This fic is part of the Kyman Week 2024
Is, also, kinda a continuation of my fic 'Unbreakeble'. Do you need it to understand this one? not necessarily, but I thought it was important to mention it.
Day 1: Noir/Crime
Warnings: Violence, injuries, blood, organized crime. Not beta readed (yet)
Evidently
If someone asks him, Kyle will say that the precarious situation he is in at that moment, crouched behind a pile of boxes trying to shield himself from the rain of bullets being fired in his direction, is totally and utterly Cartman's fault.
Maybe.
That will be his answer if someone asks him at that very moment when adrenaline is pumping through his body, dangerously mixing with the slow-burning anger in his chest. It's a dangerous mix, adrenaline with his poorly controlled rage, especially because he needs to keep a cool head if he doesn't want his brain splattered behind him and, above all, he needs to ensure Cartman is fine to blame him. That will probably be his answer hours later when the shock starts to replace the adrenaline.
If they get out of this alive.
And to think the day had started relatively normal: he woke up to his alarm as usual, had breakfast in the peace of his apartment, and got ready to go to work; it was supposed to be a boring day! Doing the bar's monthly accounting report, paying his employees, and carrying out his daily activities as the administrator. The only exciting thing he expected was a dinner at his favorite restaurant and, with some luck, watching a movie afterward with Cartman in the comfort of their room. If he had known he would end up in his current position, firing a gun for the first time in his life, he might not have even gotten out of bed or let Cartman out of his sight for a second.
But we're getting ahead of ourselves.
Let's start at the beginning.
Kyle hadn't seen Cartman all day. When he woke up, he found himself alone in bed, the sheets next to him cold, and the rest of the apartment in a sepulchral silence that he found unsettling but not alarming. Not at that moment, at least. He checked his phone in case he had left a message, and finding nothing, continued his search in every corner of the place where the fool could have left him a note saying he went out since the day before he hadn't mentioned anything, finding only dust bunnies and lint that reminded him they needed to clean soon.
The situation, although unusual, didn't seem so strange at first. Sometimes Cartman used to disappear to supervise some job, not because he didn't trust his men but because he was a first-class perfectionist and paranoid by nature, so he preferred to be present with certain things. What kind of jobs? He had no idea, and the less he knew, the better. Of course, the little information he had about his partner's businesses, beyond the bar he managed, was his decision to protect them both and not because Cartman didn't trust him with the information.
Plausible deniability and all that.
No, the lack of communication with the man started to resonate with him when the day progressed without receiving messages or calls, questioning him about his day's work or talking about the weather, excuses Cartman used to hear his voice, though he wouldn't admit it out loud. That lack of communication was, without a doubt, the first sign that something might have happened. However, he forced himself to rationalize that the brunette must be out of signal, or too busy to take the phone, or any other reason he could think of to avoid falling into a spiral of anxiety.
That Butters, who was practically the brunette's shadow, suddenly appeared at the bar asking, not to say demanding, that he accompany him without giving more explanation than it was urgent, settled in his chest the unease that had been gnawing at him all day. That the man took him to one of the meeting points they used, and to top it off, Cartman's inner circle was already present simply was the missing piece to destabilize the calm he had tried to cling to.
Cartman was in trouble.
Kenny, his right-hand man, took control of the conversation once the doors were closed, and even explaining the situation clearly, many details were left up in the air. Not that he paid much attention beyond the fact that Cartman was in the hands of an enemy group, with whom he was supposed to form an alliance that day and something went very wrong. How only Cartman was in a dangerous situation while his most trusted men, who should have been with him, were in that room with him was something that wasn't clear to him, but it certainly didn't sit well with him, not at all.
"Eric insisted on going alone," Craig intervened when he expressed his discontent, raising his hands to appease him. "He said he had other matters to attend to after the meeting and preferred to do it alone."
That didn't clarify anything at all, of course, but Kenny managed to keep him from strangling them for accepting the situation so calmly.
"We can't just go in and get him out," Kenny explained, showing him a map of the place where they had him, "they offered an exchange. A ransom. Accepting it would mean accepting humiliation, the Family's credibility would be in the gutter, and Cartman would rather die there than allow it."
"That's why we have to get him out," Craig added, lifting a briefcase he had at his side.
"What does this have to do with me?" his confusion was more than clear.
"We need someone they won't be expecting as a trump card," Kenny looked at him with a seriousness that made him break out in a cold sweat. It was a chilling contrast to the carefree attitude that characterized him, "while we distract them with the 'exchange', you'll go in to get him out."
The plan had been simple, according to them. While Kenny and Craig presented themselves at the main entrance of the abandoned building, Butters would guide him to one of the side doors they hoped would be unprotected while they talked. The blueprints weren't complex; it was a building they knew like the back of their hand, being on designated neutral ground, assuring him it was full of abandoned boxes he could use for cover.
"But just in case," Butters commented, placing a gun in his hands, smiling nervously at the horrified expression on his face, "I don't think... I don't think you'll need it, but... Cartman would kill us if we sent you in unprotected."
And that's what brought him to this situation, crouched behind some boxes, gripping the gun in his hands tightly, waiting for his moment to keep moving. When the bullets stop, he takes a deep breath before rising and immediately runs to another group of boxes, taking a second to look around, hoping to plan his next moves to get to Cartman.
Before crouching behind his new refuge, he manages to see the place where his partner is, and the image simply fuels the anger inside him. He can see blood on his favorite shirt, the one he had given him for his birthday last year, although he can't see where it's coming from; he can only hope it's from the wound on his head and not because he's hurt somewhere more vital. He curses under his breath when a new rain of bullets is directed his way, which fortunately doesn't last long thanks to Kenny. He rises again, running in a new direction, but his path is cut off by one of the men holding Cartman, and without much thought, he hits him with the butt of his gun, changing direction.
The plan is simple, but stupid. He doesn't have the same training as Craig or Kenny or even Butters, who had joined them once the bullets started raining; he barely knows how to use the gun in his hands and fears doing so for fear of hurting them. The plan is stupid, but it's the only option he has.
It's the only option he's going to accept.
"Listen, Kyle, it's clear Cartman hasn't told you anything, and I'm sorry to be the one to tell you," Kenny's gaze had left him planted in his place, the intensity of the situation suffocating him. "I'm the second in command, but we all have orders. If something happens to Cartman, you're next in line."
"What are you...?"
"If Cartman dies tonight, the position of Don belongs to you for being his partner," his voice was firm. Not as if he resented that the position that belonged to him was given to someone else, but rather with the full intention of making him understand the gravity of the matter. "In front of everyone, Eric named you his Sottocapo.[1]"
When they get out of this, he's going to kill him with his own hands. Only the fat idiot would think of appointing him as his successor without informing him, sinking him deeper than he already was just by being his partner. The memory of that part of the discussion they had before going there enrages him even more, and he can't wait any longer. He needs to get Cartman out of there to strangle him, he tells himself, using the boxes to evade the remaining men, jumping from one to another without stopping for more than the necessary time behind them.
Finally, he reaches the chair where Cartman is tied, grateful for the good luck he's had so far and praying it stays a few minutes longer.
"Cartman," he calls, kneeling behind him, not wasting time undoing the bindings on his wrists. "Cartman!" he calls more forcefully when he doesn't respond, refusing to think they might have arrived too late, especially when he notices the largest trace of blood on his shirt is, indeed, from a wound on his shoulder.
"Khal?" the man stirs when his hands are freed, his head lolls in his direction, and his gaze, though tired, lights up at recognizing him; as much as it can considering he has one eye half-closed from swelling. But soon his expression turns somber. "What the hell are you doing here?"
''What do you think? Saving your fat ass from this ridiculous situation you got yourself into'' he stands up, helping him to his feet quickly, cursing under his breath when Cartman lets out a groan of pain. His stomach churns at the sight of the bruises on his face, dried blood on his skin, especially from a wound above his good eye and another on his lower lip. ''You look terrible'' he comments, forcing him to move, eliciting a whimper of pain.
God, oh, God, he thinks, noticing that the wound on his shoulder is not the only one actively bleeding.
''I can't believe...'' Cartman leans almost all his weight against him, growling slightly, ''that the idiots... brought you here.''
''Someone has to make sure you get out alive'' he responds, breathing heavily, trying to move as quickly as possible with the extra weight. In defense of the brunette, he tries to walk at his pace, huffing and growling softly in pain.
''Kyle!'' he looks up at Kenny's urgent call, seeing the man crouched behind a box, breathing heavily, pressing a wound on his arm to stop the bleeding. ''Get him out of here, now.''
Easier said than done, he wants to retort at the obviousness of his order. He even takes a second to point with his free hand that he's doing the best he can, but that second costs him the escape. One moment he's almost dragging Cartman, and the next something hits him, causing him to lose his grip on the man, stumbling back a few steps. When he turns, he finds a gun barrel pointed at his head.
''I'm sorry'' the man holding the gun says, breathing heavily, holding a crowbar in his other hand with which he struck him, ''but I have orders not to let Eric Cartman leave alive.''
He steps back instinctively, blinking rapidly to clear his vision, shaking his head slightly to dispel the dizziness caused by the blow, worsening the sharp pain shooting through his head.
''Come on, man... you're the last one standing'' he tries to reason, seeing out of the corner of his eye Cartman half-sitting, half-lying on the ground, trying to get up, ''if you let us go, my men won't kill you.''
''Khal...'' Cartman growls, looking at him as if he's stupid.
In that instant, he feels a bit stupid, of course, destabilized by the excruciating headache, the gun in his hand hanging precariously at his side.
''If I let you go alive, my boss will kill me'' the man shrugs. ''Your men are injured, and it's clear you're incapable of using a gun. It's nothing personal'' he adds, releasing the gun's safety.
Before he can shoot, Cartman springs up, lunging at him, wrapping a hand around the man's wrist to force the gun up to the ceiling, using the rest of his body to block him and prevent him from using the crowbar.
Paralyzed, he can only watch them struggle, but the little strength the brunette had left vanishes, and he's subdued in seconds when the man manages to strike him. Cartman falls with a dull thud that reverberates inside him, a strangled scream stuck in his throat when the man presses the wound on Cartman's shoulder with his foot, pinning him down, and points the gun at his head.
''As you wish, Don Cartman, you can be the first'' he says, sneering.
More than once, Kyle had had the fleeting thought that he was willing to die for Cartman. No matter the situation, he knew deep down that he would take a bullet for the man, or step in front of a car for him, or, knowing that his food was poisoned, eat it instead. He even knows, though it pains him more, that he would take the fall and end up in jail to give him a few more years of freedom; even knowing what he was involved in.
More than once, too, he had thought much more fiercely that, if the situation arose, he would be willing to kill for Cartman.
''Eric!'' Kenny's voice resonates in the background, but for him, the world moves in slow motion.
The gravity of the situation, if it hadn't registered in his mind until that moment, falls on him like a rock at that precise instant, causing the adrenaline rushing through his blood to mix with the rage bubbling at its maximum boiling point. Without even thinking about it, without stopping to analyze the future consequences, he grips the gun in his hand, raising it.
Automatically, he lifts his other hand to stabilize the gun, releases the safety, and wraps his finger around the trigger. He doesn't even have to look.
He aims.
And fires.
''Damn son of a bitch...!'' unfortunately, he doesn't shoot quickly enough, and the man fires at the same time. Fortunately, the impact of the bullet in his head causes his weapon to move, and the bullet hits Cartman's chest instead of his head.
''Cartman!'' he gasps, seeing the body fall, but doesn't linger on his actions for long, moving quickly to his partner and kneeling beside him. He drops the gun to press the wound, his vision becoming slightly blurry at the sight of the amount of blood gushing from the bullet hole. ''Oh, God, Cartman... Cartman, you're going to be okay...''
''Khal'' the man reaches a hand towards his, squeezing it gently. ''Khal, that was... incredibly... sexy.''
''What the hell...?! You almost die, and that's the stupidity you think of?!'' he shouts, pressing harder, eliciting a scream from him, but he well deserves it for his comment.
''You can't... blame me. You should've seen... your face'' his breathing starts to become labored, and for a moment, he fears the bullet might have pierced his lung. ''I have to... take you to the shooting range more often.''
''Stop talking, Butters... Butters!'' he calls, looking around, hoping the man hasn't succumbed to any bullets.
''Khal... Khal, look at me'' Cartman releases his hand to lift his own and caress his cheek, forcing him to look at him. ''Marry me.''
''Cartman?'' he blinks, confused, the desperation being replaced by a wave of fury. ''This isn't the time... just stop talking, idiot.''
''I'm... serious'' he laughs, and the movement causes more blood to bubble between his fingers. ''Marry me, Kyle Broflovski.''
''You...'' he shakes his head, trying to control the tears that start to run down his cheeks. ''First... first get out of this alive, and then... ask me properly.''
''I don't know... why I'm surprised that you'd make me wait for an answer'' he growls slightly, closing his eyes.
He waits for another comment, another joke about his shooting skills or something else, but Cartman remains silent, and his labored breathing begins to slow.
''Cartman?'' he asks, shaking him slightly, careful not to move his hand from the wound. ''This isn't funny, Cartman?''
''Kyle?'' Butters approaches quickly, followed by Kenny, who is half-holding Craig, limping towards them. ''Oh, God, is he...?''
''Cartman?!'' he shakes him harder, removing a hand to slap the shoulder that isn't wounded. ''Eric Theodore Cartman, I swear to God...!''
''Weren't you the one who told me to shut up?'' the brunette protests, opening his eyes again, and just knowing that moving could cause the wound to start bleeding again keeps Kyle from lunging at him to kiss him.
''Don't scare me like that'' he whispers, deciding it's best to lean in to rest his forehead against his, more tears running down his cheeks, dampening the brunette's face.
''Dramatic'' Cartman murmurs, but a small smile appears on his face, and he closes his eyes again. ''Wake me up when you're ready to give me your answer.''
He rolls his eyes at the comment and moves out of the way when Butters indicates he should let him see the wound.
If someone asks him, Kyle will say that the situation that unfolded that day when he fired a gun at a person for the first time, all to save the man he's hopelessly in love with, is totally and utterly the fault of the idiot Cartman.
Of course, when the man wakes up hours later and makes another comment about how sexy his determined expression was when he shot, he'll hit him hard enough to knock some sense into him, but not so hard as to hurt his fresh wounds.
And when, inevitably, Cartman demands, not asking, that he marry him again, he'll simply kiss him hard.
Because the question is stupid.
Evidently, the answer is yes.
[1] That's the Italian's Mafia term for 'Underboss' which, usually, is the Don's (Boss) son or a direct family member, and when the Don dies the Sottocapo takes his place as the new Don (and, obviously, is a member of the Mafia). Why did I used the Italian term instead of 'Underboss' that's (according to my searching) the American term? Because it sounded better, to me. Following that line of thought, technically Kenny should be the Sottocapo, as Cartman's second in command… but I make the rules of this AU and here those are two different positions.
