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The air in the abandoned janitor's closet was thick with the scent of industrial cleaner and something pungent, something wrong. Kyle's hands trembled as he stared at the still figure slumped against the shelves. Cartman, his face pale, was equally frozen.
“Oh my god,” Kyle whispered, his voice barely audible. “Oh my god, what did we do?”
They'd been messing around with a malfunctioning floor buffer, trying to see if they could make it go faster, a stupid idea that had spiraled out of control. Now, Mr. Henderson, the usually grumpy but harmless janitor, lay motionless.
“We didn't mean to,” Cartman said, his voice unusually subdued. “It was an accident.”
The weight of the situation settled over them like a suffocating blanket. They knew they were in deep trouble. Mr. Henderson wasn't moving, wasn't responding.
“We have to do something,” Kyle said, his mind racing. “We need to call for help.”
“Are you retarded?” Cartman spat out. “It will obviously be us who did this.”
“You have any better ideas, fatass?” Kyle shot back, his usual pale skin somehow paler, and angry green eyes held a weight of worry.
“We need to hide him.”
Kyle would’ve never agreed with something as ludicrous as that, but any chance of entering college and his mother’s ire wasn’t helping his moral compass.
“Where?”
They looked around the cramped closet, his eyes scanning the shelves filled with cleaning supplies and forgotten equipment. A large, empty storage bin caught Cartman’s attention.
“In there,” he said, pointing to the bin. “We can move him there… until we can think of something.”
The task was grim and unsettling. They worked in tense silence, the only sound being the soft thud of Mr. Henderson's body as they moved him.
Once he was hidden, they quickly cleaned up any trace of their presence, wiping down the floor buffer and the surrounding area. The smell of the acrid substance lingered.
The bell shrieked, a jarring sound that sliced through the lingering tension in the janitor's closet. Kyle flinched, his heart pounding.
“We gotta go,” he whispered, his voice hoarse.
Cartman, surprisingly, seemed to have regained a sliver of his usual composure. “Yeah, yeah. Just act normal.”
They slipped out of the closet, the heavy door clicking shut behind them. Kyle felt like he was walking through a dream. Kyle felt clarity wash over him like ice water. He and Cartman just murdered someone.
If you told him 10 minutes ago that Cartman would kill someone, he would’ve shrugged a “yeah.” So that wasn’t his main concern, but the thought of him killing another person felt so wrong.
Maybe he wasn’t dead? He was likely just unconscious and would wake up right before lunch ends?
Cartman, meanwhile, had seamlessly transitioned back into his usual self. He loudly complained about the cafeteria food, shoving past other students, and generally causing his usual chaos. It was as if the events in the janitor's closet had never happened.
It made his blood go colder.
Kyle found himself in his usual spot during lunch. Stan, sitting next to him, nudged him with his elbow. “Dude, you okay?”
Kyle jumped, his eyes darting around the crowded cafeteria. “Yeah, yeah, I'm fine,” he mumbled, picking at his untouched lunch. He couldn't meet Stan's gaze.
“You don't look fine,” Stan persisted, his brow furrowed. “You've been acting weird. Did something happen?”
“Just tired,” Kyle said, forcing a weak smile. “Big test tomorrow, you know?”
Stan wasn't convinced, but before he could press further, a sudden voice cut through the chatter.
“Hey, Marsh! Get your bitch on a leash!” Cartman yelled, his loud voice booming through the cafeteria. “This new vegan diet the school council has us on is retarded- and it’s all planned by that she-hippie!” He continued by dramatically pointing a greasy finger at Wendy, who was sitting just a few tables away.
Stan's face turned a shade of red that rivaled Kyle's hair. “Don't call Wendy a bitch, Cartman!” he yelled, jumping to his feet.
“Oh, what's the matter, Marsh? Can't handle the truth?” Cartman sneered. “She's always yapping, telling everyone what to do. Like a little yappy dog. A bitchy little yappy dog.”
“Shut up, Cartman!” Stan shouted, his voice cracking.
Cartman's eyes narrowed, but the same compelling shine he always had twinkled. “She's always shoving her opinions down everyone's throats. Thinks she's so smart. A total bitch.”
Wendy, her face flushed with anger, stood up. “You're the one who's a pathetic bully, Cartman!” she yelled. "You think you're so tough, but you're just a fat, spoiled brat!"
"Oh, yeah? Well, at least I don't go around telling everyone what to think," Cartman shot back. "Unlike some people."
Stan, his fists clenched, took a step towards Cartman. "You wanna say that again, fatass?"
"Yeah, I'll say it again," Cartman said, his voice dripping with malice. "She's a bitch. A big, fat, know-it-all bitch."
Stan lunged at Cartman, throwing a wild punch that connected with Cartman's cheek. Cartman, surprised but not deterred, retaliated with a flurry of clumsy blows. The two boys tumbled to the floor, a chaotic mess of flailing limbs and angry shouts.
"Fight! Fight! Fight!" the cafeteria erupted, students cheering and jeering.
Kyle watched the fight unfold, a strange mix of emotions swirling within him.
He knew.
He knew that Cartman had orchestrated this whole scene. He'd baited Stan and pushed his buttons, all to create a distraction. A distraction from Kyle's own erratic behavior.
He felt a flicker of something he couldn't quite name, something akin to... gratitude? No, that was ridiculous. But the fact remained: Cartman, in his own twisted way, had saved him from Stan's questioning.
He didn't bother to intervene; he didn't even feel the usual urge to break up the fight. He just watched, his mind racing, as Stan and Cartman rolled around on the cafeteria floor, a tangle of limbs and angry shouts.
The teachers eventually pulled them apart, dragging them towards the principal's office. Cartman, despite his injuries, shot Kyle a knowing glance, a flicker of something in his eyes that Kyle couldn't decipher.
Later, after school, Kyle found himself back in the science lab, the same lab where their incident had taken place. The fluorescent lights hummed, casting long shadows across the empty room. He waited, his heart pounding, for Cartman to arrive.
Cartman finally sauntered in, his face sporting a fresh bruise. “What took you so long, fatass?” Kyle mumbled.
“Shut up, Jew,” Cartman retorted, his voice low. “I had to deal with Principal Victoria. She was going on and on about 'inappropriate behavior' and 'violence in the school environment.' Blah, blah, blah.”
They stood in silence for a moment, the weight of their shared secret hanging heavy in the air.
“We need to move him,” Kyle said, his voice barely a whisper. “Tonight.”
“Stark's Pond,” Cartman said, his eyes narrowing. “Middle of the night. No one around.”
“Twelve?” Kyle asked.
“Twelve,” Cartman confirmed.
A tense silence fell again. Kyle hesitated, then spoke. “Hey, Cartman?”
“What?” Cartman blinked.
“Thanks,” Kyle said, his voice barely audible. “For… for earlier. With Stan.”
Cartman scoffed. “Don't get all sappy, Jew. You suck ass at lying anyway. I was just saving both our asses.” He paused, then added, “Besides, that vegan crap was getting on my nerves too.”
Something in the back of his mind knew Cartman wasn’t a good liar.
At least not when it came to lying to him.
<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>
The biting wind whipped at Kyle's parka, the damp chill seeping into his bones. He'd hauled the bin himself, the wheels rattling ominously on the uneven ground. "What took you so long, fatass?" he muttered, his voice tight. "I had to sneak back into school, you know. Good thing I was on the student council last year, still got the access card. They really need to update their security system."
"Whatever, Jew," Cartman scoffed, kicking at a loose clump of dirt. "I was busy, alright? Dealing with important stuff. Like, uh, making sure no one saw me leave my house. You think this is easy?”
“Ppftt, your mom doesn’t care, dude.”
"Yeah, you're right,” Cartman retorted, his eyes blank for a second, before he turned to Kyle, “but yours does, doesn’t she, Kyle?” He smugly emphasized the "Kyle" part with a shit-eating grin. Just like they did when they were kids.
“Whatever, fatass.”
“Up yours, Jew.”
The freshly dug hole gaped in the darkness, a dark maw waiting to swallow their secret. The stench of Stark's Pond, usually just unpleasant, now seemed to amplify the wrongness of the situation.
"Let's just get this over with," Kyle said, his voice strained. "He's… he's starting to smell."
They wrestled the bin to the edge of the hole, the weight of it a grim reminder of their actions.
"So," Cartman said, his voice too loud in the stillness of the night, "you think anyone's gonna, like, miss him? Old man Henderson?"
"Cartman, shut up," Kyle snapped, his voice trembling. "Just… shut up."
"What? I'm just asking a question!" Cartman protested, his voice rising. "He was just a janitor, right? No family, no friends, probably. Just some old dude cleaning up our vomit. I mean, our hypothetical vomit."
The bin thudded into the hole, the sound echoing unnervingly. They began to shovel the dirt back in, the rhythmic scraping of metal against earth a macabre lullaby.
"You know," Cartman said, his voice low, "I bet he's, like, totally chill down there. No more 'clean up aisle five' or whatever. He's probably, like, meditating or something."
"That's not funny, Cartman," Kyle choked out.
"I didn't say it was funny, Jew," Cartman retorted. "I'm just being, like, philosophical. You know, existential."
Kyle's carefully constructed composure crumbled. He dropped his shovel, the clang echoing in the night, and sank to his knees, tears streaming down his face.
"Oh my god," he sobbed, his voice ragged. "Oh my god, what did we do?"
Cartman watched him, his expression unreadable.
"It's not fair," Kyle choked out, his voice thick with tears. "It's not fair! We were just messing around! It was an accident! Now… now he's gone. And we're… we're murderers." He wiped his eyes, smearing dirt across his face. "My mom… oh god, my mom is going to kill me. College? Forget it. My life is over. Over! All because of some stupid floor buffer."
He hiccuped, his shoulders shaking. "I can't believe we did this. I can't believe I did this. I'm going to hell, aren't I? I'm going to burn in hell for eternity. And for what? For a stupid prank? This is all your fault Cartman. If you didn't want to mess with that thing, we wouldn't be here.” Kyle said, his voice rising in hysterics. “And you’re just standing there, like this is nothing. You don’t even care!”
He buried his face in his hands, his sobs echoing in the stillness of the night. "I'm such an idiot. I'm so stupid. I should have just… I should have just walked away."
Cartman listened, his expression unreadable. Then, he sighed, a sound that was surprisingly heavy.
"Oh, shut up, Kyle," he said, his voice flat.
He leaned in and kissed Kyle, cutting off his sobs.
It was a brief, hard kiss, a strange and unsettling interruption. Cartman pulled back, his eyes narrowed. "You're not crying for him," he repeated, his voice laced with disdain. "You're crying for yourself. All this 'oh, poor me, my life is over' crap. You don't give a rat's ass about that old dude. You're just worried about your precious little life. Your mom. Your college. Your reputation. You're such a self-centered drama queen."
"You think you're so different from me, Kyle?" Cartman scoffed. "You think you're all 'good' and morally right??? You're just as messed up as I am, you just hide it better. You're just as selfish, just as willing to do whatever it takes to get what you want. You’re the one who brought the body here. You’re the one who has the access card. You’re the one who wanted this done as fast as possible. So don’t give me this 'oh, I’m so innocent’ crap. You’re just as guilty as I am. You just don't want to admit it."
He paused, his eyes glinting in the darkness.
"We're in this together, Kyle. Whether you like it or not.”
“...”
Kyle kissed back passionately.