❥Ⓛiƒℯ Ⓐƒʈℯr Ⓢʈαɳ ☂ A SP RP {①x①}

[Spicy Kisa]

"Kyle."
"Sheila."
"Ike."

[H i K u]

Reserved <3

[Spicy Kisa]

South Park was usually a very quiet place, especially after around 9pm. Kyle wasn't sure how long he'd been asleep when he was awoken by blue and red lights flashing across his room, streaming in through his window, and the sound of some kind of siren that abruptly cut off. The seventeen year old rubbed his face and rolled over in bed to look at his clock radio, taking a few moments to wake up and even be able to read the numbers on the digital display. Two in the morning? What the hell could be happening at two in the morning? It was a school night!

Disgruntled, the teen sat up in bed and straightened out his twisted flannel pajama top, slipping his feet into his slippers. Unconcerned about the wild mess of red curls, which he just tried to push out of his eyes, he headed downstairs to see what was happening. He was a little surprised to see his mother in the hallway. Sheila had donned a bathrobe and slippers herself. "What's wrong, mom?" He asked, voice a little thick still with sleep.

"I don't know, Kyle." She admitted. "You should go back to bed." They both knew he wouldn't, but she still said it anyhow. They both headed down to the living room and out the front door. It seemed like the flashing and brief sirens hadn't woken either Gerald or Ike Broflovski, but some of the other neighbors were out on their stoops as well. Kyle's stomach dropped when he realized just whose house the lights were parked in front of- that of his childhood friend, Stan Marsh.

He hadn't talked much to Stan since middle school; the other had become a real d**k for what Kyle considered no good reason. Sure, his parents had marital problems, and his sister was kind of a b***h, but Kyle's mother was domineering and his parents were always on the rocks about Gerald's erectile dysfunction, and Kyle had never let it get him down. Then, there had been the drinking. Kyle wasn't sure exactly what made Stan start, but he knew Randy Marsh was prone to alcoholism as well. The negativity had been bad enough, but by the time they were all thirteen or so, Stan was drunk what seemed like all the time, and it was just too much. Still, Kyle had always hoped his friend would get better somehow; he just hadn't been able to stand being around Stan when he was like that all the time. He wondered if Stan's grandfather had died.

All the lights were on in the Marsh household. Kyle looked up at his mother. "I'm going to go see what's up." He informed, shuffling down the icy walk, glad his slippers had non-skid rubber soles. The dark April night was bitterly cold, but everyone in these parts had long since become used to inclement weather. Kyle made his way across the street, in time to see the front door of the Marsh house open. Two paramedics wheeled out a gurney, but it wasn't Grandpa Marsh they were moving.

It was Stan.

Kyle stopped dead, watching in shock. Stan had been subject to a field tracheotomy, and one of the medics was squeezing a bag that was breathing for the teen. The Jewish teen couldn't believe it. Sharon and Randy Marsh came out onto their stoop. It was obvious that Sharon was crying. The paramedics loaded Stan into the back of the ambulance, which was backed up in the driveway, and one got in with the unresponsive teen. The other said something that Kyle couldn't hear to Stan's parents, then hurried around and jumped in behind the ambulance wheel. It took off, sirens and lights on in full force once again. Kyle hurried up to the Marsh's door. Randy was fumbling, looking for car keys and shoes. Sharon was just standing there, crying.

"Mrs. Marsh... what happened to Stan?" Kyle asked, voice tight. He had plenty of ideas; he just hoped they weren't right.

[H i K u]

Nothing felt real. Time was moving at a sickening crawl for Sharon.

The scenes she had just witnessed played over in her mind. She had been going to Stan's room like she did every night. Of course, she had noticed her son's drinking problem becoming worse over the years. However, she never really wanted to take it seriously. She always told herself that was just a little problem their family struggled with--like father, like son. Besides, they couldn't afford to send Stan to rehab. She thought it was better that Stan drank at home rather than went out. She thought her son was safe at home. She wanted to believe that Stan was going to get a handle on himself once he graduated.

She was wrong.

By the time Sharon found Stan, he was already gone. Her son had passed out on his back and asphyxiated on his own vomit.

Sharon dialed 911 right away. The police and paramedics came immediately. South Park was a small town, and they really had no other business to attend to at such a late hour. The help arrived within minutes, but it was too late. They did all that they could, but their efforts were in vain. Stan was dead at the tender age of eighteen.

It wasn't right. Her son's life had only been beginning. Why? Why had it come to an end so suddenly? Randy and his father had been abusing alcohol for years, and nothing too bad had ever happened to them. Why Stan?

Sharon's tears were flowing freely. She couldn't stop them if she wanted to. The paramedic had gave her and Randy his condolences before he left.

"K-Kyle... Oh..." Sharon replied a few moments later. The teen's voice hadn't registered with the grief-stricken woman right away. Her misty eyes met Kyle's gaze. "Stanley... Stan, he...he's..." She had no luck finishing her sentence, dissolving into a fit of sobs, her hands coming up to cover her face.

Randy emerged again with his keys and shoes. He had caught what Sharon was trying to say to Kyle, and he tried his best to be strong. "Hey, Kyle... Stan's... Uh..." It wasn't easy to say. No father ever wanted to outlive his son. "H-He's in a better place," he forced. He put a hand on his wife's shoulder. "You comin', Sharon?"

Sharon shook her head. She couldn't look at Stan's body right now.

"...'k-kay. Well, I'll call you." Randy kept everything brief. He did his best to keep his voice even, but there was no way to hide how it was shaking. He pecked his wife on the cheek before heading off to follow the ambulance.

[Spicy Kisa]

He couldn't be hearing right. They had been working on him still! They had used their sirens! Ambulances didn't run codes for dead bodies. He felt like he'd been punched in the stomach, all the color draining from his face. He'd thought there was more time to fix things between them. The rush of guilt he felt immediately was overwhelming.

"No, he can't be... you're wrong." He argued weakly, watching the ambulance turn the corner and disappear, though the reflected lights were still visible for some time. He felt numb and empty and horrible. "They were still working on him. The sirens..." He pointed out. His well rounded education would do no good in this situation, however. Paramedics wouldn't tell Sharon Stan was gone unless he was gone.

He took a step back, not sure what to do. He felt sick. He was the worst friend ever. "I'm... I gotta go." He choked out, turning away. Most of the neighborhood was out on their front porches. Cartman's house, across the street, had its lights on. He stumbled in that direction, not wanting to go home, not knowing what to do with himself. He couldn't be alone. He couldn't believe this. It hat to be a mistake, he kept telling himself. "C...cartman!" He called out as he saw the front door open. He didn't know if it would be his fat friend or Cartman's mother, Liane.

He couldn't think straight, and he had forgotten all about the bitter cold wind of the night in the mountain town. He kept hoping he could just wake up, go back to when he was ten, and set everything right. He slipped on the ice in the street and went down to one knee, scraping his skin through his pajama pants. He got up, brushing himself off absently, and kept shuffling up to the Cartman's stoop.

[H i K u]

Cartman was already awake. The teen had gone down to the kitchen to get a late night snack. He never usually slept the whole night through without eating. He had been quick to peer out the window when he heard sirens. Cartman noticed how they were going to Stan's house. Like Kyle, he figured Stan's ancient grandpa probably croaked. Dead old people weren't as interesting as making a toaster pastry chocolate-mix butter ball. Cartman figured there would be plenty of time to rip on Stan even when the ambulance was gone.

Once he finished scarfing down his high-fat snack, he headed out the front door. The overweight teen was greeted with the most delightful sight. There was Kyle, running around in nothing but his slippers and pajamas. The Jew was calling for him, and the best part was how Kyle slipped and scraped up his knee.

"Ha! Hahaha!" Cartman roared with laughter, an unctuous smirk falling into place on his lips. "I told you so, Kahl! I told you Jews have no coordination whatsoever!" he pointed out, feeling like he won a prize. The fact that Kyle's face was contorted in pain made it even better. Cartman took a sick pleasure in it.

"So, what's eating you? Old people die all the time. You see Stan the p***y yet? I'll bet the f**'s probably writing a poem about his dead grandpa right now."

[Spicy Kisa]

Kyle looked relieved when he saw Cartman, but the relief quickly melted away and he found himself furious. He had become closer with the fatass over the years. When they hung out alone together, Cartman could be downright cool. This, however, was anything but.

"You fat piece of crap!" Kyle snapped. It had been years since he'd made fun of Cartman for his weight; that in itself should have been a red flag for the other teen. If that didn't do it, the look on Kyle's ashen face should have finished the job. "It isn't his grandpa..." He came up short, a few feet from the edge of the stoop, looking up at Cartman. His eyes were shining in the dark, swimming with unshed tears. His numb state was fading quickly to one of pure grief.

He couldn't bring himself to say anymore, looking up at Eric helplessly, the reality hitting home. Even though they had grown apart, Kyle would never forget how close he had been with Stan when they were kids. There had been a time in his life when no one knew him like Stan did. When they shared everything with each other. He started to shiver, still unaware of the cold, trying too hard not to cry.

[H i K u]

The uppity quip about his weight took him aback. The amusement faded from Cartman's face, and anger replaced it. "EHY! I'm not fat, you stupid Jew!" he countered automatically. It was like a reflex. Cartman thought they were past such childish things, but Kyle proved him wrong. He was about to go on a tirade, but then he finally noticed how bad Kyle looked. The next sentence that left the other teen's mouth rendered Cartman speechless for a few moments.

The anger left him, and bemusement took its place. "You...You're shitting me, right?" Cartman asked. He took a few steps forward, putting his meaty hand on Kyle's unsteady shoulder. His frown deepened when he saw how shiny Kyle's eyes were. The Jew was on the verge of tears. "Kahl...?"

It all clicked for Cartman, but he still had trouble believing what he put together. "Nuh-uh... Stan's not dead," he argued. "He's just a stupid cynical a*****e who wishes he was dead," he corrected, wanting to be right so bad. "Kahl?"

[Spicy Kisa]

The Jewish teen nodded slightly. The returned insult couldn't even get the tiniest rise out of him. None of that mattered right now. He'd only called Cartman fat out of habit and frustration. It was ******** to be amused that anyone had died, but at least Cartman had the decency to get upset when Kyle set him straight. His tears spilled over and he brought a hand up to cover the plumper one on his shoulder. He squeezed tight, bottom lip wobbling. "H... he is. His mom told me so. I think he died from drinking." He explained. It actually physically hurt to imagine. They should have done something so much sooner. This was on them.

"I don't know what to do. It's all our fault, Cartman, I don't think I can, I..." His voice cracked and he swallowed thickly, then stumbled into Cartman and pulled him into a tight hug, starting to sob. He wanted to wake up, but the dull throbbing in his knee and hand, and the way the cold was seeping into his bones, made everything too real. He shivered all over, from head to toe, and showed no signs of letting go of the overweight teen in the near future. He needed something to hold on to as hsi guilt overwhelmed him completely.

[H i K u]

The bad news was surreal. People their age just didn't die. Even with all of his excessive drinking, Cartman never expected Stan to die now. He also knew there was no way in hell that Kyle would be playing a prank. The Jew was a moral compass, and those tears were not for show. Kyle never wanted to appear so weak; he always did his best to be strong. He was pretty tough for a Jew, though Cartman never admitted that aloud.

"No. Stop, Kahl..." Cartman urged. He shook his head. "It's not our faults. It's not our faults at all. Stan made his own bed, and now that stupid p***y has to lie in it." Despite the crude words, Cartman's voice had lost its usual edge. He allowed Kyle to cling to him, and he thumped the Jew on the back a few times. He would have taken delight in such if Stan wasn't dead. The news of his death was the ultimate buzz kill.

"People have to wanna help themselves. You can't really do anything for addicts," he offered in an attempt to drive his point home. He didn't want Kyle to feel blame for something that was out of their control.

[Spicy Kisa]

Kyle couldn't even muster up any shame as he stood there, shaking all over. He wasn't crying loudly, but he was crying hard. Cartman would just have to deal with it. "We should have done something, Cartman... I should have." He argued. It had been so easy to just back away, until he and Stan were practically strangers. Seeing him like that had hurt at first, but eventually the pain ha faded away and he had just been glad not to deal with Sam and his pity party. Now that gladness seemed incredibly selfish. He'd always thought that maybe someday Sam would stop being such a drag and they could try to be friends again. Now there were no more chances.

He was trying to stop crying, to pull away, but he couldn't seem to do either. Kyle wasn't even sure he could stand on his own now if he tried. "I was his best friend. I just... I got sick of his s**t and left him all alone." He managed against Cartman's meaty shoulder between little sniffles and quiet sobs. He was afraid to raise his head, embarrassed, worried about how awkward he was being. There wasn't much he could do about it, though. Finally, he took a deep breath and pulled back a little. He'd left a wet spot on Cartman's pajamas, but the fatass would just have to deal with it. Everything hurt too much for Kyle to be able to come up with a convincing apology right that minute; maybe he'd try after he calmed down more.

"... Someone should... call Kenny..." He fumbled in his pockets, but didn't have his iPhone on him just then. He'd been sleeping, after all. "Let me borrow your phone. I'll do it." He suggested, face still wet, chest hitching now and then as he tried hard to pull it together. He also needed to think about getting inside somewhere before he caught a cold. Kyle was always the first one to get sick out of just about everyone he knew. His immune system just plain sucked a**.

[H i K u]

Surprisingly, Cartman didn't pull away. He let Kyle cry on his shoulder. He didn't make any other moves to pat Kyle's back. He felt like prolonged contact would have made this experience even more bizarre. Kyle was just too pathetic right now, perhaps even too pathetic to rip on. Maybe it would be okay later, but now any jokes at the Jew's expense seemed in bad taste. Cartman even knew that.

An exasperated sigh left Cartman's lips. "It wouldn't have mattered if we did anything, Kahl. I'm telling you... Stan would've kept on the path he was heading down," Cartman informed the other teen. He was convinced of this fact. "Stop trying to blame yourself so much. You Jews have done enough damage," Cartman joked, but his heart wasn't in it. Everything about this experience felt so wrong. It was hard to believe Stan was really dead.

"My phone's in my room. Let's go," Cartman told Kyle, shifting a bit awkwardly once Kyle pulled away. He acted like he didn't notice the tear stains on his pajama top. He guided Kyle inside and upstairs to his bedroom. Cartman was thankful his mom hadn't stopped them along the way. He really didn't want to explain anything to her right now. He took the iPhone off of its charger and passed it to the red-haired teen. "Wanna put it on speaker? Maybe tell him together?"

[Spicy Kisa]

Over the years, Kyle had gotten much closer to Cartman. When it was just the two of them, they were downright cordial to each other. Now, though, he felt frustrated with him, and had to try not to let it show. He offered no comment, completely disagreeing but understanding that Cartman was even more selfish than he was himself. That was saying something, too. He sighed and padded after Cartman, shivering as he stepped inside, not realizing until then how cold he was. It had taken him hardly any time at all to lose all that body heat. He wiped at his face, wanting to get it together, wanting to think. He didn't even know what to do with himself.

Besides Cartman, Kenny was his other best friend. They were really an unlikely group. Different religions, different interests, different social classes. Kenny had drifted off for a while, too, but he still came around plenty. Kyle didn't really want to share the conversation, but he felt kind of bad for Cartman too, so he didn't argue. "Sure, I'll put it on speaker." He promised, taking a seat on the edge of Cartman's big, unmade bed. He thumbed through Cartman's contacts to select Kenny's prepaid number and dialed, switching it to speaker and waiting for the blond to pick up. He lived a little ways away from the others, so there was a chance the sirens hadn't woken him. Then again, Kenny was a bit of a partier, and it was hard to tell when he'd be awake. Besides, South Park was a very small town. Everything was in walking distance, so it was probably mostly all in hearing distance too, even if the hospital was in the opposite direction from here.

He looked up at Cartman as the phone rang, face still wet, but tears mostly stopped. He was feeling numb again. Everything seemed to keep switching between completely unreal to completely painful and back again. He wondered if Cartman would mind if he just stayed. He didn't want to go home; his mom was nosy and even more offensive than Cartman when stuff like this was involved. The last thing he wanted to hear was that Stan deserved anything that happened to him, or that it was his parents' fault. It didn't change anything. It made it worse.

[H i K u]

Cartman was bothered by Kyle's lack of a response. He wished the Jew would just agree with him about this; he knew he was right. Stan was a lost cause, and the p***y was not their responsibility. However, Kyle was always stubborn. That was just a primary aspect of the other teen's personality. Usually, it made for some amusing arguments, but now Cartman just wanted Kyle to listen to him. There wasn't much he could do if the Jew wanted to torment himself. He plopped down on the other side of the bed, watching Kyle as he found Kenny's number.

Their eyes met when Kyle looked up as the phone dialed. He noticed Kyle's blotchy and teary face. Sighing, he reached over to the nightstand and grabbed a tissue. He offered it to Kyle. "There you go..." Cartman cleared his throat. It really was so unnatural not to rip on another dude for crying. He felt awkward. Even though he and Kyle had grown closer over the years, they never really had moments like this together. Cartman was at a loss. Being nice for the sake of being nice was weird. He did care about Kyle, though, as much as he hated to admit it.

Kenny was just getting back to his house. The teen had gone to a party in North Park with Craig, Tweek, Clyde, and Token. Kenny tried to avoid being at home at all costs, and going to other people's parties was a good way to steer clear of the McCormick dump. He was feeling pretty good, buzzed from what he had to drink but not trashed. As he stepped over empty bottles and a pizza box on the living room floor, he noticed his phone was ringing. Ducking into his room, Kenny took the prepaid phone out of the front pocket of his ratty orange hoodie. It was Cartman calling.

"Hey, fatboy," Kenny greeted in his usual lax way, snickering. "What's up so late?" he asked, kicking off his worn boots.

Cartman frowned and furrowed his brow. "Seriously? I'm not fat, you poor piece of crap!" he countered automatically. "Just 'cos I'm not starving like you doesn't make me fat!"

Kenny just laughed some more in response. Everything Cartman had said rolled right off his back.

"Okay, okay! Just stop laughing, Kinny. Kahl's here, too..." Cartman shared, his anger dissolving when he took a quick glance at the Jew's broken face. "We're seriously serious right now."

That got Kenny to sober. "Really? What's goin' on, guys?"

[Spicy Kisa]

Kyle really wasn't up for arguing or getting offended about anything. He sort of smiled when Kenny answered, but he couldn't manage, given the circumstances. Kenny sounded normal, and like he hadn't been sleeping, but he also clearly didn't have any idea what was going on. Kyle laid back in Cartman's bed, absently wiping at his face. He was making himself at home, which he normally didn't do, but the teen didn't even feel like he had the energy to sit up right then.

He carefully set the phone on his stomach as Cartman and Kenny got the greetings out of the way. Their banter didn't amuse him, and he was happy when Cartman explained that it was serious, even if he did so in a kind of stupid way. Kyle could tell his friend cared, but Cartman was just kind of a d**k and not used to being comforting, let alone tactful.

Kyle wasn't sure how to say it, but he definitely didn't want Cartman to blurt it rudely. He cleared his throat. "Kenny, it's Stan. I was sleeping, and there were lights, and an ambulance and a bunch of cop cars were out on the street." The redhead explained, kind of leading into it gently, working himself up to the point slower than he wanted to, but as fast as he could. Stan deserved more than being treated like nothing more important than the weather. "Some paramedics were, uh, t-taking him out and I talked to his mom, and she said... she said he's d-dead." He finally managed, closing his eyes at his chest tightened again. Saying it made it all the more real, and Kyle was almost overcome.