Chapter Text
XXXIX.
"I'm surprised you haven't already got your permit, dude," commented Kenny, scuttling along the halls alongside Kyle.
"I wanted to wait until summer break, when I haven't got school throwing a spanner in the works," responded Kyle. "Well, I mean, the actual driving didn't have to wait, but the theory comes first. And that theory, dude..."
"Hm.”
"How're you doing with "I'll walk everywhere", then?" Stan raised his eyebrows Kenny's way, smirking. "Still into that?"
"Yeah, yeah... it's the life," the blond wheeled about slightly as they walked. Purely for effect, of course.
"You're one to talk," Kyle shook his head, ignoring how dizzying the motion was. "Your mom's literally willing to pay for your lessons, but you still refuse."
"Well, I'm gonna have me a personal chauffeur, right?" Giggled Stan, offering Kyle a playful nudge before draping his arm back around him.
Jesus Christ. Could Stan stop being so cute in public, please? Kyle took a moment to simply glance at him as they shuffled down the halls, absorbing Stan's glow that even school air couldn't deter, it seemed.
Stan would be hearing about this later. Or maybe he could just taste the words from Kyle's lips.
"Woah, easy..." Stan grabbed Kyle by his forearms as he staggered over thin air, his chuckle laced with light concern. Kyle was always light and easy on his feet. Graceful, even, like Stan on the ice, despite the brute force hockey usually provided. However, Kyle had been prone to stumbling a lot more these past few days, but in less of a trip and more of a topple. Like he was dizzied by the motion of standing.
"I'm fine," insisted Kyle, much too quickly.
"Good thing your knight in shining armour was here, huh?" Kenny wiggled his eyebrows.
"Shut up," grumbled Kyle, more abashed by the stumble than that depiction, admittedly.
Immediately, Kenny complied to Kyle's order as Butters came scuttling behind.
"Hey, baby," Kenny was quick to hook an arm around his shoulders, kissing his head.
"Hi, Ken-" Butters appeared occupied, scanning for a second, and- "Hey, gimme a second, huh?"
"Uh, yeah, 'course," Kenny responded, raising a skeptical eyebrow to the other boys as Butters moved sidelong to join them.
"Uh, Kyle?"
"Hm?"
To say the least, Kyle was confused. Thinking back, he and Butters had barely talked since middle school, or so, when he and Kenny started dating. Kyle wouldn't say he wasn't fond of him or anything, but nor was he particularly fond at all. Butters was one of those that were just... there. Which Kyle supposed was a rude, gross observation on people, especially as they were much older now, but it was more of a subconscious perspective he couldn't shake.
As they walked, Butters adjusted his backpack strap, then bumped his fists together. “Um... so I just, sorry, I just... overheard somethin'. Eric talkin' 'bout ya.”
Simply, Kyle offered an eyeroll. Not to say he wasn't agitated, but Cartman did this a lot. A damn lot. Whether it was that Kyle was gay (which he turned out to be right on, but whatever), or once, Cartman had come up with the idea that Kyle stuck his insulin injections up his ass, it was always idiosyncratic, at best.
"Just... tell him to go fuck himself," muttered Kyle, tightening his grip around Stan's waist.
"Um, no- Kyle, it's just... he's saying things that seem, well... really private..." the look Butters offered initiated Kyle to stiffen, his heart beginning to work overtime so that the valves may just have given up, and the blood was trapped and pooling into-
"Woah, fella!" Butters cried as he was grabbed by his shirt sleeve and tugged along to the bathroom.
With a sharp slam, Kyle shut the bathroom door, turning the lock. In turn, he checked the cubicles for any eavesdroppers, then swivelled sharpish Butters's way, who was still bumping his fists together, faster now.
"Sorry, dude," Kyle mumbled, trying his level best to actually seem contrite. "Just-... what's he saying? Because if he's spreading shit about Stan, I swear to God, I..."
"It's about you, Kyle."
Heart sick of overtime, it stopped completely after a stutter of realisation.
Last night:
This morning:
He'd let Cartman off the hook, thinking he'd never go through with it.
Because, sure, Cartman was dangerous, but Kyle could be a damn threat too, when he wanted to.
"What has he been saying, then?" Humoured Kyle, folding his arms over his chest in hopes of soothing the quakes in his hands somewhat, or at least hiding it.
"He, um..." Butters glanced around the bathroom for some time, as if Kyle hadn't performed all precautions just then.
"Spit it out, Butters!"
Then, the word Kyle feared most was echoed around the bathroom, an upheaval from Butters's lips in reported speech of what Eric had been spreading.
Usually, Kyle was very good at remembering how to do things — the evidence lied within his test scores. But when that word, that word, was uttered aloud, in the school bathrooms, the very place that-..., from Butters's mouth? Well, breathing was forgotten, and so was keeping himself together, like crumbling ruins.
On the inside, that is.
"Tell Cartman to go fuck himself, like I said," Kyle managed through gritted teeth.
"U-um... okay. But-... is it-..."
Glancing from the blond's bumping fists to his good eye, Kyle dared him to utter the question.
But Butters was stupid.
"Is it... true?"
Kyle felt his jaw set, locked and loaded with ammo. He was ready to shoot his venom until he took a moment just to absorb. There was Butters, near-cowering, shrinking under Kyle's presence before he'd even done anything. And even so, here Butters was ensuring Kyle was okay.
Swallowing the fire —so that it settled to his stomach — Kyle attempted to straighten himself out. "Tell him to go fuck himself," he spat again. "But it didn't come from me, it came from you. That'll shake him a little."
Butters just bobbed his head vehemently, making for the door before pausing. "’Ya not coming?" he inquired softly, as if speaking to a small child. Normally, that would completely irk Kyle, but it just seemed that that was how Butters spoke to most people.
Blinking dumbly for a few seconds, Kyle proceeded to jab a thumb at the urinals behind him. "Bathroom. Tell Stan I'll see him in Bio."
"Okay!" responded Butters cheerily, as if all was forgotten. After twisting the lock, he was through the door and gone.
Kyle crashed into a cubicle, locking the door with fierce intention and crumpling to the crusted tiles.
He'd had this nightmare before, where everyone found out. For the first few times around, there was no implication as to how it happened. He just walks into school and everyone is laughing and pointing, and Kyle feels so sick and he-
But, as time went on, the dream started to suppurate into an extent even closer to home. Literally — Ike finds out too, bawling that Kyle was supposed to protect him from the truth.
And it's Cartman. Cartman is the one who told everyone.
And here Kyle was. A damn bathroom cubicle again. Maybe not a middle school one, but at the end of the day, they all looked the same.
Not that he was going to do that right now. He was damn near to, because of course he was going to feel genuinely nauseous to this bomb being dropped, wasn't he?
It's fine, he told himself.
Because it was.
He messed with the statement a few times, even trying it on aloud in a small mutter once or twice here and there.
it'sfineit'sfineit'sfineit'sfineit'sfineit'sfine...
His phone buzzed in his pocket.
Chances were, Kyle would rather his current predicament to anything Cartman might bargain.
Not everything, though.
Waiting, Kyle was acutely aware that the inside of his cheek was bleeding profusely again. The metallic taste daubed his tongue, but he chose to ignore it as usual.
Kyle stiffened. God, Cartman was really keen on telling everyone's business today, huh.
Plainly, he couldn't believe Kenny. After everyone else had gone home over Kyle's birthday sleepover, Stan had filled him in, in further detail, about Kenny's situation. Included, he mentioned Kenny's parents' selling and buying, and Stan had filled up just describing Kenny's distraught attitude towards it.
Hypocrisy must've run deeply within the friend group, more deeply than anyone could've expected, like a seminally-linked destiny they were to all degrade to.
Although, at the same time, Kyle couldn't act too surprised. There was only so much money a fifteen year old balancing high school could make at a part-time job or two. Especially when expected to feed a family of five- um, four.
But still.
A lengthy sigh huffed from Kyle's nostrils, leaving him pleasantly surprised that he was able to breathe again.
Of course it was, and Kyle would laugh if he wasn't shitting bricks.
Steal from Kenny's locker, though? Unseen, somehow? What if Cartman had been selling Kenny out, and that's why he stopped selling to him? So he'd still lose out on the money he needed, wouldn't he?
It held a deeper meaning than just stealing Kenny's drugs.
And looping back to that, walking round with weed on his person? And then, he'd still have it when Stan was round.
At least, if worst came to worst, Stan had mentioned once he was so used to the smell that he couldn't notice anymore.
Kyle's head was screaming at him. Not the usual headache, but a literal yelling that disseminated through his cells, over the already deeply-rooted knowledge of how wrong this was.
But it was brain over body, as usual. If people found out, he'd have to move schools. This was the only school in South Park, so that meant moving away completely. From home, from everything he knew by routine and ingrained order.
From Stan.
Certainly, he didn't have the first fucking idea how he'd have to go about the initial stealing. But all thoughts of right were clouded. Even thoughts of wrong were, because all Kyle could function on were the thoughts of leaving the town, a deeply-carved concept that skipped a few steps in the timeliness of a "bad ending", and it led to Stan killing himself with no Kyle around to notice and stop him.
It was for Stan.
Always Stan.