The hands gripping Kyle's pajama shirt slide up to slide into into his hair, nails scratching along his scalp, and Cartman starts making those cute, delicious little noises that Kyle loves, quiet moans and hums and murmurs of Kyle's name.

Fuck. Now that he's gotten going he doesn't want to stop.

Aching for more contact, Kyle pushes at Cartman's shoulder until he lies flat on his back and Kyle climbs on top of him, straddling one of Cartman's thick thighs and using his new position to get at the other side of Cartman's neck, kissing the shit out of him.

Minutes pass, and his kisses gradually get heavier, more indulgent.

Before he realizes it, Kyle's sucking a deep hickey into Cartman's skin under his jaw, and his hands have started wandering to caress Cartman's body. Kyle touches his shoulders, his chest, the soft flesh of his belly and hips…it's all so warm and his hands feel like they're tingling with electricity everywhere he touches.

He can feel Cartman's pulse under his lips, and he's so, so thankful that Cartman is here with him.

There's a desperate energy bubbling up inside of Kyle, compelling him to keep touching Cartman's body as much as possible, irrefutable proof that he's really here, that he's alive.

Without thinking, Kyle squeezes at his tit, and it makes Cartman arch his back and whine.

"A-ah…!"

The sound sends an intoxicating heat into Kyle's chest and stomach and between his legs. He breaks away and bites hard at his own bottom lip because holy shit, Cartman's voice is so fucking hot when he gets all worked up like this.

Kyle squeezes again, just a little harder, and Cartman whines like a needy bastard, again. It makes Kyle's dick twitch in his pants.

God. God, okay. Kyle's tired brain finally registers that he's hard and horny as hell, and he needs to know if Cartman is too.

They've gotten off together plenty of times by now, but Kyle is well aware that he hasn't actually touched Cartman's dick yet. Meanwhile, Cartman already had Kyle's in his mouth. He's grateful (because goddamn, that was fucking hot; he gets even harder just thinking about it), but it strikes Kyle as unfair.

Kyle is suddenly determined to even things out between them. He wants to get Cartman off with his own hands for once.

He trails one hand down to the center of Cartman's thick thigh, squeezing the soft flesh and making Cartman moan and squirm. Kyle's hand moves inward and upward, caressing his leg gently, creeping up toward his cock. Halfway up the inside of his thigh, Cartman lets out a gasp.

Kyle is inches away from the crux of his legs when Cartman suddenly tenses under him and snatches Kyle's hand, quickly pulling it away from his body in a vice grip.

Kyle freezes, eyes wide.

"Uh. Kyle?" Cartman says, his voice quiet and slightly panicked.

Oh, God.

Shit.

Shit.

It feels like a bucket of ice water was just dumped over his head. The haze of lust disappears in an instant, replaced with fear and regret because…oh God, he fucked up.

Kyle fucked up. Was he really about to cop a feel without even asking first? With his boyfriend who he's pretty sure has goddamn PTSD?

Horrible guilt pangs painfully through his chest. What the hell was he thinking?

"Shit, Cartman, I'm— I'm sorry," Kyle apologizes, sitting up and moving back on the bed to put space between their bodies. "Are you okay?"

He searches Cartman's face and thank God, it doesn't look like Cartman is dissociating or freaking out or anything. But he still looks uncomfortable, his expression conflicted.

Finally, Cartman takes a deep breath and nods.

"I'm alright, Kyle. I just, uh… It's really late, dude. I gotta sleep."

Kyle blinks.

Oh. Okay, thank God, he didn't fuck this up too badly. Kyle breathes a sigh of relief at the same time he wants to punch himself in the face for being so careless and selfish.

"Okay," Kyle says, nodding seriously. "Alright, that's totally fine, um…"

He hesitates because he doesn't know what he's supposed to do, or how he's supposed to fix this. After some panicked deliberation, he decides he doesn't trust himself to be near Cartman right now.

"I can… leave," Kyle starts, moving to stand up. He doesn't want to go back out in the cold again, but he has to for Cartman's sake.

"No!" Cartman exclaims. His eyes turn pleading and he grabs Kyle's arm before he gets too far. "No, stay here."

Kyle hesitates, then shakes his head.

"Cartman, really, it's fine. I'll give you some space."

Cartman shuts his eyes in frustration and huffs. When he opens them again, he pulls at Kyle's arm insistently.

"I don't want any goddamn space, Kyle. I still wanna cuddle you."

Kyle blinks. "Oh."

Okay then. Uh. Cuddling sounds good, Kyle's down for cuddling. As long as he fucking controls himself and stops thinking with his dick.

"Alright," Kyle says. He tentatively lays back down on his side facing Cartman again but then Cartman pushes his shoulder.

"Turn over, I wanna be the big spoon," Cartman says.

Despite the circumstances, Kyle laughs softly and rolls his eyes.

"Okay," he relents, turning over so Cartman can embrace him from behind.

Cartman's body is so warm, it feels like a furnace against his back. Cartman snuggles into him and sighs, and Kyle tries to let himself relax despite the guilt still eating at his insides for what he just did.

A good minute passes, and the hollow feeling in his chest only keeps getting worse.

Shit, he has to say something.

"Hey Cartman?" Kyle murmurs.

"Yeah?" he replies, already sounding sleepy again.

"Um. Thank you for—you know. Stopping me."

To Kyle's surprise, Cartman chuckles quietly. "You're thanking me for blue-balling you?"

Kyle is annoyed at Cartman's immature word choice, but he presses on.

"No, I'm thanking you for speaking up. I don't…" Kyle takes a breath, trying to get the words out. "I don't want to do something that makes you freeze up again."

He can't see Cartman's face, so he can only imagine what his reaction is, but it takes a long time for Cartman to respond.

"…Oh," Cartman says.

They lie together in silence. Kyle listens to the sound of Cartman's breaths.

"Thanks for letting me come over," Kyle says after a moment.

"Yeah, no problem," Cartman replies, quiet and oddly sincere, clearing his throat.

Kyle finds Cartman's hand and threads their fingers together, giving him a squeeze. Cartman squeezes him back, using his thumb to gently caress over Kyle's own a few times. The gesture makes Kyle's lip twitch into a small smile.

Eventually, Cartman goes back to snuggling him in earnest, his pudgy arms holding Kyle close, nuzzling his face in Kyle's hair, and Kyle relaxes back into him.

Kyle closes his eyes and rests much more easily now, reassured by the gentle rise and fall of Cartman's chest and the steady beat of Cartman's heart against his back.

But, as he drifts to sleep, he has a weird feeling that he's missing something.

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