I have a confession to make - I had already started this halfway through writing my last story. I'm a ficaholic, what can I say?

This is partly free-form - I know all the main stuff that's going to happen, but how we're getting from A to B is on a whim, so you won't get the level of intricacy that was in PD.

Cartman is way more Cartman in this story, and Kyle is more Kyle. Which has been a blast to write, let me tell you.

Incidentally, the characters in this story take a rather blase attitude towards depression and suicide. If you are experiencing negative feelings you might want to stay away. If you know anyone depressed/suicidal do not take any advice from this. Do almost exactly the opposite of everything Cartman does. He is terrible at helping.

He held back a sneeze as the freezing night air turned his nose and cheeks pink. Staring down at the murky waters, he thought about how he had come to this decision. Not killing himself; that had actually been quite easy. Method was the problem. There was mess, or pain to deal with from most deaths. That's sort of how death worked. You were meant to be put off wanting it.

He had settled for jumping off a bridge into a river. No body to clean up. The river would wash him away quite neatly. Hitting the water, if he went head first, it would be like landing on concrete. Instant. Even if he survived that, he'd freeze before he drowned. The view was nice too.

He didn't leave a note. It wasn't like he wanted mystery surrounding his death. It was just that the truth would hurt more than not knowing.

Kyle couldn't write, I'm gay and that's why I have to die.

I'm gay and I know you would be devastated.

I'm gay and I heard you that night talking about Craig and Tweek and how ashamed you'd be if I brought a guy home.

You asked me why I was suddenly struggling at school. I can't concentrate, can't sleep. Why wouldn't I wear t-shirts anymore? Because I was practising on my arms. Ready for the real thing. But I'm too much of a pussy. I didn't want anyone to see those pathetic little white scratches.

For all your so-called tolerance… Garrison was right. That's all it ever was. It's okay for that stuff to be happening, so long as it's happening somewhere else. Happening to someone else.

Not your own son.

He straddled the fence of the bridge, barely three foot high. Really he was surprised more people didn't come up here. It was ideal for jumping. He leaned forward and the water rushing below was a perfect echo of the blood rushing through his ears. His fingers tensed as he prepared to let go.

A hand pressed against his back and he screamed as he fell forward, his stomach lurching. The fabric of his shirt was grabbed and a thick arm wound around his body.

And a sick voice whispered in his ear.

"Saved your life, Kahl…"

"You're a-a piece of-of shit, Cartman," Kyle shivered in the car.

"Guilty!" he grinned effervescently, "but a piece of shit that saved your life, Broflovski. You can say 'thank you' anytime."

"Thank you?!"

"Hey it's okay, it's okay, you're welcoooomeee!" he sang, drumming his hands on the dashboard.

Kyle curled into himself, hating that he had Cartman's coat wrapped around him. But he was still cold from the bridge. And the desire to punish his body had lifted for the moment. "What are you doing up here, Fatass?"

"Saw you dragging your Jewrat self up the mountains without a jacket. Got curious."

Of course he had no jacket. Kyle hadn't planned to exist much longer, certainly not enough to get cold. "And once you saw why, you somehow thought it was your business? Or would you really miss me that much?" A raw emotion sliced through his heart. He selfishly hoped people would miss him, but the actual image of his family and friends crying as they desperately searched for him had never even dented his soul before now. He was incapable of remorse. Now he had it in bucketfuls.

Still, feelings, actual feelings. It had been a long time since he genuinely felt them. He absorbed them inside like a man starved.

"Don't flatter yourself, Kahl," Cartman's sudden sneer made him jump. It occurred to him that Cartman hadn't answered right away. "If the cops came round with evidence that I saw you skipping to your death, people would never stop giving me shit. Waaah, you let our beloved day-walker nerd die – you monster, Eric!"

Beloved. Kyle flinched. Was Cartman deliberately trying to make him feel like a giant shit stain? He had to go home – no, not home, somehow that was even worse. But somewhere else, anywhere away from him. Unfortunately home was exactly where Cartman then suggested and he had no choice but to shrug and let himself be driven back down the mountains.

Kyle had noticed the faint aroma of alcohol on Cartman's breath back when he sniggered in his ear on the bridge. He briefly fantasised that Cartman was enough over the limit that the car would veer over one of the turnings and this could all be over. Then he wouldn't be a tragic teen suicide. It would be Cartman's fault. But then again, Cartman would finally get his wish of murdering Kyle and he couldn't let that happen. Making Cartman miserable was one of the few pleasurable things tying him to life.

As Cartman hit the flat and brought his decrepit shaking car up to ninety the idea became less appealing. Kyle watched the dial crank higher. "Cartman, maybe you should slow down."

"You're looking at the best driver in South Park, stop bitching."

"I'm looking at the speedometer, actually, and I'm not going to stop bitching until it's lower."

Cartman snorted, leaning into the steering wheel. "Does everything look blurry or is it just me?"

"Cartman!"

"I'm joking, Jesus. There's too much sand in your vagina, Kahl."

A high wailing and blue lights from behind them gave Kyle reason to shoot Cartman a shrewd scowl. "Goddammit, Cartman. If I get thrown in jail for being an accessory, I'll-" Kyle's threat evaporated as Cartman floored it. He gripped at the dashboard, staring blindly as light and shadow flashed intermittently across their faces. "What the fuck are you doing?!"

"You said you didn't want to go to jail." His eyes flicked to Kyle's. "Neither do I."

"If you'd just pulled over and apologised…"

"Look, I'm not meant to be driving, okay? My licence got yanked."

"Why?"

"Give me a list, I'll tick off what I done."

"Oh my God, Cartman!" Though really Kyle wasn't shocked. Just scared. And scared that he was scared. Dying was suddenly the last thing he wanted to do.

"Calm down, Jew. Barbrady always gives up once I hit the town limits. Once we're out of South Park, we're safe."

"If we make it that far."

"Ten minutes max. I can keep this up for ten minutes."

Maybe he could, but Kyle sure couldn't. He leant back into the car seat from the G-force, swallowing down the bile in his throat and praying for the quickest ten minutes of his life.

Cartman was right. Officer Barbrady had been on the force so long that he hated actual police work and once Cartman was out of his jurisdiction he turned around in relief. Cartman kept going, just in case, until he found a motel. Pulling in, Kyle finally breathed. "I am going to fucking kill you."

"You could," said Cartman, rolling a joint. "But then you wouldn't have the energy to kill yourself. Then what?" Kyle sat in furious silence, shaking his head when Cartman offered the smoke to him. "You need something to help you relax, Jew."

"No thank you."

"More for me then," Cartman shrugged. Kyle folded his arms, waiting for the next plan of action. Cartman seemed to be thinking hard as he inhaled slowly. Then his hand slapped down on the dash. "I got it!"

"Got what?"

Cartman grinned. "One word – Springbreak."

"Actually modern vernacular doesn't allow for-"

"Can you NOT be a nerd for five seconds, Jew? Just listen to me. I say we just keep driving, you and me, and have a vacation. We'll hang out in motels, find some girls to bang, drink and eat and smoke and just fucking enjoy ourselves."

"I really think-" Kyle was cut off by a pudgy finger jabbing his arm.

"That's your problem right there. Stop thinking." Cartman twisted in his seat, the red glow of his cigarette highlighting his round cheeks. "Thinking is why you're depressed. It's a known fact. Humans overthink, overreach, then overreact. Sometimes we need to just get back to baser instincts, like animals. Eat, sleep, fuck, imbibe."

"Animals don't do drugs."

Cartman sucked up a long drag. "Catnip." Kyle laughed. "And there's some species that deliberately eat fermented fruit."

"You're a fountain of knowledge, Cartman." Kyle buried further into the oversized coat. He had chosen Spring Break to commit suicide because it left plenty of time to organise the funeral. It was strange to be so pragmatic about it, but then he'd read people often were.

But maybe he deserved Spring Break first. A final hurrah before the final curtain.

But a whole week with Eric Cartman. No thanks.

"No thanks."

"Put it this way, Jew," said Cartman, stubbing out his joint, "you don't have much of a choice."

"What do you mean?"

"Unless you've hidden it somewhere very interesting, those skin-tight jeans lead me to believe you don't have your wallet with you." It was true. Kyle had left everything behind. He was convinced he wouldn't need it. "I guess you could walk home. I might even be nice enough to lend you my coat." He leant closer. "Or you could just let me show you the time of your fucking life and give you a reason not to be such a shitty suicidal loser."

"Remind me again why you don't work for the Samaritans hotline?"

Cartman sat back again, rubbing his eyes. "I'm seriously. Look, I… I don't want to spend Spring Break in that fucking hellhole. I want to have fun! It's our last year and I don't want it to suck. Kenny's too fucked, or fucking, to ever go anywhere, Stan's so vanilla even Mormons look down on him, and don't even get me started on Butters."

"You're basically saying that as far as losers go, I'm slightly less bad."

"Now you're getting it," Cartman cackled at him. "You're actually not so lame, once you get some alcohol in you."

Kyle could do with a drink. He could do with anything but sitting in a car with Cartman lamenting his failed death. "Okay but, you realise I have no money."

"I will treat you," said Cartman, hand on his chest, "out of the goodness of my heart."

Kyle managed a smile. "Thank you."

"Hey it's okay, it's okay, you're weeeeelcooooome!"

Kyle hung his head in his hands, wondering just what exactly he'd agreed to.