Title: What You Don't Know
Author: Tattooed On My Mind
Fandom: South Park
Format: One Shot
Pairing(s): "Mysterion"/Kyle
Rating: K+
Summary: Sometimes, you have to remember that what he doesn't know will not hurt him.
Warnings: slash, spoilers for episode 1302: The Coon, possibly false information (some of which is assumption, the rest of which I'm too lazy to look up to verify. Lol, it's just fanfic, guys. plus, anything and everything can happen in South Park), first person with a bit of second person
Disclaimer: I do not own South Park. Matt and Trey own South Park. Also, Mysterion's identity has not been revealed so do not quote me on this. But I still don't own any of the characters or settings of South Park. I did make up Susanne's name though since it's not legitimate yet.

A/N: Nothing involving Mysterion's identity has been proven. This is only my assumption. Don't hate on my assumptions. I'm sure I'll be willing to accept your views of Stan being Mysterion. =) I'll explain everything at the bottom. Meet you there. ;)

Also, I left out any super lovey-dovey or sexual things because lol they're ten. or nine. depending on the boy.

I'm lying on my bed, enjoying the time away from my cellmate. That's all you can enjoy when you're locked up for being a vigilante. There's nothing else you can do, nowhere to go, no town to save from the clutches of that insult of a hero known as "the Coon". All you can do is sit around in your cell, take all of the insults thrown at you, and thank the Lord you don't like Animaniacs.

I don't necessarily take it as too much of a bad thing, being locked away for God knows when. My voice needs a break from scratching and my underwear feels a lot more comfortable beneath my pants rather than outside them. I still keep my hood on, but that's mainly because I hate not having something covering my head, and I left my hat at home. Ah, yes. Home, another factor into my decision. What would I rather do, be an honest man and suffer the consequences that exist within playing Tic-Tac-Throw with people I don't even like, or be a lying fuck and suffer the consequences that exist within living with Thomas and Susanne? It's against my code, yeah, but I'll take the smuggling cigarettes for Romper Stomper over living at home any day. It's not like they care that much. I doubt they noticed my lack of refusal to be arrested. It took them long enough to know I was missing from home the time of the Furry Death. It's already taking them long enough to bail me out of here.

Then again, Tom's probably too busy being drunk on the streets, bragging about how his son is Mysterion. I swear, if I had a normal dad that wasn't a fucker, I'd be so happy.

Thinking back, I don't exactly see how hard it could've been to discover my identity. Token's skin, Timmy's wheelchair, and Jimmy's crutches all come in the way of pulling off my image. The fat ass is the Coon, which is way too obvious, and I'm sure any of the other kids would've freaked out if they heard they could be arrested and taken away from their precious families. I know, anything can be proven wrong, but even I know Tweek doesn't take that many drugs. Really, I'm just shocked no one assumed it sooner. Whatever. It doesn't matter right now. Everyone in South Park knows who I am. The only people I know who don't are my cell mate, the other kids in this prison, and you. This is only to my knowledge, though. I'm sure someone from our class has told you everything, right?

To an extent, I hope no one has told you yet. You've been too good of help to me. My only method of thanking you would be to show you my identity myself. Of course, being locked away puts a wrench in my plans and rapes them up the butthole, but one can only hope. Sure, there's always that saying – "what he doesn't know won't hurt him" – that rings way too loudly in my ear. However, I will tell you someday, somehow. Mark my words, Kyle Broflovski, I'll tell you everything someday, somehow.

Then again, how much is "everything"?

That cell door is ridiculously loud when it opens. I'm facing it right now – a guard is standing in the frame. All I can do is glare at him as he tells me I have a visitor. Fuck this. My mom's probably at the window, crying about how much she misses her little boy. Whatever, Susanne, like you know how to care that much. The last time you hugged me was when homeland security brought me back home. That was over two months ago. Your philosophy of "never wanting something until it's gone" gets older and older every day. Nevertheless, I can't deny the law. I get off of my bed, ready to throw up and die until I actually see my visitor.

I don't know if I should be relieved that it's not my mom or be freaked out that she turned into a boy my age with a green hat. I think I'll settle on being relieved that you're standing in front of me.

You're walking toward me, clearly hiding something in your pocket, smiling. "Hey, Mysterion," you greet me. Sounds like the boys back at school haven't told you anything yet. Excellent.

I jerk my head upward to greet you back, coughing to get my alter-ego's voice back from behind my throat. "What brings you here? No one ever visits me except my obnoxious parents."

"Yeah, well," you start, shrugging your shoulders. "I figured I'd stop by, keep you from dying of loneliness. Even Cartman suffered here after that incident with Token. I'd hate to let someone, whose existence makes sense in the world, share the same fate."

I stifle a laugh without smiling. Of course – you hate Cartman. You wouldn't want anyone share the same fate as he once had.

"Speaking of the fatass," you speak again, catching my attention before I can make my way back to the ladder of the bunk bed. "I'm pretty much convinced that he's the Coon. I did a bunch of background checks and there's just no way around it." Your high voice sounds confident as ever. This is so typical of you, always trying to offset the fatass' plans.

At the same time, I'm rolling my eyes. "Really, you just figured that out? No other kid is that fat and stupid." I smirk at you and mock, "Really, Broflovski, I thought you were the smartest kid in class."

You scoff at me, but I know it's not because you're angry. "Well, you did ask me to snoop around. I'm only doing my job." You take your time walking over to the lower bunk, sitting on it as I lean against the ladder. Our idle chit-chat goes on, as there is nothing better to do. You're staring at the ground, seemingly uncomfortable of your surroundings. I notice a piece of paper in your pocket, and I attempt to ask you when your voice beats mine.

"Everyone in school is still talking about you," you say, emotionlessly. I stay silent, knowing where this is going. Maybe you do know who I am by now. You're smart enough – you should know. "I've been blocking out most of it though. A lot of it seems negative, and I'm sick of hearing nasty bullshit about my friends going around the school."

Maybe you don't know yet. Wait – did you just call me a friend? We've been working together for only a few days and I'm a friend?

"Has anyone told you –"

"– Who you are? No." You get up and walk to the middle of the room. "However, I've pretty much narrowed it down to about four people."

Well, I would much rather you find out for yourself than have some mindless fuck from school tell you. You're a smart kid. Why else did I choose to align myself with you? Why else are you my little spy? Why exactly am I claiming you again? I swear, if being an age that consists of two digits automatically gives me hormones, fuck my life. "Really?" I ask, in a complete nonchalant tone of voice. "And who might they be?" Now, it's time for me to sit back and listen to your calculations.

"Stan, Clyde, Jason, Craig, and Tweek are all out sick," you start. "They've been out sick for over a week or so. It's a terrible bug that's been going around South Park, it seems. Shit, I'm not even allowed to see Stan until he's better."

An epidemic, huh? That's what they're calling it. I guess it's the easiest way to conceal my identity, but I don't see why the others are out.

You continue, "It sounds heartless, but I have a feeling one of those five is faking it to conceal his identity as Mysterion."

Wow. You saw right through that one, didn't you? Why are you so damn smart? "Well," I begin again, folding my arms over my chest. "Which of the five do you think I am?" Hopefully, you figured it out before now. If so, I know you'll tell me. You've never been one to back down from a challenge.

"I don't know. I didn't feel like figuring it out." You turn to me, that glint of convincing trust in your eyes. Shit, I feel a guilt trip coming up. "I'd rather you tell me instead. I trust your word over anyone else's."

I sigh. I should be scared, but I'm supposed to be a hero. Heroes shouldn't be allowed to get scared. Besides, this makes things a lot easier. Fine, you want me to come out and say it, I will. Not too hard, right? Here it goes…

"What's that in your pocket?"

Goddammit. Fuck word vomit. Fuck it up the ass.

You look at said piece of paper and pull it out. "Oh, this? It's a get well card for a kid in class. We're not exactly friends, but I figured I'd make it for him anyway."

He hands me the card and I take it, carefully pushing the folds away from each other. I'm still cursing myself for fucking up my revelation, but this card won't make things worse. Right?

It's flat in my hands and I'm ready to throw up and die once again. It reads, "Get well soon, Craig!" in big, bold, blue letters. Motherfucker.

"I know, it's weird that I made a card for Craig and not Stan. Craig and I are partnered up on some project, and I could really use his help. He's a smart kid. He figures things out really quickly." Your gaze shifts upward as you utter a very faint giggle. "Of course, Craig isn't as close to me as Stan is." Uh oh. Here comes the guilt trip. "In fact, I'm pretty sure Craig hates me."

Fuck my life. Why does this have to happen now? "Why do you think that?" I already know the answer to this, but why not hear your side of the story.

"My friends and I kinda convinced him to join one of our scams that failed," he clarified. "We ended up in Peru, and I think he's still bitter about it, even though he hangs out with us a lot. Sure, Craig can be lame and boring sometimes, and I've called him a dick more than once." Oh, thanks Kyle. Nice to know how you really feel. "But I wish we were closer. He really is a cool guy."

And I thought things couldn't get worse.

You crack a smile and slowly shake your head. "I'm pretty sure you're not Craig, though. Craig told me he didn't like adventures. He likes to live his life nice and boring. There's no way you two could be the same person."

You turn away and I'm at a loss for words, with the exception of a few "fuck"s and "shit"s, that is. I really want to tell you everything. I want to tell you who I am. I want to tell you Craig doesn't hate you. I want to tell you Craig likes adventures now. After Peru, he strives for them. He needs the thrill he had with you in Peru. Why else would he feel the need to save the town?

"Kyle–" I choke up. I can't say it. I can't tell you. I don't want to hurt you – if you find out who I am, you might take it the wrong way. You'll hate both of us – both Craig and me, we're still two different people in your mind – if I tell you. I can't let that happen. Even with Peru still fresh on the mind, I can't let that happen.

In no time, I see two yellow objects flying through the air. Finally, some excitement. "Watch out!" I push off of the ladder fast enough to reach you. I grab your hand and pull you away before the stilts reach the other side of the cell. Damn, it feels good to be a hero.

It's not until thirty seconds later when I realize your hand is still in mine. I ask you if you're alright, and you nod while Romper calls me a fag and mocks my name. Whatever – no one cares about what he thinks. However, we have to abide by the law and the guard is calling your time. I turn to you with only one thing to say, and unfortunately, it's nothing I want to say.

"Thanks for all your help, Kyle. Tell Craig and all them to feel better."

You smile and say you will. My hand feels cold without your contact anymore as you start to leave, but you're not gone yet. I turn when you call my name, noticing your intrigued expression.

"Hey… you have blue eyes," you tell me. Well, I can't tell you who I am, but at least you know I'm not Stan, Tweek, or Jason.

I nod, the same stern look on my face. "See you in school sometime."

You smile, causing this shithole to look a lot less dim and lifeless. "Hope so."

With that, you disappear. Romper is still mocking me, but I don't care. I'll kick his ass at Tic-Tac-Throw later. I'm tired as shit as I pull myself onto the top bunk of our bed. I look back at everything that just happened. Yes, I fucked up and didn't tell you who I am. I should regret this, but I don't. Shockingly, I don't.

I fall asleep, satisfied with your visit and my failure to communicate everything to you. Sometimes, what you don't know won't hurt you.

_

I'm back in school now. It's been about two or three weeks since the arrest. I can't really remember. My lame ass parents finally got around to bailing me out, but whatever. It's a lose-lose situation either way. I'm not gonna really miss Romper, or any part of prison, but I'm sure my mom will be extra clingy now, and my dad will still brag about how his son is a "hero." Clearly, Tom doesn't know that being a vigilante is not supposed to be a good thing. So typical of him.

Ironically, Jason, Clyde, Tweek, and Stan are all back as well. I could care less about Jason because he would use the epidemic excuse to make people think he was me. He's just that much of a dick. On the other hand, the other boys' returns seem awkward, but Clyde still sounds a bit sick. Maybe there was really an epidemic going around South Park. I don't know. Unlucky for them, Mysterion was too busy being locked up to find a cure for this illness.

Mr. Garrison seems pretty delighted to see me back in his class, all things considered. He tells me I have the allotted three weeks, or whatever, to make up the work I've missed while I've been "out sick". Some of the other kids groan, but hey, there are four other kids with the same privilege. I'm not that special. I'm probably gonna wait a week or so before I go back to flipping Garrison off in class – there's no point in visiting Mackey's office if I'm just gonna be tongue bathed in praises. Even if it's better than suspension – it takes the fun out of everything.

Besides, I'm pretty much done being a hero. Distorting my voice is way too uncomfortable, and wearing that costume is just as bad.

At lunch, I sit with my group, unmerged with yours. Token's babbling on about how the rest of us left him by himself for weeks, even though he had Jimmy with him the whole time. I've stopped paying attention to him. I'm too busy playing with the card in my pocket. Yes, the card you showed me back at the cell. My parents gave it to me as a "welcome home present", even though they knew damn well I wasn't sick. Whatever. I can still feel thankful that you gave me the card. You probably gave one to Stan as well, but the others didn't get one, did they? Probably not.

Recess went by pretty quickly, and now we're back in class. Cartman is presenting something, but I'm not paying him any attention. I've dealt with him enough this month. I was happy I didn't have to see him while I was imprisoned. I can see your eyelids slowly droop as you fail to stay awake during your nemesis' constant blabber. Out of nowhere, there's a note on my lap. I unfold the tiny sheet and read it to myself. In green pen, it reads. "Good to have you back, dude. – Kyle." I nod to myself, rummaging through my bag to find a pen of my own. I scribble below your near perfect handwriting – or at least as perfect as a boy's handwriting can be – and pass the note back to you. There wasn't much for me to say, except "Thanks for the card," but you smile as you read it.

"Uh, Craig," Cartman growls from the front of the room, "No passing notes in class, okay? Respect the presenter for a change. Geez."

I roll my eyes and flip him off. Garrison doesn't yell at me. I hear a near silent giggle come from your direction, and I feel accomplished.

In about no time, the day is over. I'm at Clyde's locker, waiting for him to gather his belongings when I see you making your way down the hallway. You're with Stan and Kenny, as usual, and I can only assume you're walking to one of their lockers. Apparently, Cartman seems to like that idea, as I can hear him yelling down the hallway at God knows what. Oh, it appears some random kid has upset him again. He runs around the corner, chasing this poor third grader, and I totally wouldn't care about this event if he wasn't running, all too fast, in your general direction.

The next thing I know, I'm running too.

When Cartman loses track of the kid, I have you safely pushed toward a locker, your hand in mine. The small gap between us slowly gets larger as I observe the dwindling crowd. You're stunned and confused by the action, but I'm sure everything was just reflex on my part. Maybe it's not. I'm not really that sure of anything anymore.

You slowly turn towards me as my hand lets yours slip out. "T-thanks, Craig," you manage to utter. I take a quick look back at you and tell you not to worry about it. You stop me as I begin to walk back to Clyde.

"Hey," you start, a puzzled and interested look on your face. "You have blue eyes."

My breath is uncomfortably caught in my throat as you make this realization. I can't afford to say much else. "See you tomorrow, Kyle," I mutter, walking over to Clyde's locker to grab my backpack. In the corner of my eye, I see you stare at your hand, finding something familiar about it. Unfortunately for you, I can't say anything.

I'm at my own locker now. I don't really need to get anything, except for a stack of paper. I'm not gonna do much with that in the first place, other than show it to someone. Or more than one person. Whichever. By the time I close the door, Cartman's on my left. That smug grin is as nauseating to the eyes as ever.

"You just need to be the hero all the time, don't you, Craig?" he sneers in that wicked tone that turns me as violent as he taught me to be.

"I'm a better hero than you'll ever be, buttpipe," I retort, fixing my blue hat before walking off. I know he's following me – I just plan on ignoring him.

"You can't hide who you are from Kyle forever, Mysterion!" he calls out as we walk toward the busses. "I'm shocked you didn't tell him right now and then. What stopped you this time?"

I shake my head, grabbing the stack of paper from my lap. "What he doesn't know won't hurt him." Now, I'm walking away. Once I get to a place where the wind is blowing harder than anywhere else, I throw the stack into the air. It's raining flyers, with "Eric Cartman is the Coon" written in big bold letters on the front, as I walk home with only one thing on my mind.

You will find out everything another day, Kyle Broflovski. For now, what you don't know won't hurt you.

A/N: First off, I hope you enjoyed that! =)

Again, nothing about Mysterion's identity, aside from the obvious, has been confirmed. I think the more believable options would be Stan, Clyde, and Craig. Jason and Tweek were complete throwaways in my story, and it wouldn't be Tweek either way unless he took a shitton of drugs before hand. I don't think it's Kevin because I don't see a point to giving a character - who has had no significance in the show since the second season - a heroic role. Kenny would be a decent guess, but very much like how I crossed Stan off my list (although Stan is more believeable because he's Stan), I don't think Kenny cares too much about saving South Park.

You can't use Clyde's sleeping in class as a reason he should be Mysterion because he slept in class the day of Mysterion's appearance - not the day after. However, he might want to regain that popularity he once had back in season 11 (with The List). He's that kind of guy. However, he's also a crier, and his parents actually seem like nice, loving parents. So, if he was arrested, he probably would've cried and begged for his parents. Mysterion did nothing of the sort.

Craig's more believable because it's very easily hinted that he does not care too much of his parents, so there'd be no reason for him to cry about being arrested. Sure, him appearing at Kyle's window only sounds believable in my mind (future fanfic, hollaaa), but I'm sure Craig's smart enough to figure out who the smartest kid in the class is. Also, he could be wanting to get the boys back for the deal in Peru. Or he could be arrogant about saving everyone from the Furry Death and decided to save South Park from everything else. Or, as the fic says, he could just be needing a thrill for a change. Either way, I'm convinced it's Craig. We'll probably never know, but I'm sticking by my boy.

Besides, Craig/Kyle's hot enough. ;)