It was just a little past five in the morning, and Kyle tossed and turned in bed, his face scrunched up, perplexed. He was trying so hard to just go to sleep – had been trying for the past few hours – but no matter how hard he tried, his mind wouldn't let him rest. It kept hitting him with images of his friend, blood-smeared and alone out in the cold, with nothing to warm him but a ridiculous bunny costume. Cartman had forever been awful, and Kyle knew that he fully deserved what he was suffering right then. He had decided to make up that stupid story about a Jewpacabra to fool everyone with, and Kyle felt that it was only right that he suffered the consequences of his foolishness…And yet…

Kyle huffed irritably and opened his eyes, blinking against the dark of his room. He hated how sympathetic he was towards everybody – even to those who didn't deserve his sympathy, like Cartman. For some reason, he couldn't stand the thought of anyone suffering any pain, otherwise he too felt as though he was suffering. He liked it fair enough when he won bets and arguments and fights against Cartman, and watched him suffer and feel pained from that, sure. But knowing that he was out there, being treated like something less than human, he couldn't find it in himself to rejoice.

Kyle laid for a few more seconds with his inner turmoil, but in the end could not bear to bed with it. Sighing wearily, he flung his covers off of himself and threw his legs over the side of the bed, placing his bare feet on the floor. "What the hell am I doing?" he asked himself as he went to his closet to fetch his slippers and his orange jacket. "I must be out of my mind," he told himself as he shoved his feet into his slippers and guided his arms through his jacket sleeves. Perhaps he was a little lacking in sanity – it was late at night and he was sleep-deprived, and he lived in a weird town that was more than a little crazy after all – but whether he was or not, he could no longer bear the guilt of knowing that Cartman was helpless out there and he could help when no one else could. He cursed his conscience as he went to his drawers and pulled out a blue blanket.

Content that he had everything he needed out of his room, Kyle went to his bedroom door and opened it, to peek out of its doorway down the hallway. He could hear soft snores issuing from his parents' bedroom, and Ike's bedroom door was closed so as to keep out the monsters, so he knew that none of his family members were up for the bathroom or a glass of water. Carefully and quietly, mindful not to step on the parts of the floor he knew creaked, Kyle snuck out of his bedroom, crept across the hallway, and tip-toed down the stairs.

Downstairs, he hurried soundlessly to the door leading to his basement, and turned the knob of it slowly so that it wouldn't squeak so loud. His heart hammered with the knowledge that he would be in big trouble if his parents found him out of bed, and because he was scared of descending into the dark basement alone. He almost didn't. He almost turned back and returned to the warm comfort of his bed. But an image of Cartman, cold and alone and just as scared as he, flashed through his mind, so he took a breath and scurried bravely down the steps.

In the basement, he found and rummaged around in his dad's toolbox, almost sweating with worry at the loud scraping and clanking of the metal tools grinding against each other, and eventually found a pair of pliers with which to cut Cartman's chain. As soon as he had procured those, he stole back up the stairs, closed the door behind him, and made his way to the front door. His parents kept the keys in the lock at night, so he just turned them until he heard the lock click, and then turned the knob and opened the door.

Outside, the sun was just starting to rise over the distant mountains, though a few stars still persisted, and it was still somewhat dark. The sky was cloudy and a murky grey, and Kyle felt that it perfectly mirrored how he felt. With the blanket under one arm and the pliers under the other, he stepped out of the house, off of the porch, and headed down the street, towards the park.

The chill of the early morning whipped at him, making him shiver beneath his pyjamas, and he furrowed his brow in annoyance at what he was putting up for the sake of someone he despised. But, despite his flaws and imperfections, numerous and various as they were and ever-constant, Cartman was still Kyle's friend. They had been together longer than he could remember and had sunken into something familiar and comfortable and sturdy. Cartman drove him crazy and made him mad as hell, but there was just something about him that made Kyle give him chance after chance. He was a pain and a nuisance, but Kyle couldn't just stand by and watch a friend suffer. Besides, Cartman had been out there for quite a while already, so had hopefully sufficiently learnt his lesson.

Kyle scoffed at his own ridiculous hopes. 'Yeah, right.'

It took a while, but eventually Kyle made it to the park. He made his way to where he had last seen Cartman, where he had ruined his last chance of receiving Kyle's help by not admitting the falseness of the Jewpacabra story. 'And yet here I am,' Kyle thought, and chided himself for being such a doormat. He stopped in the centre of the park and looked down at the fatass. He was curled up asleep on the grass, twitching in his slumber with his face creased up in discomfort, and was protesting something or other. He seemed to be having a nightmare. All in all, he looked pretty damned pathetic. Kyle's brow furrowed further in aggravation as he realised that this was his friend: this stupid idiot who never learnt his lesson but had some sort of charm about him that made Kyle forgive him over and over.

Kyle sighed again, at himself more than anything, and proceeded towards Cartman, unfolding the blanket and throwing it over him. Then, content that his friend was at least a little warmer and more comfortable, Kyle took the pliers and readied them at the chain. After he had cut it, he threw the pliers down, reminding himself to pick them up later, because he couldn't carry the heavy tool when his hands would be full dragging Cartman's fat ass home. Kyle really wished that Cartman wasn't as fat as he was, but the faint stars still in the lightening sky did not grant that wish, so Kyle was stuck trying to lift the pathetic lump off of the ground. Kyle was stronger than he looked though, so with enough grunting and heaving, he managed to lift Cartman up onto his feet. Cartman even woke up slightly at being jostled, so began helping Kyle by lifting himself, but he still seemed sleepy and bleary and completely out of it, so Kyle doubted that he really realised what was going on.

He didn't say anything to Cartman, because he didn't want the fat ass to be any more alert. He didn't want Cartman to realise how much he actually inexplicably cared, because then he would be teasing him about it for weeks. He certainly didn't want that – Cartman teased and taunted him enough as it was – so he silently led Cartman out of the park.

Cartman smelt awful – a mixture of dirt, sweat, blood, and morning breath – and for a moment Kyle wondered how the hell he was even benefitting from that rescue mission. But then he remembered that he was easing his own guilt, so dealt with it. Anyway, Cartman wasn't all bad – his chubbiness made him warm, like snuggling by fireplaces in winter, and clothes fresh out of the dryer, and the comfy, cosy bed Kyle missed – so the early morning chill didn't much bother Kyle anymore. He felt adequately warm at his friend's flank as he walked him from the park to his house.

Luckily (but somewhat worryingly) for Kyle, the front door of the Cartman household wasn't locked, so he pushed it open with one hand and kept Cartman from toppling over backwards in his drowsy stupor with the other. He helped him through the door with more gentleness than he was worthy of, and spent a great deal of time dragging and pulling him up the stairs and into his bedroom. He guided him to his bed, and then all but broke his back pushing his fat ass up on to it. Cartman seemed to be awake enough to help though, pulling himself up as Kyle pushed, and crawling onto his mattress. He sat in the middle of it, swaying precariously, while Kyle rid him of his shoes, flinging them away like they had offended them, not feeling quite nice enough to set them down neatly. With freed feet, Cartman promptly flopped back onto his bed, unable to stay upright any longer, and was back to being entirely unconscious before his head even hit the pillow.

Kyle felt somewhat disgusted that he was ruining the clean bed sheets with his smelly, bloody, dirty, grassy self, but Cartman was out like a light and Kyle was too tired to try to wrangle him out of that bunny costume and into his pyjamas, and was none too keen to undress his fat ass in the first place, so he just pulled his bed covers over him up and tucked them up to his chin. His blanket was still trapped under Cartman's body, but he couldn't be bothered with it. He had rescued his friend from the cold and loneliness of the outdoors and brought him to his warm, safe home. His guilt was alleviated, so finally he could fetch the pliers and then go home too.

He turned from the bed and shuffled to the doorway, his eyes drooping as sleep finally began to befall him and his rested conscience. He grabbed the knob and pulled the door almost closed behind him as he stepped out into the hallway, but stopped to peer in at Cartman, fast asleep and snoring softly. He still looked pathetic. Kyle smiled at him through the gap between door and frame before shutting it on the scene.

When he finally returned home and clambered back into his own bed, just as the light of dawn was shining down on the town, making the snow glow golden and the birds chirrup cheerfully, he felt satisfied, and fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

When Cartman awoke, it was to the sound of knocking at his bedroom door. He groaned as he sat up in bed, looking to his window to see that the sun was out and the neighbourhood was thriving with loud, excited children skipping and running to the park with baskets at hand. He turned back to the door as more knocking ensued. "Poopsiekins," his mother called from outside in the hallway, "wake up! The egg hunt is today!"

"Okay, mom!" he called back, irritated by her pestering and wishing that she would just go away. When he heard her footsteps retreating down the hallway and fading as she went downstairs, he brought a hand up to card it through his hair. Then he stopped, and withdrew it to look at it and find out why his fingers were trapped in cottony confines. As soon as he saw the muddied, bloodied paw, the events of the previous day rushed back to him. He had been forced to be Jewpacabra bait, dressed up as the Easter bunny, smeared in chicken blood, and chained to a heavy stone block in the middle of the park, where he had proceeded to have a terrifying nightmare. He blinked as he wondered, if that was the case, how on earth he had ended up in his bed.

He looked all around himself for an answer, and he found it. Underneath him was a blue blanket he didn't recognise. Somebody had lent it to him. He pulled it out from under himself and held it out in front of him, but it revealed nothing – it was just a plain, blue blanket. He cocked his head at it, before bringing it to his face to sniff it. Immediately, he went wide-eyed. He knew that scent – could smell a Jew a mile off – and the blanket was obviously that of his very own monstrous one.

He pulled the blanket away to gaze at it again, and smiled involuntarily, his face softening. Kyle was such a sneaky Jew, saying one thing and doing the opposite – claiming that he wouldn't help Cartman out of his predicament, and then having a change of heart and becoming his saviour. That Jew pissed him off so much, constantly, all the time, but then he went and did things like that, and Cartman's hatred didn't feel so strong. Hell, he wasn't even sure that it was hatred anymore.

Warily, Cartman looked left and right, and when sure that nobody was watching him, he brought the blanket back to his face, closed his eyes, and took a long whiff of it, falling back against his pillow with the soft cotton smothering him in a scent that he liked more than he would dare admit to anyone. He could remember it then – last night, he had dreamt that he was walking home from the park with someone. Obviously, that hadn't been a dream after all. Cartman's smile grew wider. Kyle was too cute sometimes.

Cartman quickly realised that he couldn't acknowledge Kyle had rescued him though, because then he would have to thank him, and he wasn't used to that, and Kyle would be awkward and fidgety knowing that he had been caught being nice to Cartman in a way nobody ever expected or imagined him to be, and things would get weird between them, and Cartman didn't want that.

Pulling the blanket away to admire it, he shrugged. 'I'll just pretend that a Passover miracle happened – that the Jewpacabra passed me over and, by the power of Jehovah, I somehow woke up safely in my bed.' He smirked proudly at his concocted excuse. It could work. He would tell that story, and Kyle would never know that he knew that he had saved him, and they wouldn't have to acknowledge something so unbearably cheesy as the strength of their friendship and depth of their caring, and they could go on as usual, ripping on each other and pretending that they didn't care.

Satisfied, Cartman rolled onto his side and hugged the blanket to his chest. Kyle couldn't ask for it back without bringing attention to the fact that he had rescued Cartman like he said he wouldn't, and Cartman had no intention of returning it. That little piece of Kyle was his to keep, and he planned to protect it and treasure it just as much as his good old friend Clyde Frog…

…Well, maybe even a little bit more than that…

Author's Notes:

Here's a look into Kyle's thoughts when he saved Cartman in S16E04 Jewpacabra, as well as what a Cartman with developing feelings might have thought upon waking up in bed the next morning. Don't you just love it when the show includes little scenes like this that prove Kyle does care about Cartman, even if only a little? When it shows that Cartman isn't the only one who cares, it gives this little shipper hope for mutual, requited Kyman.
Thanks for reading this, and I hope you enjoyed doing so as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Disclaimer: South Park does not belong to me, but to its creators, Trey Parker and Matt Stone.