Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

August 25th, 2019

Kenny doesn't dream like normal people do. Normal dreams are a jumble of nonsense - flying cats, teeth falling out, showing up naked to school. Kenny dreams of hell. Not metaphorical hell, not some watered-down version from Sunday school pamphlets. Real hell. The kind with air so hot it scorches your lungs and screams that echo for eternity.

Tonight's version is oddly peaceful - familiar and comforting. Kenny watches a group of demons playing poker with human souls as chips. One catches his eye and waves, like they're old friends. Maybe they are.

"Kenneth McCormick! Get your ass out of bed right now! We're late for church!"

His mother's voice shatters the hellscape, dragging Kenny back to a different kind of torment - Sunday morning service. He groans, pulling his orange hoodie tighter around himself. The temperature difference between hell and his unheated bedroom always gives him whiplash.

"Coming!" Kenny calls back, though his body makes no actual attempt to move. His bedroom ceiling has exactly thirty-seven water stains. He counted them during last night's insomnia, right before hell decided to claim him for its nightly tour.

"KENNY!"

"Jesus Christ, I said I'm coming!" He immediately regrets taking the Lord's name in vain. Not because of any real religious conviction, but because-

"Don't you dare blaspheme in this house, young man!" Carol's voice yells.

Kenny drags himself out of bed, navigating the obstacle course that is his bedroom floor. He steps over Karen's stuffed animals (arranged in what appears to be some sort of tea party séance) and empty beer cans. The McCormick house has exactly one bathroom, and Kenny learned years ago that whoever claims it first in the morning gets to actually wash their face with hot water.

He grabs his suit jacket and throws it over his hoodie. Kenny never takes the hoodie off, not really. It's his armor against both the cold and the world, though it does a better job with the former than the latter. The fabric is worn thin in places, but it's still the most reliable thing in his life. Well, that and death, but death isn't exactly what you'd call comforting company.

Outside his room, the house is its usual Sunday morning chaos. Stuart's nursing what he claims is just a headache (though the empty whiskey bottle in the trash suggests otherwise), Carol's stress-vaping while trying to wrangle everyone into the truck, and Kevin's still bitching about getting fired from Sonic yesterday. Kenny thinks Kevin might actually be the biggest dumbass in South Park, and given their town's population, that's really saying something. Who smokes weed during their ten-minute break and expects to keep their job? Especially when your manager's office is right next to the dumpster where you're hiding.

The only calm in the storm is Karen, squeezed into the backseat of their '91 Tacoma with her nose buried in a dog-eared library book. Well, "library book" is generous - Kenny stole it from the school library last semester when he noticed Karen eyeing it through the window. She's read it twelve times now, and Kenny doesn't regret the theft one bit. Besides, he figures the statute of limitations on book theft has to be shorter than six months. Probably.

"I still can't believe they fired me for taking one little break," Kevin mutters for approximately the hundredth time since yesterday.

Kenny can't help it. "Maybe if you hadn't blown smoke in your manager's face while shouting '420 blaze it,' they'd have been more understanding."

"Shut the fuck up. At least I had a job."

"Yeah, for what, like two whole months? That must be a new record for you, Kev. Did they at least let you keep the rollerskates?"

"Both of you shut it," Stuart growls from the front seat, massaging his temples. "We're going to church, for Christ's sake."

"Stuart! Don't take the Lord's name in vain!" Carol scolds, taking a hit from her vape. 

Kenny catches Karen trying to hide her smile behind her book. At least someone appreciates his commentary.

They arrive at church fashionably late, as usual. The McCormicks are the resident white trash in a congregation full of holier-than-thou rednecks, and at thirteen, Kenny is keenly aware of their reputation. They shuffle into their usual back pew, Stuart immediately hiding a magazine behind his Bible while Karen returns to her book.

A familiar tap on his shoulder saves Kenny from Kevin's continued saga of workplace injustice. He turns to find Stan Marsh sliding into the pew beside him, dark bangs falling across his forehead. Despite Sharon's best efforts to keep it styled for Sunday service, Stan's hair always ends up disheveled from stuffing it under his blue beanie on the way to church. Not that Kenny looks any more put together in his hoodie-suit combo.

"Dude, check this out," Stan whispers, producing something from his jacket that makes Kenny's eyes widen - a Nintendo Switch, its red and blue controllers barely visible beneath Stan's careful hands.

"No fucking way!" Kenny whispers back, earning a death glare from Mrs. Henderson, the elderly woman who's made it her personal mission to ensure their eternal damnation. Kenny ignores her. "Where'd you get this?"

“It’s technically my dad’s, so don’t let him see that we have it. He’d kill me if he found out”. 

Kenny notices Stan’s odd contortions as he turns sideways away from his parent’s pew, using his arms as a makeshift shield to protect the device from their light of sight. Kenny lets out a soundless laugh and wonders what a grown-ass man like Randy could be playing on it, but changes his mind when he remembers that Randy’s way more like a child than any of the actual children of South Park. 

"What does he even play on it?" Kenny whispers. "Farming Simulator?"

"Worse - He's been obsessed with Just Dance," Stan groans.

"Goddamn."

The old woman shoots a death glare behind her to the boys. They pass the Switch between them, Stan triple-checking the volume is muted while Kenny familiarizes himself with the controls. For once, the droning sermon flies by, though Kenny occasionally has to elbow Kevin to stop him from leaning over to backseat-game. Karen's moved on from her book to drawing little cartoon characters in the margins of the church bulletin - mostly princesses wielding swords, which Kenny fully supports.

Before he knows it, the old lady in the pew is getting up along with the rest of the congregation, signaling the end of mass. Kenny hurriedly gets to a safe stopping point in the game and tucks the Switch into the crook of Stan’s arm. Stan grabs hold of it and expertly hides it in his jacket just in time before Randy and Sharon begin walking towards them.

“We can’t linger long today, Stan. Your grandpa is going to be over for dinner tonight,” Sharon says, knowing that Stan will likely try to attempt to slip out with Kenny to head over to Kyle’s house.

"Why, Sharon dear," the Mrs. Henderson practically announces to the entire congregation, "I must say how wonderful it is to see the boys so well-behaved today! That colorful little game thing has kept them quieter than they've been in years."

Stan freezes, eyes wide, and Kenny shifts his gaze to the floor. 

Sharon’s confusion must look very apparent, because the old lady decides to elaborate further, “That funky looking tablet thing with the odd colors. It kept them very occupied, much more than the coloring books I tried to give them!”

Randy glares at Stan. “Stanley. Do you have my Switch?”  

Stan's eyes dart between Kenny and his fuming father, panic etched across his face. With a resigned sigh, he mutters, “Fuck it, I’m already in trouble”. Grabbing Kenny’s arm, he hurries towards the exit and quickly spills out, "I promised Kyle I'd help him with algebra today! Can't break a promise, that would be wrong, and we just learned about bearing false witness, so... bye!"

"Stanley Marsh! School hasn't even started yet!" Sharon's voice echoes through the church as Stan yanks Kenny toward the exit, the Switch still clutched protectively against his chest.

"Stanley, you get back here with my Just Dance high scores!" Randy's bellow follows them out the door. It’s too late though; Kenny and Stan have already bolted out of the church’s front doors. 

They don't stop running until they're safely around the corner, collapsing against someone's fence in a heap of breathless laughter. Kenny's sides hurt, but it's the good kind of pain - the kind that comes from being alive rather than dying, for once.

"Dude," Kenny wheezes, "what is that old lady's problem? She just had to open her mouth."

"Right?" Stan groans, sliding down to sit on the curb, still clutching the Switch like it might sprout wings and fly back to Randy. "We could've been quiet every Sunday if she'd just shut up."

Kenny joins him on the curb. "We've gotta get her back, man."

"I'm thinking we swap her hymnal with one of Cartman's lame-ass comics," Stan suggests. "'The Coon' instead of 'Amazing Grace.' Or better yet, sneak in some sheet music from his old Christian rock phase. Though she'd probably think that "Jesus, Baby" was unironically a good song,"

Kenny cringes. ”God, don't remind me of Cartman's band... I'm gonna have that dumb song stuck in my head all day," He claps Stan on the shoulder. "Little word of advice? Maybe don't use the homework excuse with your parents until we have, you know, actual homework to do."

"Yeah, yeah. They'll never believe that excuse again in the future. The sad thing is that, like, 20% of the time, I really am going to Kyle's to study. What'll I do if they never believe me again?"

Kenny shrugs, offering a sympathetic smile. Kenny understands Randy’s temper better than anyone, having witnessed it up close on numerous occasions, and they share an unspoken bond over their father’s shared tendencies. They never openly discuss it, especially not in front of their friends who only see the watered-down versions of their father’s tempers. 

Eager to change the subject, Stan's face brightens. "I'm gonna mow some lawns so we can get that new Zelda game next month. You in?"

"Dude, I'll just sell a kidney or something. It's not like I'm using both of them," Kenny jokes with a sly grin. He almost forgot the  ‘Link’s Awakening’ remake was coming out, pushing it out of his mind as soon as he heard of it. It wasn’t like he had any plans of getting a Switch any time soon.

"No way, dude. We're not resorting to organ trafficking." Stan pauses thoughtfully. "At least not 'til the next GTA drops."

“Fair enough," Kenny concedes. "I can pick up some shifts at City Wok too. Maybe they'll let me eat the leftovers this time."

"You're not working at that shithole again," Stan says firmly. "Just mow lawns with me. Don't go back to that sweatshop."

Shithole is actually a gross understatement about the working conditions there, but Kenny attempts to defend it anyway. “It’s not that bad, dude. Adds character, you know?”

"Right. 'Character,'" Stan air-quotes. "Last time you came home reeking like soy sauce and despair."

"Okay, fine. You win. Lawn mowing it is."

“Don’t tell Kyle about the switch. I want to surprise him”.

Stan pushes open Kyle's front door without knocking - they used to be more polite about it, but Sheila eventually told them that as long as it was before 8 p.m., they were welcome to just walk in. Kenny suspects she got tired of having to pause her shows every fifteen minutes to answer the door.

Before they even make it down the hallway, they hear Kyle's exasperated voice echoing from his room: "I know, fatass. I was literally there when it happened."

Kenny and Stan share an eye roll as they approach. The only person who can get Kyle's voice to hit that particular pitch of frustration is Eric Cartman, and sure enough, they can hear his hysteric laughter bleeding through Kyle's phone speaker.

Kyle spots them in his doorway and his expression softens from murderous to merely annoyed. He's gotten his hair cut for the start of school tomorrow, Kenny notices. It's shorter than the unruly mess it became over summer, but still just long enough for dark red curls to form around his ears. Kyle holds up one finger in the universal sign for 'hold on while I deal with this idiot' before returning to his call.

“Cartman, you could at least recount a story I don’t fucking know next time. And that's not what she said. You're putting extras on it again. It's not that funny”. With that, Kyle presses the red ‘End’ button on his iPhone with a frustrated tap. He still looks flustered.

"Dude, you know you don't have to answer his calls, right?" Stan says, flopping onto Kyle's bed.

"Oh gee, I didn't think about that, Stan. Thanks for the tip," Kyle retorts, shoving his phone screen in Stan's face. "See for yourself, genius. The douchebag's been blowing up my phone like a fucking telemarketer."

"Damn, dude. Cartman's got a serious hard-on for you," Kenny whistles, peering at the endless stream of notifications.

“Shut up, Kenny.” A still flustered Kyle then opens his Messages app. “That’s not the worst of it. Last week, he sent me a picture of his taint and asked if it looked infected."

Stan grimaces. "Jesus, dude. That's fucking disgusting."

"Tell me about it," Kyle says, rolling his eyes. "And the week before that, he bombarded me with conspiracy theories about the Denver airport being a secret Illuminati headquarters or some shit. And apparently I run Hollywood now? It's like he's obsessed with me."

"Well, you are a pretty hot piece of ass," Kenny chimes in, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Kyle flips him off. “Fuck you, Kenny.”

“Dude, can’t you just block his number?” Stan asks.

“Again, Stan. Thanks for your not-at-all-obvious solutions. Yes, I’ve tried blocking his number! Somehow, he either manages to get his new phone number in mine, or he somehow manipulates the people at T-Mobile to unblock it or he has a stash of burner phones. I don’t know how the fuck he does it; you know how he can get.”

Stan opens his mouth to offer another suggestion, but before he can speak, Kyle cuts him off.

 “And before you say it, yes, I have also tried to change my phone number too. Cartman still finds his ways though and my parents said they won’t let me change it again. You already know I’ve given you a couple of new numbers. And yes, I fucking know that I need to tone down my reactions because he thrives off of it, blah blah blah. You know that’s not easy for me to do. We can’t all be hippies like you, Stan” Kyle says bitterly.

Stan purses his lips, and Kenny knows he’s trying not to look offended at Kyle's 'hippie' comment, one of the few insults Cartman reserves specifically for Stan.

“Yeah, he could be manipulating the T-Mobile workers… but really his mom is probably just fucking the employees,” Kenny breaks the silence matter-of-factly. Kyle and Stan snicker at that comment.

Kenny’s always thought that people give Cartman more credit than he deserves. Sure, sometimes he can effectively manipulate those around him. But that bastard is also a lot dumber than people give him credit for. 

“Stan, you gonna show Kyle?” Kenny nudges Stan on the side where he has the Switch, eager to steer the conversation towards something lighter.

“Kyle! Check this out!” Stan unveils the Switch proudly, beaming.

Kyle's eyes widen as he takes the console reverently. "Holy shit, Stan! Where'd you get this?"

“Oh, not important. The important thing now is that we have the rest of today to play it. And we may want to enjoy it while we can, 'cuz like… I’m not sure if my dad will let me near it anytime soon.” 

They move to Kyle's room, taking turns on the levels. Kyle's bedroom is where they typically go to hang out. His walls are adorned with posters of video games and bands and classic Star Wars posters, each meticulously placed on the wall. The shelves are lined with books and scattered gaming items. In the corner of the room sits Kyle's beloved cactus. His desk is home to a high-performance gaming setup, and despite school not starting until tomorrow, the desk is scattered with school notebooks filled with meticulous notes. 

As Kyle and Kenny trade off levels, Stan watches with a satisfied smile. Kenny relaxes onto Kyle’s bed, feeling his typically elevated heart rate settle down. He listens to Stan and Kyle joke around, not offering much in the way of conversation. At this moment, he feels peaceful. He tries to forget about the impending sense of doom that is always around the corner. It has been almost an entire month since Death has tried to take him. That’s just not right. 

While he knows that the nightmares of hell will come to him tonight (unless Death takes him there first), he is still somehow able to slow his breathing and feel at peace here in Kyle’s room as he aims to top Kyle’s last score. At this moment, he’s just a regular kid, not the one constantly dancing with death. Kenny listens to Kyle snort out in laughter, almost falling out of the bed in between his bouts of laughter after listening to Stan recount his last encounter with Clyde (something having to do with Clyde trying to show off his non-existent pecks to Wendy) and smiles. It’s nice to see Kyle happier after he has been an anxious bundle of furious energy lately, his laughter too scarce a sound lately.

”Some genius you are, Kyle. Getting your ass handed to you by a plumber,” Stan teases.

“Shut up, Stan. I’m just letting Kenny feel good about his score. It’s called being a considerate friend. You should try it sometime,” Kyle retorts.

“Considerate? In video games? Since when did you become the Mother Teresa of Mario Bros? What's next, Kyle- you gonna start negotiating peace treaties in Fortnite?”

”Damnit, Stan! Your sarcasm is worse than Cartman’s conspiracy theories!”

"Hey, at least my bullshit doesn't involve alien anal probes or whatever the hell Cartman's on about this week," Stan grins.

Kyle rolls his eyes, passing the controller to Stan. “Fine. If you're so good, show us how it’s done.”

Stan cracks his knuckles with exaggerated drama. "Prepare to witness greatness."

As Stan plays with exaggerated focus, Kyle leans over and adopts his worst British accent, sounding more like an NPR host than anything else. "And here we have Stan Marsh, the North American Gamer in his natural habitat, showing off the extremely difficult skill of... jumping over a bridge. Truly a sight to behold."

Kenny snickers as Kyle continues his nature documentary narration. "Notice the focused gaze, the slightly furrowed brow, the strategic thumb movements. A rare sight indeed. This is a gamer at the peak of his prowess."

Stan tries and fails to maintain his serious expression. "Keep it down, David Attenborough," he mutters, narrowly avoiding a Goomba.

"Who the hell is 'David Attenborough'"? Kenny asks.

"Dude, the narrator from all those BBC nature docs! How do you not know this?" Stan says incredulously, promptly losing a life in his moment of distraction.

"Sorry we don't all watch zebras boning before bed like you do."

"The baby animals are cute!" Stan protests, losing another life to the same Goomba.

Kyle feigns shock. "Alas! A misstep! The majestic gamer has fallen prey to the wild Goomba, a creature known for its very slow pace and lack of any discernible brain function. Truly, a plot twist nobody saw coming. Except for me. I saw it coming, because he dodges that Goomba the same way he dodges all his other responsibilities."

Kenny howls with laughter as Stan deliberately ignores them, only to lose yet another life.

Stan throws a pillow at Kyle's head. "Shut it, Attenborough. Let's see you do better. And for the record, if I wanted a narrator, I would've hired Morgan Freeman." He passes the controller back to Kyle.

Stan nudges Kenny. "You know, I bet Kyle talks to his plants in that same voice. 'And here we see the rare and exotic cactus, bravely surviving the harsh climate of Kyle's bedroom." Kyle does have a habit of talking to inanimate objects, including his cactus that he's had since 5th grade.

"Hey, I only have one plant- and besides, talking to plants encourages growth. It's scientifically proven. And for your information, my cactus is thriving, unlike some people's gaming skills."

Stan grins. "Sure, Kyle. Keep talking to your plants. Maybe one day they'll talk back."

"You guys really need to work on your trash talk," Kenny laughs.

Kyle, finally beating the level, turns to them with a triumphant smile. "And that, my friends, is how it's done."

Kenny claps mockingly. "Bravo, Kyle. You beat one level. Want a documentary made about it?"

As the laughter dies down, Kenny tries to push away the invasive thoughts that threaten to spoil the moment. He takes a deep breath, focusing on the warmth and comfort of being surrounded by his best friends. The sound of their voices, the familiarity of Kyle's room, the glow of the Switch's screen - these are the things that ground him, the things that remind him there's still good in the world. 

Kyle hands Kenny the controller for his turn, while he and Stan compare their eighth-grade schedules. Kenny listens to them bicker about how few classes they share (thanks to all the honors courses Kyle's taking), and tries to savor this moment of normalcy. Because soon, Stan will get an angry call from his parents, summoning him home to dinner and face the consequences of taking Just Dance away from Randy. Kyle will be left alone with his thoughts, which hasn't been a good recipe lately. And Kenny... well, Kenny will go home to listen to his parents' screams turn into the screams of hell.

Plus, they start eighth grade tomorrow. Death has always seemed to like Kenny more during the school year.

Kenny shudders, but Stan and Kyle are too engrossed in each other’s stories to notice.

Chapter Text

August 30, 2035

The cinnamon whiskey burns going down, a familiar warmth spreading through Stan's empty stomach as he knocks back his fourth shot. Or fifth. Math gets fuzzy after three. Normally he'd be doing the responsible adult thing - nursing a single beer while doom-scrolling through his feed, maybe ordering takeout if he felt fancy. But tonight? Tonight he's treating himself to Fire Whiskey, courtesy of his latest failed attempt at a relationship.

"It's not alcoholism if you're self-aware about it," Stan mutters to his reflection in the smart mirror, which helpfully dims its glow in response. Because that's the future - even his fucking mirror is judging him now. At least Kenny would've laughed at that. Probably would've made some joke about how Stan's mirror is the only thing that'll stick around to watch him drink. Technology's supposed to make life better, not call you out on your bullshit.

The whiskey was a parting gift from his latest fling, Katie. Or was it Kenzie? Something with a K that isn't Kyle - because that's apparently his type now, people whose names remind him of things he'd rather forget. She'd started to get too clingy, throwing around words like 'emotional availability' and 'healthy coping mechanisms.' Kenny had warned him about dating therapists.

It's not like he can't get laid when he wants to. His profile on Tinder Grindr Max gets plenty of attention when he wants it to. The app kept suggesting he'd have better luck if he'd just "open up more emotionally" in his bio. Like some algorithm knows shit about emotions. Stan snorts at the thought, an actual half-assed tipsy giggle escaping. The sound is so foreign he almost doesn't recognize it as his own.

Jesus, why can’t Tinder Grindr Max actually be about just finding someone to sleep with for one night like the media seems to make it out to be? In Stan’s experience, even the people who say they just want something casual don’t actually mean it.

Against his better judgment, Stan pours himself another shot of whiskey. It’s in this time of feeling the comfort and relaxation of drunkenness that he simultaneously acknowledges his hypocrisy and his utter patheticness while also being able to finally close his eyes in peace. If only feeling drunk could feel like it did when he was 18, goddammit.

He doesn’t remember too much of when he was 18 due to typically being drunk on his ass, but he’s pretty certain that when he did get drunk, it wasn’t to spend the night bitching about how lonely he was.

Now it just feels like maintenance, keeping the numbness at bay for a few precious hours. Stan's gotten really good at walking that line - enough to feel something, not enough to end up like his dad. Usually. Tonight might be pushing it, but he's earned this pity party. Probably. He can't remember why, but that's never stopped him before.

His phone buzzes against his thigh, the vibration almost making him jump out of his skin. By the time his drunk reflexes catch up, the call's already gone to voicemail, but he's too spaced out to care.

A text message comes in from the same unknown number that called minutes earlier. The message on the holographic display reads, “Hey Stan… I know you probably don’t pick up unknown numbers, but please, give me a call back. I promise this is important”.

Stan stares blankly at the smart mirror, feeling no particular rush despite the strangeness. The whiskey's done its job well enough that even creepy anonymous messages can't penetrate his bubble of numbness. He doesn't know how much time passes before his curiosity gets the best of him and he takes out his phone to call back.

The line barely rings once before a voice he hasn't heard in years cuts through the static of his drunk brain.

“Stan?”

Stan clears his throat as if the simple act might make him sound more sober. He tries to sound as composed as possible when he replies, “Yes, this is Stan. Who is this?”

A brief pause follows on the other end of the line. “Hi, Stan. Um… This is Kyle. Kyle Broflovski, from South Park”.

Stan hasn't heard Kyle's voice in a very long time. Despite both of them still living in the Denver metro area, they've successfully managed to avoid each other as they've entered their early careers. Almost an impressive feat, really, if it wasn't so goddamn depressing.

“Stan? Are you still there?” Kyle’s voice breaks through the silence.

“Yeah, I am. What are you calling for?” Stan manages to ask.

Kyle takes a shaky breath. “Are you sitting? You may want to sit down for this”.

"Jesus, spare me the condescending concern. Whatever you're calling for, just spit it out, Kyle."

"Fine. Kenny's dead."

The world tilts. Stan's gonna be sick. He barely makes it to the trash can before hurling his guts out. Fucking whiskey. Stan spits bile, gasping for air. This can't be real. Kenny can’t be dead. In fact, he’s going to go see him this Saturday. They’re going to a Denver Broncos game, one of the first of the season.

"Shit, Stan, are you okay?" Kyle asks, concern bleeding through his voice like he still has the right to care. “I’m sorry if I was blunt… I’ve been working in the ER for too long; I’ve only had to rip this kind of bandaid off for people I’ve never met”. 

"How?" Stan croaks, spitting bile. "When?"

"We don't know how. Medical examiner's being shady as hell about it. He died last Friday."

Another wave of nausea hits. Last Friday? It's been a goddamn week? Now that he thinks about it, he hadn't gotten a weird meme from Kenny since last Thursday.

"Why the fuck am I just now hearing about this?" Stan demands, fury and grief choking him.

“I really am sorry, Stan… I honestly thought someone else had told you. I just barely found out that nobody had contacted you. I thought you had stayed in touch with at least someone from the old friend group, but I didn’t know that you… anyways, I knew I had to call and tell you so you could know. It really fucking sucks, Stan; I don’t know what else to say and I don’t…” Kyle’s voice trails off, giving way to quiet tears.

Stan remains silent, listening to Kyle’s grief-stricken sobs while feeling unbelief at the news. The somber moment lingers, the weight of their emotions pressing down on both of them. Stan doesn’t know how long the silence stretches, but it must be a while.

“Yeah, well,” Stan finally breaks the silence, his tone edged with bitterness. "Kenny was the only one worth keeping in touch with anyway."

Kyle pretends like he doesn’t hear that remark. “The funeral is this Sunday. At yours and Kenny’s old church in South Park. 11:00.”

Stan keeps silent, so Kyle continues to talk. “I think it would be good to meet up before the funeral. I have some really important things to tell you”. Kyle sounds nervous.

"Not gonna happen," Stan scoffs. "We're not buddies anymore, Kyle. No point pretending otherwise."

"Goddammit, Stan! I'm not trying to be your friend again. Can you stop being a self-pitying drunk for five seconds? This is about Kenny!"

The words hit like a slap. "Seriously, dude? You wanna do this right now?"

"I'm sorry, okay? I didn't... fuck." Kyle takes a ragged breath. "Look, I know we've got our issues. But this is bigger than us. Kenny was murdered, Stan. I'm sure of it. And I can't... I can't do this alone. There’s some extremely weird shit going on. Have you gotten anything in the mail?”

"What, did you send a fucking sympathy card? Just shoot me a text next time, it's the future." Stan's mouth is running on autopilot now, deflecting like his life depends on it. He hasn't checked his actual mail in weeks. Everything important comes through his mirror anyway.

"You're absolutely impossible," Kyle sounds utterly exasperated. "Check your damn mail, Stan. And if you find anything... relevant to Kenny, bring it to my parents' house on Saturday. 8 p.m. And-"

"Yeah, that's not happening. I'll see you at the funeral. Feel free to not talk to me there."

“I’m not above using my hacking skills to find out your phone’s location,” Kyle says dryly. 

Stan actually snorts at that. "Ooh, scary. Gonna rickroll me on my mirror? I'm shaking."

He doubts Kyle has tried hacking anything since they were kids. After his family got sent a letter from the FBI with lots of warnings after Kyle was able to pirate pretty much everything under the sun for his, Stan’s and Kenny’s enjoyment using his own technical knowledge, Kyle was scared straight. Once the FBI found out that everything illegal done at the Broflovski household was all orchestrated by an 11 year old, they were left with a warning, but that didn’t stop Sheila’s wrath. It never seemed fair to Stan that Kyle would get in so much trouble for that when Kyle's own father literally went on a trolling spree the year before. Besides, Stan's the one with the government job now. He could bury Kyle if he tried that shit.

"Saturday. My parents' house. 8 p.m. Bring whatever's in your mail," Kyle bites out. "And Stan? Try to be sober. For Kenny."

The line goes dead before Stan can tell Kyle exactly where he can shove his concern. The smart mirror dims automatically, leaving Stan alone in the darkness of his apartment.

Stan remains frozen in place, Kyle's words echoing in his skull. He would have preferred literally anyone else in the universe break the news to him. Literally anyone, even that ticklish Elmo or Mr. Garrison’s puppet. Someone murdered Kenny. Those bastards. Those bastards. He's not sure why, but that thought bubbles up with a hysterical edge that threatens to turn into either laughter or screaming. He's not sure which would be worse.

He mechanically instructs his mirror to illuminate the room, watching as the soft glow reveals the disaster zone of his living room. Right. Cleaning up puke should probably be a priority. Future Stan will thank him, even if Future Stan is kind of a judgmental prick.

"Mirror, play… something that isn't depressing," Stan mumbles as he grabs his cleaning supplies. The mirror starts playing 'Mad World'.

"I said not depressing!"

The mirror switches to 'All Star' by Smash Mouth.

"I fucking hate you, Mirror."

Stan wishes he hadn’t drank so much. The dizziness that now accompanies his grief gives him a surreal, disorienting feeling, an unsettling, otherworldly sensation in the worst possible way.

After dealing with the mess, he takes a shower. He barely registers doing any of these things. His body has gone into autopilot mode, but Stan himself isn’t really there. He doesn’t feel real. None of this feels real. 

He collapses into bed, not bothering with food or mail. Fuck Kyle and his demands. Fuck everything. The mirror, apparently deciding to be merciful for once, dims without being asked.

Stan sobs until he passes out, praying for a dreamless sleep that never comes.

Stan still doesn’t quite feel connected to his own body the next day. He moves through the motions as if on autopilot. Routine must be one hell of a thing for muscle memory, because Stan doesn't even know how he's moving.

Stan heads straight for the medicine cabinet in the bathroom after his morning routine of teeth brushing and showering. With a migraine pounding in his head, he extracts four Advil pills, a dosage he knows from experience is the minimum requirement to provide any relief. After he swallows, his stomach growls. The thought of food makes him feel sick. Luckily, he’s well-prepared for moments like these with a Costco supply of protein shakes. He grabs one from the stash and forces it down, a somewhat tortuous but necessary act.

Running a quick hand through his damp hair instead of brushing it, he does a quick sweep of his apartment before heading off to work. His one-bedroom apartment is pretty bare, but he’s grateful for the independence it affords him, free from roommates. The small living room has a blue loveseat that is comfier than it looks. A coffee table rests in front of it. Stan never has bothered to get a dining table; it’s not like anyone else eats here. A large 16k TV is mounted on the wall. Underneath it on a bookshelf that lays horizontally on the floor with his Sony Apple PlayStation Max along with his virtual reality gloves and headset.

He checks the mail on the way out. Nothing there. Why the fuck was Kyle so adamant he check the mail if he didn’t actually even send anything?

Stan drives to work, remaining in a state of autopilot. Usually this time of year is one of his favorites in Colorado. There is a little more rain in late August and September, helping to turn the dried-out trees on the mountains back to their vibrant green shades one last time before the fall foliage and the subsequent winter snow. 

As Stan parks, he vows to try to push his pain about Kenny away as deeply as possible. He concentrates on his hangover, using the physical discomfort to eclipse the emotional devastation lurking beneath. Professional Stan. Detective Stan. The Stan who doesn't fall apart at his desk.

He takes his place at his desk, which has no less than four monitors. Stan wonders how anyone manages to get any work done with fewer monitors. His coworkers always tease him about his messy workspace and the millions of tabs he always has open.

"You ready for today, Stan?" A distant voice cuts into Stan's mental fog. He barely registers it until Detective Mia Guzman appears in front of his desk, looking concerned. Stan likes Mia. She started as a detective the same time he did, after his spectacular failure to join the FBI. He'd been offered a job and everything, even passed the physicals just fine. But he failed the mental health screening - turns out having a documented history of depression, alcoholism, and what his therapist called "episodic nihilism" doesn't look great on a top-secret clearance background check.

"Stan?" Mia persists, her dark eyes sharp with worry.

Focus, idiot. "Hey, Mia. Sorry, rough morning. Found out Kenny died."

Mia’s eyes widen in recognition. She knows of Kenny and has met him in passing a couple of times. Kenny is pretty much Stan’s only friend, so when the topic of friendships comes up, Kenny is really the only name Stan mentions. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. Do you need to take the day off?”

"Nah." Stan waves off her concern. "Better to keep busy investigating cults than sit at home contemplating the void." He almost manages a smile. "Besides, someone's gotta stop the Twelve Tribes from committing tax fraud while they wait for the apocalypse."

The day drags, a pointless quarterly meeting stretching into the evening. Stan thinks there's a special place in hell for people who schedule meetings on Friday afternoons. Or meetings in general. Stan much prefers to just do his job and avoid the beuracracy that comes with the it. He goes through the motions, sharing vital insights but zoning out for the rest. 

The meeting concludes a little after 5 p.m., and Stan, feeling thoroughly exhausted from enduring the mundane discussions, promptly powers down his computers, signaling the start of the weekend. He makes his way to the parking lot, and amidst the fading sunlight, the distinct clicking sounds of Mia’s heels against the pavement reaches his ears. 

Stan pauses and allows Mia to catch up with him.

“Stan, wait up!” Mia calls out. “You sure you don’t want to stop by the bar? God knows I could use it after that excuse for a meeting.” 

"No, but thanks. I should probably avoid alcohol right now." And Kyle's condescending voice in his head. And memories. And everything.

Mia nods in understanding. This is one of the many things he appreciates about her. She never presses him, never tries to pressure him. “Please stay safe. I’m really sorry about your friend. If you…. If you feel like you really want to relapse, promise me you’ll call me”. Another reason he likes her. She has never once judged him for his past. 

Stan gives a weak but genuine smile back to her. “Thanks, Mia. I appreciate it. Have a good weekend”. He turns to get in his car, but Mia stops him.

“Sorry, I almost forgot… these came in the mail at work for you a couple days ago. I keep forgetting to give them to you.” She hands him two large Manila envelopes. It doesn’t even have the address of his work building; they both just have his name on them. One in black sharpie, and one in red.

Confused, Stan takes the mail. “Oh… um, thanks”.

“Have a good weekend!” Mia says as she walks the opposite way to her car.

Stan sits in the driver’s seat of the car. He accidentally turns it on with his Face ID, the sound of the engine jolting him with a start. 

The envelopes feel limp in his hands. Did Kyle send these to him here? How would he know where he works? He knows he stayed friends with Kenny as well, but he made Kenny promise to never give any personal details about him to Kyle much in the same way he also told Kenny that he doesn’t want to hear anything about Kyle. He’s sure Kyle had a similar arrangement. 

With shaky hands, Stan opens the one with the red sharpie. Inside is a single sheet of paper with a photo on it.

He takes the photo completely out, and his heart drops. “What the fuck?” He whispers.

The picture is one from when Stan was a kid. He recognizes this as the summer that he and the gang played superheroes. They used to get very into their themed world-building, and the summer they were superheroes was no exception. 

A young Stan is on the far left, his dad’s tools strapped to a makeshift belt, a mop of unruly black hair over his face. To his right stands Kyle in his Human Kite costume. Kyle was so proud of that costume even though most people made fun of it behind his back. 

Stan remembers having an old photo from this day. Stan on the left, Kyle in the middle, and Kenny in his Mysterion costume on the right, their arms wrapped around each other and content grins on their face.

But this picture is different. It is nothing like the actual photo he remembers taking that day. This image is twisted, something out of a horrifying nightmare. He remembers this day, but he sure as hell does not remember this moment. It makes no sense.

Instead of the contented smiles of the past, Stan and Kyle’s faces look utterly horrified. And Kenny, who should have been alive and laughing in the picture, lay motionless on the floor, blood staining the ground beneath him, a gun clutched in his lifeless hand. Stan can see a bullet entrance wound in his left temple. The pool of blood beneath him is shockingly vivid in comparison to the desaturated tones of the rest of the photo. The gun in Kenny's hand looks unnervingly real, its metallic surface reflecting from the glare of the camera.

Stan's fingers tremble as he carefully holds the photograph, a cold chill running down his spine. A lump forms in his throat as he stares at the photo. 

“What the fuck?!” Stan gasps louder this time.

Chapter Text

September 2019

Two weeks into eighth grade and still no sign of Death. Kenny keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop, for some freak accident or random act of violence to take him out. It's like a sick game of Russian Roulette, never knowing when the trigger's gonna get pulled. Maybe Death's trying a new strategy this year - psychological warfare. Just let him stew in his own anxiety until he snaps.

He wishes Death would grow a pair and get the first death of the school year over with. Maybe Death is trying to literally kill him with suspense. He’d really rather get shot.

He can barely focus in class, his mind constantly racing with all the ways he might bite it this time. He's tried everything to take the edge off - drugs, sex, you name it. But the novelty's worn thin. Even Tammy won't give him the time of day now that she's a high school freshman. Not that Kenny blames her - he'd move on too if he could.

His friends don't really get it. They still look at him funny when he mentions some of the shit he's done. Maybe they just need to grow up, live a little. Not like they know what it's like to stare down the barrel of your own mortality on the daily.

The worst part is how everything's lost its kick. Alcohol barely gives him a buzz anymore, and weed just makes him sleepy instead of giggly. He still does it all anyway, more out of habit than anything else. It's like channel surfing when nothing good is on - you keep clicking even though you know it's pointless.

"The flyers are done," Stan announces as Kenny trudges up to the bus stop, breaking through his morbid thoughts.

Stan is clutching a stack of black and white papers. After what felt like hours of debate yesterday, they'd finally settled on charging $30 per lawn, or $50 for both front and back. Stan's borrowing his dad's lawn mower (assuming Randy remembers where he left it after his last drunken "yard renovation project"), and Kenny has permission to use the Broflovskis'.

The plan is simple: knock out as many lawns as they can before the weather turns. If they keep at it through September, they might actually have enough for an entirely new Switch to share and a couple games. Kenny is so excited for the new Zelda game - anything to help him forget about Death's twisted game of hide and seek.

Kyle had offered to help with their little fundraising scheme, but Stan and Kenny had shut that down pretty quick. Between all his clubs and his mom's increasingly insane academic expectations, Kyle is already stretched incredibly thin. Besides, they only have access to two lawnmowers.

Stan hands Kenny half the stack. “We just need to post these up after school”. 

As Stan tapes one of the flyers to the pole next to the bus stop, Kyle peers at it and lets out a snort. "Dude, you could have made it at least somewhat aesthetically pleasing."

Kenny squints at the black and white monstrosity. Times New Roman, really? "Eh, gets the point across," he shrugs. Not like he'd do much better.

"Yeah, do I look like a graphic designer?" Stan grumbles, an edge to his voice.

"It's really not that hard to add some color. You know they make templates for this kind of shit, right?" Kyle says, already pulling out his iPad. Of course he has it ready to go. Kenny's pretty sure Kyle sleeps with that thing under his pillow.

Kenny can sense the tension rising and tries to play peacemaker. “If it’s so easy, you could make it for us,” Kenny says before Stan has a chance to add a biting comeback. 

“Yeah, sure. I brought my iPad and can make it real quick during lunch. You can print it off at the library."

“These are already made, and it takes longer than you think to cut out those phone numbers,” Stan says, clearly over it.

Kenny holds his breath for an impending argument, but luckily Kyle seems to pick up on the unease and just shrugs and says “Whatever, dude. Just let me know if you change your mind”. 

The moment of tension dissolves as Eric Cartman waddles up to his usual spot, already complaining before he's even fully stopped moving. "Fucking Mrs. Martinez is already trying to make us do group projects for Spanish," he whines. "Apparently she's gonna introduce it today, and it's going to be most of our grade for the semester. And I have to be partners with the fucking Jew since she pairs us alphabetically."

"Oh great, another group project with the fatass. I swear, if you make me do all the work again, I'm going to-"

"Relax, Kahl," Cartman interjects. "I've got it all figured out. you do the research, the writing, and the presentation. I'll handle the important stuff, like picking the font and the background color. I promise to do better than that hippie's lameass flyer over there."

“Why are you even taking Spanish, fatass?” Kyle complains, shoving his iPad into his backpack with more force than necessary. Cartman and Kyle are both in their second year of Spanish together, and they have been complaining about being in the same class since they first spotted each other in the same class.

“Because it’s a useful language to know, Kahl."

Kyle rolls his eyes. “You only want to learn it so you can order more food.”

“You’re just jealous I’ll be fluent in ordering tacos at Casa Bonita.”

“Jealous?! I’m taking the same language as you, fatass! And you're gonna only pick out the font and background color?! That's not how group projects work, you lazy piece of-"

"I bet you're just excited to have an excuse to come to my house. Admit it, Kahl. You can't resist my charm."

Kenny drowns out Kyle and Cartman’s bickering. Very rarely do they argue about something actually entertaining enough to listen to. He catches fragments about Kyle calling Cartman a "monolingual moron" and Cartman telling Kyle to "speak English because this is America," mixed with the usual fat jokes and antisemitic bullshit.

Stan's eyes have already glazed over, and he silently offers Kenny one of his earbuds. Stan always has his headphones way too loud and surely will go deaf by the age of 30, but Kenny isn't arguing because Post Malone's voice effectively drowns out Kyle's increasingly creative threats about where exactly he's going to shove Cartman's Spanish textbook.

“His new album,” Stan explains, his voice barely audible between the loud music and their friend's escalating argument. Kenny nods, pretending to know anything about Post Malone beyond that one Spider-Man song.

Finally, the bus arrives. Kenny tries to hand Stan the earbud, but Stan says, “It’s fine, you can give it to me when we get there”.

Kyle practically shoves Cartman out of his way to get on first, dragging Stan along by his jacket sleeve. "We are sitting as far away from that uncle fucker as possible."

Kenny just grins and plops down next to Butters in a seat in front of the, keeping the Bluetooth connection intact. Butters' eyes go wide at Kyle's murderous expression.

“Well hi there, fellas,” he chirps.

Stan and Kyle are too caught up in their own world to notice, huddled together and snickering at something on Kyle's phone. Kenny's glad he's not on Kyle Calm-Down Duty today. Stan's always been better at talking him off the ledge, anyways. The next song on the album is playing, one that Kenny knows from Spiderman- ‘Sunflower’.

"Sup, Butters?" Kenny asks, leaning back in his seat.

Butters beams at him, his blonde hair even lighter from the summer's sun and faint freckles more prominent. “Aw, you know, same ol’ stuff, just tryin’ to survive. How ‘bout you, Kenny? How’s things going for you? How are you liking 8th grade so far? We will almost be High Schoolers soon!”

Kenny shrugs, watching as Cartman unsuccessfully tries to convince Craig to switch places so he can continue antagonizing Kyle. Kenny snorts as Craig flips Cartman off and the bus driver yells at Cartman to get his ass in a different seat before turning back to Butters. "Same shit, different day, man. But I'm doing good."

Butters nods eagerly. "Oh, did you hear about the new Terrance and Phillip movie? Supposed to be even funnier than Asses of Fire!"

Kenny perks up at that. "Yeah? Didn't know they were still making movies. Remember when we all snuck into the theater to see the first one?"

Butters giggles, covering his mouth with his hand. "Sure do! I thought my dad was gonna ground me for sure when he found out. But it was worth it!"

"Definitely," Kenny agrees, grinning at the memory. Mostly because he remembers Cartman getting punished for swearing by being electrocuted and watching that happen made Kenny's tedious stint in hell having to give Satan relationship advice almost worth it. 

Kenny suddenly feels a pang of guilt about not hanging out with Butters more. Sure, they don't have much in common anymore besides their shared traumatic childhood memories, but Butters has always been genuinely nice to him, and being around him always felt like a breath of fresh air. Maybe he should make more of an effort. That Hello Kitty Island Adventure game looks pretty good - maybe Kenny will also add that to the list of games to get with the lawn mowing money so he can hang out with Butters more.

Once in South Park Middle School, Kenny hands Stan his earbud and proceeds to his locker to deposit his textbooks he took home to pretend to do homework in exchange for what he needs for first period, geometry.

He settles into his normal seat in the back, pulling his orange hoodie tight. He listens to his teacher drone on, bored out of his damn mind. Sometimes he feels like it isn’t fair he has to subject himself to this type of boring topic when he has more important things to worry about.

Kenny doodles absently in his notebook, sketching out different ways he might die today. Maybe the ceiling will collapse. Or perhaps he'll get impaled by a particularly sharp protractor. Death was getting pretty creative before it halted at the end of the summer - last time it was death by vengeful prairie dogs. That one had actually been kind of impressive.

The last thirty minutes of class are dedicated to working on the next assignment. Everyone's allowed to partner up, but Kenny usually doesn't bother. He finishes the problems in five minutes - not because he's trying to show off, but because math just makes sense to him. Numbers don't lie or forget you exist after you die.

From the corner of his eye, Kenny spots Wendy Testaburger wrestling with one of the more complex problems. Her face is scrunched up in frustration, teeth worrying her bottom lip as she glares at the triangle like it personally offended her.

"Stuck on number seven?" Kenny asks before he can stop himself.

Wendy looks up, surprise flickering across her face. Kenny gets it - they're friends, sort of, in that weird way you're friends with your best friend's on-again-off-again girlfriend. Wendy has often joined their friend group's activities throughout the years because of this. Though honestly, Kenny's lost track of whether Stan and Wendy are currently on or off. Last he heard, they were "taking space to focus on their individual growth" or some other phrase that definitely came from Wendy.

When she doesn't tell him to fuck off, he starts breaking down the Angle Bisector Theorem, sketching diagrams and explaining the relationships between angles and sides. He knows his drawing isn’t the best, but he has a feeling he’s breaking it down better than the teacher did earlier. There’s a reason Kenny blocks the teacher’s ranting off- he fucking sucks at actually teaching, and he kind of sounds like that accounting guy Barney from Parks and Rec with his monotone voice. 

They work through the problem together, Kenny explaining each step while carefully avoiding looking at the way Wendy's hair falls across her face when she leans over the paper. He's not about to catch feelings for Stan's maybe-current-girlfriend. He's died enough painful deaths without adding that drama to his life.

Wendy’s brown eyes light up with comprehension as the pieces come together. “Wait, I think I get it now!” 

Kenny watches as she shows her work on the pale yellow paper. She eventually gets to the right answer on her own with less prodding from Kenny, and Kenny smiles as she circles the correct answer excitedly. 

“Thanks, Kenny! You’re amazing at this.”

Kenny smiles modestly. “You don’t need to look so surprised. And, you know… it’s not too bad once you break it down. If you ever need help again, just let me know”.

Wendy nods. “I think I actually really will take you up on that”. She leans closer to Kenny and says in a low voice, “Don’t you agree that our teacher fucking sucks at actually teaching? He reminds me of that dude Barney from Parks and Rec.”

Kenny laughs and ignores the warning glance from the teacher up front.

After the final bell rings, Kenny is actually starting to feel optimistic about their lawn-mowing business. He and Stan managed to put up a decent number of flyers during lunch, and a few people had already taken some of those little tear-off phone number strips. Maybe he'll be able to afford that new Zelda game after all.

As he steps out of the classroom and joins the flood of students in the hall, he notices a commotion around the bulletin board. Kenny makes his way through the crowd to see what all the fuss is about.

"What. The. Fuck." Stan stops dead in his tracks, staring at the bulletin board.

Kenny follows his gaze and feels his stomach drop. Every single one of their flyers has been covered by a new poster. “Cartman’s Mowing Services: Cheapest Rates in Town” the flyers proclaim, with an obnoxiously colorful design that stands out more than Stan’s plain ones. There’s even a fucking headshot of Cartman in a suit with his brown hair slicked back standing in front of an obviously photoshopped beautiful lawn with his arms folded in front of him. Kenny is pretty sure he just photoshopped his headshot from his realtor days in front of the first Google search of ‘aesthetic Colorado suburban lawn’ that he could find.

"Is that... is that lens flare?" Stan squints at the poster. "Did he seriously add lens flare to a lawn care flyer? Also… did he seriously add a headshot to a lawn care flyer?"

Kenny shakes his head in disbelief. “Should've seen this coming, dude.” 

Stan scowls at the flyers. “Come on… let’s see if we can put these up or agree to some business.”

They spend the afternoon trying to undo the damage, but everywhere they go, folks just laugh them off, saying they've already got someone lined up.

As they walk past the community center, they notice a crowd hypnotizingly looking at none other than Eric Cartman himself sporting a new T-shirt that reads “Lawn Mowing Kingpin”. It matches the color scheme of his flyers. He's got a fucking microphone - because of course he does - and he's drawing a crowd with his usual mix of bullshit and showmanship.

"Guaranteed pristine lawns, speedy service, and the Cartman touch - all at unbeatable prices!" Cartman's voice booms. "And unlike certain... amateur operations, we provide professional-grade service with state-of-the-art equipment!"

Kenny turns to Stan, his frustration bubbling over. “What the hell are we going to do now?”

Stan just looks at Kenny uneasily as Cartman continues his pitch.

"Allow me to show you all my deck," Cartman announces.

"He made PowerPoint slides?" Stan whispers incredulously. "With animations?"

Indeed, behind Cartman is a projected presentation complete with spinning transitions and clip art of grass. Kenny watches in horrified fascination as Cartman clicks to the next slide, which features before-and-after photos that are definitely just pulled from Google Images.

After Cartman has finally finished his rambling, Kenny pushes through the crowd, Stan trailing behind him with a worried "Kenny, wait-"

Cartman looks their way and smirks. “Well, if it isn’t the amateurs. Here to take notes from the real pros?”

Kenny narrows his eyes, trying to keep his temper in check. "Cut the shit, Cartman. You know you stole our idea."

Cartman feigns innocence, his hand over his heart. “Stole? I don’t know what you’re talking about. There's no patent on mowing lawns, boys.”

"We've been planning this for weeks, asshole! And now you're fucking us over!"

Cartman laughs heartily. “Aw, did I ruin your little plans? Tough luck, losers. I’m gonna be so fuckin’ rich by the end of the month."

“You know you have to actually do the physical work of actually mowing the lawns, right? We’ve seen you do the snow shoveling act. It’s a one-star performance, at best. You wouldn't know hard work if it bit you in the ass. You've never had to earn a single thing in your life,” Kenny says angrily.

The mental image of Cartman doing manual labor is laughable. Kenny can barely picture him lifting anything heavier than a two-liter of Mountain Dew. Him, Stan, and Kyle had one time tried to drag Cartman along one winter to clear the snow from people’s driveways, and that did not go so well. Cartman refused to do absolutely any work at all while still trying to get a large share of the money, and the day ended with Cartman with a bloody nose thanks to Kyle. Kenny and Stan had to tear Kyle’s shovel away from him because they were worried he wouldn’t have the self-control to stop hitting Cartman with it once he got started.

Cartman scoffs. “And you've never had a single thing in your life period, Keeny. Except maybe lice. I know how to mow a fucking lawn, Keeeny. Besides, I’ve enlisted the help of Butters”.

“Come on, man. Don’t drag Butters into this,” Stan responds at the same time that Kenny says, “But are you gonna pay Butters?”

“Of course I’m gonna pay Butters, you assholes! It’s called delegating, losers. I’ll have you know that I run a very ethical business model.”

Kenny leans in closer to Stan and speaks softly, his voice laced with sarcasm. “Wow, Cartman’s really turned over a new leaf. He’s all about fairness and equality now.”

“Yeah, he’s always been a real humanitarian. Cartman, the only thing you know about ethics is how to spell it."

Cartman narrows his eyes. "Oh, and I suppose you're the expert on ethics, Stan? Did you learn that from your dad while he was getting drunk and fighting people at Little League games?"

Stan's face reddens. "Leave my dad out of this, fatass."

It’s silent as Kenny and Stan glare at a very pleased-looking Cartman. 

Kenny feels his anger build up. He’s lost control at Cartman before, and he feels like he is going to lose it again, but he doesn’t care. 

Kyle is hand down the easiest of the group for Cartman to push to their limits. Part of that is just due to Kyle’s personality- he just can’t let some of the shit Cartman says go. He can’t let a lot of things go in the moment. If someone says something that Kyle knows is wrong, it sets him off in a way that Kenny can’t typically relate to. Kyle has to be right, and he has to know that others understand the morality of whatever subject is being debated.  It’s a backbone he both admires in Kyle as well as wishes that for Kyle’s benefit he could learn to tone down.

Kenny really feels like he typically has his emotions under control. It’s one of the few things he’s proud of himself for, something he has actively worked on. Sure, it was a difficult thing to learn when he was younger. But he’s really has felt like he’s gotten to a place where he can demonstrate calmness in tough situations, whether that be when his parents and brother are arguing and he wants to calm Karen down, or if he wants to calm down a set-off Kyle after Cartman displays his most recent anti-Semitic remark. Or if he has to calm himself down when he remembers that none of his goddamn friends or family seem to understand his plights or his constant pain of dying all the fucking time. That part is often sometimes worse than the physical pain of the actual death.

But Cartman has a way of pushing even Kenny over the edge sometimes. He sure as hell knows how to push every person’s specific buttons to an uncanny extent, and Kenny worries that he will only get better at learning what those buttons are.

With all the pressure mounting on how overdue he is for a trip to Hell, today counts as Kenny being on edge. 

"Listen up, you fat fuck. I'm gonna fucking end you. Leave Butters out of your schemes and do your own goddamn work for once in your pathetic life."

Part of Kenny wants Cartman to start a physical fight. Hell, maybe Cartman can jumpstart his next death. That would be a fucking relief. 

Cartman just smiles, like he's getting off on Kenny's rage. Bastard probably is.

With a smug smile, Cartman dismisses their conversation, stating, “It’s been a nice chat, boys. Business is of course booming for me. Should you two boys decide you would like to participate in my business for a 10% share of the profits, I would be open to giving you some of the jobs,” before he turns around to take off. 

Kenny isn’t sure exactly what has gotten into him, but he doesn’t want to let this go. He was really looking forward to getting the new Zelda game, to distract himself from fretting on when Death will come for him next. He’s so exhausted from the suspension of it all. Sleep doesn’t quell his exhaustion, because he just dreams of Hell and all the ways he’s died before. He just wants to get away from it all. Breaking his back to mow lawns and then eventually being able to lose himself in a new video game fault like a lifeline for Kenny. He feels a sudden urge to destroy anything that gets in the way of that.

Kenny grabs Cartman’s shoulder, pulling him around to face him. Cartman is no match for Kenny’s death grip, so he turns to face him with a faux confused expression.

“You piece of shit.” Kenny bites out. His anger is boiling over, and he’s struggling to keep it in check. The combination of the relentless suspense about this next death and the frustration from Cartman’s antics makes him seriously consider resorting to violence. He’s torn between the urge to bash Cartman’s face in and the desire to wrestle him to the ground, trying to decide which he should do.

Stan is there in an instant, trying to pry Kenny off. "Kenny, dude, he's not worth it. Let's just bail, okay?"

But Kenny's too far gone. He needs this, needs to make Cartman hurt like he's hurting. Needs to feel something other than the constant dread of waiting for Death to come knocking. He shoves Stan off, not even registering the hurt in his eyes. All he can see is Cartman's stupid, punchable face.

"Fuck off, Stan. I'm sick of letting this asshole walk all over us. You might be cool with being a doormat, but I'm not."

Kenny is tightly holding onto the collar of Cartman’s jacket. Kenny needs Stan to back him up, needs to feel like he is justified in his anger. He wonders if this is how Kyle feels whenever Kenny and Stan are silent during one of his daily arguments with Cartman. He just needs some validation in his anger.

“Kenny,” Stan says with quiet desperation. His deep blue eyes are wide, looking fearful.  Of what, Kenny isn’t sure. Kenny looks to Stan to finish his sentence, to at least share in some of the anger he has, even in just his facial expression. But he doesn’t. Stan just stands there with his mouth partially open like he wants to say something, but doesn’t. Stan’s inability to take a stance intensifies Kenny’s anger, pissing him off more than Cartman.

Kenny lets go of Cartman’s collar. “Whatever, Stan. We just won’t get the fucking game.” He decides in that split second that none of it is worth it. Beating up Cartman isn’t worth it, and trying to get validation out of an increasingly nonchalant Stan isn’t worth it either.

Kenny storms away from the confrontation, his rapid footsteps echoing his frustration. Stan's distant call falls on deaf ears as Kenny remains fixated on heading home. Fuck him for not backing him up when he had the chance. 

Kenny’s anger almost feels relieving. He feels as though he has been so on edge on envisioning what his next death will look like that he hasn’t been able to feel any other emotion other than impending doom. He feels a sudden urge to let out his anger in a physical way. He takes off running on the trail behind the neighborhood, one that leads to Stark’s Pond. He isn’t necessarily dressed to go out for a run, but this doesn’t stop his sprint. It feels good. The path is illuminated by the warm, golden rays of the setting sun. Each step feels invigorating as he propels himself forward, determined to let go of his pent-up emotions.

He continues to run on the trail. He’s not pacing himself particularly well, just running at the pace that matches his anger, which is a pretty fast sprint for a while. He doubts he is running with the best technique, but he doesn’t care. His furious sprint gradually shows down to a more manageable jog. The rhythm of his breath matches the rhythmic pounding of his shoes against the trail, and with each step, some of the anger dissipates.

Kenny's steps slow as he senses an unusual stillness in the air. The sound of the crickets and rustling leaves are now oddly muted, as if nature itself is holding its breath. Kenny pauses for a moment, trying to shake off the uneasy feeling creeping up his spine. As he looks around, he notices something odd: a series of strange markings etched into the bark of a tree just off the path. Kenny reaches out to trace the symbols with his finger, but feels a jolt of electricity right before he makes physical contact. Kenny jumps back, startled. He glances around, half expecting to see someone watching him, but the trail is deserted. Shaking off the unsettling feeling, Kenny resumes his run. 

As he rounds a bend and nears the neighborhood’s basketball court, he spots Kyle in the distance, entirely engrossed in his solo basketball practice. Kenny slows down to a walk as he approaches the court, the repetitive thud of the basketball echoing in the still evening air.

Kenny is still trying to decide whether he wants to make himself known, but before he can make the decision, Kyle catches sight of him out the corner of his eye. “Hey, Kenny! What are you up to?”

Kyle jogs up to him at the end of the court, the basketball held against his chest. His sun-tanned face is flushed and sweaty, curly hair a little more frizzy and wet-looking like he has been practicing for a while. Unlike Kenny, Kyle is actually dressed up for physical exertion in basketball shorts and a South Park Middle School Cows T-Shirt.

"Just needed to clear my head," Kenny shrugs.

Kyle raises an eyebrow. "In that? You training for a marathon or something?"

"Nah, just felt like running."

Kyle studies him for a moment. "Stan texted me. Said you nearly ripped Cartman a new one."

The mention of Stan’s name makes Kenny scowl. He knows he won’t stay mad at Stan for long, but he really doesn’t want to talk about him right now. He’s still pissed at him. Fucking snitch. "Yeah, and? Not like you don't threaten to do that on the daily."

"Fair enough," Kyle concedes. "Wanna talk about it?"

"Not really."

"Play you for it. HORSE, loser spills his guts."

Kenny still doesn’t want to go home, so he nods. Kyle throws him the basketball.

They get through a couple of quiet rounds before Kyle breaks the silence. “So… what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just a little tired” Kenny says.

“Bullshit. You can tell me what’s wrong, dude.”

Kenny sighs, bouncing the ball a few times. "It's just...Cartman, dude. He gets under my skin like nobody else. And Stan just stood there, like always. Fucking pussy."

Kyle's face softens. "Dude, you know how Stan is with confrontation. He hates that shit."

"Yeah, I know. But just once, would it kill him to have my back? To not make me feel like I'm overreacting for getting pissed when Cartman fucks with us?"

"Welcome to my world," Kyle snorts. "You're usually on Stan's side when Cartman's riling me up."

And ouch, that stings. Because Kyle's right. Kenny always tells Kyle to let it go, to not sink to Cartman's level.

"Fuck," he mutters, running a hand through his hair. "I'm a hypocrite, aren't I?"

"Yeah... you are," Kyle agrees. "But hey, we all have our breaking points. Lord knows I've lost my shit on Cartman more times than I can count."

They have stopped their game of HORSE and are now absentmindedly just passing the basketball back and forth through a series of different passes. 

“I think Stan just really doesn’t do well with confrontation. He seems almost….Scared of it.” Kyle says softly.

Kenny looks up at Kyle. He wonders how much Kyle knows about the extent of Randy’s wrath. 

“Yeah. Cartman usually doesn’t go after him as much anyways, though”.

“Yeah, what the hell’s up with that? Maybe we should declare a ‘make fun of Stan’ day or something to redirect Cartman’s attention to someone else”, Kyle agrees.

They wrap up their game of HORSE, Kyle barely beating Kenny. Kenny may not be nearly as good in an actual game of basketball as Kyle what with not having the same level of practice in the intricacies of dribbling and passing and working with an actual team, but he sure as hell knows how to make a basket. They make small talk over geometry class (both in the same math level but different periods at school) and the upcoming basketball game against Middle Park Middle School.

“Yeah, I can see why you wanted to work on your three-pointers,” Kenny jokes.

“Yeah, yeah, asshole… I still think you should’ve tried to join the team with me” Kyle says, offering a swig from his water bottle which Kenny happily accepts. 

“Dude, just let me enjoy my last year before High School in peace. This is the last year I can get all D’s and not worry about it going on any transcript or anything.”

“Yeah, but it will affect your ability to get into AP classes! Don’t you care about that?” Kyle asks, sounding stressed on Kenny’s behalf.

Kenny just shoots him a knowing look. Kenny knows full well that Kyle knows that Kenny does not give a shit about getting into any AP classes, let alone a college.

Kyle’s face softens a bit. “Don’t you think a little bit about your future? Like what you want to do after High School?

Kenny shrugs. “I’ll just think about it when I get there”. And he means every bit of that statement. Why the hell would he be worried about that now?

Kyle sighs and mutters, “I don’t understand you and Stan sometimes.”

They have instinctively started walking towards their neighborhood, Kyle dribbling the basketball every once in a while. 

“We will be okay, dude. Actually, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that,” Kenny says.

“Huh?” Kyle asks absentmindedly. 

“”Don’t you think you’re stretching yourself a little too thin, dude? Life’s too short to stress about every little thing, man. And if you keep it up on this trajectory, trying to immerse yourself in every club and class you can, your mind will fucking break before we even make it through High School” Kenny says matter-of-factly.

As they stop at Kyle’s house, Kenny turns to look at Kyle. Kyle looks lost in thought.

“How about his- how about we meet in the middle? You come have dinner with me, and we do our homework, and then I’ll skip out on my student council meeting tomorrow so we can play Read Dead Redemption,” Kyle says.

Stan, Kyle, and Kenny spent basically the entire last half of 7th grade playing RDR2. It’s probably all Kenny will remember about his 7th-grade year, to be honest. And that’s saying something, because he literally died by gunshot by Donald Trump himself on national television (but of course nobody remembers) as well as died in one of his cheesing escapades. He was so damn close to touching that chick’s tits when his heart collapsed.

Kenny is certainly not opposed to Kyle skipping out on his little club or playing RDR 2, but homework? He hasn’t done one bit of his homework yet this semester and doesn’t want to break that streak.

Kyle looks at him expectantly. “Wendy told me how good you are at geometry, and believe it or not, I could use some help on it. So, please? Also, my mom’s making brisket tonight…”

Brisket is really all Kenny really needs to hear. It's really what Kyle should have just led with. He grins. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Broflovski."

Kyle smiles back and shakes his hand. “Deal, McCormick.”

Chapter Text

2035

Stan sits in his car, the untouched envelope heavy in his hand. The sun's going down, casting long shadows across the lot. He can't bring himself to open it, not after the fucking nightmare fuel that was in the first one. The car mirror chimes softly, reminding him the battery's running low. He'd disabled the louder alerts after nearly wrecking the first time it spooked him. Still, it's enough to snap him out of his daze.

He stops for Chinese takeout on the way home, more out of necessity than hunger. The last few days have been a blur of booze and misery, his appetite gone along with any shred of normalcy. Before heading inside, he shoves the picture and the unopened envelope into the glove box. Out of sight, out of mind. For now, anyway.

The mirror lights up with 5 missed calls. Stan must have been too in shock in the parking lot to realize someone was trying to call him. He doesn’t recognize the number. He sighs- he pays extra for t-mobile AT&T Max specifically because they advertised that they finally have AI technology that can block scam numbers. So much for that. 

Stan orders his mirror to turn on the TV. He knows he won’t be able to focus on anything, but he just needs something on for background noise. He puts on MasterChef Love Island Plus, where people are sent to an island to find love as well as demonstrate to some 70 year old British dude that not only are they charming enough to find their soulmate, they can also cook really well too. Stan finds the premise eye-roll-worthy, but he leaves it on. A mind-numbing show seems like a good distraction, even if the absurdity of the concept isn’t lost on him. One of the contestants is wearing a chef's hat and a neon pink swimsuit, frantically trying to sculpt a love confession out of sushi rice.

Picking at his food, Stan cautiously takes small bites. His stomach's in knots, and the last thing he needs is to hurl again. Depression always kills his appetite, makes everything taste like cardboard. But he forces himself to eat, knowing he needs the calories to function.

Stan reluctantly orders his mirror to play the voicemail from the mysterious number. Initially met with silence, he contemplates dismissing it as a forgotten call from a scammer. 

Just as he’s about to end the playback, a faint whisper emanates from the surround sound on the mirror, signaling the commencement of the voicemail. A chill races down Stan’s spine, goosebumps raising on his arms and neck.

“Kenny… poor Kenny. He's seen the abyss that awaits,” a voice whispers. The whisper turns into sudden laughter.  “Did you really think death could keep him down, Stan? Oh, how naive….”

Stan’s heart races. The whisper continues.

“The stars align, the time comes near. Your friend danced with the dark for too long. Now, the dance ends, and the real spectacle begins. We are everywhere, Stanley Marsh. We know who you are. We know your family. Be aware: in the city of R’lyeh, where dead men go, madness will find you. You’d better prepare yourself, Stan.”

The message concludes abruptly.

Stan shoves his food away, nausea rising in his throat. What the actual fuck was that? Some sick prank?

Stan angrily pulls out his phone and navigates to the Recent Calls section. He doesn’t know what compels him to do it, but he presses the ‘Call’ button for the number that Kyle had called him from last night.

Kyle barely gets out the first syllable in his greeting before Stan yells, “Why the fuck are you doing this, Kyle?”

"Whoa, what? What are you talking about?"

“You know what! First, sending me that fucked up picture at my work?  And the voicemail? Why are you doing this?” 

"Picture? Voicemail? Stan, slow down. I have no idea what you're-" 

"Bullshit! You're the only one who knew about Kenny, the only one with a reason to fuck with me like this!"

"I didn't send you anything, asshole! I don't even know where you work!"

Stan pauses, doubt creeping in. Kyle sounds genuinely confused, pissed off.

"...You didn't send the picture to my office?"

"No! I haven't sent you shit in years, you know that."

Stan rubs a hand over his face. If Kyle didn't send it...

"Did you... did you get anything? About Kenny?"

A beat of silence. "Yeah. A USB drive. Showed up at my place in Denver."

"What was on it?"

Kyle hesitates. "You first. What picture?"

"No way. You tell me what was on that drive."

"Jesus, are we five? Fine. But if I do, you have to meet me tomorrow night. Bring the picture. If we're gonna figure out what happened to Kenny, we need to put our heads together."

Stan grits his teeth. The last thing he wants is to step foot in the Broflovski house again, to spend any more time with Kyle than absolutely necessary. But he thinks of Kenny's lifeless eyes, the eerie voicemail, and knows he owes it to his friend to get to the bottom of this.

"...Okay. Deal."

Kyle takes a shaky breath. "It was a video. Of you and Kenny, when we were kids. You were crying about something, and Kenny looked pissed. He stormed off, and you didn't even notice, you were so upset. And then..."

"Then what?"

"Then a fucking piano fell on him, Stan. Crushed him flat. And you just...kept crying. Like you didn't even see it happen."

Stan's blood runs cold. "That...that never happened."

"I know! But it was you, and Kenny, and I ran it through every deepfake detector I could find. It's real, Stan. Or...it looks real, anyway."

"Jesus Christ," Stan mutters. The picture, the video...none of it makes sense.

"So what was in yours? The picture, and the voicemail?"

Stan takes a deep breath, forcing the words out. "The picture...it was us. You, me, and Kenny. In Cartman's basement, in our old superhero costumes. Only Kenny...Kenny was dead. Shot in the head."

Kyle sucks in a sharp breath. "Fuck."

“And the voicemail… it was some creepy voice. It would almost be comical if Kenny weren’t actually dead — it was like they were trying to reenact some type of horror movie phone call. I don’t know, dude, I just have to play it for you tomorrow. The caller knew my name and knew that Kenny was dead and basically told me to look out.”

Kyle still takes a moment to respond like he’s gathering his thoughts. “Could you actually meet up tonight instead? I could meet you somewhere.”

Stan really doesn’t want to, and it takes a lot in him to agree to it. This is for Kenny, he reminds himself. Also, it would be better to get it over with, and this would mean he wouldn’t have to set foot near Kyle’s childhood house. He thinks going there would be way too triggering.

“Where do you live?” Stan asks. 

“Denver. Pretty close to Heaven’s Pass Hospital in the downtown area. I’d say we can meet somewhere public, but I don’t think that’s a good idea. The video is super graphic. I can send you the add-“

Stan cuts him off. “No, I just got back from work from Denver, and don’t think I can make the drive again. I feel sick as fuck. I live in Arvada, could you just come here?”

“Fine. Text me the address and I can be there in half an hour.” Kyle sounds like he wants to get this over with as quickly as possible as much as Stan does.

Before Stan can think too much about it and change his mind, he ends the call and quickly sends Kyle his location. 

He walks out to his garage to retrieve the envelopes, making sure to keep the picture face down. He paces the apartment until he hears a knock on the door. Stan's stomach churns as he opens the door to Kyle's knock, that same distinctive pattern he'd know anywhere. Like muscle memory, his body reacting to a sound buried deep in his bones.

“That was a faster drive than I thought it would be,” Kyle says as Stan opens the door for him. “I didn’t know you work in Denver too.”

Stan just shrugs, swallowing down bile. His heart is racing and he just wishes his body would give him a fucking break and stop being so dramatic. 

It is bizarre to see Kyle after so many years. He looks pretty much the same as when he last saw him in college, just a little older. But that’s likely due to the dark copper beard he has now, trimmed down in a way that suits his face very well. His curly red hair looks softer than ever, as if he is going to a hairdresser that actually knows how to do it right. He also looks paler than usual, but Stan supposes that must be because he works in a hospital all day.

Kyle’s green eyes stop scanning Stan’s small apartment and eventually rest on Stan. “Wow, you look -“

Stan cuts him off. “We can skip the small talk. Let’s see this video you were talking about.” Stan gestures Kyle to follow him into the living room to sit on the sofa.

Kyle nods and pulls out an old MacBook. “I had to dig this out because no new technology supports these types of flash drives anymore. I need to plug it in. It’s so old that it only works if it’s plugged into a power source at all times.”

Stan silently takes the other end of the charging cable and quickly locates an outlet that the couch is pushed against. He kneels down to plug it in.

“Dude, what the hell are you watching?” Kyle asks, sounding amused. 

Stan turns around to face the TV. He completely forgot that anything was on TV. The TV has a generic blonde looking woman giving some kind of speech on why her biscuits and gravy are the reason her love interest should be wanting to fuck her right then and there and how it’s a big conspiracy that she didn’t get a rose.

“Fuck if I know. All these shows are batshit these days,” Stan mutters, resuming his spot on the couch as far away from Kyle as he can get.

“I’m surprised they didn’t combine this show with Survivor as well.”

“Don’t jinx it… that’ll probably be the show next year. Love Island MasterChef Survivor Naked and Afraid Max,” Stan groans.

A ghost of a smile flickers across Kyle's face, there and gone again as he jams the USB into the port.

"I’m assuming you are going to make me show you my thing first before you show me the picture and voicemail."

Stan just rolls his eyes. You just have to deal with him for Kenny. Just for now until you figure out what’s going on, he reminds himself.

Kyle pulls up the video and Stan mutes the TV, nodding at Kyle to go ahead and press play on the video. Kyle wastes no time in clicking the play button, and the video begins.

Nine, maybe ten years old. Stan in his old blue hat, Kenny in that ratty orange parka. They're on Main Street, Stan bawling his eyes out on the curb while some movers wrestle with a piano across the way.

The audio's shit, but Stan can make out his own wailing. Kyle's name, over and over.

Kenny's harder to read, his face obscured by the parka. But the set of his shoulders, the flash of his eyes...he's pissed. Really pissed. Not that Stan seems to notice, too caught up in his own misery.

And then...

The piano falls.

Kenny disappears beneath it, there one second and gone the next.

And Stan...Stan just keeps crying. Like he doesn't even register the fucking grand piano that just crushed his best friend not ten feet away.

The video ends, frozen on Stan's hunched, sobbing form. Future Stan flinches, horrified.

Stan stares at the paused image of his younger self, his mind reeling. This has unlocked memories he had long since buried, but at the same time leaves Stan confused as hell when it comes to Kenny's role in it all. He turns to Kyle, who didn’t watch the ending of the video. Kyle’s eyes are glued shut. “Is it over? I can’t watch that part again.”

“It’s over.” Stan does not recognize his own voice.

“So… do you remember it?”

Stan nods, throat tight. "Not the piano bit. But the rest...yeah. I remember."

"What was it about? Why were you so upset?"

Stan looks away, blinking hard. "It was when you were in the hospital. When you needed that kidney transplant, and your mom was on that fucking holistic kick. Wouldn't let the doctors do anything 'unnatural.'"

Kyle frowns. "But that got sorted pretty quick, didn't it? Cartman was a match."

"No, it wasn't that simple, Kyle. You were in there for weeks, dude. I thought...I thought I was gonna lose you." The words catch in his throat, the old fear rising up to choke him. "I went to the doctor myself. Begged him to let me give you my kidney. But I wasn't a match. And your mom...she wouldn't listen."

Stan laughs, the sound hollow and brittle. "I was so fucking desperate, Kyle. I almost cut Cartman open myself, ripped that kidney right out of him. But I figured out another way, in the end. Tricked him into it."

Kyle is uncharacteristically silent. He keeps looking back at the pathetic still image of Stan crying to looking at the real-life Stan, his expression unreadable. Stan returns a wary look to Kyle. If Kyle makes some type of teasing comment about the way Stan is crying over him in the video, Stan will lose it and kick him out of the apartment. Luckily, Kyle seems to have the self-awareness not to. 

“O….okay,” He says cautiously. “Uh, thanks? I guess? For tricking Cartman?” 

Stan feels incredibly uncomfortable. “You don’t have to thank me for anything, Kyle. That was ages ago. Anyways, this just doesn’t make sense. Kenny obviously never got struck by a piano. And I have no idea why he’d be so pissed off at me.”

Kyle cocks his head, thinking. "Do you remember where Kenny was during all that? When I was in the hospital?"

Stan frowns, wracking his brain. The memories are hazy, tinged with panic and despair. He'd been so laser-focused on saving Kyle, everything else had fallen away. "Not really. I know he wasn't there when I conned Cartman into the operating room. Or after, when you were recovering."

Kyle’s face scrunches up as he thinks for a while. They are both lost in thought. It is incredibly odd that Kenny wasn’t present for when Kyle got better- he should almost certainly be in Stan’s memories of going through with tricking Cartman as well as seeing the aftermath. Stan’s memories are certainly fuzzy, but he’s pretty sure Kenny wasn’t there. But Kenny is Kenny…. Sure, maybe he didn’t have the same extreme attachment to Kyle as Stan did at the time, but he sure did love him all the same. It doesn’t make sense that he isn’t present in those memories.

“Yeah, I don’t remember him visiting me after the surgery. Looking back, it was like that a lot with Kenny? Right?” Kyle asks uncertainly. 

Stan’s frown deepens further. He feels like a terrible friend for just now realizing that Kyle is right- there do seem to be lots of gaps of memory of Kenny missing from key moments in his life. Moments in the weird happenings of South Park that Kenny should be in with no explanation as to why he’s not there. But as Stan racks his brain, there are many that Kenny is just…. Missing from. Surely he would have realized this before now? How is he just now registering this?

"He did miss a lot of school," Stan says slowly. "But...you're right. It's more than that. It's like...like I'm just now realizing how much he wasn't around. For big stuff, important stuff."

Kyle nods, his face pinched with confusion and concern. "Ever since I got the news, it's like...I'm remembering not remembering, if that makes sense. Like there's this void where Kenny should be, but I never noticed it until now."

Stan's stomach churns, a sickening sense of wrongness settling in his gut. Nothing about this adds up, from the gruesome messages to the holes in his own mind.

He pushes off the couch, needing to move, to do something. His hands shake as he grabs the envelopes from the counter, the world tilting dangerously around him.

There’s no way Kenny is actually dead, right? Kenny will call him any minute now to confirm the plans for tomorrow’s Broncos game, and they’ll grab a couple beers at the sports bar before the drive to Denver, and —

"Stan? Hey, you okay?"

Kyle's voice seems to come from far away, muffled by the roaring in Stan's ears. His vision tunnels, black spots dancing at the edges.

Strong hands grip his shoulders, guiding him back to the couch. He sinks into the cushions, breath coming in sharp gasps.

"Easy, dude. Head between your knees, yeah? Deep breaths."

Stan obeys, too dizzy to argue. He focuses on the press of Kyle's fingers against his neck, counting the frantic beat of his pulse.

Slowly, the world comes back into focus. He lifts his head, blinking away the spots.

Kyle's crouched in front of him, brow furrowed with worry. “Can you process what I’m saying now?” 

Stan nods, too exhausted to speak. 

“Stay there, I’m going to grab some water. Have you eaten anything today?”

Stan just shrugs. Technically he has, but he knows that two bites of his dinner plus a protein shake hardly counts as a reasonable day’s meal plan. Not to mention yesterday’s granola bar and thrown-up fire whiskey, but that was a whole day ago that feels like it was one year ago at this point anyways. 

Kyle sighs, and Stan knows it’s taking him a lot not to lecture him on it as he has so many times in the past. He just gets up to the kitchen. Stan hears the water run, and Kyle returns with a glass full of water. It seems he has also found his stash of Costco protein shakes, because he is also opening one of those. 

"Drink. All of it,” Kyle instructs. 

Stan looks up at Kyle with a pained expression. His throat feels like it’s closing in on itself, and he can’t speak, much less try to swallow anything right now.

“Drink it now. The faster you do it, the faster you get it over with.”

Stan and Kyle play a staring game. Stan wishes he could telphaphically yell all the insults at Kyle that runs through his head right now, much less vocally explain his predicament of feeling his lungs constricting. But all he can do is try to show that to him in the form of his glare, but Kyle just continues to give him a stern look in return. 

Goddamnit, why does Kyle have to be so stubborn? It’s so fucking annoying that Stan reaches the point to where he picks up the glass of water and half chokes on it as he tries to swallow it down.

“I know it sucks, but I promise you won’t die trying to swallow anything,” Kyle says.

Stan gives a fierce grunt in response, having downed the entire glass. He slams it down on the coffee table. Like hell that Kyle actually understands how much it sucks. 

“Now the same for the protein drink.” Kyle hands the plastic bottle over to Stan.

Stan just stares at it warily in response. After a minute, Kyle sighs and grabs Stan’s hand to place the drink in it. Stan hurriedly clasps his hand over it so Kyle will stop touching him. He stares at it in his hand and sighs, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Look, Stan,” Kyle begins in a tone much gentler than before.

Stan does turn to look at him as he instructed, but Kyle doesn’t return his gaze. He’s staring off into the distance as he continues.

“I know you don’t trust me. I don’t trust you either, for the record. So that’s one thing we know. We don’t trust each other.”

Stan looks at Kyle in confusion. He’s not sure how this obvious statement is supposed to convince him to drink the protein shake.

Kyle turns to meet his gaze. “We’re both doing this for Kenny. Because I know you care about Kenny. I’m not asking you to trust me, Stan. But I am asking you to work with me here for Kenny’s sake. I care about Kenny, too,” Kyle’s voice breaks down, but he composes himself before any real tears come out.

Kyle continues.  “And there’s something weird going on that we need to figure out. But in order to do that, you need to take care of yourself. If not for yourself, then for Kenny.”

Stan looks down at the protein drink in his hand, mustering up the courage to down it. It takes a couple of minutes, but he eventually dumps it in his mouth, trying to down it as quickly as possible like he did with the water. He coughs at the end, both from his throat still feeling constricted and the speed at which he downs it all. 

“This one, too,” Kyle says. He’s holding out another protein drink.

“When the hell did you get a second one?” Stan complains.

Kyle ignores his question. “You know, Boost makes a drink that’s over 500 calories. You should look into buying those. I prescribe them as a temporary thing to some of my patients sometimes.”

Stan frowns down at the new protein shake, but takes it out of Kyle’s hands. He wishes he had a different flavor other than the chocolate, but they don’t come in variety packs. Kyle seems to relax a bit more and he instructs the mirror to play the sound on the TV. He gets up to sit back at the opposite end of the couch again. “You can show me the voicemail and picture after the food settles in you a bit. You’re so shaky, dude. Your heart rate is way too high. Try to drink that one a little slower.”

Stan takes a small sip and glances at the TV. “We can change the channel to something else,” he says weakly.

On screen, an ancient Ryan Seacrest announces the return from commercial break. This is the future, so people live for a long time. "Welcome back to 'Masterchef Love Island Plus,' where our contestants are heating things up, both in the kitchen and in their hearts...and beds." His voice drones on, explaining the day's ridiculous challenges.

Kyle snorts. "No way, dude. You subjected me to this trainwreck when I walked in, so now you've gotta suffer with me. I didn't even know this show existed."

“Fine- but I don’t take any responsibility for any brain damage it causes. That’s all on you.”

The show indeed is a confusing train wreck. One of the chicks is attempting to create some homemade pasta ‘just like nonna’ while trying to add some ‘aphrodisiac spice blend’, because apparently she thinks she’s a witch too. Stan wonders about the implications of consent and how that works if an aphrodisiac blend actually were a real thing. 

Kyle rolls his eyes. “I already lost all my brain plasticity that time you guys forced me to watch Ancient Aliens.”

“Did you know that show’s still going? With the alien dude with the crazy hair and everything.”

"How do they even come up with new content after all these years?"

"I think they combined it with Pawn Stars or some shit." Stan continues to take small sips of his drink, his stomach starting to feel better than it has in several days. 

Stan and Kyle are quiet for a moment as they watch the show with amused expressions. Gordon Ramsay is now yelling at one of the contestants. "Your souffle collapsed, and so did your chances at love!"

Stan and Kyle burst out laughing. "He's been waiting his whole life to use that line," Kyle wheezes.

"Oh, we can totally come up with better lines than that, dude. Like.... 'Your risotto is as cold as your heart, and unfortunately, neither will be warming up tonight," Stan grins.

Kyle chuckles and counters, "Or, 'Your steak was rare, but so are your chances of finding love here."

"You spiced up the dish... but you couldn't spice up our relationship. It's time for you to leave the island," Stan says.

For a moment, the sadness in Kyle's eyes lifts, and Stan feels a flicker of warmth in his chest.

"You might be a master at filleting fish, but when it comes to love, you're just floundering around," Kyle adds.

Stan grins. "You may have won the cooking challenge, but in the game of love, you're definitely chopped. Oh wait.... Chopped is a different show. Damnit. Eh, they'll probably combine it with this one by next year anyways."

“The future fucking sucks, dude. All it is is old people living forever and big companies combining together. I see you got yourself the Sony PlayStation Apple Max.” Kyle points to the console on the makeshift bookshelf turned TV console under the TV.

“Hell yeah, I did. What was I going to get, the Xbox Nintendo Plus like you probably did?”

Kyle and Stan laugh, remembering the time they almost started a real war after arguing whether they should get the XBox One or PS4. Stan still can’t believe Kyle stooped so low as to commit the cardinal sin of getting Stan grounded. That was an illegal war crime.

“Actually, I do have the XBox Nintendo Plus, thank you. And I will still die on the hill that it’s better than the PS4.”

Stan scoffs. "No shit, that was like 20 years ago. The Sony PlayStation Apple Max though? It’s clearly the better gaming system.” 

“Yeah, but the SPSAM doesn’t have the new Read Dead Redemption 4 Forza Horizon Plus,” Kyle states.

Stan nearly chokes on his shake. "Red Dead what now?"

“You heard me right the first time. RDR4 Forza Horizon Plus. Exclusive to the Xbox Nintendo. Remember 7th grade?”

“No, actually I remember nothing from 7th grade. Because we spent the whole year playing RDR2,” Stan laughs.

Kyle smiles faintly as if lost in memory. “Same. But anyways, don’t knock it till you try it. I drive my Forza cars around the 1890s towns like they’re my horses. I have a pretty sweet set up with my Stingray Corvette where I can easily lasso the bad guys.”

The image sets Stan off again, laughter bubbling up from someplace deep inside. "You're telling me you're out there galloping through the Wild West in a Corvette?"

"You got it," Kyle says. "And the horses have their own garages."

Stan shakes his head. "That's insane, dude. So, you're telling me that in the middle of an old Western shootout, you can be out there in a Mustang, but instead of the horse kind, it's like... an actual Ford Mustang. Jesus, what has the gaming industry come to?"

"Like I said, don't knock it till you try it, dude. You can still ride horses too, and even customize them."

"Why the hell would I want to pimp out a horse?"

"For every train robbery, you get a bonus mission to race the train. If you beat it, you get extra gold bars. It's a pretty revolutionary game, Stan. Instead of 'Wanted' posters, you get speed cameras capturing your face."

Stan shakes his head, grinning. "Fuck that. I'm gonna dig out my old gaming PC and make you play RDR2 again, so you remember what a real game is like."

Commercials come to signal the end of the show. “They aren’t even going to tell us who gets the roses or who gets sent home?” Stan asks.

“I miss the person I was before I had to watch that,” Kyle says.

“Like I said, that’s on you.” Stan responds. He has finished his protein shake and feels much more grounded. His body’s lack of extreme physical reactions pours into his mind, making it feel more clear than it has in a while.

Time to get this over with.  “Ok, ready?”

Kyle nods, turning the volume down on the TV. 

“So, I actually got two envelopes. I haven’t opened the other one. The first one freaked me out enough.”

Kyle looks a little annoyed at the new revelation, but doesn’t say anything. Stan figures he has been struggling all night to not start arguments just like Stan has. 

“Actually… here, I’ll play the voicemail first.”

Stan orders his mirror to replay the voicemail from earlier. Stan carefully watches Kyle as it plays. Kyle flinches at the taunting whispers in the voicemail, his face growing more and more confused by the end. 

“What the hell?” He asks. 

“Yeah, how the hell do you think I feel? Whoever it is knows my name and all about Kenny. Do you think whoever it is did something?”

Kyle gives a response in between a head shake and a shrug. “I’m gonna need a lot more information.”

He reaches for the envelopes, turning over the photo. He bites his lip as he examines the photo and shudders. “What the fuck?”

“Yeah, that’s what I said.”

Kyle hands the unopened envelope to Stan. “I’ll let you do the honors.”

Stan shakes his head, a cold sweat breaking out on his neck. "No way. You do it."

"It's got your name on it, not mine, dude."

With a sigh, Stan takes the envelope, his fingers trembling as he rips it open. To his relief, there's no gruesome photo or ominous flash drive. Just a letter, handwritten in a painfully familiar scrawl.

He angles it away from Kyle, his heart in his throat as he reads.

“Stanny Boy!

I’m so sorry to leave you like this, dude. I know this letter is going to hit you out of nowhere, and for that, I'm sorry. I wish I could've done it different. But shit's gotten way more complicated than I ever thought.

I got some big asks for you, Stan. More like commands, really.

First- play nice with Kyle. You can’t do this all on your own. You and Kyle need to work together, alright? As an equal team. I mean it. Frankly, I don’t give a shit about your old arguments and to be blunt, they don’t matter in the large scale of things. You can go back to ‘hating’ each other afterwards; I don’t give a fuck.

Second - take care of yourself, will you? I'm not just talking about eating right or getting enough sleep (though... do that, too). I'm talking about that inner battle you're fighting. Don't shut yourself off from the world, Stan. It needs you, more than you know.

Lastly- don’t give up, even if it seems tempting. Try to get closer to everyone in South Park- anyone of them can be involved in this. It has to be one of them that is orchestrating this, so keep any potential suspects close. Don’t let anyone know that you are investigating this.

Remember all those weird adventures we had as kids? The ones that feel more like fever dreams than memories? Turns out, that was just the tip of the iceberg. There's a whole lot more going down in our little mountain town than any of us knew. and you and Kyle are perhaps a little more caught up in all of it than I would like you to be.

I had to peace out for good this time, and for damn good reason. There's stuff I hope you can remember, and stuff I need you to figure out. Wish I could spell it out for you, but I've got eyes on me even now. They're watching my every move, reading every word. One clue I’ll give you- your workplace specialty should help you out, I would think.

Anyways, I have to go now. Just know - if anyone can crack this case, it's you and Kyle. Trust your gut, dude. You've always had killer instincts.

Sorry, Stan. I love you, man.

-Kenny”

By the time he finishes reading, Stan's vision is blurred with tears, the letter shaking in his hands. So Kenny was aware he was going to die? Why didn’t he talk things through with Stan first? Why leave such an unclear letter instead? Is this a suicide letter? It doesn’t feel like a suicide note, but how the hell else could the letter be categorized?

“Stan, what is it?” Kyle asks quietly.

Stan wipes his face and folds up the letter. “A letter from Kenny.”

"Are you gonna ask to see it?" Stan finally bites out, an edge to his words. "Because it's personal, Kyle. From Kenny to me. And it's vague as fuck anyway. All you need to know is that something bad's going down, someone in South Park is behind it, and Kenny...Kenny knew he was gonna die."

He leaves out the bit about his job. That feels like a piece of the puzzle meant just for him.

“No, I’m not going to ask to read it. I got a letter from Kenny, too.”

"And you didn't think to mention that until now?"

"You said it yourself, it's personal," Kyle snaps. "Besides, it's not like it gave me any real answers. I'm just as lost as you are."

Stan drags a hand through his hair, frustration and grief warring in his gut. "So what the hell do we do? We're flying blind here, Kyle. We don't even know where to start."

Kyle sighs, looking as beaten down as Stan feels. "I was hoping putting our heads together would clear things up, but I'm more confused than ever."

Stan wants to scream. Wants to tell Kyle to get the fuck out, to down a handful of sleeping pills and pray this was all just a sick nightmare. He puts his head in his hands.

But he can't. He owes it to Kenny to see this through, no matter how much it hurts. He takes a deep breath, forcing himself to think like a detective, not a grieving friend. Treat it like any other case. Keep his distance, stay objective. Pretend Kyle is just another partner he got saddled with, not the ex-best friend who shattered his heart.

One thing he’s learned from countless investigations is that sometimes you have to be comfortable in not knowing things, as much as it sucks. Beating a dead horse isn’t going to help them. You have to be just as confident in what you don’t know as what you do know. Stan’s pretty confident that they don’t know pretty much anything, so the ball is in their court to actively look for the next thing.

“Okay," he says, his voice steadier than he feels. "First things first - we need to find out how Kenny died."

Kyle frowns. "I told you, they're not releasing the autopsy report. And trust me, I've got access to all the state databases. Even the confidential ones."

Stan files that away for later. Kyle's not the only one with insider access.

"Then we go to the source. Any chance it'll be an open casket?"

"Doubt it. Karen said they're doing a cremation, but it won't be done in time for the funeral. Something about needing more time to determine cause of death."

Stan nods, his mind racing. "In suspected foul play cases, they often hold the body longer for further examination. Do you know where they've got him now?"

“They’re keeping it at the hospital I work at in Denver, Heaven’s Pass. They've got a full medical examiner's office, not just a coroner like back home."

“Kyle. You have clearance to the building that Kenny is in right now?” Stan asks, annoyed. Why the hell is Stan the one proposing this option when it was dangling right in front of Kyle’s nose this entire time?

“You’re not saying…. No, Stan. No way!” Kyle sputters.

Stan gives Kyle an incredulous look. “Dude! This is the only way we can try to figure out the first steps of what happened, let alone what we need to do. And the option of doing so is right there! At your fucking place of work! Give me one good reason why we shouldn’t pay his body a visit.”

Kyle’s eyes narrow. “Reason one: The Medical Examination section of the hospital is closed off. Just because I have clearance to the hospital doesn’t mean I have access to that section. And even if I do, it would raise lots of questions, which brings me to reason two. Reason two: I could lose my fucking job. I signed a contract before stating that I would never try to access medical information that doesn’t have relevance to my patients, which brings me to reason 3: I could lose my fucking job! I only have 2 months left of residency, Stan. Just two months! Do you know how fucking long residency is? And to just lose your job right at the end of it with no time to-“

“Okay, Kyle. Shut up for a second,” Stan says, holding his hands up in exasperation. Stan knows that Kyle is only going to keep going and needs to put an end to his ranting right away. He never should have asked him to give him reasons, because now that he has, Kyle can and will give an hour-long dissertation on the subject. The stupid question Stan asked is only going to make Kyle think of more reasons not to do it. Stan mentally hits himself for being so stupid; he should have remembered Kyle better than that. You have to convince him other ways, not ways to get him second-guessing. That’s like… lesson one in ‘How to Get Kyle to Do Things: 101’, a book Stan could have written in his sleep as a kid.

“You said you aren’t allowed to look up anything not related to your patients? Then how do you know that they don’t have his autopsy yet? And don’t say ‘cuz Karen told you. You and I both know you looked it up in the database at your work. So, either Kenny is your patient, or you already went against the rule,” Stan points out. He’s trying to stall while he tries to think of a way to salvage this and convince Kyle that they don’t have any choice but to go see Kenny’s body. He decides for security reasons to not mention that Reason 3 was an exact repeat of Reason 2.

Kyle glares at Stan. "Okay, so I bent the rules a little. But this is Kenny we're talking about! There's a big fucking difference between peeking at a database and breaking into a goddamn morgue! I get that you want to do something, I do too. But we can't just go off half-cocked without a plan. We need to be smart about this."

Stan bites the inside of his cheek, fighting the urge to snap back. “Kyle. We need to act, not just sit around analyzing things. You said it yourself- this is Kenny we’re talking about, dude. That’s why we have to do it. This is the only logical next step, and I think you know that. What else are we supposed to do, just sit here and passively wait for the next thing to happen? Hope we get another goddamn video of Kenny dying in the mail?” 

Kyle’s eyes pinch closed. “Can you at least understand where I’m coming from? I can’t put my job in jeopardy, Stan. We can think of something to do that isn’t passive, but you have to see this from my point of view as well if we are working as a team.” His voice is strained, trying to sound calm, but not quite passing as such.

Stan wonders if Kenny also lectured Kyle in his letter to him about playing nice with Stan. Probably. Stan makes a mental note to himself that when he finally gets to die and go to hell to tell Kenny that he’s an asshole.

Stan sighs. He doesn’t know too much about the medical field, but he knows the past several years can’t have been easy for Kyle to secure. He also knows that finally getting to end residency is a huge deal, and that getting fired at the tail end of it would effectively leave Kyle with astronomic amounts of debt with virtually no way to ever get a job in the medical field again.

“I promise you won’t get fired,” Stan says.

“How the fuck can you promise that?” 

“Can you just show me where the Medical Examiner’s wing is? If I go to your work? And I can take it from there. You don’t even have to come with me.” 

“Absolutely not. There’s no way you’d be let in, and even if you were, you don’t know enough to get a thorough examination done yourself,” Kyle retorts. 

“You don’t need to worry about that, Kyle. I can find a way in. And I’m pretty sure I don’t need a medical degree to get at least some of the basics of the situation. If it makes you feel better, I can take pictures for you to review later for your expertise.” Stan regrets saying this last part, because he doesn’t actually want to take any pictures whatsoever of Kenny in this state.

Kyle laughs bitterly. “You’re so confident you can be let in? What are you gonna do, charm the workers? That’s not going to work, Stan. Security is heightened especially near the medical examiner’s wing.”

Stan rolls his eyes. He’s done enough eye-rolling tonight to last him a year. He’s sure his looks actually don’t hurt in terms of getting people to cooperate with him, but that’s certainly not what he was planning, and it’s ridiculous that Kyle would even suggest that. 

“No, Kyle. I have different ways to get in.” He reaches into his wallet to pull out his detective badge. “This can get me in anywhere, especially an M.E. Office. It’s gotten me into Medical Examiner offices before, dumbass.”

Kyle’s glare back at Stan… Jesus, if looks could kill. “You think you could have, I don’t know… led with the fact that you’re a fucking detective? How the fuck was I supposed to know that, you asshole? The last time I saw you you were literally drunk on your ass every night."

Stan shrugs. “It just didn’t come up in conversation.”

Kyle shakes his head in disbelief. “That has everything to do with what we’ve been discussing, Stan! This changes a lot of what we can do!”

Stan meets Kyle’s glare with his own. “Like what? How does it change what we can do? You want me to start looking things up on my own databases for our secret investigation? Because I was already planning on it. Even though, by the way, I could also technically get fired for it because I sign the same type of fucking work agreement you did where I’m not supposed to use any resources except for the investigations I’m assigned to work on. But unlike you, I’m willing to do anything for Kenny.”

Kyle stands up with a jolt and begins to aggressively pack the old MacBook into his laptop messenger bag, yanking the charger from the outlets with way too much strength that Stan is relieved to see it didn’t pull the entire socket off the wall. 

“Where the hell are you going? Are you just giving up like that?” Stan asks.

“No, Stan. I’m not giving up. But it’s late, and we’re getting nowhere tonight.” Kyle looks around the room and pats his bag as if he’s trying to make sure he’s not forgetting anything, then whips around to look Stan dead in the eye, hardly any distance between them. Stan can feel the warmth of Kyle's breath on his face, can see the way his green eyes flash with a mix of frustration and determination. 

“Meet me at the hospital tomorrow at 6 p.m. I can’t make any promises that I’ll be off by then because the hours in the emergency room aren’t exactly planable, but you can fucking wait for me if I’m not out yet. Don’t you fucking dare try to go see Kenny without me. And if you do end up doing any research with your own resources about any of this, don’t do that without me either, you understand?” Kyle’s tone sounds deadly, and his eyes match his tone. It’s unsettling enough to make Stan silently nod, shivers running down his spine.

“Fine,” Stan says as Kyle walks towards the front door.

“Fine,” Kyle repeats back. And then he’s gone. 

Stan slumps back against the couch, his head spinning. Jesus, what a fucking night.

He's not sure what's more surreal - the fact that Kenny's dead, or that he's somehow working with Kyle again, after all these years. He wants to believe it'll be different this time. That they can put aside their baggage and focus on what matters. But the old hurts run deep, and Kyle...Kyle's always known just how to get under his skin.

Still, he'll play nice. For now. For Kenny's sake.

There is one thing he is grateful for, despite the horrific nature of the things sent in the mail and the subsequent confusion and self-doubt it’s brought. He’s glad he has this to take his mind off of things. For a minute there, he was worried he’d have nothing to think about but Kenny’s death and his own depression. This is exactly the kind of distraction he needs, one where he can practice emotional distancing.

He drags himself to bed, his mind whirling with unanswered questions and half-formed plans.

The sleeping pills hit fairly quickly, and Stan falls into a very vivid nightmare. In his dream, Stan finds himself wandering through the dimly lit corridors of the hospital, but it's Hell's Pass Hospital in South Park, not Heaven's Pass in Denver where he's headed tomorrow. He's searching for Kenny. Each turn takes him deeper into a labyrinth of sterile, white walls that seem to twist and morph before his eyes. As he navigates the hospital's maze-like structure, Stan's dream shifts, and he finds himself standing in the middle of Stark's Pond in South Park, which has also transformed into an impossible maze. Stan looks around to see many South Park residents surrounding him, all quiet. He searches the maze for Kenny, but his friend is nowhere to be found.

The dream takes another turn, and Stan is suddenly outside the South Park Catholic Church, the sky pitch black. He looks up to see the stars rearranging themselves into strange, arcane symbols he can't decipher. A cold wind whispers through the trees, carrying with it a faint, chilling laugh that seems to mock his attempts to understand what's going on. Stan is overwhelmed by a feeling of helplessness. As the night wears on, the nightmares continue to torment Stan, each one more unsettling than the last. He tosses and turns, not being able to even catch a glimpse of where Kenny is in his nightmares despite searching for him the entire time.

Chapter Text

2019/2020

Death finally comes for Kenny in December, because of course it fucking does. Just his luck too, since it happens right before the long-anticipated two-week holiday break.

But no, one minute he's trying to warm up in his dad's old shitbox of a Tacoma, since the heat in their house is nonexistent, and the next thing he knows, a goddamn squirrel decides to lodge itself in the exhaust pipe. Cue truck going up in flames, and Kenny once again getting yeeted into the after-death plane.

Looking down at his non-physical body, Kenny sighs. Not this again. He is still standing in South Park at his parent's home, but he knows he is dead. The fact that he just moments ago was literally burning was the main giveaway to this fact, but so too is the fact that his body has no physical form. Well, at least he didn’t end up in hell this time.

Kenny’s after-death experiences tend to be inconsistent. It’s usually a 50/50 shot as to whether or not he ends up in hell or some type of hellish place or if he just simply floats around the earth as a ghost. Kenny hesitates to call himself a ghost because it sounds so cheesy, but he supposes that’s what he currently is for lack of a better term. He has yet to run into another ghost though.

He did make it to heaven a total of 3 times. The first time Satan sent him there after he sacrificed for his friends and turned the results of the US/Canadian war around. The second time, he was roped into some weird Hell vs. Heaven war as the chosen one. The third time was due to doing a brief stint in Mormonism. He went and got himself baptized for protection and was greeted by Mormon missionaries in heaven the death after his baptism. Unfortunately, his parents found out about his baptism after the Mormons wouldn’t stop coming to their house and they pretty quickly had them revoke his baptism.

Kenny sighs, wishing Death could have taken him a couple of weeks ago so he didn’t have to do his English presentation rather than before the winter break. He was looking forward to playing on the Switch with Stan and Kyle and avoiding his holiday homework. Death never comes at convenient times, though.

Kenny still isn’t sure how the logistics of how existence works after he dies. His friends and family seem to mildly notice if they witness it firsthand, but rarely in a way that displays any real grief. He usually will remain dead from anywhere from a couple of days to a couple of weeks before he wakes up in a physical body in his bed, his friends and family never seeming to notice that he was gone for a while. It’s pretty weird, as if there is some type of force or magic that puts gaps in their brains to keep them from dwelling on his absence in the moment as well as in their memories. 

Kenny watches with bored disinterest as his dad shouts at Kevin to help to get the flames out. The Tacoma was a piece of shit anyways. Maybe the fire will help keep the house a little warmer.

Kenny floats down the street, figuring he may as well creep on his classmates and get the juiciest South Park gossip while he's in ghost mode. Not like, watching them in the shower type creeping. Just harmlessly eavesdropping for intel. Sue him.

He makes it to Cartman's house in record time. Cartman's always been his favorite to fuck with. He's the only one Kenny's managed to get a rise out of while ghosting around. The only one he can really haunt and torment. Kenny slips through the front door to find Liane and Eric at the dinner table, eating some meatloaf and mashed potatoes.

“But maaaaoooom”, Cartman whines. “I don’t want my old iPad. It’s 2 years old. I want the iPad Pro.”

“Eric, I am not having this conversation with you anymore. I can’t buy you a new version of every electronic when it comes out, pooksiekins,” Liane states.

“You’re a bitch! This is why none of my friends come over here anymore, you know that? It’s because every time they come over here they have to witness you fuck me over! The least you can do is take me out to dinner because I like being to at least be wined and dined before I’m FUCKED.”

Eric continues his speech and Liane just sighs, tuning him out. Kenny's had his fill of dysfunction for one day. He phases back out through the door, leaving Cartman to his tantrum. Liane's been cornering him and Stan at church lately, practically begging them to come hang with Cartman more. She's even offered to pay them. And honestly? Kenny gets it. Cartman's a lot to deal with solo.

There's a reason they spent so much time at his place as kids. No annoying siblings, no hovering parents, endless snacks. It's still tempting sometimes, but then they remember, oh yeah. They don't actually like Cartman. And Kyle would definitely commit murder if forced to spend extra time with him. No, the only time they willingly include Cartman these days is for D&D. It pains them to admit, but the guy's got one hell of an imagination

Kenny hurries away, zero interest in subjecting himself to more of Cartman's grating whining. It used to be hilarious, but now that they're older it just seems sad and pathetic. He slips into Kyle's house next door. This is their new default hangout spot. Not ideal, with Sheila constantly hovering and Ike wanting to join their every move, but it beats the alternatives. Kenny's place straight up reeks, according to his so-called friends. And Stan's is a no-go, between Randy's insanity and Shelly's wrath. So, Broflovski house it is.

The smell of freshly baked challah wafts through the house, the glow of the menorah candles casting a warm light. Kenny mentally takes bets on what Kyle's up to, then remembers betting against yourself is pretty fucking stupid. But if he had to guess? He's probably doing homework. Kenny floats past the living room to go to Kyle’s room, Ike fully engrossed in the news. 

Kenny loses his own bet as he finds Kyle parked at his desk, Switch controller in hand, while Stan's sprawled on the bed with the other. They've got the Switch hooked up to Kyle's monitor, angled so Stan can see. The room's dark except for the flashing screen. Kenny tries to ignore the little sting of jealousy at not being invited. They both look tired, dark circles under their eyes. Stan is urging Kyle to use his special power in the game and Kyle just grunts in response.

"I don't know what to get her," Stan says suddenly.

“Huh?” 

"Wendy. For Christmas. No clue what to get her."

Kyle rolls his eyes. "Dude, why are you even getting her anything? You broke up. Again.... a while ago."

“Yeah, I know, but we decided that we want to stay friends. And it’s actually been going okay this time around… like, we’ve managed to stay actual friends this time and I don’t want to fuck that up.”

Kyle sighs, putting the controller down as they reach a stopping point. “You know what she’d really want for Christmas from you?”

“What?”

“You to finally start giving a shit about school.”

Stan groans. "Aw, come on..."

"I'm serious, dude. High school's coming up fast. I'd like you to actually graduate with me."

As Kyle slips into lecture mode, Kenny can't help but snicker. Sucks to be Stan right now. It's nice to not be the one on the receiving end of one of Kyle's lectures.

"Hey," Stan says, clearly trying to change the subject. "Have you noticed Wendy and Kenny hanging out a lot lately?"

Kenny's ears perk up at the mention of his name.

"I mean, I guess," Kyle shrugs. "But Kenny's been helping her out with math and science and stuff. Dude's lowkey a genius."

"Right? I don't get why people always look so shocked when he says something smart. Like, no shit he's got brains. Doesn't mean he has to be a tryhard like you." 

"Remind me who's currently saving your ass from repeating 8th grade?"

"...Shut up."

Kenny beams at this. It really has been annoying navigating all the surprised looks when people learn that he is very good at math and science. He always has been; he just doesn’t care to ‘apply himself’ as Kyle would put it. And it’s true that he has been spending a lot of time with Wendy, but not necessarily true that it’s all strictly academically related. Sure, they help each other out- Kenny with her physics and geometry homework and Wendy helps Kenny with his English assignments. Kenny has found that he just likes spending time with her, so they use the schoolwork as an excuse but oftentimes end up just gossiping or talking about life. Kenny hasn’t thought much of it, but listening to Stan mention it makes him feel a little bit guilty. He swallows down the guilt. Why should he feel guilty? Wendy is Kenny’s friend. They’ve technically been friends since they were 9 years old. It’s not like he’s doing anything wrong by enjoying her company.

"For real though... you think something's going on with them? Kenny and Wendy? Like... more than just studying?"

Kyle looks slightly uncomfortable. He scratches the back of his head.  "I don't know, dude. Maybe? But you know Wendy, she's just... friendly. And Kenny flirts with everyone."

"Yeah... yeah, you're right. I'm just a jealous asshole sometimes," Stan says softly.

Kyle unpauses the game. "Huh. Rogue, really? Figured you more for a boring ass warrior."

"'Cuz, I'm sneaky as hell and you know it." Stan proceeds to viciously backstab a dragon.

"Touché, douchébag." Kyle mashes buttons furiously. "Hey, should we invite Kenny? I feel bad for blowing him off."

Stan and Kyle share a loaded look, an entire unspoken conversation passing between them. The hell?

After a long pause, Stan shrugs. "If you want, I guess. But, uh. I was kinda hoping I could crash here again tonight? I just... I really don't want to be alone."

Kenny frowns. Again? He specifically remembers them feeding him some bullshit about family stuff last night when he asked them to hang out. What's with all the fucking secrets?

Kyle nods. “We’ll invite Kenny over tomorrow for a bit, then. I feel bad for lying to him last night. Also, you can stay for as long as you need to, you know that right? Promise me that you’ll always call me whenever you feel like last night?” 

Stan nods. Kyle seems desperate to get a verbal response to this, which Stan picks up on. Sighing, Stan says, “I promise.”

“You swear?” Kenny doesn’t think he has heard Kyle’s voice sound so scared and helpless before.

“That’s the same thing as promising, Kyle. You want me to do a blood oath too? A pinky promise while I’m at it?”

Kyle doesn’t laugh, the desperation remaining in his eyes. Stan’s face softens a bit, and the sarcasm is no longer in his voice when he quietly says, “I swear, Kyle. And I promise.”

Okay, now Kenny's kind of feeling like a major asshole for eavesdropping. 

The atmosphere in the room feels somber. They quietly start on another level of their game, and after a moment of silence, Kyle says, “Stan?”

“Mhm?”

Kyle looks like he wants to cry. Or punch something. "I really think you should talk to my parents, dude. Or someone. You need help, professional help."

Stan fucks up in the game, dropping the controller like it’s a snake.  "No fucking way! Kyle, drop it."

“You have to tell someone, Stan! Someone who’s an adult. Not just me.”

"I said no!"  Stan shouts. The raw anguish in Stan's voice shocks them both into silence.

For a minute, there's no sound but Stan's ragged breathing. Then, a quiet sniffle. Stan curls into himself, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Kyle looks completely lost. He sets his controller down gingerly and goes to perch beside Stan on the bed.

"Hey," Kyle murmurs, slinging an arm around him. "It's okay."

Stan just cries harder, hiding his face in Kyle's shoulder. 

Kenny feels like the biggest creep in the world. He shouldn't be seeing this. It's too personal, too intimate. Not for his eyes. He backs away slowly, phasing through the wall. Stan will tell him what’s going on if he wants to. Kenny suddenly no longer feels upset that they didn’t invite him over. 

Kenny paces the empty streets, his mind spinning. He was gonna pop in on Wendy, maybe see what she's up to, but after that scene at Kyle's... fuck. He feels shaken, like he just witnessed something way too personal. Something not meant for his eyes. Even if it does sting a bit, being left out of whatever Stan's going through. He respects Wendy too much to invade her privacy, too. 

It's better to just keep on drifting. Gotta find a nice quiet spot to ride out this whole 'being dead on Christmas' thing. Maybe up in the mountains? Nothing like a little soul-searching surrounded by nature and shit.

"Kenneth McCormick." A low, ominous growl stops him cold.

Kenny whirls around, hackles raised. What the fuck? No one should be able to see him right now, let alone know his name. Unless... is he alive again already? He looks down at himself. Nope, still a ghostly boy. 

A figure emerges from the shadows, cloaked in a dark grey robe, hood obscuring their face.

"Uh. Can I help you?" Kenny asks warily, trying to play it cool. It's not like they can actually hurt him in this state... probably.

”You cannot cheat death forever, boy," the figure says, voice like gravel. "Your fate has long been a topic of discussion among them. Since your infancy."

"Okay, that's not creepy at all," Kenny mutters. Louder, he says, "Who are you?"

The figure's voice is a low rumble. "I am but a messenger, Kenneth. A know all about truths you've long sought, yet feared to confront."

Kenny's heart pounds in his chest. "What truths? Look, mysterious-robed dude, can we not be weirdly cryptic right now? Are we talking about my... condition?"

The figure nods slowly. "Indeed. Your unique fate is intertwined with ancient forces. Forces that lurk beneath the surface, in the shadows of the world you know."

Kenny steps closer, his ghostly form shimmering slightly. "Are you talking about a cult? Something to do with... Cthulhu?"

The figure's laugh echoes around them. "The Cult of the Damned, yes. You know of the ancient ones, then. And those who foolishly seek to control them."

"I know there's always been some seriously weird shit going on in this town. And that apparently, I'm at the center of it. So yeah, if you've got any info on why I keep dying and coming back, that'd be great."

The figure considers him for a long moment. "Your existence defies the natural order, Kenneth. It is an anomaly that draws the attention of powers older than time itself. The cult believes they can harness this anomaly for their own gain."

A chill runs down Kenny's spine. "Harness... me? What does that mean?"

"It means you are being watched, child. Your every death, every resurrection, is noted and analyzed. They seek to unravel the mystery of your immortality. And in doing so... to control it."

"That's batshit," Kenny breathes. "I'm just a fucking kid."

"And yet, this is the path fate has set you upon. Know this, Kenneth McCormick: every cycle has its closure. Even yours."

”What the hell are you talking about? Who the fuck even are you? Do you know why I can’t die? Please enlighten me,” Kenny says desperately.

But the mysterious figure has already vanished.

Death has a twisted sense of humor, because it keeps Kenny down for the exact duration of the winter holidays and brings him back to the living right in time for the Monday back to school. 

"Kenny! Hey!" Wendy smiles brightly at Kenny as he slouches into Geometry. Kenny grins back, trying to ignore the way his heart does a little flip at the sight of her.

"How was your break?" she asks, leaning forward eagerly.

"Oh, you know. Same old, same old. Yours?"

Wendy launches into a story about her cousins visiting from Oregon, her eyes sparkling with excitement. Kenny tries to focus on her words, he really does, but he keeps getting distracted by the way her face lights up, the cute dimples in her cheeks, the way her glossy black hair falls over her shoulders. He fights the urge to reach out and pull her hair behind her ear.

Shit, is he staring? He's totally staring. Kenny blinks, snapping out of his Wendy-induced haze. Fuck. Stan might've had a point about him spending too much time with her lately.

“Did you get any cool presents?” Wendy asks, jolting him back to reality.

"Uh, not really. Just the usual stuff, I guess." Kenny thinks of how he spent his Christmas, haunting Main Street like the world's most depressing Dickens character. Watching other families' happy holidays through frosty windows. Trying to visit Karen, wishing he could've gotten her something nice. He had planned on picking up some shifts at City Wok before the squirrel incident.

After class, Wendy says, “You know what we should do? We should watch the new Star Wars movie that came out last month! I still haven’t seen it. I was going to ask Stan if he wanted to, but then remembered how awful it is to watch movies with him.”

Kenny laughs. Even though he already knows why, he asks, “What do you mean, it’s awful to watch movies with him?”

Wendy makes a face. “It’s like he’s a fucking movie critic. But none of my other friends are really into Star Wars, so I thought maybe we could watch it together? We can invite the other guys too, if you want. Kyle, Clyde, Tolkien..."

“No!”  Kenny blurts out, too fast and too loud. Wendy's smile falters. Shit. "I mean, not 'no' to going with you. Yes to that, absolutely. I just meant... dude, you should see him and Kyle together. Trust me, it’s way worse”. Kenny shudders to think what it would be like to watch the new Star Wars movie with them. Those two have made their distaste for the new Star Wars movies abundantly clear. Kenny thinks it will be best for humanity if they just sit out watching this one.

You've convinced me. Tolkien and Clyde though, they'd probably be down."

Kenny stamps down the flare of disappointment at the idea of a group outing. He was kind of hoping... no, never mind. Wendy's not gonna want to hang out with just him. Not like it's a date or anything.

"I'm free whenever, just let me know what works."

"Awesome! It's a date then." She beams at him.

Wait. Does she mean like, a date date? Or just a regular friend hang out type deal?

Fuck, why are girls so confusing? Why is he overthinking this?

The next couple months fly by in a blur. Kenny and Wendy's movie trips turn into a regular thing, happening every other week like clockwork. Sometimes it's just the two of them. Other times they drag along Butters, Tolkien, Clyde. Even Bebe, Nichole, and Heidi join in here and there. More often than not, they end up crashing in someone's basement, binging Netflix or Hulu till their eyes bleed. Kenny dies a couple more times, but the deaths are relatively painless, and he only stays dead for a couple days at a time.

One of the days Kenny finds himself roped into watching a Netflix show the girls wanted to watch called ‘Anne with an E’. He isn’t particularly interested in it, but isn’t all that opposed to watching it. Tolkien, Clyde, and Scott were invited, but dipped out as soon as they hear the title. Bunch of insecure assholes. Kenny's never understood the whole "girly show" stigma. It's fucking stupid. So it's just him, Wendy, Butters, Bebe, Nichole, and Heidi sprawled around Wendy's basement, a massive bowl of popcorn between them. Kenny's cross-legged on the floor, Wendy perched on the couch above him, her legs dangling.

"Two more episodes, then you kids need to head out!" Wendy's mom calls from upstairs.

A chorus of groans. "But it's Friday!" Wendy protests.

"I don't want to hear it! Now, I'm bringing down some pizza in a minute, it's almost ready."

The mention of pizza brings back a happy atmosphere, and the group forgets about having to go home. Kenny shifts uncomfortably as Wendy's mom appears with the pizza, paper plates, and water bottles in tow. He can feel her disapproving gaze boring into his skull. It's not exactly a secret that Wendy's parents aren't his biggest fans. Wendy keeps trying to have their study sessions at her place, but Kenny always finds an excuse to keep it at school. Call him a coward, but he'd rather not endure the judgmental looks and loaded questions. The McCormick reputation precedes him.

"Wendy, sweetie, why don't you invite that nice Marsh boy over anymore?" her mom asks innocently.

Kenny's stomach twists at the way Wendy blushes. "Mom, I told you, we're not dating anymore."

Her mom just shrugs, heading back upstairs. "Well, it wouldn't hurt to stay friends, is all I'm saying."

Wendy jabs the pause button, her face still flushed. The others exchange curious looks.

"What? We should eat before the pizza gets cold. Mom said two episodes, not when we had to watch them."

“Why don’t you ever invite Stan to these things?” Heidi pipes up around a mouthful of pepperoni.

“Yeah, I thought you guys are still friends. And I know him and Kyle get along pretty well with Tolkien. Plus Kenny- you’re pretty good friends with him too, right? So it would make sense if we invited him to these things,” Nichole chimes in.

“Best friends,” Kenny corrects her in between bites of pizza. He knows why he hasn’t invited Stan deep down (and he knows it isn’t still because of his tendency to critique shows, because they’ve watched plenty of shows Kenny knows Stan actually would like and respect). He’s just curious to hear Wendy’s response to these questions. Besides, the questions are directed to her anyways.

“I thought Stan was best friends with Kyle,” Heidi says.

Kenny just grunts in response. They all turn to Wendy, who looks flustered. 

"Guys, it's not a big deal," Wendy huffs. "I just... I don't want things to get weird, okay? Stan's got a lot going on right now. It's better if we keep some distance."

“I don’t think that’s what the meaning of ‘friends’ is. We should invite him to more things. He's really fun when he's not all sad and stuff,” Bebe says.

“Did you know that Carly has a crush on him?” Nichole gossips. Carly is in Student Council with Wendy, and they’ve been pretty good friends since the 6th grade.

“Yeah, so does pretty much half the grade,” Heidi says rolling her eyes.

“Yeah, but Carly is Wendy’s friend! You aren’t supposed to crush on your friend’s ex! That’s fucked up,” Nichole says.

The other girls and Butters nod in agreement. A pit forms in Kenny’s stomach and he sets his pizza slice down, no longer very hungry. Nichole’s statement feels like an accusation launched directly at him.

"Fellas, I'm real confused," Butters chimes in, his face scrunched up. "I didn't even know Wendy and Stan dated! I thought that was just a silly little fourth-grade thing."

"Guys, can we please stop talking about Stan?" Wendy grits out. "And I really don't give a fuck who has a crush on him, okay?"

Yeah, Kenny's not buying that for a second. He recognizes the tension in her shoulders, the anxious twirl of her hair around her finger. She cares. Wendy presses play on the show, and they are relatively silent throughout the next two episodes. Kenny finishes his pizza only because he doesn’t want to waste it, having lost his appetite. He steals glances at Wendy.

At the end of the second episode, Wendy’s mom turns on the lights and passes around the garbage can for the kids to dispose of the paper plates and unfinished pizza crusts. “Everyone who needs a ride, come on and pile in the car,” she says.

Butters, Nichole, and Heidi stand up to take her up on the ride offer. Bebe, who lives next door to Wendy, gives Wendy a hug goodbye and heads out. Wendy’s mom turns to Kenny, who very obviously doesn’t live nearby. “Kenny?” She asks, the politeness in her voice gone.

“Oh… thanks, Mrs. Testaburger, but I was just planning on walking,” Kenny mutters. He lives the furthest away from everyone in the shitty part of town and really doesn’t feel like being left alone in a car with her to be interrogated. 

“Alright, but you best be leaving now,” she says. Kenny nods.

As the others trail after Wendy's mom, Wendy's hand darts out to catch Kenny's wrist, stopping him in his tracks.

“IHey, um. It’ll probably be a little bit before my mom gets back from dropping everyone off,” she says shyly. 

Kenny's pulse kicks into overdrive at the feel of her fingers on his skin. Wendy seems to realize she's still touching him and pulls back slowly, a pretty blush staining her cheeks.

“Thanks for coming over. I know this show isn’t really your cup of tea."

"Nah, it's not so bad," Kenny lies through his teeth. The truth is, he has no fucking clue what the show's even about. He was too busy sneaking glances at Wendy all night, trying to ignore Bebe's suspicious looks.

"Can I ask you something?" Wendy bites her lip, looking uncharacteristically nervous.

Kenny's stomach flips. "Shoot."

"I've heard some...rumors. About you. Like, that you dated Tammy Warner last year. And that you've...you know. Done stuff. With girls."

Oh. Oh shit. Kenny's mind races, trying to figure out where the hell this is coming from. “I haven’t done anything like that in a long time,” Kenny says honestly.

"I'm not judging you, Kenny. I just...I need to know that's not why you've been hanging out with me so much. Because I'm not... I'm not ready for that stuff yet."

Kenny's jaw drops. "Dude, no! Of course not! Wendy, I like spending time with you because you're awesome, not because I'm trying to get in your pants. I'm not that kind of guy."

Wendy looks guilty. "I know, I'm sorry. I didn't really believe the rumors. I just...had to ask."

"You don't think I'm some kinda creep, right?" Kenny hates how small his voice sounds.

"No! No, Kenny, not at all. I wouldn't keep hanging out with you if I did."

Kenny sighs. "It just sucks, y'know? Having this rep because of my family. Everyone assumes I'm this dumb, perverted, white trash loser, and-"

"I've never thought that about you," Wendy cuts in fiercely.

Kenny makes a face. “That’s just because I’ve always had Stan and Kyle to back me up, and you listen to Stan.”

“I’ve formed my opinion on you myself. But yes, Stan has always really respected you.”

Kenny should be a good friend. He should ask about Stan, or end this right here. But against his better judgment, he asks, “And what is your opinion of me?”

Wendy meets his gaze head-on when she simply says, “I think that you’re… I think I really like you, Kenny.”

Holy shit. Holy fucking shit.

Kenny's heart pounds as he inches closer to her on the couch, until their legs are pressed together, the heat of her seeping into him. Slowly, carefully, he reaches up to cup her face, relishing the soft feel of her hair sliding through his fingers. He searches her eyes for any hint of hesitation, any sign she doesn't want this.

But Wendy's looking at him like he's the only thing in the world, her hands coming up to rest on the back of his neck, pulling him in, and he's leaning down, and her eyes are fluttering shut, and-

The basement door bangs open.

They spring apart like they've been electrocuted, retreating to opposite ends of the couch. Kenny's pulse is going a mile a minute, his breath coming fast.

Mr. Testaburger appears at the bottom of the stairs, his brows furrowed.

"Why is the McCormick boy still here?" Kenny frowns, not pleased to be talked about in the third person as he sits in the same room as them.

“I was just leaving,” Kenny says, quickly, jumping to his feet.

“Are your parents picking you up?” Wendy’s dad asks.

“No, I was going to walk.”

Mr. Testaburger gives Kenny an odd look. “Quite a bit of a walk at this time of night in this weather, don’t you think?”

Kenny does his best to make his voice sound casual and not at all like he is terrified of Wendy’s parents. “No, sir. I do nightly runs and was just going to do that now.”

This is true- after he realized what a relief it was to run after he almost got in a fistfight with Cartman over mowing lawns back in September, he has taken to running fairly often, never in good running attire or good form, but still getting out some of his frustrations in probably one of the healthiest ways he ever has. Ever since he’s started hanging out with Wendy, he’s made a lot of gradual changes and now that Kenny looks back on it, he feels like a healthier person in general. He hasn’t resorted to cheesing or even alcohol once this school year, and his grades are the best they’ve ever been between Wendy and Kyle’s insistence to do study sessions. 

"Goodnight, Kenny!" Wendy calls as he books it up the stairs. He throws a quick "'Night!" over his shoulder, not daring to look back.

He can hear Mr. Testaburger's stern "Young lady, we need to have a talk" as he reaches the top of the stairs, and his stomach sinks. Kenny gets a bad feeling that this chat they are having likely involves himself as the topic. Probably for Wendy’s dad to lecture her on how creepy he is or something.

He steps outside, the cold air a shock to his overheated skin. His mind's still reeling, his heart still pounding. Wendy likes him. Wendy fucking Testaburger likes him, Kenny McCormick. Holy shit.

He takes off at a run, his blood singing, a giddy laugh bubbling up in his chest. He feels lighter than air, his feet barely touching the ground. This is the best night of his life, the best he's ever-

His foot hits a patch of black ice and he goes flying, skidding into the street right as a car comes speeding around the corner.

The last thing he sees is a blinding flash of headlights. The last thing he thinks is "You've gotta be fucking kidding me."

Then-

WHAM.

Goddamnit.

“Did you guys hear about that new virus going around? I heard they shut down all the schools in New York City. That’d be fuckin sweet if school got canceled here too”, Cartman declares one March morning at the bus stop. 

Kyle rolls his eyes. "They're not canceling school, fatass. They're just doing it online."

Great. A new virus. Kenny wonders how long it will take for him to catch it and inevitably die.

“Online school doesn’t sound too bad,” Stan says.

"I guess," Kyle says doubtfully. "But I heard in New York, they've got everyone on lockdown. No leaving the house, no hanging out with friends, nothing."

Stan and Kenny shudder at this.

"Dude, that sounds like actual hell," Kenny says, pulling a face.

“Yeah, maybe for you, Keeny. Since you live in that little shack that smells like ass that you call a house," Cartman snickers. "But I still think it’d be fucking sweet."

Turns out, they don't have to wait long to find out. Seemingly overnight, South Park flips its shit. One minute they are in school, and the next they are sent home early with orders to take everything home out of their locker.

Kenny was also sent out with a school-issued Chromebook. There is a limited amount to give out, and Kenny easily makes the cut of being one of the poorest families to qualify for the assistance.

"Sign here to acknowledge that this is a loan, for schoolwork only, to be returned at the end of the year," the teacher says, shoving a paper at him.

Kenny barely resists the urge to ask if porn counts as schoolwork. He scrawls his name and hightails it out of there, Chromebook tucked under his arm. He spots Stan and Kyle outside in the swarming crowd and jogs over, dodging elbows and backpacks.

“How long do you think this is going to last?” he asks. Everything feels bizarre, and it all seems to happen so fast.

“Hopefully just a couple weeks,” Kyle say, but he looks uncertain.

Stan doesn't say anything, just scuffs his sneaker against the pavement, hands shoved deep in his pockets. 

“Well, maybe we can still hang out,” Kenny tries, bumping his shoulder against Stan's.

Kyle gives him an uncertain look. “I’m down to try, but my parents are already acting kind of weird about this. They say we can only go out of the house on essential business.”

“Getting out of the house to hang out with friends is essential business,” Stan complains, kicking at a rock.

“Even if we can’t, we can still do things online. I got this from the school,” Kenny says, holding up his Chromebook. “I can finally download Discord.” By download Discord, he means pull it up in a private web browser. He doesn’t think the school will actually care but will still be careful anyways. 

Kyle's eyes light up and he makes grabby hands at the Chromebook. "Ooh, lemme see that real quick. I bet the school loaded it up with all sorts of shady spyware. Gotta make sure they're not watching your every move."

Kenny hands it over readily and Kyle gets to work, brows furrowed in concentration as his fingers fly over the keys. He mutters to himself as he goes, something about invasive tracking and shitty firewalls.

After a few minutes, he passes it back with a satisfied nod. "There, should be good. And for the love of god, don’t watch porn on this thing; the entire school administration will see what you’re into.”

"Wow, you guys really think I'm just some hormone-crazed perv, huh?" Kenny jokes, clutching at his chest in mock offense.

Stan is a million miles away, a wrecked look on his face, and Kyle's watching him with helpless concern.  Kenny still isn’t quite sure what happened over the Christmas break, but something has seemed to permanently break in Stan. Even Sunday mass is much more muted, even though Kenny has been dying to get revenge on the old woman in the pew in front of them. One of his goals for 2020 is to break the old woman to the point where she actually murders Kenny, but Stan isn’t really working enough with him on this goal. It’s hard to get Stan to joke around. Kenny has waited for Stan or Kyle to explain what’s going on, but they haven’t mentioned anything, and Kenny isn’t the type of person to force things.

 Kenny doesn’t like this depressing feeling, feeling an obligation to keep the spirits high. If they have to do a stay-at-home order, it is probably better that they don’t have mental breakdowns yet. It’s way too early for that.

"Hey," Kenny says, throwing an arm around each of their shoulders. "We're gonna get through this, yeah? Even if we're stuck inside, we'll still talk every day. I'll make us our own Discord server and everything. It'll be just like normal, only more... virtual."

Kyle starts to say something, but he's cut off by the unmistakable screech of Sheila Broflovski. "Kyle! Bubbeh! Get your tuchas over here, right now! You shouldn't be this close to people during a pandemic!"

Kyle groans. “Ma! I’ve been around Kenny and Stan all day. If they have the virus, I would have caught it by now and it makes literally no difference if I’m still with them. Can I please at least hang out with them this afternoon?”

“Absolutely not, Kyle! Get in the car right now!”

Kyle rolls his eyes. Before he can walk off, Kenny side-tackles him with a bear hug, leaving Sheila to look horrified. Kenny hides his laugh with his hand and Kyle lets out a breathless laugh, trying to pull himself out of Kenny’s death grip. “Yeah, bye to you too, Kenny.”

Kyle turns to Stan and places a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll figure something out, dude. You won’t be alone.”

Stan doesn’t say anything as Kyle gets in the car with his mom. They can hear Sheila lecture Kyle even as the car drives off.

Then it's just Kenny and Stan, standing in awkward silence as their classmates disperse around them. Stan's back to murdering rocks with the toe of his shoe, a furious intensity to the action that Kenny doesn't like one bit. Kenny keeps his distance as he plays his brooding rock soccer, though Stan's careful to not let any of the rocks get airtime.

Kenny doesn’t know what to say to him. Stan has been rather depressed the past couple of months, and as much as Kenny hates to admit it, he tends to not hang out with Stan as much when he gets in these episodes.  He’s always left that up to Kyle. It’s pretty well-known among Stan’s closest friends that he’s always prone to a certain type of melancholy that they can’t relate to, but it usually comes and goes pretty quickly.

Stan hasn’t had an episode this bad or this long since he was around 10 years old. Sneaking another glance at Stan, Kenny feels guilty again. Stan’s eyes look incredibly pained, and Kenny desperately wishes there is something he can say to help. He knows from experience that there isn’t. Remembering how close he is getting to Wendy deepens the guilt he feels.

Even though he still knows the answer, he asks, “Are you okay, Stan?”

Stan shrugs. “I can’t spend a couple weeks at home with my family with no way out, Kenny. My dad is an actual dumbass.” His voice breaks and a little piece of Kenny breaks too.

“Do you know if your parents are coming to get you now?” Kenny asks. 

“My mom will still be going to work. Apparently getting nose jobs is still essential work. My dad is going to be staying home. I haven’t texted him to come get me.”

“Then come hang out with me, at least until tonight when your dad figures out that school’s canceled,” Kenny offers.

Stan nods and they start walking. Kenny gets an idea.

“You know what helps me when I feel like shit?”

“What?” Stan asks.

Kenny breaks out into a jog. 

“What the hell, Kenny?” Stan says, jogging into place next to Kenny.

“I’ve been running a lot lately. It really helps, dude.”

Stan humors Kenny and they quietly jog together. They run for a very long time, both lost in their own thoughts. It's strange to see the town so deserted. Kenny can feel Stan slowly relax as they run, some of the tension bleeding out of him.  The air is a little chilly, but the sun is out and it feels amazing. 

After god knows how long, Kenny feels a stabbing pain in his side and a fire in his lungs. He staggers to a stop by the Stark's Pond water fountain, wheezing.

Stan, caught off guard, crashes into him from behind. "Dude, what the hell?"

"I'm done, man." Kenny braces his hands on his knees, sucking in air like a drowning man.

Stan pouts. “You sure you can’t do more?”

Kenny dissolves into laughter, still panting. “No more stamina, dude. Jesus, how the fuck are you still standing right now? You’ve got asthma!”

Stan just shrugs. The asshole's barely even broken a sweat. “I can still run with asthma, dude. Better than you, apparently. Besides, I haven't had a flare-up in years.”

“Yeah, apparently.” Kenny staggers to the water fountain and gulps down a few mouthfuls of metallic-tasting water. Gotta love that authentic Stark's Pond flavor.

“Thanks,” Stan says as they begin to walk back. “That really does feel nice.”

“Maybe you can try to sneak out during the stay-at-home order to get some running in,” Kenny suggests.

Stan smiles a bit. “Yeah, good idea.”

“Stan, you know you can talk to me about anything, right?” Kenny asks. He wants to shake Stan and demand he tell him everything that’s wrong, everything that’s going on.

“I know. You too, Kenny. You can always talk to me about anything too.”

“So, what should our first Discord game be? Or, I'm thinking we just straight up watch a movie, make Kyle do that thing where he shares his screen-"

"Ooh, wait, you've gotta get Tabletop Simulator!" Stan interrupts excitedly. "It's got all these classic board games and shit, plus you can make your own. Dude, you can even play D&D on there! Shit, you should have had Kyle get Steam for you too.”

“I’ll just call him when I get home. It didn’t look too complicated; I’ll just have him walk me through it.”

“K, we can hook your Steam account up to have mine or Kyle’s library of games. Probably Kyle’s: he has way more games. I have his library on my Steam for that reason”

“I thought you can’t play the same game at the same time if it’s in the same library?” Kenny asks, confused. He hadn’t thought as far ahead, but he feels a pang of sadness as he realizes that he would have to actually have money to play any of the games.

Stan smiles slyly. “Don’t worry, Ken. Kyle and I have figured out ways to get around that. You won’t even need to do anything; it’s something we do on our end as we play. We never bother buying the same game if one of us already has it.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Kenny says, not too keen on learning more ever since they got in a shit ton of trouble from Sheila back in 5th grade after the FBI sent an upset letter about all the piracy going on at the Broflovski household. The less he knows about this scheme, the better. Kenny isn’t afraid of many things, but he is admittedly pretty scared of Sheila Broflovski.

Kenny listens to Stan as he excitedly explains the Tabletop simulator game, intrigued. It does sound like they can easily spend hours of their time on it with the many games on it and customizations you can do, and Kenny actually starts to feel excited about this whole stay-at-home order and the fact that he now has a laptop.  There's so many board games added to it, and Stan has always had a passion for niche board games.  Kenny listens to him drone on about mods and assets and a bunch of other nerd shit. Kenny’s heart warms at the passion and excitement that Stan has. Maybe he should have dragged Stan’s ass out on runs much sooner than this.

“Oh, and another one we need to play- Among Us! Dude, you’re going to love it; I’ve wanted you to play that with us for so long. That’ll be a good one to get Craig and the other guys to join us for; even Wendy likes to play that one. You probably won’t want to try any game with crazy graphics, but these ones should work fine on that shitty Chromebook. And maybe sometimes if you get really bored, I can sneak my dad’s switch over to you! Speaking of which, I have an old headset I can give you. That way we won’t have to hear Kevin in the background,” Stan says. 

“Ugh, don’t remind me that I have to be stuck at home with fucking Kevin.”

“Too bad we can’t send older siblings away to a crazy house. Imagine Kevin and Shelley having to spend quarantine with each other,” Stan snickers. Kenny thinks that actually sounds like a genius idea, wishing he had a good enough imagination to try to orchestrate something like that. Shelley would beat the shit out of Kevin, and it would be beautiful.

Stan’s phone rings snapping Kenny out of his daydream of banishing Kevin away, and Stan groans as he reads the collar ID. Randy.

“Yes, dad?”

Kenny zones out while Stan talks with his dad. Apparently, his dad drove to the school to pick him up only to find Stan not there. 

“Jesus, dad. Calm down. I’m on my way home right now, so you don’t even have to worry about me. I’ll just meet you home.” Stan hangs up the phone before he can hear Randy’s response.

Stan bites his lip, and a lot of the progress that Kenny feels like he’s helped to make on Stan’s mood this afternoon slips away as Kenny feels his demeanor shift.

“We’d better hurry so I get home a little bit before my dad. He’ll probably make a weed stop or something stupid first. Better weed than another Margarita maker though.”

“I guess I should probably go this way then,” Kenny says. His house at this point is the opposite way of Stan’s.

“No, you have to get the headset, remember? We’ll make it before my dad gets there,” Stan says determinately. 

They speed walk to Stan’s house, and Stan has Kenny stand near a tree while he rushes in his house to get the promised headset. A couple of minutes later, Stan meets Kenny outside again holding a small Broncos backpack. Kenny looks at Stan with questioning eyes.

Stan smiles at Kenny. “Your new headset. I figure you can use my new one and I can just use my old one.”

Before Kenny can protest, Stan pushes it in Kenny’s hands. “You’ve got to hurry, dude. I think that’s my dad’s car down the road. Stop by one of these days to go on a run, but make it late at night.”

Kenny isn’t able to get any words out before Stan slips away, sneaking back inside. The Broncos backpack feels heavy with more than just a headset. He sneaks away from the Marsh household and begins the trek home.

The walk home is a blur, Kenny's mind whirling with conflicting emotions. Excitement over his laptop and headset. Guilt, thick and cloying, at how much he doesn't deserve any of it. At what a shit friend he's been.

Because the truth is, he's been avoiding Stan. He has been for months now, ever since the shadows started gathering in his eyes and the smiles turned brittle around the edges. He's left the heavy lifting to Kyle, ducking out when things get too real.

Some fucking friend he is.

He locks his bedroom door behind him and dumps the contents of the Broncos backpack onto his threadbare comforter. There is the promised new headset that Stan likely got for Christmas. It looks much nicer than the 5 Below one Stan usually uses. Kenny shakes his head as he sees Randy’s Switch fall onto his bed. Stan put a sticky note on it. “You can just give it back to me the next time we go running :)” Some Takis also fall out of the bag, Kenny’s favorite snack. 

Jesus Christ, Stan. Why does he have to be so fucking nice sometimes? Kenny closes his eyes makes a mental promise to himself to not slip out of Stan’s life when he gets difficult. He's gonna drag Stan's ass to go on runs, gonna nag him to eat, gonna glue himself to his side until Stan's sick of him. He's gonna be Kyle levels of obnoxious if he has to.

Kenny glances at his phone as it lights up with a text from Wendy. “You okay, Kenny? I can’t believe this is happening. You want to meet on Zoom tomorrow? To go over the next Geometry test :)”

Kenny swallows down a tear that threatens to make its way to his eye. Why can’t things just be simple? It almost hurts how much he likes Wendy, but he can’t handle the guilt that comes along with it. He’s never felt this way for anyone before. He quietly lays on his bed, his hoodie falling off his head. 

He hears a gentle knock on his door. 

“Kenny?” Karen’s small voice calls.

Kenny jumps up to unlock his door and beckons Karen to come in, shutting the door behind her. He doesn’t need Kevin thinking his room is an open invite, not the Kevin really comes near his room very often anyways.

“You okay?” Kenny asks.

Karen’s light brown hair is cut short. Kenny thinks that’s for the best. His parents never really brushed it for her growing up, so every time she went to school with her tangled long hair she would get bullied relentlessly. Now that Karen is getting a little older, now 11 years old, she seems to do okay with making herself look presentable. She cuts her hair herself and Mrs. Marsh occasionally discreetly hands her things like deodorant, chapstick, or hand-me-downs from Shelley after church. 

She shrugs, scuffing her sock against the dirty carpet. "Okay, I guess. It's just... I don't wanna be stuck here. With Mom and Dad fighting all the time and Kevin..." She trails off, but Kenny can fill in the blanks.

“Come here,” Kenny says, pushing aside the Switch and headset on his bed and pats down a spot for Karen to sit down. 

“I hope this doesn’t last too long,” Karen whispers.

Kenny hugs her tightly. “I’ll be here the whole time. Did you get a laptop as well?”

Karen nods sadly.

“Go get it and bring it back to me. I'm gonna hook you up.”

Karen brings her laptop into Kenny’s room, and Kenny FaceTimes Kyle to walk him through how to get the firewalls down to get Discord for Karen as well as how to get Steam for himself. It takes Kyle a while to figure out how he can properly sync his Steam library to a heavily monitored Chromebook, but eventually they get everything settled. 

“Why did the school have to be so cheap. They could have at least gotten something Windows-based. And the firewall they have set up on this thing... it's like they think you guys are gonna launch nuclear codes from these things or something. Wait, see that setting there? Change it to 'off',” Kyle instructs.

Kenny successfully pulls up Discord, creating a new channel to add his friends to as he promised earlier. He names the server 'The South Park Lockdown Legends' and creates some channels for the server, explaining to Kyle that they can add more channels to the server as they see fit. He creates a general chat, a school help channel, and sets up some channels for some of the games he knows they will want to play.

Kyle laughs at Kenny's username. "KennyThePhantom? Really?"

"Hey, it's fitting," Kenny retorts. Not that Kyle would really know the extent to how much. "So... how are we gonna get around the shared library issue when we're all online at the same time?"

"Leave that to me and Stan. We've got a system. You just need to tell us when you want to play, and we'll make sure you have access. Now, let's set up your sister, too."

"Hey, what’s Ike’s Discord?” Kenny asks after it looks like they have everything set and ready to go.

Kyle snorts. “Why, you gonna play some Minecraft with him? Join him for the nightly BBC News recap?”

Kenny actually isn’t opposed to the idea, at least the Minecraft part of it. “No, asshole. For Karen. I want to get her some friends on her Discord.”

Kyle gives Kenny Ike’s information, and he adds it to Karen’s laptop. Then he gives some instructions for what Kenny needs to do whenever he wants to play one of Kyle’s Steam games as well as a run down of which of the games can actually potentially run on the Chromebook. 

After Kenny hangs up with Kyle, he shows Karen around the setup. Karen is smiling, already having added some of her friends and now in a voice chat with some of them. 

Kenny lets out a small sigh of relief. Maybe this whole pandemic thing won’t be too bad.

Chapter Text

2035

Stan arrives at the hospital shortly before 6 p.m. the next day. He stays in the parking lot in his car sipping from his thermos of coffee he made earlier with an extra shot of espresso. He looks up in his mirror, noticing how the dim lights of the parking lot accentuate the bags under his eyes. Kyle had texted him orders to stay in the car until he let him know he was done with his shift along with a brief rundown of the names of the examiners and autopsy technicians. 

Stan drums his fingers on the steering wheel, feeling antsy. The M.E.'s office has a separate outdoor entrance, but he isn't sure what Kyle's game plan is. Getting access to the autopsy suite on a Saturday night is gonna be tricky. They'll have to play their cards just right to avoid raising suspicions.

His phone rings, loud in the quiet car. Kyle's name flashes on the screen. Showtime.

"Head to the outdoor entrance. I'll meet you there," Kyle says, sounding just as wiped as Stan feels.

Stan chugs the rest of his coffee, wincing as it scalds his throat. No turning back now.

The night air bites at his skin as he hurries across the parking lot, the huge hospital complex looming over him. He can only hope Kyle has some brilliant scheme up his sleeve. Winging it is more Stan's style.

The door is locked when he reaches it, but before he can even knock, it swings open. Kyle stands there, arms full of gloves and masks that he quickly shoves into his pockets.

“You smell like coffee,” is the first thing Kyle says to him.

“And you smell like hospital,” Stan greets him back. "We doing this or what?"

Kyle didn't bother responding, just turns on his heel and marches toward the front desk. Stan follows close behind, noting the way Kyle's shoulders tense as they approach.

The receptionist, a dark-haired woman in her 20s, glances up from her phone. Her name tag reads "Natasha."

"Just a heads up, we're closing soon. What can I do for you?" she asks, her eyes flicking to Kyle as a doctor walks out, calling a cheery "Have a good weekend, Doctor Broflovski!" over his shoulder.

Kyle waves back, but Natasha's brow furrows, her gaze darting between Kyle's face and the ID badge clipped to his lanyard.

“Uh…. Hi, I’m Doctor Broflovski, and this is Detective Marsh.”

On cue, Stan flashed his badge, keeping his expression neutral.

Natasha glances at the badge, then at Kyle again, skepticism in her eyes. "And what brings you two here so late on a weekend?"

“We’re working on a case that involves some medical aspects. Specifically, we need access to the autopsy suite.” Kyle keeps it simple, probably the best tactic to try first.

Natasha’s confusion deepens. “I can schedule an interview with one of the toxicologists, but it wouldn’t be until Monday. We don’t… we don’t just let detectives in the back, Doctor.”

Too bad they can’t try their default ‘we’re brothers and our parents are dead’ dramatic reenactment that got them to do whatever the fuck they wanted as kids here. 

Kyle opens his mouth, no doubt ready to argue, but Stan quickly puts a hand on his shoulder, a tactic he used a lot as kids to calm him down or when he couldn't get a word in due to Kyle ranting. An old signal, a silent "shut up and let me handle this." To his relief, Kyle seems to remember this and remains silent, though Stan could feel the questions burning under his skin.

Stan removes his hand from Kyle’s shoulder and flashes Natasha a smile that he hopes passes as charmingly apologetic,  hoping that the smell of the coffee doesn’t reach her from where she sits. “We totally get that, Natasha. Typically I schedule for an interview before I come over. But see, my boss - Detective Ron Tumble over at the Denver County Crime Bureau - spoke with Dr. Sutherfield about an hour ago and got the go-ahead to grab some files. He didn’t want to worry about calling someone in at this time, so he just had the hospital send Doctor Broflovski here to assist me.”

Kyle falls into a rhythm with Stan, no longer seeming awkward. He chimes into the false story Stan made up on the fly as he has done so many times in the past. “I’ve done lots of rounds for Dr. Sutherfield as I entered residency, so I’m very familiar with the layout."

"We'll be in and out before you know it. Just need to check this one last box for the investigation." Stan smiles, aiming for a mix of apologetic and trustworthy. The kind of smile that says "I'm so sorry to inconvenience you" and "I'm definitely not bullshitting you to illegally view my dead best friend's corpse."

"I can lock up when we're done, if you want to head out. I'm sure you've got places to be on a Saturday night." Kyle adds, holding up a very official-looking band of keys. 

Natasha wavers, glancing between them. The doctor's name had clearly meant something to her, but Stan can still see the hesitation in her eyes.

He cranks the wattage on his smile, willing her to take the bait. C'mon, c'mon...

"Yeah, alright," she says at last, shoulders slumping a bit. "Thanks for offering to close up. I do have plans, and everyone else has already left..."

"We'll take care of everything, don't you worry. Have a great night, Natasha."

They watch as she gathers her purse and coat, ushering her out the door with a chorus of thank yous and goodnight. The second the door closes behind her, Kyle locks it, his face grim.

Stan blows out a breath, adrenaline still buzzing under his skin. "Jesus. That was close."

“Aren’t you worried that she’ll mention this to her boss and that they’ll try calling to confirm with yours?” Kyle asks.

Stan shrugs. He doubts she will remember the name he told her, and luckily Kyle’s last name is uncommon enough for her to likely forget as well. It’s a large hospital and he doubts Kyle will make it near this area again. “My boss trusts me. I would just make something up about something urgent I needed to look for. I’m not worried.”

Once Kyle secures the door, they start making their way through the Medical Examiner’s wing. The atmosphere feels sterile, clinical. The fluorescent lights hum as does the distant equipment.

"Man, I can't believe that actually worked," Stan says.

Kyle eyes him suspiciously as he hands over a surgical mask and gloves. "You were a little too good at that."

“I do shit like this all the time for my job,” Stan says.

“What, lie to people to get to illegal places you need to go?”

"Well, not to good people. Usually, it's cult leaders and criminals I'm bullshitting. Why do I need gloves, anyway? I don't have to touch Kenny, right?" The thought makes his stomach turn.

"No, but it's procedure for the refrigeration room and autopsy station. Put these on, too." Kyle passes him a pair of scrub-like slippers to cover his shoes, gesturing to the signs mandating proper scrub attire on the glass door ahead.

"Let's hurry. I don't want to raise any more red flags than we already have," Kyle says, his voice tight.

Stan nods, nerves fluttering in his gut. "I hope you know what you're doing." He's been around plenty of dead bodies before, but usually only long enough to see what he needs to for his investigations. Even then, it's more often pictures than the real deal. His expertise lies in catching the bad guys, uncovering motives and following leads. The nitty-gritty of cause of death? Not so much. Sure, he can hold his own. But corpses still make his skin crawl, a fact he's managed to hide from his coworkers thus far. God only knows how he'll react to seeing his best friend laid out.

Kyle laughs, the sound sharp and brittle. "Oh, I definitely don't know what the hell I'm doing. Must have missed the unit in med school on investigating your undead childhood friend's murder when you're just a resident ER doc who doesn't know shit about postmortem toxicology."

“Uh… yeah. I think they actually had that exact unit at Police Academy, but I was sick that day, so… we’re on pretty even footing here.” Stan takes a deep breath, the acrid tang of formaldehyde burning his nostrils. It reminds him of the nail polish remover he used for his bug collection kill jars in 7th grade. He was the only kid in class who had a problem with offing insects for a grade. The harsh scent makes him cough, the sound echoing in the sterile hallway.

"Glad you missed out on that class too. We should write a strongly worded letter to our institutions for this glaring oversight in our education."

Stan snorts, fumbling with the gloves. His hands won't stop shaking. "Yeah, 'Dear Police Academy, where was the chapter on zombified childhood pals and their weird-ass dying wishes'?"

"Honestly, out of all of us? It tracks that Kenny would be the one to pull this cryptic letter shit. Only Kenny would send us on some scavenger hunt from beyond the grave."

"I don't know, my money would've been on Cartman. Only difference is, I'd probably just toss anything he sent me in the trash. Kenny's lucky I like him enough to play along with his little mind games," Stan says.

Kyle meets his gaze, and even through the masks, Stan can see the weariness etched into the lines of his face. The fluorescents bring out the kaleidoscope of his eyes - green and amber shot through with flecks of blue and gold.

“Let’s try to find the Toxicologist’s computers first. They should have some information about the autopsy stored on them; we just need to figure out how to get into them.”

Stan nods, falling into step behind Kyle as he tries one door after another. On the third attempt, Kyle makes a small noise of triumph.

"Bingo."

He flips on the light, illuminating a small office dominated by a computer that looks like it's seen better days. The thing boots up with a sickly whine, and Kyle breathes a sigh of relief.

“Thank God this hospital has shit funding and the computers don’t run solely on Face ID to turn on.”

Stan also feels relieved at this, because he knows his own work has technology using biometrics that is essentially impossible to get into unless you are the intended recipient. This is the future, so regular passwords really don’t do shit, not when your average Joe can figure passwords out easily with a quantum computer. But law enforcement always does get overfunded, and money only goes to pharmaceuticals and healthcare business owners in the healthcare field, even in the future because some things don’t change. 

"Dude, how ancient are these computers? Is that fucking Windows 10?" Stan asks, peering over Kyle's shoulder.

Kyle grimaces. "Yep. Welcome to HPHC. We've made leaps and bounds in medical tech over the past decade, but good luck getting this dinosaur of a company to adopt any of it. I've written to the board about it, but they just pat me on the head and tell me I'm an overeager resident who doesn't understand how the real world works."

His fingers fly over the keyboard, pulling up program after program. Stan listens with half an ear as Kyle rants about the slow pace of progress, the countless lives that could be saved or improved with access to cutting-edge treatments.

It's achingly familiar, Kyle's righteous indignation. His burning need to take on the system, to fight for the little guy. Stan remembers a time when he hung on Kyle's every word, when he'd follow him into any battle, no matter how idealistic.

But that was a long time ago. A lifetime ago.

Stan puts his hand on Kyle’s shoulder again to get him to stop ranting, trying to remind him of why they were here. Stan is not at all eager to prolong the inevitable of having to see Kenny.

“You think you can get into the computer system then, right?” Stan asks. 

Kyle scoffs. “A 5-year-old could get into our systems.” He is already on the desktop by the end of his sentence. His eyes widen as he scans the desktop for where to go, too many options available. The messy desktop even stresses out Stan, and he is the king at his work of always having hundreds of tabs open.

“Try that software,” Stan says, pointing over Kyle’s shoulder to an icon he spots that looks familiar. It looks like one available on some of his colleague's desktops, so likely has something to do with criminal investigations, and something tells Stan that Kenny’s death is classified under this umbrella. Kyle double-clicks it, and luckily it launches without asking for any further credentials. Just like Stan thought, it’s government issued.

"It's CODIS," Stan says, scanning the interface. "Big database for DNA and forensics."

Kyle types Kenny’s name in the search box. 0 results. 

“Kenneth, not Kenny,” Stan reminds him.

“Oh, duh,” Kyle says. Kenneth McCormick yields one result.

It pulls up a profile with folders of information. It seems fairly organized, much more so than the messy desktop. Kenny’s driver’s license photo is listed on the display.  It's Kenny's driver's license picture. That same gap-toothed grin Stan's known since preschool. Unruly blond hair that somehow always looks effortlessly tousled. He has a little bit of facial hair in the photo, a mixture of dark blonde and golden brown hairs in the beginning of a beard that he was just starting to grow out at the time of the photo.  His bright blue eyes match the muted blue background of the DMV’s backdrop. Kenny looks so damn young in the photo, because he was so young in it. This photo had to be taken in college or shortly after. Kenny still is young, Stan reminds himself. He didn’t look much different from the photo at the time of his death, not even reaching 30 years old yet. Stan shakes his head as he tries to snap himself out of spiraling and thinking too much about this. He needs to focus on the task at hand.

Kyle seems like he’s going through a similar thought-process as Stan, but neither of them voice what they are thinking. Stan just now realizes that he never took his hand off of Kyle’s shoulder and that he has a bit of a death grip on it at this point. Embarrassed, he takes his hand away. Kyle jolts at the loss of contact but quickly turns his eyes to reading through the names of the folders.

“Looks like there are folders with photos of the body- maybe we don’t have to dig the body out,” Stan says hopefully.

“Yeah, maybe,” Kyle says unconvincingly. He clicks into a folder labeled ‘Crime Scene Photos’. Stan finds a second chair and pulls it next to Kyle, not trusting himself to be able to support his weight at any gruesome photos of Kenny. 

The pictures start off without Kenny in them. The photos are all of an outdoor location that looks a little familiar. There are some photos of blood spatter mixed into the brown dirt, along with a bright green liquid substance. “What the hell could that be,” Stan asks, more as a rhetorical question than a question he expects Kyle to answer.

Kyle shakes his head and continues to scroll. “Let’s see if there’s anything in the reports about the green substance.”

The next photo is a close up of a pale hand, presumably Kenny’s hand. It lays in the dirt and has a broken vial loosely clasped by the hand, some of the green liquid oozing out. Whatever it was seemed to have caused some type of burn marks on Kenny’s hands. Stan spots a lake in the distance.

“Dude, I think that’s Stark’s pond!” Stan says.

Kyle looks confusedly from Kenny’s palm to the lake in the background. “Looks like it could be… but why would Kenny go there? He works in Denver, too. I think he goes back to South Park less than I do, which isn’t very often.”

Stan takes out his detective notebook from his front pocket, undoing the top on his pen. He brings out a fresh notebook for this and starts notating everything he sees so far, determined to not let any detail go unnoticed. He thinks about snapping photos with his phone, but decides against it. It seems disrespectful for some reason, and he really doesn’t want dead Kenny photos on his personal device.

Kyle waits for Stan to stop writing before he scrolls to the next photo, this one a wide-angle shot of Kenny’s body as a whole. He lays with his back to the camera, his stomach on the ground as well as the front of his face. Stan is a little relieved by this, not having to confront his dead face quite yet. He can almost pretend it isn’t Kenny, delaying the emotional impact.

Kenny’s blonde hair falls forward on the ground, bits of the green substance flickered throughout it. His face is completely headfirst on the ground, one arm tucked under him and the other in the position of the first photo with the broken vial. Aside from the mystery liquid and some specks of blood, there doesn’t appear to be anything really graphic about the scene. Stan wonders where the blood is coming from. Maybe from the front of the body? The blood patterns don’t look like they make sense to be coming from Kenny’s body though. Maybe it’s from the person he got in an altercation with. 

The next photo is labeled as the contents of Kenny’s pockets. In it was his wallet with his license and a couple of credit cards as well as his work ID for the university where he worked as a professor and in the Physics lab with the PhD students. But it’s the other thing in his pocket that catches Stan’s eye - a crumpled-up piece of paper.

“See if there’s another picture that shows what’s on that paper,” Stan instructs. Kyle skims through some more photos of what’s in Kenny’s wallet, and Stan isn’t sure why they took so many photos of that but only had the one picture of Kenny’s body. 

Eventually, Kyle lands on a picture of the piece of paper smoothed out to show the contents. It looks like a rough hand-drawn map with words Stan doesn’t recognize, but one thing Stan does recognize is Kenny’s  distinct handwriting.

The map outlines several locations, each with arcane symbols. Stan takes note of a peculiar blend of geometrical shapes and signals, forming a pattern reminiscent of occult diagrams. The words accompanying these symbols appear to be in a different language. 

Among the cryptic markings, one phrase stands out to Stan in Kenny’s unmistakable scrawl: “R’lyeh.” Stan’s brows furrow as he contemplates the word.

“The hell?” He asks.

“It looks like one of those maps at the beginning of fantasy novels. Those places don’t exist anywhere,” Kyle frowns.

“This ties back to the voicemail, Kyle. They said madness would find me in the city of R’lyeh.” Stan points to the location on the map.

“Was Kenny a part of some cult or something?” Kyle asks.

Stan takes a picture of it on his phone, grateful for a non-graphic image he is okay to keep on his phone. He will look up the odd names later. 

That is the last photo of the crime scene. Kyle clicks into the Autopsy folder next. Stan doesn’t understand most of the documentation of the organs that are removed, and Kyle doesn’t mention anything as being unordinary. Kyle clicks into the autopsy photos next.

The first photo is of Kenny’s face, but it is unrecognizable. It’s bloated, and there is marbling and inconsistent skin color throughout. His eyes are swollen and small. Stan fights the urge to throw up. The photos of his body are fairly similar. 

There doesn’t appear to be any type of gunshot or any type of cut. The only odd thing aside from the bloating and weird colors of his body are the burns on the hand that held the vial as well as some burn marks on the bottom of his mouth.

“So it looks like he ate some of that poison-type stuff? Does the report say anything else?” Stan decides to leave the part of understanding all the medical terminology to Kyle. He has to physically turn away from the computer screen in order to not throw up at this point, the photos being too gruesome for Stan to bear.

Kyle’s brows are knit in confusion. “They can’t figure out what the substance is. There’s no evidence of it in his body, so they are concluding that he didn’t partake of whatever was in the vial. They did testing on that substance but didn’t yield any results.”

“What about the blood spatter in the photos?”

Kyle shakes his head. “There’s no mention of that, just that there was no human blood found on his body. But that’s not what’s weird.”

“What is it?”

Kyle holds up his hand to indicate that he is still reading. It takes him a while to get through the entire report, and he rereads some of the pages. Stan keeps his eyes on Kyle’s face rather than the computer screen, feeling his heart drop as Kyle looks more and more distressed.

“What is it?” Stan asks again, this time in nearly a whisper.

“I…. It’s not possible. There is no evidence of any foul play on the outside of Kenny’s body aside from the burns on his hand. But the inside of his body shows a very different story.” Kyle looks at Stan with terrified eyes. 

Kyle grabs Stan and gestures to him to tilt his body back towards the computer screen. “I know this makes you queasy, but you have to see this, dude. I’m not going to show you the gross parts.”

Stan looks at black and white CT image of Kenny’s brain. It doesn’t take a medical degree to know that the brain image is abnormal. There’s several… holes throughout it. 

“Gunshots? As in…. Plural? Multiple?” Stan asks, thinking back to the image of Kenny in his Mysterion costume with the single gunshot wound to his temple. 

“That’s just one of the issues with this image. There’s lots of blunt force trauma, not just in the brain, but all over his body. But only internally. It’s literally impossible; there’s absolutely no evidence of any of this on the outside of his body. The function of the brain and other organs even was still working normally despite all the trauma and wounds on it, but that finding has to be a mistake. There’s no way these images can be from Kenny,” Kyle says adamantly despite the images having Kenny’s name and date of birth on them in multiple spots.

Kyle scrolls down to a classic-looking page that Stan recognizes as the cause of death report. 

“So they did fill that out; they just haven’t added it to the public database yet,” Stan says with relief. 

The illustration on the report of the male body is lit up with colors. Stan can’t even really make out any of the handwritten notes by it as there are too damn many notations for what was found in the body. The section that says ‘Probable Cause of Death’ simply has a note that reads, ‘Please scroll to the following pages’. 

Kyle and Stan give each other a confused glance as Kyle scrolls down. The next page is a very long text of handwritten causes of death. Stan thinks this must be some sort of sick joke. There are far too many, and each of them raises even more questions. “Jesus Christ!” Stan exclaims.

They begin reading the astronomically long list in shock.

“Evidence of decapitation? They seriously wrote that down?” Stan deadpans. Kenny’s head was definitely still on his shoulders.

“I think I’m more concerned by the “Eaten by rats”. Or “Likely Microwaved”, Kyle says dazedly. 

Everywhere Stan looks on the page, he sees something else horrific. It seems never-ending. “Cut in half by chainsaw’, ‘Turkey attack’, ‘Burned to death, 'Crushed by Piano', ‘Drowned’, ‘Muscular Dystrophy’, ‘Syphilis’…. The list goes on and on.

“How the hell does one even ‘spontaneously combust?” Stan exclaims. 

“Dude, I don’t think trying to make sense of any of this is possible. Jesus, there’s a lot of crushings and animal deaths here…. And um. Autoerotic asphyxiation. Of course. Naturally.”

“To be fair, that one does kind of sound pretty Kenny-like,” Stan says. 

Kyle snorts a breathless laugh in response. “Yeah, maybe for when he was 10 years old. Dude, I think the examiner was just throwing darts at a board by this point. 'Sucked into a jet engine'? Really?"”

“So, I think we’re in agreement that the medical examiners are on crack?” Stan says, past the point of trying to make it make sense.

“No shit,” Kyle agrees, scrolling to the final page.

 “Oh, good- officially determined to be a mixture of natural causes, undetermined, pending, and homicide. Because that’s possible,” Kyle grumbles.

Stan still feels sick from the earlier pictures of Kenny’s bloated body. “Are there other folders to view?” 

Kyle shakes his head. “This was the last one. Time to go see the body, I guess.”

Stan’s stomach does a little flip. “You sure we still need to pull it out? It seems like there were a lot of pictures of it on here.”

“You don’t have to come with me if you’re going to be a pussy about it, but I’m going to go see it. Why do you think they still have it, Stan? They already did the autopsy. There’s no reason they should still have the body,  but they do, and there must be a fucking reason for that.” Kyle’s tone is way too condescending, sending a wave of annoyance through Stan.

Kyle is extremely determined for someone who just last night was so adamant that they don’t sneak in to see Kenny’s body.

“Fine, let’s go, but stop being a dick about it, Kyle,” Stan mutters, grabbing a fresh pair of gloves from the desk. His hands have turned the others into a sweaty mess.

Kyle glares at him as he leads the way into the chilly refrigeration room. Luckily, the compartments are labeled with the bodies' names, so it doesn't take long to locate Kenny's. Stan holds his breath as Kyle pulls it open and rolls Kenny out. He hesitates, a shaking hand hovering over the tarp-covered lump, face pale.

Losing patience, Stan steps closer and yanks the tarp off himself. As he takes in the sight of Kenny, he lets out the breath he didn't realize he was holding.

“What the fuck,” he whispers. He’s pretty sure he hears Kyle say the same thing.

Stan had mentally prepared himself for the worst possible scenario. He expected to see a really fucked up, unrecognizable version of Kenny. But what’s laying on the table looks…. Like Kenny. Not even like a peacefully dead Kenny. It just looks like he is taking a nap. Gone is the bloating. His skin even looks healthy, glowing a normal color unlike Stan and Kyle’s now paled skin. With a trembling hand, Stan reaches out to touch him, needing to verify that he's really dead. No movement, no heartbeat. Just eerie stillness.

Kyle grabs Kenny’s right wrist, turning it over. 

“Where did the burn marks go?” Stan asks, confusion and fear replacing his momentary relief at seeing Kenny look so normal.

"They're... they're not here,” Kyle says softly in disbelief. 

They stare at Kenny in solemn silence, at a loss. It doesn't seem right that they're the only ones who get to see him one last time before he's reduced to ashes. Guilt stabs through Stan as he realizes he hasn't even called Karen yet, too caught up in his own grief.

His mind floods with memories - all the times he failed Kenny as a friend, all the times Kenny saved his ass, all the laughter they shared. His throat tightens painfully. There is no going back to any of those times. 

A wounded noise claws its way out of Stan's throat. He claps a hand over his mouth, bile rising hot and sharp. He can't do this. He can't, he can't, he fucking can't-

A hand grips his shoulder, startling him out of his spiral. Kyle's there, his face pinched with worry.

"Stan. Breathe, okay? Just breathe."

And it's almost funny, really. Kyle Broflovski, of all people, telling him to get a grip, for the second time this week. 

But it works, somehow. Stan sucks in a shuddering breath, then another. Focuses on the point of contact between them, the warmth of Kyle's palm seeping through his jacket. Slowly, the world stops spinning. His racing heart settles into a less frantic rhythm. He nods, a jerky little motion, and Kyle lets his hand fall away.

“We should probably get going,” Kyle says, pulling Stan from his thoughts.

Stan nods, but he doesn't want to cover Kenny back up. He wants to keep looking at him, to pretend he's just asleep. Putting him away feels so final, like they can't take it back. But he knows they can't stay here forever.

With a gentleness that surprises even himself, Stan brushes a lock of hair from Kenny's face, trying to ignore how icy cold his skin is. Shivering, he begins to tug the tarp back over him, Kyle quietly helping from the other side. Together, they roll the drawer back into place, the soft click as it shuts seeming to echo in the stillness. Their warped reflections stare back at them from the polished steel.

There's a sink station in the hallway as they exit the room. Stan follows Kyle's lead, stripping off his gloves and mask, waiting his turn to scrub his hands. Even though he didn't touch anything nasty, he's desperate for a long, hot shower. Anything to chase away the chill that's settled deep in his bones.

“Am I crazy? Is any of this real?” Kyle asks.

“I can pinch you really hard if you want,” Stan offers.

“It’s just… crazy shit happened all the time in South Park, particularly when we were kids. I convinced myself I made up most of it with the help of my therapist. But… maybe those things were all real?”

He looks like he's teetering on the edge of a full-blown meltdown, right here in the middle of the morgue. Stan frowns, turning to face him fully. He also thought some of his childhood experiences were odd, but he never went to a therapist because he was certain they’d put him in a Psych Ward, a place he already went to once and was pretty keen on avoiding at all costs. But he'd always just assumed his memories were corrupted, warped by youthful fantasy and too many concussions. He'd just filed those things away and chalked it up to childhood imagination. Speaking of imagination...

“What are you saying; Imaginationland is real? C'mon, dude. Tonight was weird, yeah, but you’re going to take all this and now think all our crazy-ass fever dream imagination play times as children are real? You think the Underpants Gnomes were real; that we actually fought off a giant guinea pig with fucking Craig? You really think any of that shit happened?"

Kyle glares warily at Stan. “I’m not saying all of it is real. Obviously, some of the shit we did was just pretend. I’m not saying we actually turned into superheroes and elves or fucking…. Japanese anime heroes. But some of it, yes. It could be real, Stan. Maybe even Imaginationland.”

Stan scoffs. “Dude, you’re Jewish. Are you going to say all our experiences with Jesus were real, too?”

“Maybe that was just some redneck Colorado mountain dipshit who thought he was Jesus, Stan. I don’t fucking know! But he showed up too many times to be fake," Kyle snaps, dragging a hand through his hair. "But explain the CIA shit, huh? They really did haul our asses to DC. And I heard your voice, Stan. When you were trapped in Imaginationland and I was stuck in that hospital. Explain that."

"Pretty sure admitting to hearing voices isn't helping your case," Stan mutters. But he knows he's being a dick right now. Because he remembers it too, with a clarity that makes his head throb. Being trapped in that faux happy hellscape, witnessing horrifying shit. He'd learned that by talking out loud, Kyle could hear him. Hear him all the way in fucking DC.... where the CIA definitely did drag them to.

Goddamnit.

Stan's breath starts coming faster, his chest tight. He'd shoved all those bizarre memories into a dark corner of his brain, locked them up tight and prayed they'd never see the light of day. Because dwelling on them, really examining them... it makes him feel insane.

Kyle manhandles him out of the building, locking the door behind them with trembling hands

“You can have your mental breakdown in your car,” he says grumpily. 

“Won’t be the first time,” Stan gasps, still not quite sure remembering how to breathe properly.

Kyle rushes to a nearby trash can, throwing up. That’s new. Usually, Stan is the one who has to do that. He supposes everything they saw today is unsettling even for the mentally strong.

Stan leans against his car for support. "Sometimes I wonder if we were just trying to escape from reality, since our town was so messed up. That's... that's probably why we have all these weird memories and tried so hard to escape into imagination filled games," Stan says, ignoring what Kenny had said in the letter to him.

Kyle sighs, his gaze meeting Stan's. "Maybe. But after tonight, I can't help but to think... you know what, never mind. You're right." He shakes his head and looks away from Stan.

“Do you… do you want me to drive you home?” Stan offers weakly.

“I don’t see how you’re more fit to drive than me,” Kyle breathes out.

“Touché. Um… I guess now we can just…. Try to process this and then regroup sometime after the funeral?”

Kyle nods. “There’s no way in hell I can make educational guesses at the moment as to what the fuck is going on. Try to rest up tonight so we can network tomorrow with all the South Park folks.”

Stan groans internally at the thought of having to socialize with anyone in South Park, but he knows that part of their investigation is going to be pretty crucial. He nods. "I'll do my best."

"Stan," Kyle says as Stan slips into his car, his voice soft, almost painfully earnest. "I mean it. Take care of yourself."

Something twists in Stan's chest, sharp and aching. “Night, Kyle.”

“Drive safe.”

Stan cranks the autopilot up to max and lets the vehicle steer itself home, too shaken to trust his own reflexes. He questions his sanity the entire ride home, boundaries between reality and imagination blurring. 

He stumbles into his apartment on autopilot, barely registering the ride. He makes a beeline for the bathroom, stripping off his clothes and cranking the shower as hot as it will go. He stands under the spray until his skin is flushed and smarting, but even the scalding water can't thaw the ice in his veins. Can't wash away the phantom sensation of Kenny's cold, dead flesh.

When he finally emerges, raw and wrung out, he remembers Kenny's letter. The part about taking care of himself.

"Fuck you, Kenny," he mutters, but there's no heat behind it. Just a helpless sort of fondness. He reluctantly microwaves a bowl of Trader Joe’s Vietnamese Pho that still doesn’t warm him up. 

He calls Karen. They were never especially close, but she's always been like the little sister he never had. The little sister he actually liked, anyway. Shelly can still kick rocks. Karen cries, her grief a living thing, but she sounds so genuinely happy to hear from him that it makes Stan's eyes sting. She invites him to the luncheon after the funeral, the one for close friends and family.

Tomorrow is going to really suck.

Chapter Text

May 2020

As the pandemic drags on, the stay-at-home order stretches from weeks into months. By the time 8th grade is winding down, it's looking more and more like they'll be stuck inside straight through summer break. The whole country's on lockdown, only venturing out for "essential business" - which lately means braving the grocery stores to fight it out with rabid Karens over the last pack of toilet paper.

Kenny's one saving grace is his nightly runs with Stan. They've started wearing masks, following the latest CDC guidelines, but they still meet up almost every evening once Stan's sure his folks are asleep. Stan's parents have him on strict house arrest until there's a vaccine, barely letting him past the backyard. Kenny's own family probably wouldn't bat an eye if he joined a nudist colony in California, so sneaking out is a non-issue.

Stan's got a fancy Broncos mask, all official merch and shit. Kenny rocks a homemade one that reads "I Thought This Was America!" in crooked Sharpie letters. Home Ec special, because like hell was he risking life and limb in welding class.

Honestly, Kenny thinks Stan would lose his goddamn mind if he didn't have these runs to keep him sane. The dude's like a caged animal, all pent-up energy and twitchy limbs. He runs like the devil himself is on his heels, setting a punishing pace that leaves Kenny gasping for air.

It's not that Kenny's out of shape - he's been at this running thing for almost a year now. But Stan's got some kind of freaky endurance, even with the asthma. Like he could just keep going forever if he wanted to. Kenny feels like he's holding him back. But Stan insists that having Kenny there is half the fun, even if they don't talk much beyond grunts and heavy breathing. Most nights, Stan just hands him an earbud and cranks up whatever new album he's obsessing over. They let the music drown out the world, both of them letting pent-up frustrations out with each stride.

School's not so bad, really. Kenny's got the whole "camera off" thing down to an art, blaming shitty Wi-Fi even though everyone in South Park's on the same cheap Silicon Valley fiber network. Wendy called him out on it once during one of their daily Zoom "study" sessions, when his connection magically cleared up just in time for Among Us.

"Funny how your internet's flawless when it's time to fuck around in space," she'd said, eyebrow arched like a challenge.

Kenny had just grinned and shrugged, unrepentant.

The thing is, even with the camera off and his attention split between Discord and TikTok, Kenny's grades aren't tanking. Turns out a global pandemic makes teachers a lot more lenient, especially when you've got friends like Kyle and Wendy riding your ass about assignments.

So when Stan drops the bomb about failing 8th grade, it kind of comes out of left field.

They're hanging back on voice chat after a particularly rowdy round of Among Us, just the three of them. Stan, Kenny, and Kyle, like old times.

“The principal called my parents and said if I don’t get shit together that I’m gonna have to repeat the year,” Stan says, his voice flat.

Kyle sputters in disbelief. "Dude, you're failing?! How?"

Kenny's not sure why Kyle is so surprised. Stan's never been big on school, not like Kyle. Stan’s not dumb by any means - Kenny thinks Stan is one of the best strategic thinkers he knows, and he also has very high musical intelligence.  But book learning? Equations and essays? Not really his thing.

“I mean, define 'failing'...,” Stan trails off evasively.

“Dude!” Kyle says again. “It's pass or fail right now! What's there to define? The teachers are being so lax because of the pandemic; you'd have to be trying to fail."

Stan doesn’t respond to Kyle’s exasperation. 

“You don’t want to have to do summer school, dude,” Kenny chimes in.

“I said I’ll figure something out, okay?” Despite being the one to bring up the subject, Stan sounds eager to move on to another topic.

They sign off not long after that, goodnights mumbled through yawns and the clatter of headsets.

On his nightly Facetime session with Wendy, Kenny brings up Stan- a person they both actively avoid talking about, the elephant in the room. 

“We need to force Stan to go to some of our Zoom study sessions,” Kenny says. They had just been talking about their fourth-grade teacher, Mr. Garrison, trying to decide if he was real or not. The stories exchanged about situations they’d gotten into with Mr. Garrison had escalated to deep belly laughs as they tried one-upping each other with wilder recountings. Kenny feels bad about changing the subject to something more somber.

Wendy sighs. “I know.”

Kenny didn’t think she’d concede so easily, expecting her to protest. “I’m a little worried about him,” he explains.

“I’m always worried about him. He needs…. Like, professional help. But yeah, I was thinking we should probably help him out. I don’t want to, but it’s the right thing to do.”

Kenny wants to ask her more about what she means by always being worried about him. Not just out of jealousy, but mostly out of concern for his friend. He’s sure Wendy knows more about Stan’s situation than he does, but he doesn’t want to press her for information that Stan clearly doesn’t feel like sharing with him.

It turns out they don’t have to do the inviting, because Kyle sets up the next Zoom study session and invites Stan without asking for Wendy or Kenny’s input or permission.

"Stan's joining us today," he announces. "We're gonna tackle his missing work first."

And by "tackle," he means "do it all for him." Kyle divides the assignments like a drill sergeant, and nobody has the balls to call him out on the blatant cheating. When Kyle's on a mission, you either fall in line or get the fuck out of the way.

It's a group effort, but between the four of them and some strategic Ctrl+F action, they manage to get Stan caught up in record time. Kyle even has them working ahead, because apparently he "doesn't trust Stan to keep his shit together without constant supervision."

Stan takes the jabs in stride, though, just nods along and does what he's told. Kenny can tell he's embarrassed as hell, but he swallows his pride and powers through. When it's all said and done, Stan's passing all his classes. Stan thanks everyone.

“Hey, don’t worry about it, man,” Kenny says.

“Except you should start worrying about it," Kyle cuts in, his voice sharp. "The fuck's going on with you, man? We can't keep holding your hand like this when we're in high school."

“Kyle, let’s give him a break tonight,” Wendy says, easily matching his controlling tone. 

Kyle looks like he wants to argue, but he bites his tongue. Probably scared of pissing off Wendy. 

"Yeah, I say we celebrate!" Kenny chimes in, eager to keep the peace. "Stan, you up for some gaming? Or we could watch a movie or something."

Stan shrugs, looking uncomfortable as hell. “You guys don’t need to baby me."

"Wouldn't have to if you did your own damn work," Kyle mutters under his breath.

“It looks like Craig and the gang are in the Discord server. Let’s go see what they want to do,” Kenny says, trying to keep his voice light. He’s not in the mood at all to get into an argument. 

“Ooh, yes! I should invite Nichole and Bebe, maybe Red. They love gaming, you know- Nichole is especially good at games and can probably kick your asses.” Wendy says.

Stan and Kyle are more quiet than usual throughout the Discord voice chat. The group agrees to play Among Us once again. Because only ten players can join at a time and there is a larger group than usual with the girls joining in, they use an online randomizer to draw sticks to see who would sit out and simply watch the game. 

Kenny finds this game night especially fun. Wendy is right; Red and Nichole are very strategic throughout the game and know what the hell they are doing. Kenny fucks up pretty early on as an imposter, Nichole sounding the alarm bell to a hilarious Emergency Meeting after catching him teleporting where they argue for a good 20 minutes about Kenny’s role in the game and if he actually is an imposter.

"Hey, I just saw Kenny near the reactor room," Nichole announces over the chat.

Kenny quickly interjects. "No way dude, I was just doing the wiring task in electrical. Nichole, are you self-reporting?"

"No, guys, listen to me! I saw Kenny lurking around the corner, and suddenly the lights went out. Seems pretty sus to me," Nichole insists to the group.

Accusations fly as the group argues about Kenny's role in the game.

"Guys, seriously, can you vote already? Us ghosts are bored as shit over here," Stan complains, taking a sip from his water bottle. 

"Seconded," Tolkien chimes in. Him and Stan are sitting out the game.

"Stan and Tolkien, you guys can't talk since you aren't participating in the game, remember? It's a liability. Now, Kenny, if you were in Admin, why didn't you fix the O2 when the alarm went off?" Red says.

 The debate heats up as accusations fly back and forth. After the argument gets nowhere, Red suggests that Kenny give a list of 10 compelling reasons as to why they should keep him alive.

 “Uh… okay. Everyone, gather round. Our dear Nichole and Red here are hell-bent on ejecting me into the cold vacuum of space, but for my folks who still believe in me, fear not! Because I present to you the Top 10 reasons why you should keep this amazing, totally innocent guy alive!”

The lobby goes quiet, waiting. Kenny takes a deep breath.

 ”Reason One… have you seen my stylish outfit? Today I’m sporting a…” Kenny looks down at himself to remember what he’s wearing. A hand-me-down “D.A.R.E.” drug program shirt from his brother, Kevin (fat load of good that program did for Kevin) and his normal jeans. Well, that’s better than his typical orange hoodie. Something different to make his case. 

“Wearing a D.A.R.E. shirt. Not only is it stylish, but it encourages children to not do drugs. Just think of how good my style is for humanity. Just say no, kids.” Kenny points his laptops’s shitty camera down to highlight his T-shirt.

Wendy snorts. "Didn't you guys nearly burn down the school after that D.A.R.E. assembly? Pretty sure I saw you smoking in the parking lot with Stan and Kyle like, immediately after."

“Ey! It wasn’t just them. I was there too, bitch,” Cartman interjects.

“We don’t smoke now! It’s just… those guys were so fucking lame,” Kyle protests quickly.

“Yeah, what Kyle said! And the fire we caused was such a good learning opportunity for a young lad like myself. Which brings me to Reason number two why you should keep me alive: I learn from my mistakes.”

Kenny continues on his monologue. “Reason Three… Did you guys know that I’m a philanthropist in my free time? Ejecting me from the game would be depriving the universe from my generous acts. I once donated three whole dollars to a space charity! AND…. and, I put up with Eric Cartman on the daily!”

The crowd claps at this statement and gives their finest Discord sound effects, eliciting another “EY!” from Cartman himself.

"The fuck is a space charity?" Craig deadpans.

"It's for the alien orphans, dude," Stan explains, his voice a little too loud. He's seemed to be in much better spirits as the night has progressed. "Some of them starve every day, and we can help them out for the low price of less than a cup of coffee a day. Kenny here is a great advocate for them. Also, I’m totally going to be in the Space Force one day; that way I can help those poor orphan aliens.”

“Yeah, have you never seen those Sarah McLachlan commercials about space alien orphans, Craig? That’s what that ‘In the arms of the angels’ song is all about,” Kyle adds, mocking disbelief.

“Hey, no helping Kenny out! Kenny needs to make his own arguments,” Red scolds.

“Dude, I’m not even playing in the main game; I’ve got no investment,” Stan protests, turning his mic off, the red cross over his microphone indicating that he’s done. He drinks something from his dark blue water bottle that he seemed to get out halfway through the game.

“Reason Four,” Kenny continues. “I am the Meme Lord. Eject me, and you lose the hero your memes fix needs.” Kenny is very active in sending daily memes to the Discord chat. They usually don’t get much reaction, but he sends them on the daily all the same. Usually, he gets at least a pity laugh emoji reaction from Wendy.

Kyle laughs. “All you send are shitty dank memes.”

“So? Dank memes are still memes, dude. And I’m the Elon Musk of dank memes.”

“Yeah, that's not helping your case, dude," Craig says. "I'm voting to eject him just for that."

“Hey, you haven’t even heard the best 6 reasons, Tucker! Okay, Reason Five: Have you ever wondered why aliens abduct cows? Because I’ve got the reason why, and I’ll tell it to you here right now, because I’ve got the answers to all your killer conspiracy theory questions.”

Tweek gets restless at the mention of conspiracy theories, providing a good audience for Kenny. 

“Reason Six: I’m the interstellar wing-eating champion. I’ve dominated chicken-eating competitions on every habitable planet. Remove me, and you lose the reigning heavyweight champion of the intergalactic wing-eating league.”

“Ey! I could beat you at that in a heartbeat. In fact, I can prove it to you right now, bitch!” Cartman says, pulling out his nightly doordashed bucket of KFC.

"Cartman, for fuck's sake, put the chicken away," Kyle groans.

“Yeah, and eating only the skin doesn’t count, Cartman,” Stan adds his voice slightly slurred. Kyle laughs at this, forgetting to mute himself.

"Stan! I swear to God, I'm going to mute you!" Red does just that, permanently muting Stan as one of the game's facilitators. Stan scowls but Kenny can see a small smile on him as he takes yet another sip from his water bottle. 

Kenny ignores Cartman, determined to continue on with the latter half of his list.

"Reason Number Seven- My ghost will haunt you all, and trust me, you don't want that!"

Tweek shudders. "I don't want to be haunted! Let him stay!"

Kenny pauses. Usually, he can only haunt Cartman, but he hasn't ever tried Tweek. He makes a mental note to pay a friendly visit to Tweek the next time he dies to see if he is receptive to it. For science.

"Reason Eight- I'll sing you all a song before bedtime? Who else is gonna do that?"

"God, please don't ever do that," Kyle says.

"Hey, I'll have you know that I actually have a decent voice, Kyle. I even made it to Europe for my opera skills," Kenny says.

"Opera? That's even worse. I'd rather be haunted," Craig shudders.

Kenny clutches his chest like he's been shot. "Y'all just don't appreciate true talent. But fine, whatever. Reason Nine: I've been collecting all the rarest hats in the game. Kick me out, and you'll never see my legendary collection."

Wendy laughs. "That just means that you've been playing the game way too much."

"And the tenth and final reason you should let me live...drumroll please..."

A reluctant pattering of hands on desks fills the voice chat.

"Because you love me!" Kenny finishes with a flourish. "I mean, how could you not? I'm a goddamn delight."

Silence. Then, the votes start rolling in.

Kenny watches in mounting horror as the screen fills with his friends' avatars, each one sentencing him to a digital demise.

"Sorry, Kenny," Nichole says, not sounding sorry at all. "But you're a liability, boo. To the airlock with you!"

"Bye, Kenny!" Butters chirps. "It was fun playing with you!"

"Fuck you guys," Kenny laughs as his little astronaut guy floats off into the inky void of space. "I poured my heart out to you, and this is the thanks I get? Cold, man. Ice cold."

"Maybe if you worked on your debate skills, you could've swayed the jury," Kyle teases. "I'm just saying, Speech and Debate club is always looking for new members."

"Hard pass, dude. I gave you the argument of my life, and y'all still did me dirty. I know when I'm beat."

“You should really work on that if that’s the argument of your life,” Craig says in his usual monotone voice. Kenny figures that’s probably some good life advice. He should be working on some reasoning to a similar problem: why he should no longer be immortal but allowed to live without Death coming after him 24/7. This is Kenny’s real-life dream, and something he thinks of reasons for every day.

Kenny savors his nightly walks to Stan's place, the quiet moments before they break into their familiar sprint. It's his time to breathe, to think, away from the chaos of his own home. He ponders the mysteries of the universe, the secrets of his own fucked-up existence. Tries to make sense of quantum physics and cult rituals, geometry proofs and the cruel calculus of death.

But tonight, as he meets Stan at their usual spot, something feels off. His friend looks like a ghost of himself, pale and gaunt in the streetlight's glow. The shadows under his eyes are so dark they look like bruises, stark against the paleness of his skin.

Stan's always been more of a muscular build, so the slimb limbs look out o f place on him. His cheekbones jut and his limbs look too long for his frame. Even his hair is different, grown out and hanging in his eyes.

For a while now, it's like Stan's been fading. Not just physically, but in every way. Like the light inside him is slowly going out, and Kenny doesn't know how to stop it. 

The past month, Kenny has seen a pretty good difference in Stan, at least mentally. He’s been much livelier and active on their gaming nights, and even Kyle texted Kenny stating his relief at Stan seeming to be getting better. While Kenny agrees with Kyle that Stan has been acting a lot better, he doubts Kyle would remain optimistic if he were to see Stan physically right now outside of the strategic lighting Stan presents himself with on Zoom and Discord meetings.

"Kenny?" Stan's voice cuts through Kenny's thoughts on quantum physics, his voice hesitant. "Can I ask you something?"

“What’s up, Stanny Boy?”

Stan rolls his eyes at the pet name. Shifting nervously, he asks, "I was wondering...could you maybe get some alcohol for me?"

Kenny stops short, Stan backtracking to meet him. Warning bells blare in Kenny's mind.

Kenny's heart stutters in his chest. "Why?"

He knows why. He's not stupid. But he needs to hear Stan say it.

"C'mon, dude. I know you've drank before. Fuck, you've done way worse." Stan's going for casual, but Kenny can hear the desperation bleeding through. "I can pay you and everything."

Kenny shakes his head, his stomach churning. “Why don’t you just steal your dad’s?”

“I mean, I do… but he usually only has beer. And I wanted something a little… stronger than that. And my mom caught me once with some of the vodka, and I got in….. I just can’t do it again is all; they take inventory of that shit now.” Stan’s hands are fidgeting as he looks down at his hand, moving his feet as well to stay warm.

Kenny doesn’t like where this conversation is going one bit. If this were any other one of his friends, he’d be happy to comply, probably offering to have a mini party to down shots with them himself. God knows he could let loose a little during this lousy excuse of a pandemic. But the fact that it’s Stan asking for it sends warning bells off to his core. Kenny’s not completely sure why this is, as Kenny sure as hell isn’t opposed to underage drinking. But the gut feeling he gets in this moment feels sickening. This situation is making him feel very uneasy, a feeling he is not used to unless it's in conjunction with his impending deaths. 

"Stan," he says softly, hating the way his friend won't look at him. "This isn't...it's not a good idea, man."

"Why not?" Stan snaps, his eyes flashing. "It's a simple fucking question, Kenny. Can you get me some alcohol or not?"

Stan’s fidgeting increases despite it not being that cold, especially with how much they’ve ran already. His eyes are wide with a desperation that only increases Kenny’s internal alarm bell. His eyes look a darker shade of blue than the usual brightness, his irises very dilated even under the bright streetlamps.

“You didn’t answer my question, Stan. Why?” This question seems vitally important.

“Never mind, dude. I can figure out how to get it somewhere else,” Stan mutters. Neither one of them make a move to begin running again. The slightly cold breeze that moments ago gave Kenny relief makes him feel frozen in place.

Kenny takes a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "How often are you drinking, Stan?"

Silence. Then, defensive: "Why does it matter?"

“Stan, I’m just worried about you, okay?”

“Jesus Christ, Why?! Why does everyone keep saying that? I'm fine!” 

"Because I'm worried about you, okay? You haven't been yourself lately, and drowning yourself in alcohol...it's not gonna help, dude."

"That's rich, coming from you. Since when are you the poster boy for healthy coping mechanisms?"

It stings, but Kenny lets it slide. He knows Stan's lashing out, trying to push him away.

"I'm not trying to be a hypocrite, Stan. I just...I know what it's like, to want to numb the pain. But trust me, it's not the answer, especially if you're depressed."

“Jesus, what makes you think I’m depressed? And even if I were, why the fuck would it matter if I drank when it’s the only fucking thing that can make feel okay? Not even good, Kenny. Just okay. I just want to fucking feel okay; can that just be the fucking bare minimum I ask for?”

Kenny takes a shaky breath, his eyes wide. “Stan. There’s other things other than alcohol that can hel-”

“LIKE WHAT?! Are you going to tell me to go to a fucking therapist? Because my mom already made me, and she just gave me stupid breathing techniques as if that would magically take away everything wrong with me. And it’s not like I haven’t tried other things, Kenny. Kyle has tried sending me so many resources, and I’ve tried ALL of them for him because I feel so goddamn guilty that Kyle has to fucking deal with me all the time like this. He should just get a different best friend, because I’m not worth all the effort he puts in. The only thing that can help me right now is some goddamn alcohol, or a fucking shot to the head. If you could live one fucking day in my mind, you all would see that and mercifully go with the gunsh-"

"Don't," Kenny chokes out, his heart seizing in his chest. "Don't you dare finish that sentence, Stan."

Kenny wishes that this were crying Stan. At least he knows how to somewhat deal with teary Stan. Out of all his friends, Stan has always been the one more prone to sensitivity. But this is completely different. This is something much deeper, something that terrifies the shit out of Kenny. This version of Stan seems way out of Kenny’s pay grade to know how to help.

“Stan,” he whispers desperately, reaching out to touch him. Stan flinches in response, moving a couple of feet back. 

At this point, Kenny feels like he would say anything to get Stan to not be in this state of mind. He will try to worry about the consequences of it later.

“Yes, I can get you some alcohol,” Kenny says.

Stan’s eyes soften just a little bit, his shoulders also relaxing a light amount. He nods slightly. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to snap,” he says weakly.

Kenny attempts a nervous laugh to ease the tension. “It’s okay, dude. This pandemic sucks. I… I get it. Wanting to have some alcohol to help, I mean.”

Stan nods in agreement. Kenny attempts to move closer to Stan again, and when Stan doesn’t move away grabs him to pull him into a hug, wraps his arms around him like he can hold him together by sheer force of will. Stan doesn't hug back, just stands there, shaking and small.

"Stan... just know that this isn't a solution. It's just a Band-Aid on a bullet hole."

Stan nods against his shoulder, a jerky little motion. "I know. I'm sorry, Kenny. I didn't...I didn't mean to dump all this on you."

Kenny squeezes him tighter, feels the ridge of his spine through his thin t-shirt.

“It’s a little cold; we should probably get back,” Kenny says. He actually thinks the weather is quite nice, but Stan is still shaking so much, much more than the mild weather calls for.

“Ok,” Stan agrees, his voice sounding small. 

Kenny still wants to do anything to make him feel better, so again against his better judgment says, “I can get you the alcohol before tomorrow’s run, man. You just need to be okay with some bottom-shelf vodka. It’ll just cost ya the amount it’s worth.”

Stan smiles at him gratefully as they begin a jog back to Stan’s house.

Chapter Text

2035

Stan paces his apartment, the sun not yet risen. He tried to get some sleep, he really did, but his anxiety about today made that impossible. He tossed and turned all night before finally giving up around 4 a.m. Probably for the best anyway - at least this way he won't risk having those creepy nightmares again. His funeral suit is already laid out - a black ensemble he reserves for work functions. Black suit, black shirt, black shoes and socks. It might be overkill, even for a funeral, but it matches his mood. He briefly considers adding a black tie, but decides that's a bit much, even for him. He opts for an orange one instead. For Kenny.

He still has a good 2 and a half hours to kill before he needs to start getting ready. And honestly, 30 minutes is pretty generous - all he really needs to do is shower and run a hand through his hair. It'll air dry on the drive. Feeling too keyed-up to just sit around, he decides to do something he used to do all the time with Kenny: go running.

On impulse, he changes into running shorts and an old t-shirt, leaving his hoodie behind. It's chilly out, but he'll warm up quick enough once he gets going. He queues up a playlist of 2010s hits and sets off at a punishing pace, skipping his usual warmup in favor of something just shy of a sprint.

The running feels good, the familiar burn in his muscles grounding him. But it's bittersweet, too. So many of his running memories feature Kenny, even the solo jogs. Kenny was the one who always dragged him out of bed on the days when Stan could barely stand to be in his own skin. He'd bitch and moan, but secretly, he was grateful. Grateful that Kenny gave enough of a shit to haul his depressed ass out into the sunlight. Thinking about it now, about all those little gestures of care and concern... it's too much. Stan's vision blurs, his throat tight and aching. He makes it maybe two miles before he has to turn back, the tears flowing freely now.

He gets a few odd looks from neighbors as he books it back to his building. Though to be honest, that's probably more to do with him voluntarily leaving his apartment before noon on a weekend rather than the tears. Crying or not, that's gotta be a red flag.

He fills his thermos with coffee, adding a couple shots of espresso. He needs all the help he can get to stay focused today. 

He showers early and even styles his hair. His straight hair doesn’t have any texture and doesn’t like to really do anything he tells it to, but he gives it his best all the same. By the end of all his fussing, his hair doesn’t look that much different than it usually does, but he thinks if he squints a bit that it looks like he’s added a little bit more volume. At least his bangs look better than usual, probably. Maybe. Who is he kidding; it looks exactly the same as it did when he first started fussing with it. 

Before he leaves the bathroom, he feels another strong surge of anxiety and turns to the toilet to throw up his dinner from last night. He rests his forehead against the cool porcelain, taking shuddery breaths through his nose. His mom used to tell him he'd grow out of these panic-puke episodes, but that had just been wishful thinking on her part. If anything, they've gotten worse with age.

When he's reasonably sure he's done, he staggers to his feet and washes out his mouth. He brushes his teeth for good measure, though the minty taste makes him gag a little. He's still shaky and nauseous, but at least he doesn't feel like he's going to hurl again. Small victories.

His phone buzzes with a text from Kyle. “Do you want a ride? I just left and can get you on the way there.”

Stan frowns down at the screen. His first reaction is to say no, because the idea of being trapped in a car with Kyle, of being in South Park without his own means of an escape route... it kicks his anxiety into high gear. But then he thinks about the long drive ahead, the very real possibility of having to pull over to puke on the side of the road. And yeah, maybe letting Kyle drive isn't the worst idea.

Resigned, he shakily sinks into his couch, his restless legs bouncing. Sighing, he takes out his phone and gives the text from Kyle a ‘like’ reaction. 

Not even a minute later, Stan gets a response from Kyle. "Dude. Use your words. I don't know what the hell that's supposed to mean. Am I coming to get you or not?"

Stan can practically hear Kyle's exasperated tone, can picture him scowling at his phone's speech-to-text function.

Stan sighs again and types, “Ok.”

About 15 minutes later, Kyle texts to let Stan know he's here. Stan hurriedly knots his tie with shaky hands, grabs his trusty thermos of coffee, and heads out. He sinks into the passenger seat of Kyle's car, trying to hide the tremors wracking his body.

Kyle is also wearing a black suit, but with the more normal-looking white shirt underneath. His silky black tie is tied carefully, his curly hair looking very soft and perfectly styled. Knowing how long Stan had spent this morning trying to style his own hair to no avail, this makes Stan grumpier for some reason. 

"Just for the record," Kyle says as Stan fumbles with his seatbelt, "when I asked for confirmation, I was expecting more of a 'yes' or 'no.' 'Ok' is almost as bad as a like."

Stan just grunts, finally getting the buckle to click. He takes a swig of coffee, letting the heat and bitterness ground him.

Kyle's car is spotless, smelling faintly of spearmint from the air freshener dangling from the rearview. It's unnervingly clean, like it just rolled off the lot. Stan feels like he keeps his own car fairly clean, but he would be self-conscious if he let Kyle anywhere near his own car. 

"There's a smoothie for you in the cupholder," Kyle says, pulling out of the parking spot. "Figured you probably haven't eaten."

Stan glances down at the purple. There's no matching drink on Kyle's side - this must be a pity smoothie, then. He takes a cautious sip. Raspberry and blueberry, no banana. Makes sense. Kyle's always had a thing against bananas. Even the smell makes him gag. It's not bad, actually. It's definitely better than those protein shakes Stan's been choking down lately.

Kyle side-eyes Stan's thermos. "Dude, is that coffee?"

"Uh, yeah?" Stan takes another pointed swig. Since when is a morning coffee some shocking vice?

"You're so jittery I can feel it through the seat. Coffee's the last thing you need right now." And before Stan can stop him, Kyle snatches the thermos away, stashing it out of reach.

“Hey! That was my emotional support coffee. Give it back.”

“I’ll give it back if you finish your smoothie.”

“Ok, mom.”

“Rather be a mom than have to have an emotional support coffee. You sound like Tweek.”

“Kahl! Give me back my coffee, Jew. I’m seriously.” Stan pitches his voice into his best Cartman whine.

Kyle snorts. "You really think channeling Cartman is gonna make me cooperative? Or is this some weird roleplay thing? You want me to call you fatass, Stan? Weird kink, but okay."

"Nah, fatass is my pet name for your mom."

"Weak, dude. So weak."

They lapse into silence for a bit, the radio playing softly in the background.

"Seriously though," Stan says after a minute, "gimme back my coffee."

Kyle turns to see if Stan has drunk any more of the smoothie, which he hasn’t. He’s mostly stirring it around with the straw and staring at it.

“Does the smoothie taste that bad?”

Stan feels a twinge of guilt. It was kind of thoughtful, Kyle getting him something gentle on the stomach. He's always been good at that, knowing what food Stan can handle when everything feels like too much. Even though Stan knows Kyle is only being this thoughtful because Kenny is making them play nice, he still appreciates it.

“No… no; it’s good," he says, taking another sip. "Thanks, by the way."

They drive in silence for a bit, the soft rock playlist washing over them. "Sorry I don't have any goth music for you," Kyle says after a while.

Stan rolls his eyes. "Very funny. FYI, my goth phase is long gone. I've upgraded to brooding silently in the car while listening to podcasts."

"Ah, the natural evolution of the modern man. From My Chemical Romance to NPR."

"Please, NPR is way more your speed than mine."

After Stan is nearly done with his smoothie, Kyle reaches into his pocket. He pulls out a little plastic bag and shakes out a couple of small white pills, offering one to Stan.

Stan eyes it warily. "Dude. Not really in the mood to get roofied today."

"It's Zofran, dipshit. Prescription anti-nausea meds. Figured you could use them, with..." He trails off, gesturing vaguely. "I've got more for later, before the luncheon. Probably good to have something solid in you by then."

Stan silently swallows the pill, not quite sure why he’s being so trusting of Kyle. Probably because he doesn’t really have anything to lose if he actually does end up being drugged. 

"Nice tie, by the way," Kyle says. "The orange. Very Kenny."

Stan grunts his thanks. They are driving further into the mountains now, almost to South Park. Stan’s stomach clenches a bit at the familiar scenery, but the waves of nausea are much more muted now. 

"I don't know if I can do this," he blurts out, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Which part?” Kyle says softly.

Stan opens his eyes, looking over at him. He had been referring to the whole ‘getting close to the people in South Park to figure out which one of them is behind whatever cryptic thing Kenny was talking about’, but he also very much just means the funeral in general. Facing Kenny’s death.

“Any of this.”

Kyle doesn't say anything, just keeps driving. His knuckles are white on the wheel, his gaze a million miles away. There is hardly any traffic through the mountains at this time on a Sunday morning. The various shades of green in his eyes match the different variations of trees they pass in the mountains, sorrow etched into them.  A sadness in Kyle’s eyes that he has had ever since he first saw him at his apartment the other night, a misery in his eyes that Stan had never seen in Kyle before. One that causes something extremely painful to stir in Stan’s heart every time he looks at Kyle.

After a long moment, Kyle reaches over and takes Stan's hand.

Stan stares down at their entwined fingers, something sharp and aching blooming behind his ribs. He should pull away, should put that careful distance back between them. But he's just so tired. So he holds on. He laces their fingers together and tries to breathe around the lump in his throat.

They stay like that the rest of the ride, quietly holding hands and thinking of Kenny until Kyle makes it to the church and parks. The soft rock playlist Kyle had put on plays softly in the background, "Silent Lucidity" by Queensryche playing. Stan tries not to choke up, the playlist bringing back lots of memories of the music him and Kenny would listen to while sharing a joint after going up to the mountains after a long day of High School or college.

Kyle takes a deep breath after he turns the ignition off. “We can do this,” he mutters, but it sounds like he’s more trying to convince himself than a confident pep talk.

Stan squeezes Kyle’s hand one last time before stepping out the car, starting to walk into the church building. An overwhelmingly familiar scent washes over him, the smell of dusty hymn books and stale communion wafers.

It's strange how he can't remember the last time he was here. Probably sometime senior year, or just after. Back then, attending church every Sunday and the occasional weekday event was an unchanging routine, one of the most consistent parts of his life in South Park. Funny how he never thought to savor those last few times, never considered that one unremarkable Sunday would be the end of an era. His last visit, he was probably a little hungover, certainly not imagining that the next time he set foot in this building would be for his best friend's funeral.

His eyes dart around the still-sparse crowd. There's the pew his family always sat in, second row on the right. He'd join them for the first ten minutes or so, until Kenny's family showed up fashionably late. Then he'd slip away to the back row, settling in beside Kenny for the rest of the service. The old ladies in front of them probably thought they'd be the death of him and Kenny, with all their snickering and whispering.

Stan's parents finally got divorced for good not long after he graduated. He has no memories of coming to church with them not being a family.

Behind the podium rests a blown-up picture of Kenny in his PhD graduation photo, his parents and sister proudly at his side. There is a small table next to it with some other pictures of Kenny from various stages of his life, some of which Kyle and Stan are in as well. Notably missing is one from his own High School graduation day. 

Someone is playing music at the organ. Stan doesn’t recognize the song. He catches Kenny’s family at the front and goes to greet them. Karen hugs him tightly, her eyes puffy. She is wearing a familiar-looking question mark symbol on a necklace, the symbol for Mysterion. Stan smiles sadly at it, wondering how much she knows of Kenny’s alter-ego. Carole is already crying. She gives Stan a big hug as well, thanking him for coming. Stan shakes Stuart’s hand and gives Kevin a solemn nod that Kevin returns. He doesn’t know what to say to any of them, so just offers his support, muttering how sorry he is.

An urn on the center table catches his eye, and he frowns. "Kenny was cremated? When?" he asks Karen.

Karen nods. “They were finally able to create his body yesterday morning and got us the ashes last night. They finally finished his autopsy. Apparently, it was kidney disease- so unexpected.”

Stan's blood runs cold. He senses a presence behind him and turns to see Kyle, who clearly overheard. They share an uneasy glance. Whatever is in that urn, it isn't Kenny. Stan gives Karen's arm a gentle squeeze and slips away, letting Kyle take his turn with the McCormicks.

As Stan turns around, he notices someone familiar sitting nearby, silent tears causing their body to shake. Wendy. Her dark hair goes a little past her shoulders, shorter than Stan has ever seen it. She is wearing a black dress and black tights, black shoes with about a 1-inch heel. Stan hasn’t seen Wendy in so long. His throat tightens a bit at the sight of her. Stan has only been in one serious argument with Kenny before, and Wendy was the main topic of said argument. Swallowing down his anxiety, he walks over and sits down next to her.

“I thought I would be the one who wore the most black today, but I think you’ve got me beaten.” He regrets his statement as soon as it leaves his mouth, praying to God it’s not taken as a sad attempt to flirt. That line was pretty pathetic, even for him.

Wendy looks up, looking surprised to see Stan. “Stan! It’s good to see you.” She leans over to give Stan a side hug. 

“Same to you. I wish it could be under better circumstances.”

She nods, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. Stan isn't sure where she and Kenny left things. He's pretty certain they weren't together anymore, but he has no clue if they kept in touch. Even though Kenny was his best friend, they rarely talked about Wendy. Too many old wounds there, for both of them.

"We should catch up sometime," Wendy says, breaking the silence. "Get coffee or something."

"Yeah, definitely." Stan nods, grateful for the excuse to end this painful interaction. They exchange numbers and make vague plans, Wendy giving him a watery smile as he stands to go.

He nearly collides with Bebe, who's making a beeline for Wendy. "Hi, Bebe," he mumbles, remembering his mission to talk to everyone.

She just glares at him, and he frowns. "What?"

"Seriously, Stan? Hitting on Wendy? Now?"

He almost laughs at the absurdity of it. "Jesus, no. I'm not hitting on anyone, are you kidding me?"

Bebe just scoffs and brushes past him, folding Wendy into a fierce hug. Stan shakes his head, bewildered, and continues his circuit of the room.

As it nears the time for the service to take place, it gets quieter as people settle down into the pews. The somber notes of the organ fills the air. Stan makes his way to the empty pew in the back, the one he used to sit with Kenny. He hugs himself. 

Butters settles down next to him, wearing a blue suit, his blonde hair styled down with some gel atop his head. He looks just as somber and sad as Stan feels. He greets Stan. 

“Gee, it sure is cold in here,” Butters observes. Stan nods in agreement. It is very cold in here, which is weird since it’s warmed up quite a bit outside and Stan is pretty sure the air conditioner never worked in this old building, remembering many hot and stuffy summer Sundays. Stan looks around, noting how the others are also hugging themselves to stay warm, pulling blazers closed and tighter.

Father Maxi, now old as fuck but still alive (because you guys; this is the fucking future) makes his way to the front, clearing his throat to begin the service. He doesn’t make it very far in the eulogy before the lights in the church flicker intermittently. The stained-glass windows vibrate slightly. Father Maxi loses his train of thought, laughing nervously.

Without warning, the urn allegedly containing Kenny’s ashes begins to tremble on its stand. The murmuring crowd falls silent, wide eyes fixed on the shaking urn.

“What the hell is happening?” He hears Clyde whisper loudly in the pew in front of him.

Low sounds come from the organ despite the organ player not playing anything. Stan feels frozen in place, but feels oddly calm. It’s not like this is the weirdest thing that’s happened in South Park, so he’s honestly not that surprised. This seems pretty on-brand. 

The urn shakes violently once more before resting quietly in place. There are faint whispers, whispers that could be mistaken as wind if it weren’t for the calm skies outside. “Beware…. The depths….” Stan hears the whispers make out. The whisper fades as quickly as it had appeared. He looks around him to see if anyone else caught that, but nobody else flinches. They mostly look relieved that the urn isn’t shaking and that the lights have stabilized. 

He looks forward to find where Kyle is sitting next to Heidi and Red. Kyle also turns to him at the same time and they exchange a look. Kyle nods slowly, indicating that he heard it as well. The rest of the congregation’s relief turns to a mix of fear and confusion on their faces.

Father Maxi, who is very practiced in the art of turning odd situations around at church, regains his composure, trying to calm the crowd. “Let us not be swayed by these…. Technical difficulties. We are here to remember Kenny.” 

The rest of the service seems to go as planned. Father Maxi shares some scripture passages, and some members of the McCormick family share memories of Kenny and how much they’ll miss him. Stan has to zone out, feeling tears coming quickly. He quickly reigns the tears in, not to the detriment of his poor fingers that he bites down harshly.  He’s always been so quick to cry and feel so deeply, but at the same so opposed to showing emotions in public or to anyone else, for that matter. At least not since he was a kid. This diametrically opposed fact about him is something he’s always hated- how he seems to feel so much deeper than those around him, but utterly unable to show it. He bites hard down on his lower lip and pinches harshly at his wrist until both bleed and looks intently at one of the glass-stained windows, ignoring Kyle’s occasional worried glances back to him. He also ignores Butters to his right-hand side, who is letting out his tears without any shame. 

The funeral service ends somewhat abruptly, Father Maxi looking uncomfortable at the fact that there is no typical burial service afterward at a graveyard. The crowd begins to disperse.

The South Park Community Center offered its premises for the luncheon afterward to the McCormick family for no fee. It is located just around the corner from the church, and there are already tables set up, finger foods located at the front of the room, and even more photos of Kenny peppered around the room. Stan avoids looking at the photos, almost all of which display Kenny’s genuine smile that tilts further to his right side, displaying the small gap between his front teeth and the glimmer in his blue eyes. He especially ignores the many that he and Kyle seem to be in with him prior to their later years of high school as well as the ones that Kenny is in with Wendy. Wendy also seems to be avoiding looking at the photos at all costs much to Stan’s satisfaction, which he immediately feels guilty for. He kicks himself mentally, knowing he needs to grow the fuck up. That’s still easier said than done when his feelings of Kenny and Wendy’s relationship seem to be driven by such childish yet embarrassingly deep feelings.

Stan is snapped out of his feelings of jealousy by hearing a distressingly familiar sound: Kyle and Cartman arguing. 

“What the fuck are you doing here, Cartman?”

“Kenny was just as much my friend as yours, you fucking Jew!”

“You weren’t even at the actual funeral!”

"Duh, because Kenny would've hated all that formal bullshit anyway."

"Oh my god, you're literally just here for the free food." Kyle is practically vibrating with rage, his face flushed red.

Stan blinks slowly, feeling like he's been transported back to elementary school. Seriously, this same shit? He sighs as a crowd starts to gather, drawn by the steadily rising volume of Kyle and Cartman's arguing.

Reluctantly, Stan wades into the fray, positioning himself between them like a human buffer.

"Guys, can we not do this here?" he hisses, trying to keep his voice down.

Kyle rounds on him, eyes flashing. "Seriously, Stan?"

Cartman just smirks. "See, Stan gets it. He knows you're being an emotional little bitch, Kahl."

Stan scowls at Cartman in response and says in a low voice so as to not draw more attention from the crowd around them, “Shut up, Cartman. You’re such a fucking poser showing up to just the luncheon and not giving a shit enough to show up to the actual funeral. If I didn't think it'd cause a scene, I'd toss your ass out myself."

"Wow, okay, I see how it is." Cartman crosses his arms with a theatrical sniff. "Stan Marsh, buttfucking hippie traitor extraordinaire. I shoulda known you'd take your boyfriend's side."

"Oh, get some new material, asshole." Stan rolls his eyes. It'd almost be funny, that 'buttfucking traitor' bit, if Cartman hadn't been recycling it since they were nine. At least back then it was kind of original.

Cartman stomps off in a huff, shoving his way to the front of the buffet line and piling his plate high.

"I will never understand," Kyle seethes, "how you can say the exact same shit I do, and he just... listens."

"I don't know, maybe because I don't fly off the handle at every little thing?" Stan pinches the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache brewing. "You're a grown-ass adult, dude. Either ignore him or be fucking civil."

Kyle looks like he's about to explode, but he visibly reins himself in. "Whatever, Stan. Start taking notes from everyone else." He stalks off toward the food, making a beeline for Heidi.

Stan spots Tolkien and Nichole chatting by the photo collages and makes his way over, skirting clusters of mourners as he goes. Tolkien has always been a pretty reasonable guy, and while Stan hasn't seen much of him lately, he still considers him a friend.

But before he can reach them, a hand clamps down on his shoulder, spinning him around.

"Stanley! What're you doin' here, bud?"

Oh, Christ. Randy.

His dad's hair is still mostly black, but his mustache is starting to go grey at the edges. And if the glassy sheen of his eyes is anything to go by, he's already a few drinks in.

"The hell do you mean, what am I doing here? It's my best friend's funeral." Stan shrugs out of Randy's grip, irritation spiking. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to support my son, obviously! Since it's such a, a difficult time for you, losing Kenny and all." Randy leans in, his whiskey-sour breath making Stan's nose wrinkle.

“Then why did you ask me what I was doing he-…. never mind,” Stan sighs. 

He throws an arm around Stan's shoulders, ignoring the way he tenses up. “There, there, son. There, there.”

Jesus fucking Christ. Stan extricates himself from the sloppy embrace, fighting the urge to gag. "Uh-huh. Thanks, Dad. Really feeling the love. You have comforted me. Now go get food, because we both know that’s why you’re really here.”

Randy nods, proud of himself and his stellar comforting skills. “Yeah, I’m a good dad. Know how to provide comfort and shit to my kids, like when Spider-Man killed Shelley’s boyfriend. I’m so much better than Sharon, who didn’t even bother to come here to her son’s best friend’s funeral. ” He overpronounces the syllables in the words with a slight slur.

Stan bites his lip, eager to get away from his father. He knows his mom would have come if she could make it, but she lives in New Mexico so as to be closer to Shelley and her family. Speaking of his mom, he should probably call her tonight to tell her the news.

"Okay, Dad, seriously. Go get some food before you fall over." He makes a hasty retreat, heading over to Tolkien.

“Tolkien! Hey, man. Long time, no see,” he says with a forced smile as he nears him. Stan reaches out his hand to shake his, but Tolkien ignores his hand, opting instead to give Stan a tight hug, which Stan reciprocates. 

"Stan, hey. It's been too long, dude. You gotta come to game night sometime."

"Ha, yeah. Definitely." Stan rubs the back of his neck, suddenly awkward. "I've been meaning to, I swear. Work's just been..."

But Tolkien's not really listening, his eyes distant. "Crazy about Kenny, huh? I still can't believe he's gone."

Stan can only bear another minute of chatter before he cuts to the chase. Tolkien works for the police force in South Park and seems eager to compare career notes with Stan. Stan, very restless, hopes he sounds friendly and hopes Kyle keeps tabs on who Stan is talking to so they can split up and scope out everyone here. 

“Hey, listen. Have you spent any time with Kenny lately?”

Tolkien’s face turns somber at the mention of Kenny. “Actually, yes. Probably more in the past year than the previous 5 years combined.”

This piques Stan’s interest. Kenny hadn’t mentioned hanging out with Tolkien, and Stan saw Kenny fairly often and consistently. “Really?”

Tolkien nods. “He’d been coming down to South Park a lot more lately. His death…. Look. I know they say that he died due to natural causes, but I can’t help fight the feeling that something weirder is going on.”

“What do you mean?”

Tolkien looks at Stan warily. “You’re a detective, right? Let’s chat about this over coffee or something. Not here.” Tolkien looks around the room, his eyes darting nervously. 

Stan nods, hopefully not too eagerly. “Yes. Yes, please.”

Stan leaves the conversation with promises to meet again soon.

Stan makes his way around the room continuing to speak to as many people as he can. He runs into Ned and Jimbo; Jimbo looking very distraught. Kenny always was Jimbo's step-in nephew when it came to hunting, taking Stan’s place. Jimbo always has wanted a son, and while Stan tried to be polite to his uncle growing up, he hated going shooting with Ned and Jimbo. It wasn’t anything against the guns; Stan enjoyed and was always pretty good at shooting things like bullseyes and soda bottles. But Stan could never bring himself to shoot innocent animals. Stan knows that Kenny would go shooting with Ned and Jimbo every time the shooting season came around. It used to make Stan jealous that they seemed to take a liking a bit more to Kenny, especially when Stan thought they found him somehow less masculine, but as he grew up, he was mostly just relieved he had someone to fill in for him to keep his uncle happy. Besides, who wouldn’t like Kenny more than Stan. It’s not a fact that bothers Stan, it’s just…. A fact. 

“You’ll go shooting with me this fall, right Stan? I’m sure with your job and all that you can keep up. We just need to be more careful this season, what with the weirdos hangin’ out in the clearings.”

Stan forces yet another smile and gives another white lie, knowing full well he has no intention of going into the woods to shoot animals. He notes to ask further into the weirdos that Jimbo is referring to later on. “Yes, of course, Uncle Jimbo.” 

Stan makes the rounds, chatting with anyone and everyone who might have a nugget of information about Kenny's final days. PC Principal, Kevin Stoley, Red, Clyde, Big Gay Al, Scott... the names and faces start to blur together. He tries to keep his questions casual, not wanting to raise suspicions, but he jots down notes on who might warrant a closer look.

“What do you mean have we seen Kenny lately?! Should we have? Do you want us to have seen him lately!?” Tweek asks Stan after Stan questions him and Craig. Tweek is holding a thermos of coffee, and now Stan can kind of see where Kyle was coming from this morning. 

Craig just raises an unimpressed eyebrow. "I thought you were supposed to be his best friend, Marsh. Wouldn't you know who he was hanging out with?"

“Oh my God, I was just asking. Have you stayed in touch with him?” Stan grits his teeth, already regretting this conversation.

“Kyle asked us the same thing,” Craig says, eyeing Stan suspiciously. 

Well, shit. So much for subtlety. Stan shrugs, trying to play it off. "Okay, and? Did you see him or not?"

Tweek’s twitches grow stronger, giving Craig a concerned glance. Craig seems to be on high alert. Tweek’s coffee thermos nearly spills, Craig catching it in time like he is saving Tweek’s child’s life. This gives Stan his answer. So they have seen him.

"You want answers, go ask your boyfriend," Craig says flatly. "C'mon, babe. Let's bounce."

And with that, he steers a sputtering Tweek away, flipping Stan off for good measure.

Stan returns the gesture on instinct, then hastily drops his hand. Christ, how old is he again? Apparently not old enough to resist Craig fucking Tucker's juvenile taunts.

Stan approaches Heidi next. He knows that Kyle has talked to her a lot, but doesn’t trust Kyle to stay impartial to her. As far as Stan is concerned, everyone here is a suspect. Heidi gives him a glare that she over-corrects into a tight friendly smile that is too wide, but Stan knows Heidi doesn’t like him. He has no idea what shit Kyle has told her about him and really doesn’t want to know.

“I’m sorry about Kenny. I know you were close with him,” she says.

“Thanks. Have you stayed in touch with Kenny?”

“N…. no. I used to hang out with him and Kyle a lot back in the day, but haven’t really seen him since Kyle and I ended things in college. This whole thing is still so tragic, though.”

Stan is about to respond when he feels a sharp tap on his shoulder. He turns to see Kyle holding out a plate of food to him, looking at him expectantly. “Dude, you haven’t eaten. At the luncheon. Where people go to eat.” 

He pushes the plate into Stan’s hesitant hands, giving him a look that most people wouldn’t think twice of, but Stan knows to be his you better do what the fuck I say right now look. 

“Thanks, Kyle,” Stan mutters, trying to keep annoyance out of his voice. Kyle had put easy-to-eat things on the plate like crackers and mashed potatoes, and Stan takes note of the small white pill he had given him earlier for nausea.

"Wow," Heidi says, looking back and forth between them. "I didn't realize you two were friends again. Last I heard, you had quite the falling out."

"Oh, we're not-" Stan starts, but Kyle cuts him off.

"We're being adults about it. Trying to keep things civil, you know?" His smile is sharp, not reaching his eyes.

Heidi's answering smile is equally brittle. "Of course, of course. Well, I should let you eat. But Kyle, remember what I said earlier, okay?"

She hurries off without waiting for a response, her shoulder clipping Stan's as she passes.

"The hell was that about?" Stan hisses under his breath, letting Kyle steer him toward an empty table.

"Later," Kyle says, eyeing the untouched plate meaningfully.

Stan sighs and pops the nausea pill, forcing down a few bites of the admittedly bland food. He's just about to bring up his working list of potential suspects when a new voice interrupts.

"Boys! I'm so sorry to hear about your little friend. I know my little Eric is so torn up about this whole thing,” Leanne says, her voice dripping with sympathy. 

Stan and Kyle both struggle not to laugh, Kyle trying to inconspicuously put a hand over his mouth and pretending to cover a cough. Eric is most definitely not little. Short, sure (at least compared to Stan and Kyle who are both a little over 6 feet), but not little. Never really has been, even as a kid.

“Thank you, Ms. Cartman,” Stan manages to get out, nudging Kyle sharply under the table.

“I do hope that you two can visit my little Eric while you are in town. I could make a nice dinner, and it can be just like old times! You guys and Kenny were so inseparable. It would make me so happy to see you three together again in my house,” she says, her eyes welling up with tears.

Stan gapes at her, his brain short-circuiting at the very notion. Dinner? With Cartman? He'd rather eat glass.

But Kyle is already nodding. "That would be lovely, Ms. Cartman. We'd be delighted."

"We would?" Stan croaks, earning himself a sharp kick under the table.

Liane’s face relaxes and her tears stop. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, boys. But I would love you to come over tonight while you’re in town. I know my little Eric can be a bit much, but he is really struggling right now and while I know he may show his love weird; I know it would really help for him to see you boys.”

She stands up but hesitates before walking away. She takes out a couple of business cards and hands them to Stan and Kyle for her ‘tutoring’ service. “There are also other things we can always do whenever you’re in town. I’ve always had a thing for detectives, you know.”

She winks at Stan before leaving.

Stan and Kyle sit with the business cards, stunned.

"Dude," Stan finally manages. "What the actual fuck?"

Kyle loses his battle with composure, nearly howling with laughter. "Oh my god, your face!" he wheezes, clutching his stomach. "I thought you were gonna pass out!"

"This isn't funny, asshole! You just signed us up for dinner with Cartman. Cartman! And you heard his mom!" Stan whispers loudly, aware of the stares Kyle’s laugh is bringing to the table.

"Hey, can't blame the woman for having taste," Kyle says, waggling his eyebrows sarcastically. "I mean, who could resist detectives and all that? God, I wish Kenny were here to see that."

Stan cringes at thinking of what Kenny’s response would have been to the interaction. He’d probably slyly offer Stan’s body for him and set up a time for Stan to visit Liane. 

"I fucking hate you," Stan grumbles, burying his burning face in his hands. "I'm not going. No way."

But Kyle sobers up quickly, leaning in close. "Stan, listen. I've been hearing some stuff about Cartman. We need to talk to him."

Stan looks up, frowning. "What kind of stuff?"

"Not here," Kyle says, his voice low. "But trust me, okay? It's important."

And damn him, but Stan does. Trust him. Even after everything, even with all the bad blood between them. When it comes to Kenny, to getting justice for their friend... he knows Kyle's got his back.

"Okay, fine," he sighs, already regretting every life choice that led him to this moment. "But I'm telling Cartman's mom that roleplaying with a Doctor rather than a Detective would be way more her style.”

Kyle laughs again. “How would you know that, sicko? You have weird fantasies?”

"Screw you, I'm going home." Stan stands abruptly, his chair screeching across the linoleum... and immediately sits back down, remembering he doesn't have a car. 

He turns his head to Kyle, who is once again cackling. Stan pretends to be annoyed, but Kyle’s familiar, genuine laugh brings a lightness to his heart.

Chapter Text

August 2020

Summer break comes without any signs of the pandemic stopping. It seems to be getting even worse, at least in Colorado. More cases are showing up every day, along with a lot of unrest among the South Park citizens.

Kenny, having died by lightning the other night after he dared himself to leave their shelter during a nightly run with Stan and Kyle to run into the middle of the trail in the canyon during a sudden severe lightning storm, is in his ghostly form for the first time this summer. Kyle could occasionally join them on their runs, but they always had to be extra careful on those nights since Kyle’s parents have a Ring doorbell. Stan and Kyle had protested Kenny’s dare. They used to be more fun when they were younger, urging Kenny along with crazy dares. Now Kenny has to make his own dares to have some fun. Kenny felt a little reckless last night, and having been electrocuted before finds it a not super bad way to die. Kenny occasionally sacrifices himself to speed up the death process, much preferring not to be surprised. Stan had exclaimed, “Oh my God, that lightning strike killed Kenny!” And Kyle of course shouted something about the weather being a bastard. And then they went back to hunkering down in the makeshift covering they made earlier before the rain hit, discussing Fortnite strategies as if Kenny were just a pet ant they had that got crushed.

Having nothing better to do, he is currently at the South Park Community Center, watching the increasingly heated debate ramp up. He recognizes many familiar faces, including all his friend’s parents as well as his own. Some of the residents aren’t wearing masks despite the officials handing them out and asking them to put it on.

“I’m not going to wear that damn chin diaper! You can’t make me!” A redneck with terrible facial hair exclaims.

This causes a lot of the citizens to start shouting insults at each other. The woman standing at the microphone up front looks lost.

Kenny floats further away from the community center, no longer being able to make out separate conversations over the constant stream of shouting. He catches a glimpse of several heads of dyed-black hair huddled together behind a bush watching the events unfold. The goth kids.

“This low-key reminds me of an episode of Parks & Rec”, Henrietta says. Her tone always sounds like she’s complaining about something. She is holding a burned-out cigarette. Sometimes Kenny wonders if she actually even ever smokes or just carries it around as a fashion statement. 

Pete scoffs. He has dark blue mixed in with his dyed black hair, a change from the typical red he used to add. “Don’t tell me you actually watch that stupid show.”

“Ugh, shut up, Pete. It wasn’t by choice. My stupid brother Bradley used to watch it all the time. Thank God he’s still missing.”

Kenny feels a small pang of resentment as she mentions Bradley. Bradley probably had the stupidest superpowers he’s ever heard of and yet was able to find the source of his powers without even trying, meanwhile, Kenny has reached every dead end possible after giving what he thinks to be graduate-level research into why he can’t die. 

“I wonder if your dumb brother will ever show up again,” Michael says in a bored tone. 

“Oh my god, he better not.”

Firkle speaks up. She still looks tiny in comparison to the rest, only in 4th grade. “Ugh, let’s never mention that poser again. Guess what I saw last night?”

“What?”

“Those guys in the cult of Cthulhu. They’re out again, and the group has gotten huge. There were at least 20 of them in black robes out at the clearing. It’s getting fucking annoying; where are we supposed to go to smoke weed now?”

Michael rolls his eyes. “They think they’re so hardcore.”

“They’re so not. What were they going off about this time?” Pete asks.

Firkle scoffs. “The fuck if I know. They kept going off about eternal life and immortality, talking about getting revenge on those who cheat death or something lame like that.”

The other goth kids laugh at that… or give as much of a laugh as Kenny ever sees them give. It’s more like a sad collective scoff. Kenny frowns. 

He needs to figure out where this clearing is.

“Do your parents let you out of the house?” Kenny asks Wendy during one of their now-daily FaceTime chats. It's July, and the restlessness is really starting to kick in.

“With a mask, yes. I’m not allowed in my friend’s houses or anything like that, but my parents are pretty reasonable and they’ve trusted me to go on walks and stuff.”

“That’s so funny they let you go on walks because I too go on walks sometimes. That’s such a coincidence!” Kenny says, hoping that he doesn’t sound too desperate.

Wendy gives a small laugh. “I would love to see you, Ken.”

Kenny and Wendy talk all the time- on FaceTime, sometimes multiple times a day, and via a constant stream of texts as well as through their now very large Discord channel with a lot of their other classmates. They haven’t mentioned the night they almost kissed, and Kenny has been agonizing over that moment for months. He keeps hoping that Wendy will be the one to bring it up, but she’s avoided the subject. Kenny is not sure why he’s felt too scared to bring it up himself; he hasn’t shied away from these conversations with girls before in the past. But there’s just something about the fact that it’s Wendy that makes his heart pound and his voice go numb whenever he thinks of bringing up the subject. Something about Wendy that is intimidating. Intimidating in such a thrilling, amazing way.

"So, hypothetically," he says, "if I were to be walking down Main Street tomorrow at 4... would you maybe want to accidentally bump into me?"

Kenny’s heart melts a little bit at the increase in Wendy’s dimple as she smiles. “That is exactly when I was going to go on a walk tomorrow, how did you know?”

Kenny stops at Sonic on the way to Main Street the next day, asking for a cup filled with pebble ice only. He knows Wendy loves ice, especially the pebble kind. It’s something he makes fun of her for every time she adds ice to her Yeti cup during their FaceTime moments.  The Sonic employee says they can’t just give him a cup full of ice; that he has to order something else as well. Annoyed, Kenny orders two corn dogs, the only thing he can afford off the menu. They bring him the large cup full of pebble ice as requested, making a passive-aggressive comment about his brother Kevin who had been fired the year prior for smoking weed on his 10-minute break. Kenny rolls his eyes, used to being compared to his older brother.

He walks to Main Street, trying to swallow down his nerves. He doesn’t understand why he’s so fucking nervous. He has kissed more girls than all his friends combined, and prior to this year would consider himself to be pretty well-versed in the romantic department. But Wendy... Wendy's different. He respects the hell out of her, looks up to her even. She's scary smart and passionate and takes exactly zero shit from anyone. She's everything Kenny wishes he could be - confident, principled, unafraid to stand up for what she believes in. 

And then there's Stan. Kenny's not an idiot. He knows his best friend never really got over Wendy, even when they were split up. How's he supposed to explain this to him without ruining everything?

He's so lost in thought, he almost walks right past her. But then he hears his name, and there she is, waving at him from across the street.

"Kenny, hey!"

He grins behind his mask, hoping she can see it in his eyes. His first instinct is to run over and sweep her up in a hug, but. Pandemic. Right.

“Hi, Wendy! I got you some pebble ice! Uh, and a corn dog, which now that I think about it, you may not like and I probably should have asked you about that first.”

It occurred to Kenny on the walk to Main Street that Wendy often talks about mainly eating vegetarian, or something of the sort. To be honest, Kenny tends to glaze over whenever she brings up the subject. Not that it isn’t interesting or anything, but it’s just that Wendy tends to go off on extremely detailed tangents about what she’s passionate about, and if it’s a topic that Kenny isn’t particularly interested in, it’s a little too easy to tune out as his concentration has never been the best. It’s something he’s working on, at least when it comes to listening to Wendy.

“No, that’s fine! I’m not actually vegetarian, you know. I just only eat meat a couple times a week, remember? I haven’t had a corn dog in forever. And pebble ice! God, this is the best day already.”

Kenny’s smile widens as he sees Wendy lift her mask a bit to eat some of the ice.

“No offense, but eating ice is kind of weird.”

“Oh, don’t give me that. I’ve seen you eat much weirder. You used to eat the weirdest shit in elementary school, remember?”

Kenny internally cringes. There’s a lot of stuff about elementary school he was hoping Wendy wouldn’t remember. Sometimes it seems like she remembers more than he does.

“Well, people used to pay me money to do that shit. I was just being a good businessman.”

“Hmm, I don’t know about that. Most of the bets for you to eat weird things were only for $1. Meanwhile, Butters was really hustling there with his Kissing Company,” Wendy teases.

“Oh, Jesus. Don’t remind me of that.”

“Here, you should try it,” Wendy says, handing over the Sonic cup of ice.

Kenny looks at it, unsure. He doesn’t really like drinking water in general and doesn’t see the appeal of plain ice.

“Here, let’s try this. I dare you to for one dollar?”

“Come on, Wendy. I’m older now, and the economic climate is different now. I won’t do anything for less than $5.”

“Deal! But only if you end up not liking it.”

Kenny takes the cup. He’s not actually really sure the best way to go about eating…. Ice. Lifting his mask up a bit, he pours some of the ice pebbles in his mouth. It doesn’t take long for them to melt. The texture is pleasant, and it does feel pretty refreshing in the heat.

“It’s basically just… a slurpee without the flavoring.” Kenny says.

“But you don’t hate it, right?”

“I mean, no. But this can’t be good for your teeth.”

“Probably not. But probably no worse than the Dr. Pepper you drink all the time.”

Kenny can’t argue with that. He decides that the pebble ice would in fact be better if it had Dr. Pepper in it, though.

Kenny and Wendy walk to the nearby park and settle down on one of the park benches, leaving a couple of feet of space between them. 

“My mom says they’ll likely do a hybrid schedule for school,” Wendy says of the quickly approaching school year.

“I guess that makes sense. That seems like a good compromise to me.”

“Yeah, I guess. I just wish we could do it all in person,” Wendy says sadly.

Kenny kind of disagrees. He’s quite liked the at home portion of school for the most part. Having to stay away from friends and normal activities has really sucked, but he’s really thrived off the whole online classroom setup. It’s much easier to zone out of the classroom instruction, which he has never once been able to pay attention to in person where trying to focus is agonizing. It’s been interesting to see how online classes have seemed to affect his classmates.

“Hopefully they tell us soon so we can know when to sign up for classes.”

Usually, students sign up for your classes before summer break, but due to the pandemic they held off on letting students sign up for the classes, opting to wait until closer to when school starts to make any set schedules.

“Have you thought about which AP and Honors classes you’re going to be taking?” Wendy asks.

Kenny internally groans. Both Wendy and Kyle have been urging Kenny to sign up for some AP classes with them, something he originally had no intention of doing. He’s going to take a couple only to shut them up because they are both so damn stubborn and it’s not fun to have them on his case about it. Kenny sometimes wonders how Stan somehow got away with not doing so much of his homework back when he was actually dating Wendy as well as having Kyle as his best friend. The dude must have some type of superpower to get rid of that kind of scrutiny that Kenny still hasn’t found out yet, and he isn’t even dating Wendy.

“Yeah, AP Physics and Honors Algebra,” Kenny says.

“You sure you don’t want to do AP English Lit or Geography?”

Kenny accidentally laughs at the suggestion, earning a sharp look from Wendy. He softens his voice when he says, "I just- I'm still kinda new to the whole academic overachiever thing.  I want to be strategic about the classes I take so I can get good grades for my transcript.”

Wendy nods.

"Fine, but we're revisiting this next year. You're too smart to coast by on the bare minimum, Ken."

There's a lot Kenny could say to that. A lot of messy, complicated shit about growing up poor and feeling like a dumbass and the way school's only ever made him feel small and stupid and-

But he doesn't. Because Wendy's smiling at him, soft and hopeful, and he never wants to be the one to make that light in her eyes go out. Kenny drops the subject, not in the mood to explain that there is no way in hell he will ever take AP Geography. He changes the subject to the Discord server, and they chat about what they should watch next on their Friday Movie night.

“Wendy! What are you doing out here?” An angry voice interrupts them.

Kenny and Wendy turn to see Mr. Testaburger. He is a plastic surgeon and his building is nearby on Main Street, not too far from where they are now.

Wendy’s brown eyes are wide. “Dad! What are you doing here?”

“I often take breaks out here. Now tell me what you are doing here with that McCormick kid, young lady.”

“He has a name! It’s Kenny! And I was just going on a walk and ran into him. Jesus, dad! We are being careful; we’re both wearing masks!”

Mr. Testaburger's eyes flick to the Sonic cup, the empty corn dog wrappers. His frown deepens.

"Yes, I can see that. Very responsible." He takes a deep breath through his nose, like he's physically restraining himself. "Get your things, Wendy. You can wait for me at the office until my shift is over, and then we'll discuss this with your mother. You can sit up front with Mrs. Marsh."

“Dad, seriously? Can we not talk about this civilly right here? I’m not doing anything wrong!” Wendy’s voice is confident but on the verge of sounding frustrated.

“Wendy, I am not going to argue with you here. Go right now.” Mr. Testaburger says authoritatively. 

Wendy stands up with a glare and starts walking towards Main Street. “I’ll talk to you later, Kenny.”

Before he is able to respond, Mr. Testaburger glares at Kenny and says, “Not now, kid.”

Kenny swallows, wishing he could sink down onto the park bench until he doesn’t exist anymore. He wishes he knew the name of the fucked up monster gave him the ability to never die, because at least then he’d have a proper name to pray to in this moment to kill him before he has to talk to Wendy’s dad. From the look he’s giving Kenny, you’d think he just caught him making out with his daughter against her will.

“You stay the hell away from my daughter.”

Well, at least he’s being direct. Kenny does prefer it when people get straight to the point. 

“Wendy’s my friend - I promise I mean her no harm,” Kenny says, confused.

"My daughter's going places, and she doesn't need your kind dragging her down. Are we clear?"

Mr. Testaburger turns to follow after his daughter without giving Kenny a chance to respond. 

What the fuck just happened?

Kenny feels the sweat pooling under his mask as he and Stan jog through the quiet streets. The summer heat is oppressive, even at night, but he's got more important things on his mind than the weather.

"Hey Stan," he says, trying to sound casual, "did you ever keep in touch with any of those Goth kids?"

Kyle accidentally laughs a little too hard at the mention of the Goth kids. Kenny gives him a sharp glance, warning him to keep it down. The Goth kids can be a bit of a touchy subject to Stan.

"Uh, not really, no. I mean, I guess a little bit with Henrietta since we always got stuck in detention together for bad grades. Why?"

Kenny hesitates, weighing his words carefully. "Oh, nothing. I just overheard an interesting conversation between them, is all."

“Were they griping about the Hot Topic getting rebuilt? I know that must have been so tragic for them,” Kyle says with faux sympathy.

“Yeah, they don’t have much in life to really worry about other than Hot Topic to be honest. Though I’d bet all my $20 life savings that Firkle is the one behind Bradley’s disappearance,” Stan says.

“Dude, that little girl is creepy as fuck!” Kyle agrees.

Kenny has to agree with that. Not about her messing with Bradley, but about her being extremely creepy. He made a decision a long time ago never to cross her.

As they run, Kenny mulls over how much he wants to share with his friends. He's not really in the mood for another deep dive into his deaths, not when he's heard their reactions a million times before only for them to forget about it the next day. But maybe he could enlist their help with this whole cult of Cthulhu thing. God knows he's hit a dead end with that investigation years ago. Fresh eyes couldn't hurt, right? Maybe if he's more strategic about it this time, he can get their help without any memory gaps.

"Oh, they've just been super into this one particular cult," he says, trying to sound offhand. "Speaking of which, you have quite a lot of experience with cults, don't you Stan?"

Stan laughs nervously. "Dude, don't remind me. I have way too many cult experiences. Two of which involved me having to save Kyle's ass."

“Don’t be modest, Stanny. You even lead a cult for a bit.”

“Not necessarily by choice, dude!"

Kyle sputters indignantly. "Hey, you only saved me from one cult!"

"Uh, hello? David Blaine cult ring any bells? And then there was that whole psychic dude..."

"That wasn't technically a cult, though. That was more of a-"

Kenny cuts them off before they can spiral into yet another pointless debate. "Anyways. The Goths were talking about this big gathering in the woods. Apparently a bunch of people in dark hoods meet up in some clearing at night. Sounds like a pretty big group, too."

"Creepy," Kyle mutters, wrinkling his nose.

"Yeah. I want to check it out."

“Why?”

Kenny laughs. “Do I need to have a reason why? We used to be curious about this kind of shit all the time, and I’m fucking bored all the time with this whole lockdown thing.”

"Are you seriously suggesting we go investigate a shady cult meeting in the middle of a pandemic?" Stan asks, but Kenny can hear the undercurrent of excitement in his voice.

“Yeah, dude. The summer’s almost over, and we haven’t done anything but play video games.”

“That’s because we haven’t been able to do anything but play video games. We are kind of in the middle of a stay-at-home order," Kyle points out.

“Speak for yourselves; I’ve done more than play video games. I’ve had to put up with my dad’s Food Network pandemic obsession; he’s made me try 45 varieties of sourdough bread.” Stan shudders. "But fuck it, I'm in. I'd kill for something new to do at this point."

Kenny's grin widens. One down, one to go.

They both turn to Kyle expectantly. He heaves a long-suffering sigh, but Kenny can see his resolve crumbling.

“Fine. Let’s figure out what it’s all about.”

Kenny’s grin widens. “Okay, so first we need to find out where this clearing is. Any ideas?”

“Uh… no,” Stan says.

“Yeah, I think we need to be more specific. Most of South Park is just one big clearing with some mountains in between," Kyle says.

Kenny sighs. “Well, all I know is it’s a clearing that the Goth Kids to smoke.”

“Isn’t Firkle just in 4th grade?”

“Yeah, but she’s pretty hardcore, dude,” Stan jokes.

“Maybe you could ask Henrietta?” Kenny suggests to Stan.

“I don’t think that would go over so well. You want me to just bluntly ask her where they go to do illegal things?”

“Obviously I’m not going to ask you to just straight up ask them. I’m saying you should try to join them.”

“No way!” Kyle protests.

“Why not?” Kenny asks. 

“Seriously, Kenny? You want to send Stan over where the Goth kids go to smoke and drink alcohol?”

“No! I’m not saying he actually join them, just make them think he’s going to join them. We just need to get the location is all. I already tried stalking them. It did not go over so well. So we need them to think we’re joining them to get the location.”

“That’s a terrible idea!”

“Oh, so what would a better idea be? Have you or me dye our hair black and pretend to be Goth? We’d look terrible. Come on Kyle; you know this makes the most logical sense. Besides, Stan looks even more Goth than the Goth kids themselves what with him getting so pale and looking like a skeleton and all. He’s even got God-given eyeliner with his whole not sleeping bit. We’d be dumb to not use that to our advantage.”

Kyle gives Kenny a death glare.

“I’ll do it,” Stan says before Kyle can continue his argument.

“What?!” 

“Kyle, it’s fine. I promise I won’t drink with them if it makes you feel better. Kenny’s right. I have more of an in with them than either of you ever could. It’s no big deal; I bet I can get the location by the end of the week.”

“You’re damn right you’re not going to drink with them,” Kenny says firmly. “Now go on and message Henrietta right now.”

By the end of the night, they have set things up so that Stan is going to meet with the Goth kids. Henrietta seemed hesitant at first, but Stan was pretty convincing with Kenny’s help. Henrietta said she was going to send directions the day of. Kenny made sure that Stan gave them a day that he knows the cult meets, staying vague about who the cult is. Kenny figures if he mentions it’s the cult of Cthulhu straight up to Kyle and Stan that they’d back out.

They stop by Stan’s house first, bidding him goodnight. Kenny walks Kyle home. He always stands to the side of the house to make sure that Kyle makes it inside without his parents catching him. 

As they approach the Broflovski residence, Kyle suddenly stops, his face pinched with worry.

"I still don't think this is a good idea, for the record," he mutters, kicking at a pebble.

Kenny sighs. “I know you don’t. But come on, Kyle. We used to do adventures like this all the time, remember? It was our thing.” 

"Yeah, when we were kids. Things are different now. The stakes are higher." Kyle's eyes flick towards Stan's darkened window, something unreadable in his expression. "Especially for Stan."

“What the hell do you mean?”

Kyle doesn't answer right away, just stares at Kenny like he's trying to decide how much to say. Finally, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

"Look, are we really going to ignore the giant depressed elephant in the room here? Stan's not okay, Kenny. This whole alcohol thing...it's bad. Like, really fucking bad."

"I know it's serious," Kenny says quietly. "But I don't see how this Goth thing correlates. I told you, Stan's not going to drink. We'll be there for every interaction. He's not that stupid."

Kyle laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Isn't he? Kenny, this is just giving him another way to access alcohol. Another connection to people who can supply him."

The words hang heavy in the air between them, and Kenny feels his stomach drop. He wants to argue, to insist that Kyle's overreacting. But deep down, he knows he's not.

Kyle must see the realization on his face, because his expression softens. He takes a step closer. "I'm going to tell you something, but you can't let Stan know I said anything, okay? He doesn't...he doesn't want to be alive, Kenny. I'm terrified that one of these days, he's just not going to wake up. And I can't...I can't lose him like that."

Kenny feels like he's been doused in ice water. He knew Stan was depressed, but now that Kyle's been joining on the runs, he's seemed better. Kyle's presence has given Kenny a false sense of security. But the terrified expression in Kyle’s face tells him that Kyle is right, that there is more to it. Kyle has always known Stan much better than Kenny the same way that Stan knows Kyle so well, as much as Kenny hates to admit it.

Kenny doesn't know what to say. He's never been good with words, not like Kyle. So he does the only thing he can think of - he pulls Kyle into a crushing hug, trying to pour all the comfort and reassurance he can into the embrace.

“I’m sorry for scaring you, Kyle. I… I’ll keep a better eye out on Stan.”

Kyle nods slowly. He looks exhausted.

And then, in a flash of sudden clarity, it hits Kenny. The missing piece he's been too blind to see. And realizing it makes Kenny feel less jealous about Stan and Kyle's super best friend bond.

"Kyle," he says slowly, almost afraid to voice the words out loud. "You know that Stan adores you, right? Like, more than anyone?"

Kyle's head snaps up, his brow furrowed in confusion. "What? Why are you telling me this?"

Kenny shrugs, feeling a little foolish but needing to say it anyway. "It's just...it's kind of obvious, dude. The way he looks at you, the way he talks about you. I think...I think maybe his feelings for you go deeper than friendship, you know?"

For a long moment, Kyle just stares at him, his expression unreadable. Then he scoffs, shaking his head. "You're wrong, Kenny. Stan doesn't...he doesn't feel that way about me."

Kenny almost laughs, because the more he thinks about it, the more sense it makes. He still feels a little silly for bringing it up, but he stands by it.

"Sometimes I think I might, though," Kyle whispers, so quietly Kenny almost doesn't hear him. "Feel that way about Stan, I mean."

Kenny's eyes widen, his heart skipping a beat. Holy shit. He wasn't expecting that.

"I'm not saying I'm into guys," Kyle rushes to clarify, his cheeks flushing. "At least, I don't think I am? But with Stan...it's different. It's always been different. And it scares the hell out of me, Kenny. What does that make me? I keep trying to ignore it, but...fuck, I don't know. I'm probably just confused."

He runs a hand through his hair, tugging at the curls in frustration. Kenny's heart aches for him, for the pain and uncertainty written all over his face.

"Kyle, it's okay. It's not fucked up at all. Honestly, it's kind of great news. Because I really think Stan feels the same w-"

"Don't," Kyle cuts him off, his voice sharp. "Don't say that, Kenny. You don't know that for sure."

"But it's so obvious! The way he-"

"Has he told you that specifically? That he's into guys, or into me?"

Kenny falters, his argument dying on his tongue. "Well, no, but-"

"Then please, just drop it. Forget I said anything, okay? I can't...I can't deal with this right now on top of everything else."

The pleading note in Kyle's voice makes Kenny's heart clench. He wants to push, to make Kyle see what's right in front of him. But he knows it's not the right time. Kyle's already dealing with a lot. The last thing he needs is Kenny playing matchmaker.

So he just nods, holding his hands up in surrender. "Okay, I'm sorry. Consider it dropped."

Kyle sags with relief, but the sadness lingering in his eyes makes Kenny's chest ache. He looks so worn down, so beaten by the world. It's not right. Kyle's always been the strong one, the one who keeps them all together. He shouldn't have to carry so much alone.

"Hey," Kenny says softly, bumping Kyle's shoulder with his own. "How are you doing, Kyle? Like, really doing? I feel like I haven't asked you that in a while."

For a moment, Kyle looks like he might brush him off with a standard 'I'm fine'. But then his face crumples, just a little, and he takes a shuddering breath. Kenny wonders if anyone has asked Kyle this lately. Kyle always seems to be the one holding everyone else together.

"I’m okay, dude, really. Just a little burned out. What about you; how are you doing?”

“I’m honestly doing alright, man. In a large part thanks to you,” Kenny says. And he means it.

Stan’s arrangement to meet the Goth kids takes place the Friday before Freshman year officially starts.The school administration has decided on a hybrid schedule where students attend in-person classes every other day, split up by last name. By some stroke of luck this means Kenny, Stan, and Kyle will all be on the same schedule, along with the rest of the A-M crowd. The downside? They're stuck with Cartman too.

With school being hybrid, this also means that Kenny gets to upgrade his laptop. The High School has a higher budget than the middle school and they give him a Windows-based laptop that will be much easier to get games from Kyle’s Steam library on.

Because they have to get out of the house earlier than their typical late-night runs, Kyle concocts a story about meeting with the captain of the Debate team to secure an early exit on Friday night. The Goth kids want Stan there at 8:30 p.m., way earlier than their usual sneaking-out time. Stan, on the other hand, is rolling the dice and heading out sans excuse.

"What are they gonna do, ground me? To the room I've been trapped in all summer?" he scoffs when Kenny and Kyle express concern.

They don't have a good comeback for that, so they just shrug and meet up a little before 8 to hash out a game plan. Stan forwards the location Henrietta sent him to Kyle's phone.

"Okay, so here's the deal," Kenny says, rubbing his hands together. "Stan, you're gonna cozy up to the Goth squad and try to get intel. Kyle and I will hang back, close enough to eavesdrop but far enough to avoid detection. Once the Goths bail, we'll regroup and see what we can learn about this cult situation. Sound good?"

“Wait…. What exactly am I supposed to be asking them?”

Kenny shrugs. “I don’t know, man. Just ask them what they know about the cult. But don’t make it seem too obvious?”

Stan frowns. “Ok, I guess.”

“We should’ve stolen some spy gear from Cartman. We will have to next time. I bet he has some. Probably to spy on Kyle,” Kenny says.

“Dude, why’d you have to mention that? Some things are better just never knowing about. Anyways, that would require talking to Cartman, and he’d probably want some weird favor out of it. Best not to make deals with the devil,” Kyle points out.

They reach the designated meeting spot with minutes to spare. It's a little clearing near the mouth of Stark's canyon, not too far from Stark's Pond. The place isn't much to look at - just a bunch of empty beer bottles scattered among the trees. But the thick foliage provides good cover, so Kenny and Kyle should be able to get pretty close without being spotted. The sun is already starting to dip below the treeline, painting everything in shades of gold and shadow.

Kenny slings an arm around Stan's shoulders, grinning. "Man, I feel like a parent dropping their kid off at school for the first time. They grow up so fast, don't they, Kyle?"

Kyle nods solemnly. "Remember who you are and what you stand for, Stanley. And make sure you come right back when it's over, or you're grounded."

“And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” Kenny says sternly.

Stan smiles, though his eyes flash with nerves. “Mom, dad, stop. You’re embarrassing me. God, this is why I have you drop me off a block away.”

“For real though, you’re gonna be late if you don’t go now. And maybe ignore Kenny’s advice, because he would literally do anything.”

Kenny flips Kyle off and gives Stan a small shove. “We’ll be right here, dude. You got this.”

With a last nod and a deep breath, Stan squares his shoulders and heads towards the waiting Goth kids. Kenny catches a glimpse of dark hair and pale faces peeking out from behind the trees. Looks like the gang's all here.

"C'mon," Kyle murmurs, tugging on Kenny's sleeve. "I think I see a good spot over by that willow tree."

They creep closer, crouching down in the shadow of the drooping branches. It's not a perfect vantage point, but they should be able to catch most of the conversation from here.

"Hey, Raven. Long time no see," a deep voice greets Stan. Kenny's pretty sure that's Michael. He's grown a lot.

The other Goth kids chime in with their own hellos, and Kenny has to bite his tongue to keep from laughing at the nickname. God, he'd forgotten about that phase.

"Damn, Raven, you look like shit," Henrietta says bluntly.

“I…do?” Stan shifts uncomfortably, tugging at the hem of his plain black t-shirt. He'd even dug out an old black beanie for the occasion, his dark hair spilling out from underneath and brushing his shoulders with no haircut during the pandemic. Stan was going to get his hair cut the other day for school, but Kenny convinced him to wait until the Saturday before school for his haircut so he could look more goth.

“Don’t listen to Hen, Raven. You look pretty hardcore. How do you get the bags under your eyes to look like that? What makeup brand do you use?”

“Uh… makeup? What do you mean?” Stan asks, sounding confused.

Kenny cringes. This is not getting off to a good start.

“Forget about it. He didn’t come here for cringy small talk. Here, Rav. You really look like you can use this,” Pete says, handing Stan the joint. Stan hesitantly takes it.

“What made you decide to come to your senses and come join us again?” Henrietta asks, pulling out a cigarette.

Stan takes a small puff from the joint, quickly passing it to Firkle. He shrugs. Kenny wishes he could go over there to shake Stan into not looking so uncomfortable. 

“Just… you know. Life sucks. What is it you guys say? Life is pain? That. Life is pain, and you guys are the only ones that get it.” At least he sounds pretty convincing when he says that.

The other Goth kids nod in agreement. They offer him some of their alcohol, which he eyes longingly and declines.

Firkle takes a long drag, blowing smoke rings into the darkening sky. "Same shit, different day, am I right? The world is a festering cesspool of misery and conformity."

"Preach," Michael mutters.

Stan clears his throat, glancing around the clearing. "Hey, uh, I noticed there are a lot of footprints over there." He points to a spot a little ways away, the ground visibly trampled. "Do other people come here often?"

Firkle's heavily-lined eyes narrow. "Ugh, yeah. Some lame-ass cult has been using this spot for their little midnight gatherings. It used to be our place, but now we have to come earlier to avoid them."

“Cult? What cult? Sounds lame.” Stan says. To his credit, he keeps his tone muted to match the Goths.

Henrietta takes a deep drag of her cigarette, flicking the ash with a sneer. "They're a bunch of weirdos in black robes, chanting in some made-up language and worshipping an eldritch abomination or whatever. Fucking posers."

“Sounds kind of creepy,” Stan says.

Michael reclaims the joint, taking a hit before responding. "More like pathetic. These losers are obsessed with some moldy old book. They pore over that thing every night like it holds the secrets of the universe."

Henrietta rolls her eyes. "We actually tried to join them a while back, thought it might be cool to fuck around with the forces of darkness and cosmic horror. But it was all just pseudo-intellectual bullshit. They kept going on about Cthulhu and immortality and other crap that made no sense."

Kenny and Kyle exchange a look at the mention of Cthulhu. Kenny's pulse quickens, but he tries to tamp down his excitement. This is the first solid lead he's had in ages.

Stan’s face turns hesitant. Kenny can tell he thinks this is pretty dumb and he hopes the Goth kids can’t read him well.

“…. Cthulhu?” Stan says skeptically.

Pete scoffs. "I know, right? Cthulhu is so played out. Not even worth our time."

"Been there, done that," Firkle agrees, sounding bored. "Cosmic horror is the opiate of the masses."

Kenny bites back a snort. Leave it to the Goth kids to make eldritch abominations sound mainstream.

“What do you mean by cosmic horrors and immortality?”

The Goths exchange loaded glances, like they're debating how much to divulge. Finally, Henrietta sighs, stubbing out her cigarette.

"Okay, so here's the deal," she says, her voice low and conspiratorial. "These nutjobs are convinced that there are these ancient beings that exist outside our reality. Cosmic entities that pre-date time and space or some shit."

Firkle nods. "They think that if they worship these things, if they learn the secrets in that stupid book, they can transcend mortality. Become eternal."

"Huh," Stan says, his brow furrowed. "Where'd they even get a book like that?"

"No clue," Michael admits. "But it's old as fuck, written in some weird-ass symbols. We couldn't understand anything in it."

Pete leans in closer to Stan, holding out the dwindling joint. "Hey Raven, you've barely smoked at all. What gives?"

Stan blinks, startled out of his thoughts. "Oh, uh, I just haven't done it in a while. My tolerance is pretty low."

"Well shit, we can fix that!" Pete grins, and there's something predatory about it that sets Kenny on edge. "You're welcome to hang with us anytime, get your groove back."

Kenny clenches his fists, ready to jump out and intervene, but Kyle's hand on his arm stops him. He shoots his friend a questioning look, but Kyle just shakes his head, his jaw tight.

“We should all get going. That dumb cult will be here soon. You’ll want to be out of here by then,” Michael says to Stan. Stan nods, still holding the joint.

Stan stays seated as they say their goodbyes, waving off Henrietta's offer to walk with them.

"No, I'm gonna chill here for a bit longer. Clear my head, y'know?"

Henrietta shrugs. "Suit yourself. See you around, Raven. Don't be a stranger."

And then they're gone, their dark forms quickly swallowed up by the trees. Stan waits until their footsteps have faded completely before slumping back against a log.

Kenny silently walks to Stan and whispers in his ear, “Raven’s back, bitches’.”

Stan startles at the sudden contact, his head whipping around to glare at them. "Jesus, a little warning next time?"

"Aw, what's the matter?" Kyle teases. "Scared Cthulhu is gonna pop out and getcha?"

Stan groans, rubbing a hand over his face. "Dude, this is so fucking stupid. I can't believe there are actual adults who buy into this shit."

“Hey, we will find out soon enough,” Kenny says. The sun is about completely down at this point.

Stan glances around nervously, his eyes darting from shadow to shadow. "How do we know the cult members won't come from this direction?"

Kyle nods, his brow furrowed. "Yeah, we should probably put some more distance between us and the clearing. At least until we're sure they're all settled in."

They retreat further into the treeline, moving closer to the mouth of the canyon. The last traces of sunset have faded, leaving only the pale glow of the moon to light their way. Kenny keeps his gaze fixed on the clearing, every muscle in his body coiled with tension.

“They said they come out when it’s completely dark.”

Kyle shifts uneasily beside him. "So what exactly is our plan here? We just gather intel and then... what? What are we hoping to accomplish?"

“Uh, yeah. Just get information for now, and then we can decide what we wanna do,” Kenny says. He’s not sure how to break this once again to his friends about his whole not-dying situation, but he’ll get there when they get there. 

Just as the last of the sun disappears from the mountain, the robed individuals make their way to the clearing, greeting each other. It’s difficult to make out who is male or female due to the bulk of the black robe and the hoods, much less who any of the townspeople are. After a bit, it seems like the entire crew is there. They keep their voices low and gather in a circle around the weeping willow tree that Kenny and Kyle hid behind earlier. Kyle and Stan look ahead, looking bewildered.

"Holy shit," Stan breathes, his eyes wide. "I thought the Goths were just making this up."

Kyle nods, his face pale in the moonlight. "How are we supposed to get close enough to hear anything? There's no way we can all fit behind one of those scrawny-ass trees."

Kenny scans the treeline, his mind racing. Kyle's right - the aspens are far too narrow to provide any real cover, and the willow is a no-go now that the cultists have claimed it. But then his eyes land on a towering pine, its branches thick and sprawling. It's a good distance from the circle, but it's the only option they've got.

"There," he says, pointing. "That pine tree. It should be big enough to hide one of us, at least."

Stan squints into the darkness, then sucks in a sharp breath. "Dude, are those fucking guns?"

Kenny follows his gaze and feels his stomach drop. Sure enough, at least five of the hooded figures are carrying rifles, the barrels glinting dully in the moonlight.

Kyle's hand clamps down on Stan's arm. "What the hell are they planning to do with those? Sacrifice a goddamn deer?"

"Maybe they're just gonna use them for target practice on the tree?" Stan suggests weakly, but even he doesn't sound convinced.

Kenny barely hears them. His eyes are locked on the pine tree, his heart pounding in his ears. He knows what he has to do.

"I'm going for it," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'll hide behind the pine, try to get close enough to hear what they're saying. You guys stay back here, out of sight."

“Dude, did you not just hear us? They’ve got fucking guns!” Kyle hisses.

“Uh huh, yeah. Heard ya. I’ll meet you guys back here after they’ve all cleared out. Just text me if you guys decide to dip out.” Kenny makes a break for it as soon as he says this. It’s either that, or be held back by Stan and Kyle, and he really needs to see what the hell this is all about.

Kenny walks quickly to the vantage point, ducking behind the smaller pine trees and trying to keep his movements quiet. It is further down the hill from where he was hiding with his friends, and he has to be careful to not be seen by the cult members facing the mouth of the canyon. Finally, Kenny makes it to the safety of the trunk of the pine tree, crouching down, the branches hanging long and low. He's pretty certain he can’t be seen from here.

His heart beats fast, and he has to fight to keep his breaths quiet. He’s so close to them now, more able to see the ripples in the fabric of the robes and the way the moonlight reflects on their eyes. Though he can hear them now, he still can’t understand what they are saying. Not because he isn’t close enough to hear them well, but because they are speaking an inaudible chant. As the chant grows louder, they grasp hands in the circle and begin to sway. Kenny’s brows furrow. Jesus, and he thought they were trying to be stereotypically culty before. 

This cannot get anymore fucking stereotypical, Kenny thinks to himself, to which the cult immediately proves him wrong. Right after this thought, they get out candles and pass along a lighter, each cult member holding a single long inflamed candle. A few of the members pull out ancient-looking tomes from the depths of their robes and hold them close to their chests. 

Kenny looks to the center of the circle next to the tree. A crude altar has been fashioned from fallen branches and adorned with weird symbols, with more symbols etched into the dirt around it, forming an intricate pattern. The energy in the air feels thick. Kenny’s near amusement at how insane the cult looks quickly turns to unease. He’s not one to focus on negative things, but there is something about this ritual that makes him feel dread. The feeling of dread is as palpable as the light breeze and the smell of the candles. 

One of the hooded figures moves to the center of the circle to the makeshift altar, holding a vial containing a glowing green substance. The cult members stop the chanting, and it’s silent save for the sounds of the crickets and the leaves rustling in the gentle breeze. Kenny watches with rapt attention along with the other cult members as the figure in the middle begins to change in an unknown language. 

With a slow, deliberate motion, the hooded figure pours the glowing substance onto the crude altar. The liquid seems to come alive, forming intricate patterns and symbols that write and twist. Kenny’s already fast heart quickens as he watches in discomfort.

The cult members raise their hands in reverence, their voices joining in a haunting chorus that reverberates through the clearing. The vial’s contents begin to emit a soft, ethereal glow, the hooded figures lighting up even more. 

Eventually, the cult’s chanting winds down, the cult member’s energy looking spent. The glowing suddenly stops, the mystery liquid looking like it’s completely evaporated. Kenny’s breath slows, and he feels a sudden intense rush of relief now that the ritual is over, the negative chokehold of emotions he felt earlier leaving the second the cult says the last word of the mystery language. Somehow in the middle of it he had ended up sliding further to the ground against his will, holding onto the tree trunk with a death grip. Blinking in confusion, he slowly and quietly stands back up.

“Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed disciples of the Great One. Thank you all for convening today. Each night we meet brings us one step closer to the culmination of our destiny. I will do the nightly announcements and then let you on your way,” The figure in the middle says, his voice deep and slow.

“Firstly, we will have a guest join us next week. This guest visit will be in relation to the Eternal One, the Kenneth McCormick child. We have one of his High Schooler friends, an Eric Cartman who is related to Liane Cartman, to interview. He has graciously accepted the interview request and claims to have information on Kenneth that he will give to us for a small portion of our funds.”

Kenny’s eyes widen. What the fuck ?! 

“Our connection to the ancient forces grows stronger with each passing day,” the leader continues. “And as we approach the appointed time, we must remain vigilant, for our sacrifices and devotion will not be in vain. We have sacrificed much, and we have yet to sacrifice so much more. As we look to the future, my dear sisters and brethren, we shall bring forth change upon this land of South Park. A change that will awaken forces long dormant, and our humble town shall serve as the epicenter of this transformation. As you know, it will take time to prepare the town. We must of course get rid of Kenneth as a sacrifice. Our goal is to prepare the city for the transformation shortly after his permanent death, and around 15 years should give us time to go through all the proper phases.”

One of the other cult members pipes up. “Sir, can you explain to us how we can accomplish killing Kenneth McCormick in 15 years time? I understand the 15 year phased plan except for that part. He is immortal.”

The leader turns his head to the member who spoke. “Do you not remember? In strange aeons, even death may die. In 15 years from is when the new aeon shall come to pass in this town. Do not worry, for the ancient ones shall show us the way.”

Kenny’s blood freezes. In strange aeons, even death may die. He has heard that phrase before. Back when he played superheroes with his friends and started his initial research into the Cult of Cthulhu. They had said that back then. It was a phrase that was hard for him to forget.

“Now, prepare yourselves, for the Great One’s awakening is at nigh. We shall be the harbingers of a new era, and South Park shall bear witness to its reckoning. As always, remember this in your hearts. You may leave this forest tonight, but you must always live throughout the day as normal citizens and remember what you are and what you stand for. That will be all for tonight.”

The cult continues their organized movements, quietly leaving the clearing, not even stopping to converse with one another. Kenny is still gripping the trunk of the tree for support, his hands now with indents from the trunk and some pine needles. He feels frozen in place. He closes his eyes, willing himself to gather the courage to move.

Swallowing down nerves, he runs back to Stan and Kyle. They had settled down on the ground sitting criss—cross, not looking amused. Kyle is folding his arms. They look up at Kenny in an indignant manner.

Kenny is absolutely not in the mood for a lecture and thinks he might lose it if he gets one. Stan gets up, his expression softening as he looks more clearly at Kenny. “Dude, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. What happened? What did they say?”

Kyle follows suit and stands up as well, his indignance turning into curiosity.

“Let’s start walking. I’ll tell you on the way.” Kenny feels like he still needs to gather his thoughts, much less decide how much to divulge to his friends. He’s definitely not in a clear enough mind to talk to them at the moment about his immortality, not when he knows they’d just forget the entire conversation by tomorrow. He needs to be more strategic about it this time. It’s best to keep all mention of himself being involved in the cult’s conversations if he wants them to keep helping him with this.

Stan and Kyle fall into a walking rhythm with Kenny, one at each of his sides. They keep giving each other worried glances after looking at Kenny’s pale face.

“Dude... Are you sure you’re alright?” Kyle asks. 

No. Kenny is not alright. He’s fucking terrified. But he can’t tell them that.

“Yeah, just… I don’t know, I know it’s stupid, but it was kind of spooky up close.” It takes a lot for Kenny to keep his voice steady.

“It looked fucking ridiculous from where we were. Were they trying to reenact a vague cult scene from a horror movie or something?” Kyle says.

“God, I wish,” Kenny says. “Basically, they did this weird chant thing, candles and all. And the chant was fucking long and in a weird ass language I’ve never heard of before. Then they talked about… bringing some type of change to South Park and preparing it for something big to happen here in several years where the start of some new era will happen or something weird like that.”

“I’d say I can’t believe that that many people in South Park would be dumb enough to join an actual cult for Cthulhu, but this is South Park and all, so…. I guess I’m not that surprised there’s people who actually believe this shit,” Stan says.

“Yeah,” Kenny mutters, trying to not get annoyed at the skepticism, even though he was fully aware that’s all he’s going to get from Stan and Kyle. He usually appreciates Stan’s practicality, sees it as grounding. But he’s not in the fucking mood for it right now. He takes some deep breaths to calm himself down, trying to strategize the best ways to keep his friends on board to help him out with this. He’s going to have to keep out some of the more unbelievable parts, such as them wanting to kill him permanently and even the glowing green substance and stick to a more watered down version.

 “The problem is, they more than believe it. They are going to actually act on it. I’m not sure what the phases of their plans are, but they have plans for things they are going to do to the town, and I don’t think any of those things are pleasant.”

“Things like what?” Stan asks. 

“I… I don’t know, it just doesn’t sound good. They’re committed enough to act out on some pretty fucked up stuff, mentioned something about making sacrifices. They also mentioned… Cartman. Said he’s going to give them some information about… um, the town and his fellow high schoolers.” Kenny is hesitant to mention his own name.

Stan's face deepens in confusion while Kyle’s turns to annoyance.

“Cartman? The fuck is he doing associating with a cult related to Cthulhu?”

“Do you think he knows what the cult is planning to do to South Park?” Stan asks.

“Maybe parts of it. I doubt most of it. It didn’t sound like he’s actually a member of the cult of anything, just that they’re using him to get information.”

“We’d better figure out what information he’s giving them, especially if it has to do with his fellow high schooler,” Kyle shudders.

“That’s for sure,” Kenny agrees.

“Ok, fine. So we’ll keep an eye on Cartman and try to intercept what information he’s feeding them as well as see what he knows about it all,” Kyle says.

“Yeah, the question is, how the hell do we do that?” Stan asks.

“I guess I could try to get it out of him,” Kyle volunteers.

Kenny and Stan give Kyle a look of disbelief. 

“What?”

Kenny laughs, Stan joining him. 

“Dude, you’re the last person that should be trying to get information out of him,” Kenny says.

Kyle frowns but doesn’t disagree.

“We should start by investigating Cartman’s recent activities, see what he’s been up to lately,” Stan says.

“Yes, that and we should try to be a little friendlier to him as well. Invite him to more game nights.” Kenny agrees.

Kyle shudders at the thought of this, a look of disgust forming on his face.

“I don’t like this. But fine, let’s see what the hell Cartman is up to this time.”

Chapter Text

2035

Stan readies himself as Kyle pulls into Ms. Cartman's driveway, the bright lime green of the house searing his eyes. He's been dreading this moment ever since they decided to come here.

“Uh, I think I changed my mind. We can go back to Arvada,” Kyle says as soon as he pulls into Ms. Cartman’s driveway. He looks like he really is about to put the car in reverse to leave.

“Dude, you are not bailing on this now. You said we need to get information from him.”

Kyle groans. “Ugh. I should have just agreed with you earlier when you said this was a bad idea."

Stan grimaces in agreement, his eyes drawn to the new addition to the Cartman household decor - a fucking Confederate flag, waving proudly in the front yard. Because of course there is. Cartman probably put it up himself, the racist asshole.

They hesitantly walk to the front door.

Before they can even knock, it swings open, revealing a beaming Liane Cartman.

"Boys, you made it! Come in, come in! Oh, I can't tell you how happy I am to have you three here together again, just like old times."

The smell of fried food assaults Stan's nostrils as they step inside, mingling with the stench of stale Cheesy Poofs. Cartman is sprawled on the couch, shoveling snacks into his mouth as he watches TV. The walls are plastered with photos of him in various poses.

“Oh, it’s you guys. Mom said you’d be coming over for dinner.” He sounds bored.

“Hey, Cartman,” Kyle greets him awkwardly, avoiding eye contact and looking at the carpeted floor.

Stan can’t help but blurt out sarcastically, “Nice Confederate flag out there, Cartman.”

Cartman just glares at him in response, as does Kyle.

Liane calls them to the dining room, where she’s set the table with a mountain of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and a mystery casserole that Liane refers to as ‘Cheesy Poofs Casserole’. They take their seats, an awkward silence descending as they begin to eat. Stan braces himself for Kyle and Cartman to start going at each other's throats like they always do. But Cartman seems more interested in inhaling his food than starting shit, for once.

Stan pokes at the casserole with his fork, trying to suppress a gag. Beside him, Kyle has wisely chosen to avoid it altogether.

"So, Stanley," Liane  says, her eyes boring into him with unsettling intensity. "I heard you're a detective now."

Stan gives Kyle a pointed look, silently pleading for backup. But Kyle just grins at him, the bastard. Stan frowns at the lack of help.

"Uh, yeah," Stan manages, clearing his throat. "Been doing it for a couple years. But hey, did you know Kyle's a doctor? He's almost done with his residency and everything."

"Oh, is that so?" Liane gushes, her gaze swiveling to Kyle. "Eric told me you were working as a cashier at Walmart. A doctor, wow! That's wonderful!"

Her eyes dart between Stan and Kyle, a calculating gleam in their depths that makes Stan's skin crawl.

Kyle's smile takes on a sharp edge. "Yep, almost done with my ER residency. But really, that's nothing compared to Stan. He helps out the FBI pretty regularly, you know. Pretty high up the ladder already. Why don't you show Ms. Cartman your badge, Stan? I bet she'd love to see it."

Stan nearly snorts out loud at the blatant challenge in Kyle's voice. Two can play at this game, apparently.

"Aw, don't be modest, Kyle," he shoots back, keeping his voice sweet. "Ms. Cartman, did Kyle mention he's set to be one of the youngest ER surgeons in the state outside of residency? He's got a badge of his own he could show you."

Kyle looks like he's contemplating stabbing Stan with his fork, but Liane just beams at them, oblivious to the mounting tension.

"Kyle, that's incredible! A surgeon at your age, my goodness. Eric, your little friends have done so well for themselves. Of course, not as well as you, sweetie, but still. And to think, poor Kenny had his PhD too, bless his soul."

Cartman makes a disgusted noise around a mouthful of chicken. "Can you fags stop showing each other off already? You're gonna make me hurl."

“What’s this about me working at Walmart? I didn’t know this about myself,” Kyle says pointedly to Cartman.

Cartman shrugs, reaching for another helping of potatoes. "Mom asks about you losers sometimes. How should I know what you do with your pathetic life? Walmart was generous, Kahl. I figured you were probably homeless by now, sucking dick for crack money."

Kyle opens his mouth, no doubt ready to tear Cartman a new one, but Stan continues the trend from earlier today and kicks him hard under the table.

Kyle subsides with a mutinous glare, stabbing viciously at his chicken. Stan sends up a silent prayer that Cartman will keep his fat mouth shut for once.

Liane, still blissfully unaware of the crackling animosity, turns her focus back on Stan. "So tell me more about your detective work, Stanley. It must be so exciting, solving crimes and catching bad guys."

Kyle looks pleased that the attention has turned back to Stan. Stan figures he may as well use the attention to get back to the task at hand.

“Well, it has its moments. I deal with all sorts of cases, from missing persons to, uh, cults.”

Cartman nearly chokes on his chicken at the mention of cults. “Cults? Seriously? You’re working on cult stuff now?”

Stan keeps his cool, ignoring the bizarreness of Cartman losing his shit over the word ‘cult’. He nods. “Yep. There’s a lot more cults in Colorado than you’d think.” He keeps his eyes on Cartman’s reaction. Cartman looks uncharacteristically uncomfortable.

"But enough about us," Stan says brightly, waving a dismissive hand. "What about you, Cartman? What have you been up to since high school?"

Stan barely suppresses a groan as Liane launches into a glowing recitation of Cartman's supposed accomplishments. Psychic medium? Professional gamer? Self-help guru for dogs? What the actual fuck?

He risks a glance at Kyle, who looks like he's torn between laughing his ass off and throwing up. Their eyes meet, twin pools of incredulous disbelief, and Stan has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from losing it completely.

"Wow, Cartman," Kyle says, his voice strangled with barely-contained mirth. "You're quite the renaissance man, aren't you? Tell me, did you get the idea for the dog whisperer gig after Cesar Millan came to town to tame your crazy ass as a kid?"

Stan nearly chokes on his chicken, a surprised laugh bubbling up in his throat.“Yeah, Cartman, what’s next on your career list? Maybe you could push that whole A.W.E.S.O.M.E.-O 4000 stuff; you made a lot of money on that back then! I’m sure you have, like, way more Hollywood ideas now involving Adam Sandler. So much more to work with now that he’s done dramas and not just comedy.”

Kyle snickers into his napkin, his eyes dancing with wicked glee. Stan's heart does a funny little flip in his chest at the sight.

Cartman's face reddens. "Shut your fucking mouths, assholes! I've accomplished more in the last decade than you two dickweeds ever will in your whole pathetic lives!"

"Oh, we're not arguing with you there, Cartman," Kyle says, all wide-eyed innocence. "You've definitely done... a lot more than us. No question."

Cartman huffs and shovels another spoonful of mashed potatoes into his mouth. He has seemed weirdly quiet ever since Stan mentioned he works on cases with cults.

Liane looks content, at least. She has always been oblivious to sarcasm, especially when it comes to people making fun of Eric. She looks delighted by what she probably views as friendly banter.

“Eric always has had a way of standing out from the crowd. I always knew he would be very accomplished seeing how successful he was as just a kid,” she says, eyeing Cartman with such a proud look that it makes Stan and Kyle share a disgusted glance. 

Kyle clears his throat, his eyes glinting with barely-suppressed mischief. "It's a real shame the mayoral campaign didn't pan out, Cartman. Guess you couldn't quite follow in Mitch Conner's illustrious footsteps, huh?"

Stan has to cover his mouth to stifle a very undignified snort. Jesus Christ, he'd almost forgotten about Cartman's batshit "election" back in 4th grade. At the same time, he thinks Kyle should probably tone it down. The last time he laughed at Cartman's misfortunes, he ended up with an injection of AIDS.

“The election was rigged, asshole. And I have my own place and don’t live with my mom, if that’s what you’re asking, fucking jew,” Cartman mutters.

"Oh, but he comes over all the time," Liane interjects, reaching over to pat Cartman's hand. "He works so hard, he hardly has time to cook for himself. And that election was rigged, I'll have you know. My Eric bravely exposed the deep state's ties to the lizard people and their gay frog agenda. Tell them, poopsie!"

For a moment, the room is dead silent. You could hear a pin drop. Or a piece of Kyle's sanity shattering into a million pieces.

"Excuse me," Kyle chokes out, lurching to his feet. "I have to... bathroom."

He practically sprints out of the room, leaving Stan alone with the remaining Cartmans. Faintly, he can hear what sounds suspiciously like muffled laughter echoing from down the hall.

Cartman's head whips around, his eyes narrowing. "Is that asshole laughing in there?!"

“Uh… no, why would he be laughing? He just lost one of his best friends; he’s probably crying about it again. It’s been real tough, as I’m sure you can relate to, being Kenny’s friend as well and all,” Stan says, raising an eyebrow to Cartman.

"Well, it looks like you boys are just about done here. Why don't you all head up to Eric's room to catch up a bit more? I know it's a rare treat, having you both back in South Park. I'm sure you have so much to talk about," Liane says, gathering the plates together.

Her eyes are soft with sympathy, no doubt hoping a little male bonding will help her precious baby boy work through his grief. Stan has to swallow a laugh at the thought. As if Cartman has the emotional capacity to truly mourn anyone but himself.

Stan takes quickly takes the out. “Thank you so much for the dinner, Ms. Cartman. It was delicious. Come on, Cartman.”

Cartman gives Stan a suspicious glare and follows him upstairs to his bedroom. "Whatever, just don't touch any of my shit."

Kyle joins shortly after, his face more neutral after his bathroom pep talk or whatever the hell he was doing in the bathroom.

Stan feels like he's stepped into a time warp as they enter Cartman's bedroom. The walls are still plastered with faded Terrance and Phillip posters, the ancient gaming PC he and Kenny had built for Cartman's alternate universe counterpart using Kyle's mom's credit card gathering dust in the corner. The only notable upgrades are the massive TV and shiny new gaming consoles, along with the queen-sized bed replacing Cartman's old twin.

Cartman flops onto the bed with a dramatic sigh, fixing Stan and Kyle with an impatient glare. Kyle immediately claims the desk chair, leaving Stan to awkwardly settle on the floor between them, his back against the bed frame.

"Alright, assholes, what do you want?" Cartman demands, cutting right to the chase.

Stan bristles at the hostile tone, his earlier resolve to play nice evaporating. "Dude, we just wanted to catch up, it's been forever-"

“Just cut to the chase, hippie. We all know that’s not why you’re here.”

Well, so much for trying to be friendly.

“What the hell do you know about Kenny’s death, Cartman? Tell us everything right now,” Kyle bites out.

Stan gives Kyle a surprised glance. Also, so much for being subtle, Jesus Christ. 

“Why the hell do you think I would know anything about that?” Cartman asks.

"Cartman, come on," Stan tries, holding up a placating hand. "You've gotta help us out here, man. Kenny's death was shady as hell, and it seems like you might know some things we don't. So please, just... tell us what you know."

For a long moment, Cartman just glares at them, his face cycling through a series of unreadable expressions. Then, abruptly, he explodes.

“Why the fuck are you two just showing up to South Park and trying to act like its Saviors? You have no. fucking. idea. the amount of shit South Park has seen, because you both left it the second you could without looking back. You have no fucking right to come here and try to act like you want to save the day!”

Stan reels back. Kyle, on the other hand, looks ready to launch himself at Cartman and beat him bloody.

"Whoa, hey," Stan says, scrambling to salvage the situation. "That's not... we're not trying to act like saviors or whatever. We just want to figure out what happened to Kenny."

Cartman’s demeanor suddenly changes, no longer looking angry. He looks amused. Cartman smirks, clearly unimpressed. “Really? You guys only came back to figure out what happened to Kenny? You two are so predictable.”

Stan sighs, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. He already knew before they even came here that trying to get any information out of Cartman would be a dead end and doesn’t understand why Kyle was so confident it would turn out any differently. 

“What do you mean, South Park has seen a lot of shit?” Stan asks.

Cartman laughs. “Like I would tell you assholes.”

"Just answer the damn question, Cartman!" Kyle snaps.

Cartman looks at Kyle and Stan, his expression full of disbelief. “Do you guys really not know?”

“Know what?!” Kyle says impatiently.

“That Kenny can’t fucking die!”

Stan and Kyle look to Cartman in disbelief.

"Are you fucking kidding me right now?! Kenny literally just died, you insensitive prick! If you're gonna make jokes, at least make them funny!" Kyle shouts.

Cartman is laughing now, sounding manic. His laughter fills the room, echoing off the posters and bouncing off the walls. Kyle looks utterly pissed off, but Stan is too stunned by Cartman’s strange reaction to give him a look of caution.

"Oh man, you guys should see your faces right now, I'm seriously!" Cartman wheezes, wiping tears from his eyes. "Kyle is all like 'grrr, I'm so angry, rawr!!' and Stan, you're all like 'whoa, dude, not kewl'. Fucking priceless."

He sits up, still chuckling, and fixes them with a look that's half-amused, half-pitying. "But seriously, I'm not joking. Kenny's been coming back from the dead for years. Dude's basically immortal. Or, well, he was. Guess that's over now."

Kyle looks like he is about to actually murder Cartman. Honestly, he just might. Stan is glad he’s in between the two in case he needs to intervene in a real fight.

"What... what are you talking about?" Stan manages finally, his voice strained. "Kenny's... immortal? That's not... how..."

Cartman rolls his eyes so hard it looks painful. "Jesus, keep up, Stanley. Yes, Kenny's a fucking immortal. Or, he was. I thought this was just common knowledge between us three. You two have probably seen him die more than anyone else in South Park with your own eyes; he died way more when we were kids.”

“No, he didn’t you fatass! We would have remembered something like that!” Kyle yells.

"Would you, though?" Cartman asks, his tone dripping with condescension. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you two have some pretty big blind spots when it comes to our dear departed Kenneth. God, I can’t believe this whole time I thought you guys knew and were just pretending you didn’t. So what, you guys really don’t remember anything about Kenny dying in the past?”"

Stan and Kyle just return a wary look to Cartman.

“Hmm, interesting. Well, there you go. There’s my piece of information for you then. Kenny couldn’t die; he’s died hundreds of times before and always came back to life. But this time seems to be for real; it seems different. Permanent.”

Stan sighs. “Ok, so say this is real. How do you know this, Cartman? Did Kenny tell you he couldn’t die?”

Cartman shrugs. “Sure, he did. But he didn’t have to; I’ve just always known. I always remembered when he died. You guys always pretended like you didn’t, but I thought that was because you two had some weird reason to play a prank like you didn’t know - it was hilarious. Kenny tried telling you guys a couple times, and God did you guys piss him right the fuck off when it came to that. It was always so fucking hilarious.”

“He told us?”

“Yeah, he would pour his little heart out to you guys about his deaths and you guys would always pretend to…. Or I guess actually forget all those conversations. Poor Keenny,” Cartman laughs.

Stan feels sick. He pulls his legs to his chest, hugging them tightly, keeping an eye on Cartman’s bed post to ground himself amidst the dizziness that has overcome him. He thinks back to the picture that he was sent with Kenny in his Mysterion costume and the way Kenny snapped at him in the video when he was crying over Kyle. His first instinct is to not believe Cartman, to be skeptical. But there is something in Cartman’s confession that feels so utterly familiar, and he can tell that Kyle feels the same.

“If Kenny is immortal, then how would he be permanently dead? That’s literally not what immortal means,” Kyle snaps.

Cartman shrugs, not looking concerned in the slightest. “Beats me. All I know is this time, it’s different. Maybe someone found a way to make it permanent.”

“Tell us right now about any enemies of Kenny’s you know about,” Kyle interjects.

"Gee, Kahl, let me just consult my handy-dandy list of Kenny's mortal enemies, oh wait," Cartman sneers. "I don't have one, because I'm not his fucking keeper."

Stan grits his teeth. "Cartman, come on. Think. There has to be something, some group or person who had it out for Kenny. Or who might know about his immortality."

For a moment, Cartman looks like he's going to tell them to fuck off. But then something shifts in his expression, a flicker of reluctance, of... fear?

"I mean... there was this one cult," he says slowly, picking at a loose thread on his comforter. "The Cult of Cthulhu. They were obsessed with Kenny back in the day, always going on about his role in the coming apocalypse or whatever."

Stan's breath catches in his throat, fragments of memory sliding into place like puzzle pieces. Hooded figures chanting in the woods. An ancient tome with eldritch symbols. A sickly green light pulsing in time with the screams...

"I remember," he says hoarsely. "They used to meet out by Stark's Pond, in the woods. We... we went to spy on them once, the three of us."

As the memories flood back, he remembers with unease how eager Kenny was to find out more about them. Usually Kenny was a happy and willing participant in all their weird ass adventures, but not the instigator of them, and Stan hadn’t once stopped to question why Kenny was so adamant they help him learn more about this cult. One glance at Kyle’s pale face tells Stan that he’s remembering something similar.

Stan leans forward, his expression serious. “Cartman, you need to tell us everything you know about this cult.”

Cartman shrugs nonchalantly. “Why would I help you with that, Stan? You guys just waltz into town, acting all self-righteous. I’ve been dealing with this shit for years, and now you two want to play detectives like we’re 9 years old again? Fuck that.”

"Goddammit, Cartman, this isn't a game!" Kyle shouts, slamming his fist down on the desk. "Kenny is dead, maybe for good this time! If this cult is behind it, we need to stop them before they hurt anyone else!"

Cartman rolls his eyes. “It’s so cute you guys care so much about Kenny. You fuckers used to let him die all the time. You even had your own little catchphrase you’d do everytime he died like clockwork; it was so fucking gay. I don't buy for a second that you care about South Park. Where was all this righteous fury when shit was hitting the fan and I was the only one left to deal with it?

"What the hell are you talking about?” Stan asks warily.

"I'm talking about this town going to hell in a handbasket while you two fucked off to the big city," Cartman says, jabbing an accusing finger at them. "Weird shit's been going down for years - people disappearing, strange lights in the sky. But did you care? Did you even notice? No, because you were too busy being self-righteous pricks to spare a thought for us lowly small-town folk."

Stan tries to diffuse the situation. “Look, Cartman, okay. We should’ve paid more attention to South Park, because clearly people have been struggling here. We didn’t know that. But that doesn’t change the fact that we’re here now, and we need to figure out what’s going on. Can’t we just be on the same page here? Would that really hurt us?”

Cartman sighs, seemingly giving in. "Alright, fine. But I don't have all the answers, guys. Here's the deal. South Park's always been a fucking weird place, right? But lately, it's been like... supercharged, or something. All the crazy shit that used to happen once in a blue moon is now like, a daily occurrence."

He ticks the events off on his fingers, his expression darkening with each one. "UFO sightings, crop circles, random ass portals to other dimensions opening up in the middle of the street. And the cults, Jesus. It's like every basement-dwelling edgelord in the state decided South Park was the place to be."

Kyle frowns, his brow furrowed. "And the Cult of Cthulhu, they're the worst of the bunch?"

"I mean, they're all pretty fucking extra," Cartman says with a shrug. "But yeah, those tentacle-worshipping freaks are definitely the most hardcore. They're convinced their squid god is gonna rise up and destroy the world, and that Kenny was somehow the key to making it happen."

"How?" Stan demands, leaning forward intently. "What did they think Kenny could do?"

Cartman throws his hands up in exasperation. "Fuck if I know, dude. Something about his immortality making him the perfect vessel, or conduit, or some shit. All I know is they were obsessed with him, always trying to kidnap him or do fucked up rituals to 'unleash his true potential' or whatever."

Stan's head is spinning, the pieces starting to slot into place. The cult, the strange circumstances of Kenny's death, the cryptic letter...

"Holy shit," he breathes, realization crashing over him like a wave. "They did it. They found a way to kill him for good."

"But why?" Kyle asks, his voice strained. "Why now, after all this time? What changed?"

Cartman's face goes suddenly, startlingly blank. "Dunno. Maybe they finally figured out the right ritual, or spell, or whatever the fuck. Or maybe Kenny just pissed them off one too many times. You know how he loved to fuck with people."

There's something off about his tone, a forced casualness that sets Stan's teeth on edge. Like he's trying too hard to sound disinterested.

Like he knows more than he's letting on.

Stan opens his mouth, ready to call him on it, but Kyle beats him to the punch.

“You’re an asshole, Cartman! This is so fucked up for you to play games at a time like this. You spent so much time with Kenny back in the day, and you don’t care about him at all! You don’t care that he died at all! You-”

“Kyle!” Stan stands up, getting closer to Kyle, but Kyle swats his hand away.

“Shut up, you fucking Jew! I just did you a favor and told you everything I know; show some goddamn respect! You two have no clue what you’re getting into. This town has changed; it’s not the same place you left behind. And it’s only getting worse.  Is it sad that Kenny died? Sure, he was one of the few kids I could handle in this goddamn town. But there’s much more at stake here then just his life, so excuse me for keeping a fucking grip on things.” 

Kyle’s face is now red with anger, his fists clenched at his sides. “Oh, don’t patronize us, you selfish prick. Stop acting like you’re the guardian of South Park! You’ve never cared about anyone but yourself!”

Stan steps back in the middle, wanting more than anything to diffuse the situation but knows at this point that it’s a lost cause. “Okay, please guys. Let’s calm down. We appreciate the information you’ve given us, Cartman. We will get going now.” He tries again to grab Kyle to leave, but Kyle once again swats him away.

Cartman also ignores Stan, his attention fixed solely on Kyle. “Kahl, you’ve always thought you’re so righteous and morally superior. But you’ve never known shit. Especially now.”

Kyle is shouting now. “And you think you do? You’re a lazy, selfish, arrogant piece of -” 

Before Kyle can continue and go full nuclear Jersey on Cartman, Stan places a firm hand on Kyle’s chest to hold him back, this time ignoring Kyle’s swats. “Kyle, let’s go,” he says firmly, putting his other arm tightly on his arm to pull him out of Cartman’s room, Kyle giving Cartman one last fiery glare as they leave the room. Stan mutters a goodbye to Cartman on the way out of his room.

“Leaving already, boys?” Leanne says from the couch as Stan, still grabbing Kyle, rushes towards the front door. 

“Y… yes. We forgot about something we have in Denver tonight. Thank you so much for dinner, Ms. Cartman. It was amazing. Have a good night!” Stan says in a rush, reaching for the door knob. 

“Oh, please stay! Or, if you’d rather wait until Eric is asleep, you could come back later tonight? Both of you,” Leanne says, eyeing them with dilated eyes.

“Fuck no!” Kyle exclaims.

“”What Kyle means to say is, ‘no thanks’. Uh… thanks again for dinner!” Stan says, clenching Kyle more tightly as he opens the door and rushes them both to the car.

They hurry to the car, Stan instinctively going to the driver’s side. It takes him a moment to realize that the steering wheel is different from his car’s model and that this is not his car, and even longer to realize that Kyle is standing outside the closed driver’s side door with his arms folded, looking impatient. 

Stan rolls down the window. “Dude, just get in the passenger’s side. You’re too pissed off to drive, anyways.”

“Stan, what the hell? I’m not drunk, dude. Get out of my driver’s seat.”

Stan follows Kyle’s suit and folds his arms. He doesn’t necessarily care who drives, but he suddenly feels an urge to not fold. He’s so sick of people walking all over him. He’s so used to giving into more stubborn people or at best, compromising. He lets his coworkers determine his schedule even though he solves the most cases, somehow he lets his one night stands force him into an actual relationship even after telling them from the beginning he’s not interested anything long-term, and he didn’t talk to the waiter the last time he ordered his steak medium rare and it came back burned, more than well done, not that they would fucking listen to him anyways since in his experience, nobody ever does.  He tells himself in these times that it’s just because he doesn’t care that much to argue, and usually that’s true. But he’s emotionally exhausted, and he just feels utterly sick of always giving in. And thinking back, he used to let Kyle get his way all the damn time. Sitting in the driver’s seat, he suddenly feels a rare sense of control.

“Why does it matter, Kyle? I’ll let you drive when you’re less pissed off. You ruined the whole interrogation with Cartman because you couldn’t handle your emotions. Please, just get into the car. Unless you want to go in and keep Ms. Cartman company, then by all means. I’ll wait out here for you.”

Kyle’s eyes widen in anger. His expression turns to confusion the longer he gazes into Stan’s eyes, his brows furrowed. Stan tries to keep his gaze confident, his hands clutching the wheel.

To Stan’s surprise, Kyle doesn’t argue further. His expression softens a bit before he sighs and walks to the passenger’s side. He yanks the door open and slams it shut, his frustration still palpable. 

“Don’t talk, just drive,” he instructs, closing his eyes.

Stan is silent for a moment, biting his lip.

“Are you going to go, or are you having second thoughts about fucking Cartman’s mom?” Kyle snaps after a bit.

“Uh… I don’t have your face. So I can’t, like, start the car since it starts with Face ID.” 

“Oh, yeah.”

Kyle puts a hand on the center console and leans forward in front of Stan on the driver’s side, adjusting his face in the camera for the car to start. It takes a minute for it to recognize his face and start up due to the different angle. Stan leans back in his seat and swallows, pushing down the butterflies that he feels from Kyle’s touch. Kyle quickly goes back to the passenger seat once the sound of the engine comes on, crossing his arms tightly and looking out the window.

The car is still playing the soft rock station from earlier today as Stan pulls out of the driveway, eager to leave South Park even though he knows he will be making quite frequent trips to talk to potential suspects and others to get more information. Stan glances down at his coffee thermos, still full. Stan knows he and Kyle desperately need to discuss their findings from talking to people at the funeral, but he just can’t bring himself to do it right now. The funeral was a lot, mentally. And he just needs a bit of time to recuperate from the emotional distress going to his best friend’s funeral has caused and know Kyle needs the same. Not that any amount of time can really help with that, especially when you throw in the fact that apparently Kenny had died many times before.

It’s Kyle who breaks the silence.

“Why aren’t you lecturing me about losing it with Cartman?

Stan frowns. “You want me to?”

“We both know I fucked up. It was immature. I don’t know what got into me. God, Stan I’m… I don’t ever lose it like that, not since we were kids. I just had to put up with so much from Cartman that you don’t even know the half of and I guess it just triggered me, and I lost it. I lost it even though I’m a grown ass man and getting info from Cartman was extremely important. So please, get mad at me for that, or annoyed. Say something.”

Kyle sounds like he is going to go on another one of his hour long rants if Stan doesn’t say something. But Stan isn’t really sure what Kyle wants from him. Stan’s earlier resolve of not wanting to feel walked over is now gone, and he suddenly feels like he usually does: nothing. 

“Look, Kyle… Am I a bit annoyed at how that turned out? Sure. Do I think we could have gotten more out of Cartman? Probably not. I think he gave us most of what he knows. Just… just keep your cool around other people, please.”

Kyle still looks surprised at Stan’s lack of lecturing him. Before he can respond to Stan, Stan’s cell phone rings. Stan can make out his mom’s picture on the phone screen in his peripheral vision.  Stan hands his phone to Kyle to put it on speaker. 

“Hey, mom,” Stan says reluctantly. He doesn’t want to be on the phone, but knows it’s necessary to let his mom know what happened to Kenny. 

“Stanley! Honey, how are you doing? Your father called saying Kyle had died, and I couldn’t reach you. Why… why didn’t you tell me this? Honey, I’m so sorry.”

“What? No, Kyle didn’t die, mom. Kenny did.” 

“Oh…well, my bad. When your dad had said your best friend died my mind went to… it doesn’t matter. How are you holding up? And Karen? Oh, the poor McCormicks. Kenny was such a great person. I can come to South Park to see you; I have some airline credits I need to use before they expire anyways.”

“It’s okay, mom. I’m doing okay. Don’t waste the airline credits; just save them for Thanksgiving or Christmas or something.”

“Stan, it’s okay to talk about it, you know. I know you don’t like to talk about these kinds of things, and I’m not going to make you right now, but promise me that you’ll talk about it later.”

“Yeah, I know. I will. Listen, mom, I’m driving. I’ll call you back later.”

He can hear his mom’s protests, but he hangs up the phone. While his mom said he doesn’t have to talk now, he knows if he stays on the line that she’ll try to force him to open up anyways, and he’s not in the mood.

“Dude, your mom’s worried about you. That wasn’t nice to hang up.”

“I’m not in the mood right now. Why did my dad have to call her,” Stan sighs, gritting his teeth.

“I can’t believe you hadn’t told her yet.”

“Everything's happened really fast. Remember that I just found out about all of this two days ago. Besides, I shouldn’t worry her right now. She lives out of state.” Stan feels like he’s learned two years worth of information, not two days. His head hurts.

Kyle doesn’t say anything else. He unfolds his arms and instead puts his hands in his laps, turning them over again and again, looking down at them. Stan keeps his eyes on the road, relieved to be the one driving (he hates being the passenger and not the driver) and also to nearly be out of South Park. Stan reaches forward to turn the music up. 

As they approach the outskirts of town to the canyon that is the only way in and out of South Park, Stan frowns as he has to suddenly press on the breaks after going 60 miles per hour. Kyle swears under his breath as they jolt forward. There is a huge pileup of cars, a traffic jam that Stan doesn’t think he’s ever seen in South Park.

Flashing red and blue lights pierce through the darkness.

“What’s going on?” Kyle mutters, his gaze fixed on the scene unfolding before them.

“Must be some sort of accident.”

The minutes pass by as they sit in the car, waiting for the cars in front of them to budge. But they don’t. Stan sees the car in front of him turn the engine off, and he decides to do the same. No use wasting energy.

After a while, Kyle finally speaks, restless. “What the hell is happening?”

Stan swallows down annoyance from the situation. “I don’t know, Kyle. Maybe a really, really bad accident.”

“But there’s no cars coming West into town. So they must have blocked the entrance into South Park.”

Stan frowns, looking to his left over the barrier. He’s not sure how he hadn’t realized it before, but Kyle’s right. There hasn’t been a single car coming into South Park, which is odd for a Sunday night at this time. People tend to go out for drinks or parties in Denver on the weekend nights, coming back into South Park around this time. Stan looks forward, noting that some of the people in the cars in front of them have gotten out of the cars to see what’s going on.

Kyle is about to follow suit to get out of the car, but Stan grabs hold of his arm, stopping him. Kyle gives him a wary look.

“It looks like that cop is going car to car. He should be here soon to explain the situation,” Stan says, pointing his free hand towards the car that’s three spots ahead of them. He noticed the cop a couple cars ahead and doesn’t see the point in making the scene more chaotic by stepping out of the car if they don’t have to. 

Kyle doesn’t fight Stan, fastening his seat belt again. Stan reluctantly takes his hand off Kyle’s arm. He doesn’t want to admit it, but the physical contact feels nice.

They silently wait a couple more minutes before the police officer Stan had noticed earlier approaches the driver’s side window. Stan rolls down the window.

“Officer, what’s happening here?” 

The officer glances at them, his expression grim. “Sorry, folks, but nobody’s leaving town tonight. There’s been a situation, and the roads are closed until further notice. You’ll have to turn around and head back.”

“How are we supposed to head back if there are hundreds of cars behind us?” Kyle exclaims at the exact same time that Stan says, “What kind of situation?”

The officer sighs, seemingly having to have hundreds of the same conversation with the cars in front of them. 

“We have more officers now blocking off the area behind you, so you should be able to turn around in the next half hour. They’ve already started the process of turning the folks at the end of the line around now that we have a better handle of things. And I can’t tell you what’s going on; that’s classified. Nobody is to leave South Park or enter it for the time being.”

Stan instinctively puts a hand on Kyle’s shoulder. He doesn’t hear him speak, but knows him well enough to know that he’s going to try to talk to the officer to get information. Stan knows he needs to take the lead on this.

“Officer, please. Look, I don’t like to flash this but… here” He takes out his detective badge from Denver and hands it over. “You can look me up in the database. I have very important work to get back to. And Kyle here, he’s a surgeon in Denver and also can’t miss work. We have to get out of here, sir. Could you see if there can be an exception?” he says, desperate. There’s no way in hell he is going to be trapped in South Park.

The officer frowns at Stan’s badge, turning it over. He looks up to Stan’s desperate face. 

“Look, son. I wish I could make exceptions. But this situation… you can’t leave. I’m sorry. I could get my supervisor on the line, see if we can get you your work laptop. But even that would be a big stretch.”

Stan keeps a firm hand on Kyle’s shoulder, feeling him fidget beneath him, wanting desperately to intervene. Luckily, Kyle doesn’t say anything, old habits living on. Stan knows it’s taking everything in him to not say anything. Stan’s hand on his shoulder as kids always meant that he shouldn’t say anything under any circumstances no matter how hard that may be, that he needs to let Stan take the lead, and luckily that conditioning still seems to hold now. Kyle must have at least some sort of trust still in Stan for that reason, because Stan knows he doesn’t like to concede control.

“Okay, officer. Understood. No leaving South Park. But please, you can at least tell me what this is all about?” Stan says this as politely and respectfully as possible.

The cop’s face seems to soften at Stan’s earnest look. He looks back at Stan’s badge and hands it back. 

“I shouldn’t tell you this… but you remind me so much of my son. You’ve also been the most polite person so far; everyone in front of you have been quite rude about this situation even though it’s very serious and beyond our control.” The officer chokes up, and Stan wonders what happened to his son.

“I’m only telling you this because you’re a detective with the state and we share the same big boss. I’ll still speak with my manager so we can get you your work laptop; we can have someone drop it off at the entrance with our guys. I noted your ID number for that reason. All I can say is, there’s been some cult activity in the area, and it’s not safe to travel at the moment. There’s been a situation that just happened that makes it unsafe for anyone from South Park to leave the area. It would be too much of a threat to those outside of South Park. Don’t ask for more information, because this is all the info I have. But I can promise you that this is very serious. If you need somewhere to stay, there is a safe space at South Park Elementary. The National Guard has set up lots of resources and cots there, and there will be a shipment of resources every day for those who need it.”

“Okay, sure. Yes. Thank you, officer. Let me give you my number so I can pick up my work laptop tomorrow.”

Stan exchanges numbers with the officer and the officer gives him a sympathetic smile before leaving to speak to the people in the car behind him. Stan grasps the business card the cop gave him, turning it over in his hands. He drops his hand from Kyle’s shoulder and sighs.

“I can’t stay in South Park, Stan!” Kyle says desperately.

“There’s nothing we can do about that right now. God, you think I want to stay here?”

Kyle closes his eyes, clearly distressed. He bites his lip to an alarming strength. Stan fights the strong urge to reach out to him, to hold his hand to calm him down. He’s really not sure why all these sudden urges have hit him so strongly today. He hasn’t felt this type of affection really at all in his adult life like he did when he was younger, and he really doesn’t want to confront what the implications are for these feelings. 

Stan softens his voice. “I’m sorry, Kyle. There’s no way we’re getting out right now, okay? If there was, I promise I’d find it. But there’s not. So for right now, what we need to do is take a deep breath and just… try to take it one step at a time.”

Kyle swallows and nods, his eyes still closed. Stan wants to tell him that everything will be okay, to reassure him. But Stan’s not sure if everything will be okay. Everything has gone to shit so quickly, and Stan’s head hurts, swimming with new information as well as so many next steps he has to take to figure out what’s going on, let alone how to fix it.

“I guess when we can turn around I’ll just head to the elementary school, then you can have your car back so you can go to your parents. God damnit; I wish I just drove here myself so I could have my own car.” Stan feels extremely anxious at the prospect of not having a vehicle.

“Why don’t you just go stay with your dad? I’m guessing he still leaves in South Park? Dude, he was so buzzed at the funeral.”

Stan winces, not wanting to be reminded of that. He thought by now that he’d be more immune to not being embarrassed by his dad’s public behavior, but even as an adult it’s extremely embarrasing.

“No way in hell I let my dad know I’m staying in South Park, much less go to stay with him.”

Luckily Kyle doesn’t press it further. He nods. “Okay, yeah. Fair. That works. Elementary school first to drop you off.”

As they wait in the car, uncertainty and tension hang heavy in the air. The distant wailing of sirens and flashing police lights up ahead illuminate the otherwise dark car. Despite the car being turned off, Stan grips the steering wheel, his knuckles white.

“What the hell is happening, Stan? Kenny’s death, the things we got in the mail, Cartman saying he used to die all the time, and now…. Something weird from the cult keeping us trapped in South Park? I mean, what the hell could possibly make it so that we’re trapped and can’t get out; some weird variation of Covid like when we had to be quarantined back in the day?”

Stan shrugs. "Could be zombies for all I know. Maybe Kenny was patient zero and we're about to live through some budget version of The Last of Us. I honestly wouldn’t be fucking surprised at this point.”

“Oh, it’ll be something much weirder than that. This is South Park we’re talking about.”

Stan knows what Kyle is trying to imply here. He goes back to their conversation at the hospital, the one where Kyle said that maybe some of their crazy imaginary games as kids and the weird things they encountered in South Park actually did have some type of basis in reality. Stan still isn’t sure that he’s ready to confront that.

“When I finally get to die and go to hell, I’m gonna kick Kenny's ass so hard. You have no idea. What the hell was he thinking? Give us both letters telling us to save the world basically with absolutely no useful information? He’s such a dick. But also…. I miss him., and I wish he were here right now.” Stan’s voice chokes up a bit at that last part.

Kyle does what Stan has wanted to do for a while now and grabs Stan’s hand with both of his. 

“Okay, first of all. How do you know that Kenny went to hell? Because he probably went to heaven. I mean, yeah, you’ll probably go to hell, obviously, but we can’t just make assumptions about where in the afterlife Kenny is.”

Stan laughs a bit, but the tears he has been trying so hard to hold back today are still making their way out. All the emotions he’s tried to suppress today have overwhelmingly made it to the surface, and Stan can’t push them back. 

"And yeah, Kenny's being a total dick with this whole mysterious messenger bullshit, but... he wouldn't leave us completely in the dark. That's not him. He's got to have left us something more. We'll figure this out, Stan."

Stan meets Kyle's gaze. Those eyes, usually so full of fire, now carry a sadness that feels wrong on Kyle. It makes Stan's chest ache worse. Depression is supposed to be his thing, not Kyle's. He never wanted Kyle to feel this kind of pain, even though he knows grief doesn't work that way. The tears come faster now.

Kyle releases Stan's hand to lift the center console, pulling him into a tight hug. Stan trembles against him, soaking Kyle's shirt with tears, but he can't stop. Eventually, the shaking subsides and the tears slow, but Stan doesn't let go. He closes his eyes, feeling the heat of Kyle’s breath on his neck.

After what feels like a while, Stan can see the headlights on the car behind him turn on, indicating that it will be their turn to turn around soon to head back into town. He gives Kyle a squeeze before he lets go.

“You can probably turn the car on now,” He says. Kyle nods and reaches over for the Face ID, the car turning on quietly soon after. He scoots quietly back to the passenger’s side.

Finally, it’s Stan’s turn to back up. He backs up quite a bit until he finds a spot to do a three-point-turn to turn onto the spot where there is no barrier to go into town. His sadness is again turning into that familiar feeling of anxiety.

“Do you have more of those nausea pills?”

Kyle nods. "Yeah, tons. Just remind me to give them to you."

The elementary school isn’t far away. Stan swallows down anxiety as he pulls into the school’s parking lot, the familiar yellow building looking much bigger and more daunting than he remembers. He puts the car in park. Kyle gets out a ziploc bag and puts several of the pills in it, handing it to Stan.

“I… I have some clothes at my parents that I can bring you. In case you wanted to change.”

Stan looks down at his outfit, the black blazer and button-up shirt, the uncomfortable belt holding up his black slacks. He can only hope that the National Guard at least is supplying a toothbrush.

“It’s fine. I can grab stuff at Walmart or something. I will need a car tomorrow morning though to pick up my work laptop. We’ll be able to do a lot more for the investigation once I have that.”

“I’ll come here tomorrow morning, then. Just text me what time. And I’ll at least bring you some sweats and a T-shirt.”

Stan nods awkwardly, getting out of the car at the same time as Kyle. Before he can head into the school, Kyle grabs him again for a proper standing hug, surprising Stan. 

“We’ll get things figured out, Stan,” he says softly in his ear before getting in the driver’s seat. 

Stan watches Kyle pull out of the school, a bit astounded at how quickly they both have decided to put aside their old arguments. On one hand, it makes a bit of sense. They are both adults now, and time does seem to help with that kind of stuff. Stan wants to say that their falling out was petty even, but even now he knows that’s not completely true. They would have never stopped being friends over something just petty. Their falling out went much deeper than that, much more personal. But also, there’s something about Kenny dying that makes Stan not want to lose another good friend. And that’s what Kyle was, at one point at least. Better than a good friend. His very best friend, his super best friend. Stan is sure that they’ll have to confront their old arguments at one point, but for now he just wants to revel in the relief and familiarity of getting along with him.

Stan drags himself to the school's front doors, where a handful of National Guard members mill around looking official. He walks to a small table setup labeled ‘Check-In”. 

The young man smiles up at Stan in greeting. “Hi there! Are you here because you need a place to stay amid the South Park Lockdown?”

Stan fights the urge to be sarcastic, because why the fuck else would he be here?

“Yes, sir."

“We just need you to sign these forms and then Serena here will show you to your cot as well as show you around the school so you can familiarize yourself with it.”

Stan quietly nods, skimming the paper he has to sign. Something about the National Guard having no liability for his safety, blah blah blah. He quickly signs it. The young man hands Stan a big bag. 

“This should have all your basic toiletries as well as a blanket. There’s some body wash, shampoo, tooth paste, tooth brush. Sorry, we don’t have extra clothes at this time but will be getting a big donation from Denver tomorrow so we can get you changed.” he looks at Stan’s suit sympathetically.

"Fantastic," Stan mutters, following Serena.

"Let me show you around the school-"

“Serena, it’s okay. I grew up here, went to this school. I know where everything is. I’m guessing the cots are set up in the gym?” 

Serena looks confused. “If you grew up here, don’t you have family you can stay with?”

"No." Stan's tone makes it clear that's the end of that conversation.

"Right... well, your cot's this way," she says awkwardly, leading him to a sad-looking cot in the gym's corner.

Stan breathes out a sigh of relief, glad he doesn’t have to take one of the cots in the middle. He’d feel so claustrophobic. He opens his bag, taking out the blanket and draping it over the cot. The gym looks a bit chaotic, people taking out the things from their bags, various levels of annoyance and complaining buzzing. 

Out of the corner of his eyes, Stan spots Tweek and Craig. Tweek is visibly jittery, his hair sticking out in all directions even more so than earlier today. Carig looks calm and collected per usual, handling Tweek’s items. He makes eye contact with Craig and sighs. Stan and his friends always got along way better with Tweek rather than Craig, really respecting Tweek. They clashed a lot with Craig, even though they always hung out regardless. Unfortunately, Tweek and Craig are a package deal, so they could never get just Tweek alone to hang out with them. Like clockwork, Craig flips him off. Stan can't help but smile a little - some things never change. He returns the middle finger while fixing his blanket.

Tweek’s eyes drift to where Craig is looking to Stan. He walks over to him, Craig right behind him. “Stan? Dude, what are you doing here?” Tweek asks.

“Same as you guys, I guess. Trapped in South Park because they won’t let us leave. You guys don’t live in South Park anymore, then?”

"Ngh- no, Denver now," Tweek says.

"Jesus, you look like complete ass. Been crying?" Craig deadpans, earning an elbow to the ribs from Tweek.

"Craig! Jesus Christ, man! Kenny was his friend!"

Stan rolls his eyes. “You don’t look much better, Craig. And by the way, I need to talk to you guys. You are going to actually talk to me about your recent interactions with Kenny. Tomorrow."

"We already told everything to Kyle at the funeral!" 

"Calm down," Craig sighs, putting a hand on Tweek's shoulder and glaring at Stan. "This is why I said we should've just stayed at Tolkien's."

"Tolkien offered you a place to stay and you guys chose to come here instead?" Stan asks incredulously. 

Craig shrugs. "He's got like 3 kids now. And they're all... energetic."

"Gah! So many children!"

"Look, I just need to ask you a few questions tomorrow morning is all. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Stan gives them both a hard look before heading to the bathroom to brush his teeth, Tweek's anxious "Oh god!" and Craig's reflexive middle finger following him out.

Stan knows that realistically, he should try to be kinder to the other residents. But he doesn’t trust anyone in South Park right now, except for Kyle, weirdly. There is so much that Stan doesn’t know right now. So much he doesn’t know to an utterly overwhelming extent. But Stan does know one thing to his core. They can't stop until they find out what happened to Kenny. 

Chapter Text

2020/2021:

"Kenny, I need your honest opinion," Wendy insists, her face filling the FaceTime screen. "One more time, okay? Side part..." She sweeps her dark hair dramatically to the left, striking a pose. "And... middle part." Another theatrical sweep, this time to the center.

Kenny watches, equal parts amused and baffled by Wendy's intensity over something as trivial as hair parts. She's been at this for a solid ten minutes, demanding his verdict on which style suits her best. The truth? She looks flawless in both. He’s said it at least three times, but apparently, "you’re gorgeous either way" isn’t the deep analysis she’s craving.

"Wendy, seriously. I’m literally the worst person for this," Kenny says, laughing. "You’re asking the guy who lives in a hoodie for fashion advice. But like I said, you look amazing no matter what. I can't even tell the difference."

"You're hopeless, Kenny. I need someone who appreciates the finer points of hair styling. Someone like... Tweek."

"Tweek? The dude who can't function without mainlining coffee and thinks buttons are optional? Yeah, he’ll have some detailed insights into hair parting," Kenny snorts.

“Well, at least he has an eye for detail, unlike someone I know. Anyways, there’s a huge difference. It completely changes how I look, Kenny. I guess I could just always go back to bangs like in elementary school. At least that way I wouldn’t have to make a decision.”

“That would look amazing too, I’m sure,” Kenny says. He thinks he’s being nice by saying so, but Wendy just sighs in response. She doesn’t seem to want to make the final decision. She keeps her hair in the middle part she created with the comb. 

"Tweek wouldn't try to charm his way out of a real answer," she grumbles. "Fine, middle part it is. Not like I can get a haircut anytime soon anyway."

Kenny nods sympathetically. He and Stan got lucky scoring a last-minute appointment right before school started back up. "For what it's worth, the 'middle part' looks great," he says, complete with air quotes to tease her.

Wendy's frown deepens. "It sucks that we don't have any in-person classes together this semester."

"Yeah, but you're in like a million clubs," Kenny points out. "Odds are we'll end up there on the same day sometimes. Kyle's there practically every day for his overachiever stuff."

"Sure, but you're not in any of those clubs. You could at least join one with me. Debate team, maybe?" Wendy suggests, a hopeful note in her voice.

Kenny inwardly cringes. Student council? Debate? Not a chance in hell. He's already taking more AP classes than he ever planned to, thanks to Wendy's influence. A guy's gotta draw the line somewhere. Besides, he just started picking up shifts at City Wok again. 

"Nah, I'm more of a one-man club kinda guy," Kenny says breezily. "The 'Doing Absolutely Nothing Club.' Very exclusive."

Wendy laughs. “Oh, I bet it is. So exclusive it sounds almost imaginary.”

“Guess one of us will just have to change our last names then so we can be on the same in-person schedule. Hey, you could change yours to Marsh,” Kenny teases.

Wendy laughs. “Why not you? I guess we still wouldn’t be in the same class in that case, though. But I like my last name. It’s funny.”

“You do have a pretty funny last name,” Kenny agrees. 

“Oh, shut up. Like ‘McCormick’ is even better. Think about it and say that 10 times fast."

“At least my last name is the headliner of a famous seasoning brand. Ever heard of McCormick spices? They’re a big deal at Walmart”, Kenny boasts playfully.

“I wouldn’t know; my parents only shop at Whole Foods and Costco,” Wendy retorts with mock snobbery. 

“Oohhh, look at you, Wendy. So fancy, with your family’s Whole Food’s budget, living a life of organic kale and quinoa. Us McCormicks? We’re more of a ‘see what’s on sale at the dollar store kind of family’, ” Kenny laughs. He’s pretty sure that not one member of the McCormick family has ever stepped foot into a Whole Foods in their lives, though Kenny does occasionally sneak into Costco for the food samples and $1 hot dog meals. 

Wendy giggles. “Well, maybe one day I’ll take you on a grand tour of Whole Foods. You know, broaden your culinary horizons beyond City Wok and Costco hot dogs.”

”Hey, don’t knock the Costco hot dog meal. It’s a gourmet feast for under two bucks,” Kenny defends. “But I’ll take you up on that Whole Foods adventure. It’ll be like visiting a foreign country.”

Speaking of Walmart food, his mom calls out that it’s time for dinner before Kenny has time to turn his mic to mute. 

 “Sounds like you’re being summoned. Guess I better let you go,” Wendy says.

“Yeah… I’ll text you later tonight. You really do look good, by the way. With your hair like that.”

Wendy flashes another genuine smile that makes Kenny’s heart flutter as they hang up. He closes his eyes and hugs his phone contentedly for a moment before his mom angrily calls his name again, twice as loud and three times as annoyed.

Kenny stares down at his dinner plate, a sad medley of toaster waffles, microwaved sausages, and off-brand Kool-Aid. Not even a Pop-Tart for dessert. Times are tough, even tougher than usual. His mom is on temporary leave with Olive Garden closed down. His dad's construction gigs have dried up thanks to the pandemic, forcing him to take a shitty job at Amazon. It pays the bills, barely, but with the rising cost of food and his parents' cigarette and alcohol habits, there's never enough to go around.

Kevin, predictably, is already arguing with their folks. Something about getting suspended for weed. Again.

"You set a terrible example for your siblings," Carole chides, like she's one to talk.

Kenny can't resist a jab. "Maybe try not getting caught next time, Kev. Just a thought."

Kevin glares daggers at him. "Oh, like you're so perfect. And what about you two?" he snaps at their parents. "You smoke every fucking night!"

He's not wrong, but Kenny thinks he's fucking stupid to mouth off like that. His mom was wrong about Kevin setting a terrible example - he sets a fantastic example for how not to act. Kenny avoids any kind of fighting with his parents, which has worked out well for him. Kenny usually feels bad for Kevin, because as the oldest, it's always been up to him to be the guinea pig to figure out what works best. 

"Son, you gotta shape up," Stuart says wearily. "No college is gonna take you with a record."

"Fuck college," Kevin spits. "I'm dropping out. I'll just get a job with you, Dad."

Kenny feels a pang of sympathy. Kevin's no angel (neither is Kenny for that matter), but he's been working shitty jobs since he was a kid, same as Kenny. 

"We've been over this," Stuart presses. "You get your grades up, you can get a scholarship. You need to look out for your future."

“Dad, what future are you talking about? It’s too late for that, dad. I did terrible on the SATs and ACT. And my GPA sucks ass. You know it’s too late. I’m dropping out the second I turn 18," Kevin says, glaring at his parents. His hair is greasy, making it look a darker shade of brown than it actually is. A faint bruise shadows his eye, but Kenny knows it’s not from their parents—they’re more bark than bite. Kevin often gets into fights at school.

Kenny tunes out the rest of the argument, focusing on shoveling food in his mouth. He's heard it all before. 

Karen, bless her heart, tries to play peacemaker. “Maybe Kevin can start a business! Like, a… weed business! That’s legal, right?”

Kenny can’t help but chuckle at Karen’s innocence, her attempt to find a silver lining in a grim situation.

Stuart rubs his temples, weary. “Karen, sweetheart, let’s stick to more…. Traditional career paths.”

Kevin bolts from the table as soon as he's done, slamming his bedroom door.

"Listen up, you two," Stuart says to Kenny and Karen. "I know we can't pay for college. But you're smart. You can get scholarships, if you keep your grades up. Don't end up like your brother."

"We know, Dad," Kenny says quietly. He's heard this speech a million times. He appreciates his dad’s sentiment, but he’s heard this speech before. Actions speak louder than words, and in the McCormick household, words often feel like empty promises.

Still, he shoots Karen a reassuring smile before heading to his room. Somebody's gotta look out for her, and it sure as hell won't be their parents. He'll hit up Ike tomorrow, see if he can spare some time to tutor her again. The kid is a genius, even if he is a grade below.

Kenny slips out into the chilly night, trading his orange hoodie for one of Kevin's dark ones. Better for blending into the shadows. He wrinkles his nose at the stale cigarette stench clinging to the fabric as he pulls the hood over his face, making his way to the cult's meeting spot near the canyon.

He knows Cartman's supposed to be there tonight, and he needs to find out why. There's no need to drag Stan and Kyle into it, not yet. He's already got them keeping an eye on Cartman at school. Besides, his hiding spot behind the pine tree only fits one.

Kenny settles in, adjusting the branches to better conceal himself. The elongated shadows of the dim moonlight work in his favor. In the distance, hooded figures gather around the massive weeping willow, their movements obscured.

He strains to make out their conversations, but it's all strange chants and incomprehensible words. Cartman stands awkwardly outside the circle, sticking out like a sore thumb without a robe.

As the cult launches into their ritual, the familiar unease washes over Kenny. Their chanting seems to sap his strength, dragging him down physically and mentally. He clings to the tree, palms bloodied by the needles, heart racing and breath shallow. It takes everything he has to stay quiet. As the chanting fades, Kenny slowly pulls himself up, breathing hard.

Somehow, Cartman and the others seem unaffected. Like the draining force is meant solely for Kenny. As the chanting fades, Kenny slowly pulls himself up, breathing hard.

The leader clears his throat. "Brothers and sisters, our vision for South Park is on the brink of realization. The transformation is underway, just as the prophecy foretold..."

He drones on about South Park becoming a stronghold, the epicenter of a new world order under their dominion. Kenny holds his breath at the mention of a prophecy. Another piece of the puzzle he needs to solve.

"Our secret weapon, the key to our ascension, lies hidden among us. The immortal one, the boy who defies death..."

Kenny's blood runs cold. They're talking about him.

The leader introduces Cartman, asking him to share what he knows about "our immortal friend."

Cartman shifts uncomfortably but puts on a smug expression. “Well, you cult freaks are in for a treat tonight, because I know all about Kenny. He’s immortal, you know? Dies all the time, but the little bitch always comes back."

Fury explodes inside Kenny, a volcanic heat flooding his veins. That backstabbing asshole knows? After all these years of playing dumb, even when Kenny had broken down and confessed the hellish cycle of deaths he endured? Kenny's nails dig crescents into his palms as he restrains himself from storming over there right now and punch the shit out of him.

“What about Kenneth? Does he remember his deaths?”

Cartman smirks. “Kenny remembers everything.  Every gruesome death."

The cult leader hums, looking lost in thought. “Very interesting. We didn’t think he would remember based on the spell of forgetting we put on the town… His memory could be key to our rituals...

“Rituals? Oh, you guys have some fucked up plans, don’t you? Whatever, it’s cool I guess. Just don’t involve me in any of them. Unless you have more incentives for me, of course.”

The leader gives Eric a stern look. “We have a purpose, Eric. A vision that will reshape South Park according to the great one’s will. That is all you need to know.”

“That’s pretty kewl that Kenny’s got himself a fan club,” Cartman says, gesturing to all the hooded figures. “You guys should know, though, I doubt he’d be too keen on being a pawn in whatever it is you're planning here.”

Cartman requests his payment shortly after. The leader dismisses him, but the idiot lingers, poorly hidden behind a tree.

"Brothers and sisters," the leader continues, "the current pandemic provides an opportunity. We shall introduce a more severe strain into South Park, one resistant to the vaccine. It will force a stricter lockdown and sow tension among the residents..."

Kenny's head spins. A new virus strain? Deliberately unleashed on the town? He has to warn someone, but who would believe him?

As the meeting wraps up, Kenny glares daggers at Cartman's retreating back. He races home, throwing himself onto his bed and screaming into his pillow.

He feels so utterly alone. The one person who remembers his deaths is fucking Cartman, the most narcissistic person he knows. Kenny wants desperately to confide in Wendy, Stan, Kyle, anyone. But what's the point? They'll only forget.

Kenny jolts up at the soft tap on his window. For a moment, he thinks it might be Death, come to claim him. But then he hears familiar voices whispering his name.

Surprised, he opens the window to find Stan and Kyle, decked out in their running gear.

"The hell are you guys doing here? It's not safe to be wandering in the shitty part of town at night," Kenny admonishes.

"Dude, did you forget about our run? You didn't show, and you're not answering your phone,"  Kyle says.

“Oh… right," Kenny mumbles.

“We’re just, like, worried about you, dude. You look like shit. Everything okay?” Stan asks.

Kenny scratches his head, avoiding eye contact. "Yeah, yeah. I'm good. Listen, I'm not really feeling up for a run tonight. You guys go ahead without me."

Stan and Kyle exchange a look, unconvinced. Kyle hoists himself through the window, plopping down next to Kenny on the bed. Stan follows suit, stumbling slightly and banging his knee on the windowsill with a muffled curse.

Kyle's eyes widen as he catches sight of the pine needle scratches on his hands. He grabs Kenny's wrists, flipping his hands over. "Holy shit, what happened?" 

"It's nothing. Just a run-in with a pine tree," Kenny mumbles, pulling his hands away.

"A pine tree," Stan repeats flatly.

Kyle sighs. "We need to clean these. Do you have a first aid kit? Alcohol wipes?"

"Check the bathroom, maybe." Kenny remains motionless, prompting Kyle to shoot Stan a meaningful glare. There's obvious tension between them. With a huff, Stan goes to retrieve the supplies, bumping into Kenny's dresser on the way out.

“Kenny… please talk to me. I know you’re hiding something,” Kyle says softly.

"You have no idea how much I wish I could."

Kyle frowns. "But you can. Please?"

Kenny responds with only a weary sigh as Stan returns with the first aid kit. Kyle directs Stan to steady Kenny's hands while he cleans the wounds, warning about the discomfort ahead. Kenny winces at the alcohol's sharp sting, but the pain fades quickly.

"Kenny," Stan says, giving Kenny's knee a squeeze. "Seriously, what's going on, dude?" He settles cross-legged on the floor, resting his chin on Kenny's knee and gazing up with wide eyes.It's a rare show of physical affection from Stan, who's usually only this touchy when he's drunk and needs help staying upright. Kenny thinks he does sound a little tipsy and notices that he's swaying in very small movements, almost undetectably so. How the guy manages to run so often while actually being drunk and still do fine at it, Kenny really isn’t sure.

"I went to spy on the cult again," Kenny admits.

"Alone? Why didn't you take us?" Kyle demands.

"Only room for one at the lookout spot," Kenny shrugs. "Anyway, they're just... really fucking creepy. I guess I got a little too tense, held onto the tree too tight."

"What happened this time that was so 'creepy'?" Kyle presses.

Kenny takes a deep breath. "Remember how I said they're planning to fuck up South Park? Well, they're releasing a new COVID strain tomorrow. One that'll extend the lockdown and be vaccine-resistant."

"How would they even do that?" Kyle asks, skeptical.

“Why would they even do that? Like, why do weird things to fuck up South Park?” Stan adds, tripping slightly over his words. Kyle shoots him a disapproving look.

"No idea how they'll do it. Just know that they will. As for why... something about weakening the town so they can install their own leadership. Cult shit."

Stan pales. "So we're gonna be stuck in quarantine even longer?"

Kenny nods grimly.

“That’s some fucked up shit right there,” Stan breathes. Kenny reaches down, squeezing Stan's shoulder reassuringly.

"We'll figure it out," Kenny assures him. "Come up with a plan. Right, Kyle?"

“How?” Stan asks, breathing hard. Kenny really doesn’t want Stan to puke in his room. He has a tendency to do that while anxious while sober, and Kenny really doesn’t want to figure out how easy it is for drunk anxious Stan to throw up. He tightens his grip on his shoulder.

Kyle is still frowning. “Yes… right. Listen, Stan. They’re working on some vaccine trials right now. I say if our fucked up town does get shut down further, we can use that to our advantage. Get some attention from the researchers on the new strain. Maybe invite them to use our town as the guinea pigs for the vaccine or something.”

“Not a bad idea. We can work early to get the town some publicity and try to capture the attention of the researchers. Maybe get the attention of some news outlets,” Kenny agrees. 

Stan nods. “I’ll literally do anything I can to stop a longer lockdown, so… I’m in.”

The new COVID variant hits South Park like a tidal wave, just as the cult promised. Lockdown measures tighten to a stranglehold, with students only allowed in-person classes once a week. Most parents opt for fully online learning anyway. It's not quite a total shutdown, but it's pretty damn close. Fear and uncertainty spread through the town faster than the virus itself, sparking daily riots and arguments at the community center.

The trio of Kenny, Stan, and Kyle bombard the CDC and pharmaceutical giants with desperate pleas, practically begging on digital knees for South Park to become a vaccine testing ground. Radio silence meets their efforts. Kenny eventually recruits Wendy to their cause (strategically omitting the whole "I'm the cult's eventual target" detail), and she dives enthusiastically into their letter-writing crusade.

The next few months pass in a surreal haze, the pandemic dragging on and on. Kenny is stir-crazy, aching for normalcy. He misses Wendy like crazy, barely catching glimpses of her between his departures and her arrivals for extracurriculars. He knows his friends are just as antsy.

Tonight, he's slogging through a Chem Zoom study session with Kyle and Wendy. Stan had joined initially but bailed pretty quick. Oddly enough, he'd handled the mathematical portions just fine, even walking Wendy through a particularly nasty calculation. But the science theories left him in the dust, and he'd logged off in frustration.

"How the hell can he nail differential equations but choke on basic molecular structures? Makes no damn sense," Kyle grumbles after Stan's abrupt exit.

Kenny shrugs. "Doubt he even looked at the textbook. And the teacher mostly covers only the math in class anyway." Kenny finds the material in the textbook fascinating himself, soaking it up effortlessly. He still prefers physics, though. He can't wait for AP Physics next year.

"I've been thinking about talking to his mom," Kyle says.

Wendy frowns. "About what?"

"Well..." Kyle lets out a heavy sigh. "Emotionally, he’s not improving. He’s still drinking, and I’m guessing Randy’s the one supplying it. I’ve tried everything I can think of, but... maybe it’s time to talk to Sharon about getting him admitted somewhere."

"Like to a mental hospital?" Wendy asks, eyes wide.

"I don't know. Maybe? Could help, right?" Kyle sounds exhausted, defeated. "I just... I'm not sure I can keep doing this. Trying to help him when he doesn't even want to get better."

"It's not on you to fix him, Kyle," Wendy says gently.

"I know that! Fuck, he doesn't really need 'fixing', he's perf-" Kyle catches himself. "Awesome as he is. It's the depression, the drinking. I'm just... out of ideas. And honestly? I feel like shit after talking to him lately. He's so goddamn cynical, and I want to help, but..."

Kenny feels a pang watching Kyle struggle. He's always known about Kyle's unspoken pedestal for Stan, even when they were kids.

"I think talking to Sharon is a good call," Wendy concurs. "I can come with, if you want backup. A mental health stay could be exactly what he needs. Professional help."

Kenny frowns, uneasy. "I don't know, guys. I mean, yeah, talking to Sharon makes sense. She probably knows even more than we do. But wouldn't Stan have to agree to go for it to work? Like rehab?"

"He'd never agree," Kyle says flatly. "But he clearly doesn't know or care what's good for him. He seems determined to do the opposite, actually. And I'm sick of watching it happen. We have to do something."

"I can go with you to talk to Sharon tomorrow morning," Wendy offers. "Kenny, you in?"

Kenny's still not convinced it's the right move, going behind Stan's back like this. But talking to Mrs. Marsh can't hurt, he figures. He nods reluctantly.

"So, we still on for movie night, Ken?" Wendy asks brightly, changing the subject. "Time to finish The Flight Attendant! Bebe already downloaded the rest of the season for the Discord server."

Kenny's surprised she's bringing it up in front of Kyle, who's never been invited to their group watch parties. But Kyle doesn't need to know half their class is in on it, too. Besides, he doubts Kyle's itching to see this particular show.

"Oh, uh. Yeah, definitely," Kenny says with a smile, trying to mask his unease.

Kyle's eyebrows shoot up, and Kenny can't tell if he's more thrown by the 'Ken' or the revelation of their movie nights. He doesn't comment, but Kenny can practically see the gears turning.

Before Kyle can pry further, Kenny blurts out an excuse about needing to shower before the viewing party. He logs off quickly, heart pounding.

Sharon is surprised to see Kyle, Kenny, and Wendy show up at the front door early the next morning. They went pretty early because they knew Stan would likely be sleeping in on the weekend. Her confusion evaporates the moment they mention their concerns about her son.

“Come in, but be quiet,” she says softly, gesturing for them to sit on the couch.

Kenny hangs back, letting Wendy and Kyle take the lead. They paint a grim picture of Stan's decline - the drinking, the weight loss, the constant cynicism and thinly veiled suicidal jokes. Sharon listens attentively, her fingers nervously twisting the wedding ring on her finger, her eyes betraying the pain she feels, even though nothing they say seems to surprise her.

"I appreciate you kids looking out for him," she says heavily, rubbing her temples. "I've tried therapy, but it's not sticking. Three different therapists now. I won't give up, though. Just... don't shoulder this burden yourselves, okay? You're too young for that. This isn't your responsibility."

Wendy broaches the subject gently. "Have you considered having him admitted for inpatient therapy? Just for a bit?"

Sharon hesitates, glancing between their earnest faces. "I have, but... I don't think Stan would agree to it. He barely agrees to the therapy sessions I've already scheduled."

Wendy and Kyle exchange meaningful glances, and Kyle adds, “But even if Stan doesn’t want it, it may be what’s best for him. It may be worth a try.”

Kenny's stomach knots. This still feels wrong somehow.

To his dismay, Sharon nods slowly. "You might be right. I'm out of other options at this point."

"Shouldn't Stan have a say in this?" Kenny argues, finally speaking up. "He's depressed, not incompetent. Taking away his choice might just make everything worse."

Both Wendy and Kyle scowl at him, clearly frustrated at his differing perspective.

"Dude, pretty much all his decisions lately have been shit," Kyle snaps. "You don't deal with him at his worst."

Kenny softens. "I know, and I'm genuinely sorry you're dealing with the brunt of it. Really. You're an amazing friend, Kyle. This can't be easy. But I think if we just talk to Stan like an adult, mapped out a real strategy with him..."

"He's not an adult, though," Sharon murmurs, realization dawning.

“Uh… guys? What are you all doing here?” Stan's groggy voice cuts through the tension. He's at the top of the stairs, hair mussed, still in pajamas. The confusion in his eyes turns to anger as he accounts for the people in the living room. Everyone goes tense.

Sharon pastes on a calm smile. "Morning, sweetie. Come sit with us."

Stan shuffles down the stairs, his scowl deepening. “Someone better start explaining, or I’m walking right back up. If this is an intervention, I swear to God—”

"It's not an intervention," Sharon says firmly.

Stan lingers at the room's periphery, arms locked defensively across his chest. "Then what? Wendy, why are you even here? We haven't talked in months."

Wendy offers a weak smile. "Hi, Stan." 

"Your friends are worried, Stanley. That's why-"

Stan groans, dragging his hands over his face. "Oh my god, it is an intervention."

“Dude, chill! It’s not an intervention,” Kyle jumps in. "We were just suggesting to your mom that it may be a good idea to try something new to help you out, because it hurts to see you… in so much pain, dude.” 

Stan peeks out between his fingers at Kyle. “Try what out?”

Sharon straightens, bracing herself. "I'm checking you into a psychiatric facility, Stanley."

Stan’s hands drop from his face and he looks at his mom in shock. "The mental hospital? Are you serious? No. No way."

"I've made up my mind," Sharon says gently but firmly. "They have people who can help, get you on new meds in a safe environment."

Stan looks to his friends, betrayal and panic warring in his eyes. "Don't I get a say?"

Sharon rises from the couch. “I’m going to make the call and get things set up.” She strides out of the room, leaving a heavy silence in her wake.

"What the fuck, you guys?" Stan whispers, lost.

Kenny holds up his hands in surrender. “Just FYI, I was not on board with this plan.”

Wendy glares at him. Kyle approaches Stan cautiously. "Please don't be mad. We just want to help-"

Stan backs away, bumping into the stair railing. "Don't, Kyle. This is a total betrayal, and you know it.”

Wendy scoffs. "Seriously, Stan? Kyle's done everything for you. Maybe consider how your bullshit affects the people around you."

Stan rounds on her, eyes flashing. "Why are you even here, Wendy? You ghost me for months, ignore all my texts, and now you're trying to get me committed? Get the fuck out of my house."

Kenny tries to defend her. "Dude, she really does care about  you."

Stan just shakes his head, incredulous. An agonizing silence descends until Stan turns to Kyle, voice cracking. "Why are you doing this?"

Kyle looks ready to cry. "I just want you to get better, Stan. We've tried everything else. I want you to be happy again. That's the only reason, I swear."

Stan pleads with him, desperate. "I've told you I never want to go there. It's not some nice city hospital, Kyle. This is South Park's mental hospital. It's a fucking asylum. I've seen the therapists there, they just make it worse. If I'm too much, just... stop trying. Leave me. But don't do this. Please."

“Stan, stop saying that! I’m not going to just leave you, dude," Kyle insists.

Sharon returns. Stan begs Kyle again to change her mind, but Kyle just shakes his head, avoiding Stan's gaze.

"A social worker will be here in 15 minutes," Sharon announces. "They'll have an ambulance take you to the mental health wing. Protocol, apparently."

Stan explodes. "What the fuck, Mom? An ambulance? No, no, I'm not going!"

Randy stumbles downstairs, hungover and annoyed. "The hell is happening? Why are there people in our house during a pandemic?"

Sharon sighs. "We're sending Stan to the mental hospital for a bit."

Randy snorts. "Good. Kid's always been a pansy. Too sensitive. Maybe they can toughen him up, eh?" He claps Stan roughly on the shoulder, sending him staggering.

Stan glares, shrugging him off. "Don't fucking touch me. You're an asshole."

"Language," Sharon scolds.

Stan groans in frustration and turns on his heel to try to leave the room. Sharon reaches out to stop him. “You have to stay here, honey. They’ll be here soon.”

"Can I at least change?" Stan grits out. "If I'm going to prison, I'd rather not be in fucking Terrance and Phillip pajamas."

"It's not prison," Sharon says wearily. "I'll grab you some clothes, but they'll likely have you change when you get there anyway."

Stan laughs humorlessly. "Right. Because prisons don't make you wear uniforms and strip you of all your shit. Silly me."

The doorbell rings. Randy lets in a middle-aged woman and two paramedics.

The woman beams at Stan. "You must be Stan. I'm Diana."

"Wow, I must just scream 'mentally ill' if you could pick me out that easily," Stan mutters.

He does look rough, Kenny has to admit. Rumpled, wild-eyed, radiating fear and anger. A far cry from his put-together friends. Sharon returns with Stan's clothes as Randy cracks open a beer, watching the scene like a spectator sport.

"No need to change," Diana chirps. "We'll get him situated at the hospital."

Stan's hands curl into fists. "I'm. Not. Going."

Diana's smile doesn't falter. "Oh, Stan. This will be so good for you. Let's make it easy, okay?"

"Fuck easy," Stan snaps. "I know my rights. You can't take me against my will unless I'm a danger to myself or others."

"Your file says you're suicidal, Stan. That's reason enough."

Stan sputters. "I'm not actively suicidal! I have no active plans to off myself! There’s a fucking difference between passively always wishing I were dead and actually being suicidal; what the fuck?!”

"Language," Sharon warns.

Diana's smile turns sickly sweet. "We can't take that risk, Stan. I'm sorry, but you have to come with us. Please, don't make this harder than it needs to be."

“No!” Stan’s voice cracks.

Diana sighs, exchanging a loaded glance with one of the paramedics.

"We really don't want to do this the hard way, Stan," she says, her tone softening. "But if you keep resisting, we won't have a choice. It's for your own safety."

Kenny leaps to his feet, positioning himself protectively in front of Stan. He can't take this anymore, Wendy's disapproval be damned.

"How did 'suicidal' even end up in his file?" Kenny demands. "There's a difference between suicidal thoughts and being actively suicidal. Stan's not a threat to himself or anyone else right now."

Diana turns to him, her expression patronizing. "If you care about your friend, you'll let him come with us."

"I do care. That's why I'm standing up for him," Kenny retorts.

Stan reaches onto Kenny, clutching his arm. Kenny can feel him shaking and he reaches out to give Stan a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder. 

Diana smiles sympathetically at Randy and Sharon. "We'll take excellent care of your son. We'll start therapy and medication right away, and send you the visitation schedule." She turns back to Stan. "One more chance to come willingly."

“No! Jesus Christ!” Stan exclaims, trying to hide more behind Kenny.

Diana nods to the paramedics. They pull out restraints. Stan dissolves into tears.

"Mom, please! I'm not a criminal! Why are you doing this to me? Tell them to stop!"

The paramedics shove Kenny aside, putting restraints on Stan, explaining that it's just protocol in psych ward transfers to restrain the patients to a bed for transport.

"Stop that," Kenny snarls. He's died for his friends before. He'd do it again in a heartbeat. If a painful death could save Stan from this, he'd volunteer in an instant.

Sharon's frozen, tears in her eyes. "Stanley, honey, I love you. They're going to help you there. Please try to have a good attitude. I'm sure it won't be for long."

They drag him out to the waiting ambulance. Stan looks back one last time, his gaze lingering on Kyle. Something in him seems to break. He stops fighting, going limp in the paramedics' grasp.

The door slams. The engine starts. And then he's gone.

Sharon wipes her eyes. "You kids can stay as long as you need. I'll let you know about visiting hours." She retreats upstairs.

Kenny turns to Kyle and Wendy, huddled on the couch. They're ashen, shell-shocked.

"That's not... I didn't think..." Kyle whispers. "Why'd they take him like that? Like an animal?"

Wendy rubs his shoulder. "It'll be okay. I know it was hard to watch, but this is good for him. We'll make sure he knows we didn't abandon him."

Kyle shakes his head. "Will it? I've never seen him like that. It was fucked up. How could they just... drag him away like that?"

Kenny bites back an 'I told you so.' Kyle meant well. And he looks wrecked enough already.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have come, Wendy,” Kyle frowns.

"Excuse me? I thought you wanted my help."

"Yeah, before I knew you'd been ghosting him! What the hell?"

They devolve into bickering until Kenny steps between them, telling them to shut up.

Kyle looks between Kenny and Wendy, a knowing look on his face. He opens his mouth to say something, but seemingly changes his mind. Shaking his head, he storms out of the house, slamming the door behind him. Kenny starts to follow, but Wendy stops him with a hand on his wrist.

“Just let him go, Ken.”

Kenny sighs and sinks down onto the couch, throwing a tired arm around Wendy. He’s a little annoyed with her at the moment, but doesn’t want to start an argument and just wants to be close to someone. Wendy leans into his touch. They stay there like that for a while, not saying a word to each other.

The weeks following Stan's forced hospitalization are a surreal blur, life in South Park shaped by the ongoing pandemic and the insidious new variant. Kenny, Kyle, and Wendy cling to their routine of Zoom study sessions, a fragile lifeline to normalcy in a world turned upside down.

Kyle's guilt is a palpable thing, the weight of his decision to commit Stan dragging him down like an anchor. Fear that he made the wrong call wars with the ache of missing his best friend. Wendy, in contrast, remains resolute in her belief that this is for the best. Kenny avoids the topic of Stan with her entirely, knowing it would only lead to arguments.

They double down on their efforts to alert the media and vaccine researchers to the unique strain ravaging their town. It's an uphill battle, their pleas seeming to fall on deaf ears, but they refuse to give up. For Kyle and Wendy, Kenny knows it's a way to cope with Stan's absence, to feel like they're doing something, anything, to help.

A vaccine does eventually roll out to the general public, but the South Park variant proves stubbornly resistant.

Kenny and Kyle visit Stan as often as they're allowed. At first, Stan refuses to see Kyle at all. It takes several heart-to-hearts with Kenny, relaying just how distraught Kyle is, for Stan to relent. Even then, he barely looks Kyle in the eyes. It's not until Kyle, stoic Kyle who never cries since he was 9, breaks down in earnest that Stan's anger cracks. He pulls Kyle into a hug, pleading with him to stop crying, murmuring forgiveness. But Kenny doesn't miss the wariness that lingers in Stan's gaze.

Stan's strategy is to play the model patient, convincing the staff there's no need for him to be there at all. It works. After a couple of weeks, he's discharged.

The night he gets back, Kenny takes him for a run, just the two of them. He fills Stan in on their renewed push to get the vaccine to South Park.

"Did they at least let you run at the hospital?" Kenny asks.

Stan snorts. "You kidding? We weren't even allowed outside. Too much liability if we hurt ourselves on a fucking tree or something."

“Seriously? Damn, even prison gives inmates time to go outside.”

"Why do you think I fought so hard not to go? It's worse than prison, dude. Maybe there are nicer places in bigger cities, but this was hell. Felt way longer than two weeks."

Kenny listens as Stan unloads - the friends he made with the other patients (mostly normal, he assures Kenny), the constant monitoring and total lack of privacy, the push towards religion and "therapy" that felt more like indoctrination. How he bullshitted his way to freedom.

"You'll never guess who I saw in there," Stan says suddenly. "Trent Boyett."

"No shit," Kenny breathes.

"Thank fuck he didn't recognize me. Pretty sure he was there under the 'danger to others' clause."

"Let's hope he doesn't get out anytime soon," Kenny mutters, shuddering.

Life settles into a new normal, at once achingly familiar and jarringly different. Kenny feels the walls of the pandemic closing in, frustration mounting at their lack of progress. Kyle is overjoyed to have Stan back, acting almost too gentle with him. Stan seems overwhelmed, withdrawn, wary of Kyle in a way he's never been before. Even Wendy is making an effort to mend fences, but Stan remains guarded.

Kenny is used to playing mediator, but never between Stan and Kyle, at least not for truly serious shit. Never like this.

One March morning at the bus stop, Kenny finds himself alone with Cartman.

"Why've you been avoiding me, Kenny?" Cartman asks, all wide-eyed innocence.

Kenny glares at him, making sure they're truly alone before hissing, "Cut the shit, Cartman. I saw you at that cult meeting."

Cartman coughs, looking nervous. "Oh, that? They offered me cash, but the assholes never paid up. Not like I told them anything they didn't already know."

“Whatever, Cartman. I don’t even fucking care. But the least you can do is tell me if you learn anything more about the cult.”

Cartman nods. “Sure. Fair is fair. Can you believe they let loose this whole new Covid variant?”

A sudden idea sparks. Kenny remembers Cartman's uncanny ability to get shit done back in the day, fucked up as his methods often were. If the cult's short-term goal is sowing chaos by prolonging the pandemic...

Lowering his voice, Kenny fills Cartman in on their stalled efforts to bring the vaccine to South Park. He invites him to their next strategy meeting.

If anyone can strongarm the researchers into paying attention, it's Eric Cartman. Kenny just hopes he's not making a deal with the devil in the process.

Kenny calls an emergency meeting behind the high school the next day. Wendy, Stan, and Kyle show up, curious and a bit apprehensive.

"What's this about, Kenny? I've got more letters drafted," Wendy says.

As if on cue, Cartman strolls up. Wendy glares daggers at him. "What are you doing here?"

"I invited him," Kenny explains.

Kyle groans. "Aw, dude, why?"

“It’s nice to see you, too, Jewboy,” Cartman smirks.

“Guys, we’re getting nowhere. And Cartman knows all about the cult, and I figured we could use his help. We’ve got to try something new, get some new minds to help us out here,” Kenny says.

“But does that new mind really have to be Cartman? Really, Kenny?” Kyle whines.

“Shut up, Kahl! You’re probably the reason you aren’t even getting anywhere. Remember what I told you last week? About how you’re just like your mom? And also that-“

Kyle’s ears go red. Kenny feels a bit bad because he knows that Cartman is still harassing him even worse than usual lately.

"Shut your goddamn mouth, fatass!" Kyle snarls.

Cartman turns to Stan, grinning. "Go on, Kyle, cry to your mom. Or maybe your little boyfriend Stan will-"

"Stan, do something! Tell him to fuck off, he listens to you!" Kyle pleads.

Stan’s expression remains distant, and he doesn’t intervene.

“Stan?”

Stan finally looks up, meeting Kyle’s eyes. Instead of coming to his defense, he sighs and shrugs, his voice devoid of emotion. "Kyle, ignore him. You know how he is. Not like you can change him."

Kyle recoils like he's been slapped. Kenny winces at the hurt and disappointment on his face.

Cartman cackles. "See, even Stan's sick of your nagging and moral high ground. Told ya it would happen."

Wendy steps in, arm around Kyle's shoulders. "Alright, enough. How about Kyle and Cartman just don't address each other at all? This is a trial run, Eric. Share your ideas. If they suck, you're out."

Cartman clears his throat dramatically. "Okay, bitches. Gentlemen... and Wendy. I hear you've been trying to get vaccines. Well, I've secured some that should work against the South Park strain. Once they test it on a select group, they'll ship more."

Kenny narrows his eyes. "You expect us to buy that? That you got vaccines in one day when we've been trying for months?"

"Oh, ye of little faith," Cartman smirks. "It's simple, really. All it took was a little charm and charisma."

Stan looks skeptical. "Cartman, what did you do? There's no way you did this legally."

Cartman waves him off. "While you idiots were begging news stations and researchers, you forgot about the 'conservative folks' with the real power."

"What do you mean, 'conservative folks'?" Wendy asks warily.

"Even they want the vaccines, they just can't admit it to voters. They have the money to get them first. I played up the 'freedom fighter' angle, spun a sob story about our neglected small town representing middle America. Next thing I know, they're shipping me a batch and promising more if it works."

“You told them you are a freedom fighter. Wow,” Kyle says flatly.

"These conservatives just agreed to help us out of the goodness of their hearts? I find that hard to believe, Cartman," Wendy says, unconvinced.

Cartman rolls his yes.“God, you assholes really don't understand the power of appealing to people's needs and egos. I didn't just give them a sob story, you guys. I told them saving our town from disaster would be great press. They look like heroes, we get vaccines. Win-win."

"Okay, say we believe you. What's the catch? There's always a catch with you," Stan says.

"No catch, just pure genius at work. Believe it or not, I have my own reasons for needing this pandemic to end as much as I really do love online schoo. You can thank me later."

"When do we get them?" Kenny asks.

"Tonight. The researcher agreed to a covert handoff if they can monitor South Park's reaction. If it goes well, they'll send more."

“I don’t trust this. Count me out,” Kyle says.

“Kyle, come on, dude. This is what we’ve been trying to get for months,” Stan says.

Kenny tries to placate him. "Let's just meet the researcher tonight. No decisions yet, okay?"

They all nod, Kyle still looking uneasy.

That night, they gather outside the agreed-upon warehouse.

"Couldn't you have picked a less murder-y location?" Kyle grumbles.

Cartman scoffs. "What, you'd prefer the cultists' creepy canyon? Grow a pair, Jew."

Kenny finds an unlocked window and they climb through. The vaccines sit in a secure container on a table. Kenny grabs it, Wendy shining her phone flashlight.

"So... what do we do with them?" Kenny asks.

“Why don’t we just take the vaccines for ourselves? We can’t trust any of the adults in South Park; they’re all dumbasses,” Stan says.

Kyle looks horrified. "We can't just inject ourselves with mystery drugs, Stan! We don't know what's in them or if they're safe. For all we know, Cartman just filled some tubes with Mountain Dew to fuck with us."

Cartman gasps in mock offense. "As if I'd waste my precious time plotting against you losers."

"Guys, focus. Our town is suffering. What if we give the vaccines to our teachers? Then we can get back to in-person classes. It helps everyone," Wendy says.

Stan nods slowly. "Yeah, that... makes sense."

"Agreed," Kenny says.

They turn to Kyle, who's still scowling. "I stand by what I said. I don't trust this or Cartman. I'm this close to chucking these 'vaccines' in the trash for everyone's safety."

"Kyle, please! This is what we've been working for, don't fuck it up now!" Stan begs.

Cartman throws up his hands. "God, you're such a buzzkill. Let's just do what Wendy said and give them to the teachers."

Kyle doesn't look happy, but he doesn't argue further. Kenny and Cartman get to work on a PSA, telling teachers to meet after school for the vaccines.

Somehow, word gets out about the limited vaccines for the infamous South Park COVID strain. The news spreads like wildfire, plunging the town into chaos. The police even threaten to arrest anyone harboring the vaccines without turning them over to the City Council. It's a frenzy of excitement and desperation, forcing the teens to be extra cautious as they distribute the precious cargo to the high school teachers.

They load up their backpacks and set out, only to be caught by a massive crowd in the town square. It seems like some people are auditioning for the chance to get the vaccine. Auditioning to who, Kenny isn’t sure - he supposes to them since they are the ones who have them. The news cameras are pointed at the podium. 

A man dressed as a giant syringe stands on a soapbox, holding up a sign. “Vote for me, and I’ll inject the town for safety!” He exclaims.

“Vote for him? There isn’t even a fucking election!” Kyle mutters under his breath. 

“What is this, America’s Got Talent but for vaccines?” Stan asks, equally bewildered.

“Oh, Stanley. America’s Got Talent has people who are actually talented. This here is a… it’s…. Uh, I don’t know what the fuck this is,” Kenny admits. They’ve halted to a stop, stuck in the midst of the crowd, trapped for the time being.

Kenny ducks as a man juggling flaming torches passes by, singing an off-key original song called "Vax the World."

"That's worse than the song you wrote to get Kyle back from San Francisco," Wendy snickers.

Stan punches her shoulder playfully. "Hey, it worked, didn't it?"

”It almost destroyed the entire town,” Wendy laughs.

"But technically, it worked! Kyle's here, not in San Francisco." Stan gestures proudly to Kyle.

”I’m really resenting being in South Park right now,” Kyle says, eyeing the chaotic scene in front of them.

Cartman points to the "judges" at the front, pretending to decide who gets the vaccines while collecting money. "Damn, they're smart."

Stan nudges Kyle. "Dude, is that Butters?"

Kenny chuckles. "Kid's always been business savvy."

Kyle nudges Stan. “Dude, your dad.” Stan follows Kyle’s line of vision and groans when he sees his dad who is dressed as a ‘Vaccine Viking’. 

Towards the front, Kenny can see their old Fourth Grade teacher, Mr. Garrison, who has a booth set up with a whiteboard filled with diagrams explaining why the vaccine is actually a government plot to turn everyone into mind-controlled sheep. 

“Dude, the adults in our town are so fucking stupid,” Stan says, shaking his head.

Kyle, claustrophobic in the crowd, clings to Stan, who squeezes his arm reassuringly.

"Okay, I've seen enough. Let's get out of here," Kenny says. The others readily agree.

They finally make it to the high school cafeteria, where the selected teachers await. The vaccines are administered without incident, the teachers grateful and sworn to secrecy. Kenny gathers the empty containers, planning to burn them at home to avoid leaving evidence. Wendy stays behind to grab some books from the library.

As they exit, a familiar voice stops them in their tracks. "Hold it right there!"

Detective Yates and his officers emerge from the shadows, ordering the teens to put their hands up. Kenny quickly texts Wendy to stay inside before complying.

The police pat them down, finding the empty containers on Kenny.

"They're empty," Yates reports into his radio. Someone responds angrily. Yates nods to his men. "Arrest them."

“What? You can’t arrest us! We didn’t do anything illegal!” Kenny protests.

"We have probable cause to bring you in for questioning," Yates says gruffly.

The teens are cuffed and hauled into separate police cars - Stan and Kyle in one, Cartman and Kenny in the other.

“I can have you sued! You bitches have nothing on us!” Cartman yells. Cartman continues about lawsuits until Kenny stomps on his foot, hissing at him to plead the fifth. Cartman's overactive imagination could land them in deeper shit if he starts spinning tales.

In the interrogation room, Yates leans across the table. "Alright, spill it. What were you really doing with those containers?"

Kenny keeps his cool. "We found them. Don't know who used them. We did nothing illegal. That's all we're saying."

Yates is skeptical. "Empty vaccine containers just happened to be lying around the school?"

“That’s what he said. You know, maybe you should look into that cult that meets at Stark’s Canyon instead of wasting your time on four innocent high schoolers,” Cartman barks.

Kenny adds, "We'd love to help, Detective, but we really don't know who took the vaccines. Maybe ninjas dropped them?"

Cartman chimes in, all wide-eyed innocence. "Yeah, we're just good Samaritans doing extra homework. As for the vaccines, who knows? Maybe aliens? You ever consider that?"

They go in circles, blaming aliens, cults, ninjas, ghosts, and time travelers, until Yates gives up. He steps out to confer with the detective who questioned Stan and Kyle.

"They're not talking," Yates grumbles. "Just deflecting blame on crazy shit."

He returns, annoyed. "Okay, boys. I don't buy it, but we don't have enough to book you. So here's the deal. We're putting you in holding for a couple hours, then calling your parents. Think long and hard about what you've done."

"Hehe, yeah, we'll think 'long and hard,'" Cartman snickers.

Kenny can't help but laugh at the dumb joke as they're led to the holding cell. Stan and Kyle are already there, looking miserable.

"My mom's gonna kill me," Kyle whispers, pale as a ghost.

Kenny pats his back. "Don't worry, dude. We'll figure it out. Worst case, she grounds you for life. You and Butters can start a club."

"I still think you should've just blamed me," Stan mutters.

"I wasn't gonna do that," Kyle snaps.

“What did you guys end up telling them, anyways?” Kenny whispers.

"Nothing," Stan says. "Pleaded the fifth. Pissed them off."

“What? Kyle? Being quiet and saying nothing? I don’t believe that for one second. You’re the most loud and obnoxious person in South Park, and I say that after witnessing that weird talent show spectacle today,” Carman grins.

Kyle, already on edge, snaps. "Shut UP, fatass! New rule! If I'm stuck in a fucking holding cell for something I didn't even want to do, and I have to deal with Eric fucking Cartman, then Cartman doesn't get to talk to me! Or I swear to God-"

"Kyle, chill," Stan breathes out.

Kyle whirls on him, eyes blazing. Stan flinches at the fury in his gaze. Kenny freezes, wondering if he should intervene.

“Don’t fucking tell me to chill, Stan! God, I’m so sick of you looking at me every time I get angry… like… like I’m not allowed to be angry. You always want me to shut up! Why? So you can feel better? I don’t get it, Stan! I know I have a fucking temper, okay, I get it, you know I’ve been working on it, but it’s not like I ever lose my temper on you. A lot of the time it’s for a valid fucking reason, you make me feel like I’m crazy! Is that what you’re trying to do, make me feel like I’m insane? Like none of this stuff should even matter, even though it does, Stan! It does matter! Like… like when I get pissed at Cartman! Do you even fucking care how much he harasses me? Do you ever stop to think about the amount of shit I have to put up with him, how it makes me feel like shit all the time? And how much it hurts to see you roll your eyes as if it’s no big deal? Well, congratulations for being a better person and not getting upset about shit. But I'm done with it, Stan. I'm done with you brushing everything off, including your own fucking well-being!"

Kyle takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling. He still looks upset, but it looks like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders for unleashing his frustrations. Stan looks stricken, lips parted in shock.

Cartman's laughter shatters the silence. "Holy shit, that was priceless! Good one, Kahl. Stan, you should see your face right now. Like that hippie could even come up with a response, he's such a simp. Shit, this is good stuff."

“Cartman, stay out of it,” Kenny snaps.

"Like hell. Kyle mentioned me, so I get a say. Speaking of, did you know he was gonna take the vaccines for his own family?"

“No, he didn't, Eric. He wouldn’t do that. Now shut up; I told you to stay out of this,” Kenny says, about 30 seconds away from punching Cartman himself to knock him out cold. 

Cartman cackles. "Yes, he was! I caught him trying to swap them out for soda this morning. Lucky for you guys, I have enough dirt on him to keep him in line. Speaking of, should you guys ever find yourself in need of Kyle blackmail for any occasion, now you know where to go. It will cost a fee, of course, but I have so much on him that I can customize the perfect blackmail plan for your circumstance.”

Kenny rolls his eyes, done arguing. Kyle is quiet, arms folded, gaze distant. Stan studies him intently, searching for something.

“Is that true, Kyle?” Stan asks quietly. Kenny’s heart pounds, surprised that Stan would even ask this, let alone suspect it.

Kyle doesn’t say anything. He folds his arms tighter.

"What the fuck, dude?" Stan's voice is barely a whisper.

Finally, Kyle meets his eyes. "I don't think I would've gone through with it, in the end. You have no idea the guilt trips I've been getting from every direction, including you guys, my parents-"

“Dude, what the fuck?!" Stan explodes. "First the asylum, and now this. What is with all this lying!? So your parents guilted you, fine. But why wouldn't you come to me first? You know I wouldn't have judged you for considering it!  I just… I can’t believe you would lie to me, that you would hide shit from me! This is us; we don’t hide shit like this from each other!” 

Kyle's eyes flash with guilt, then narrow in anger. "Whatever, Stan! Like the original plan was so great. You just agreed with Wendy without thinking, because Cartman's right for once. You're a simp, you'd do anything she says! You had your own idea, but did you fight for it? No. Wendy decided, so that's what you went with. You ignored all my concerns, which again, were valid, and made me feel insane for having them!"

Cartman looks between Stan and Kyle like a cat watching a tennis game, amusement shining in his eyes. Kenny’s heart pounds even further, and he walks over to Stan and Kyle, who are both standing too close, staring each other down, and Kenny can’t let them get into a fistfight. Jesus, he can’t let them get into an argument, not one like this. He’s seen these two get into arguments, but not like this. They were never this disrespectful to each other, and the insults they are throwing seem too genuine, too from the heart. They seem genuinely very hurt. He can’t let them drift apart though, because these are his best friends, and he needs them. He needs them all to be friends. He’s too alone as it is; they are the ones who have provided him any semblance of sanity and structure since he was a kid. He can’t do High School without them. They need to stop. He feels himself almost hyperventilating when he physically steps in between them and says in as strong a voice as he can, “Stop it, you guys.” It ends up coming out shakier than he envisioned.

“Stay out of this, Kenny,” Stan says at the same time that Kyle snaps, “This doesn’t concern you.”

Stan's face twists in pain and fury. "Don’t patronize me like that, Kyle. A simp, really? Seriously? We’re name calling now? Fine then, you’re a self-righteous asshole. You think you can force all your values and what you think is best on everyone whether you’re right or not, and you’re not always right, Kyle! Not like you think you are! You're one to talk about making people feel like shit, Kyle. Every time I'm struggling, every time I drink too much because I can't fucking cope, you act like I'm this huge burden on you. Like dealing with me is such a chore. Well, I'm sorry I'm not perfect like you! I'm sorry I can't just flip a switch and be okay! But yeah, I'm the asshole for not having the energy to fight with Wendy or stick up for you every goddamn second. Fuck me, right?"

Kyle recoils. "That's not... I never said you were a burden, Stan! But yes, it fucking hurts to watch you destroy yourself and push me away! It hurts when you get shitfaced and say awful things you don't remember. I'm not your fucking punching bag, but you sure as hell treat me like one when you're shitfaced! It hurts that no matter how hard I try, I can never seem to help you! So excuse me for getting frustrated sometimes. Excuse me for being at the end of my rope and needing you to fucking meet me halfway for once!"

Stan laughs harshly, tears welling in his eyes. "Meet you halfway? Kyle, I'm fucking trying! Every day, I'm trying not to fall apart! But nothing I do is ever good enough for you. I'm never good enough for you. I’m sick of this; I’m sick of all of this. I’m sick of you hiding things from me. I don’t trust you, dude. I don’t…. I can’t do this with you anymore. I’m tired of trying,” Stan yells at first, but his voice lowers quite a bit by the end, his eyes starting to well with tears. He sounds so tired at the end of his rant.

Kyle's throat works as he swallows hard. When he speaks, his voice is rough with unshed tears. “Can’t do what anymore? Try to be my friend? Well, thank God we agree on something today, Stan. I’m sick of this bullshit, too. I need friends who actually stick up for me, ones who I don’t have to bend over backwards and walk on eggshells around after giving up so much of my own goddamn time and energy and sanity on when they feel sorry for themselves wallowing in self-pity, only to never listen to me anyways and self-sabotage over and over and over again.  I’m tired of trying, too.” Kyle also isn’t yelling anymore, but sounds equally as exhausted as Stan.

Stan nods, a few tears escaping down his cheeks. “Fine. Fucking fine. Have a nice life, Kyle. Just leave me Kenny on the weekends. And don't worry. I’ll make sure to keep you out of it the next time I’m ‘feeling sorry for myself’.” 

“Yep. Sounds great. Settled. Kenny can just choose who he gets to hang out with when, but yeah, I’ll respect his time with you.” Kyle turns on his heel to the opposite end of the holding cell and sits down, folding his arms and staring out the bars into the police station, his eyes fixated on the water cooler.

Stan slumps against the nearest wall and slides to the floor, face in his hands, shoulders shaking. Kenny feels like he's gonna throw up.

Cartman sighs dramatically. "About damn time those two broke up. It's been building for years. Not as climactic as I hoped, though. Needed more punches thrown. I give it a 5/10 on the dramatic breakup scale."

"Shut the fuck up, Cartman," Kenny grits out. He's frozen in place, torn between his two best friends. He wants to comfort them both, knowing they each had valid points, but also knowing they crossed lines they can't uncross. They were both right, but mostly they were both so incredibly wrong. Kenny doesn't want to choose, doesn't want to lose either of them. So he sits beside Cartman instead, a neutral zone.

“Guess it’s time to get out this trusty little thing. Haven’t been able to use this since you, me, and Stan were trapped in that Japanese prison,” Cartman grins, nudging Kenny. Kenny doesn’t have to turn to look to know that he’s getting out a harmonica. He cringes.

“Don’t do this, Cartman. I’ll fucking kill you,” Kenny says through gritted teeth. "This is not the time for your-"

Cartman cuts him off. “Shh, Keeny. Let the harmonica speak. It's expressing our collective sorrow. This one's for Stan and Kyle, folks!"

He launches into a godawful rendition of "Kumbaya," pausing occasionally to belt out lyrics with obnoxious cheer.

"Shut up, fatass! Why the fuck do you even have that? Do you just carry it around waiting to get arrested?" Kyle snarls.

Stan groans loudly into his hands. 

Cartman sniffs haughtily. "I'll have you know, Kahl. As a cultured individual, I'm always prepared for life's unexpected moments. A harmonica is perfect for deep introspection and jail stints. It's my emotional support harmonica. Now, let me play the song of our people!" He butchers the pronunciation of "people" and segues into a screeching "Star-Spangled Banner."

Kenny's had enough. "That's it, motherfucker. I warned you." He lunges at Cartman, grappling for the harmonica. Cartman holds on for dear life.

“Stan. A little…. help here?” Kenny grunts out.

“Good luck getting Stan to help out when you need it,” Kyle says bitterly from across the cell, his eyes still fixed outwards, not turning once to look at Kenny and Cartman’s fight.

Stan scoffs but doesn’t respond to Kyle. He rolls his eyes that are now swollen and puffy from crying and gets up, grabbing Cartman's arms from behind. Cartman tries to squirm away, but Stan's grip is ironclad. Kenny finally wrenches the harmonica free, splitting Cartman's lip in the process. He hurls it out of the cell. Stan releases Cartman and slinks back to the wall, withdrawing into himself once more.

“You assholes!” Cartman screams, blood dripping onto his chin. “I’m fucking reporting this to the police!”

“What are they going to do, throw us in jail?” Kenny asks, gesturing to the holding cell they are already in. “Stop being such a pussy, Eric. Just put some pressure on your lips and it’ll stop bleeding, Jesus Christ. You’re always such a drama queen when you get hurt.”

Cartman still grunts insults but does as Kenny suggests and finally holds his palm over the cut on his lip, applying pressure.

Cartman’s mom arrives first. “Pooksiekins! My poor baby! What happened to your lip?” Liane cries out as she sees Eric. Kenny rolls his eyes.

“Meeehhhhmmm!” Cartman whines. “Kennnnyyy… and Stannnn…. knocked me down and hurt me and-“ Kenny can’t make out the rest of Cartman’s whines as his mom walks him gently out of the building.

Kenny’s dad arrives at the same time that Kyle’s mom shows up. Stuart looks confused to see Kenny behind bars while Sheila is livid.

"I thought the call was for Kevin. What'd you do, son?" Stuart asks.

Kenny shrugs. "Wrong place, wrong time, Dad."

Sheila rounds on Kyle. "How on earth did you end up here, Kyle? This is a disaster!"

Kyle trudges over, eyes downcast. "Like Kenny said. Wrong place, wrong time, Ma."

Sheila turns to Stan, who hasn't moved. "Come along, Stanley. Your father called, asked me to bring you home. He sounded ill; I could barely understand him."

Stan doesn't respond at first. Then, slowly, he lifts his head, eyes bloodshot and hollow. "...Kay." He trails after Sheila, keeping his distance from Kyle. Neither boy spares the other a glance.

Kenny follows his dad out in silence, words sticking in his throat. He doesn't know what to say, to either of them. He checks his phone, finding frantic messages from Wendy. Responding to her is a momentary relief before he crafts careful texts to Stan and Kyle.

The knot in his gut tightens with each step. Logically, he knows this blowup was inevitable, that he couldn't have stopped it. Their issues run too deep. But the fracturing of their trio leaves him unmoored, anchorless. Their trio was the one steady thing in his chaotic life for as long as he can remember.

Now it's gone. Shattered beyond repair. And Kenny's never felt more lost and alone.

Chapter Text

2035

The good news is Stan still manages to get sleep despite the lack of his sleeping pills. The bad news is that his nightmares are filled with more of the same horror show from a couple of nights ago.

In this new hellscape, Stan finds himself wandering the deserted streets of South Park once more. Dark shadows surround him, and he feels an intense urgency. He must find Kenny, as if his long-time friend is lost somewhere within the confines of their hometown, and Stan's sole purpose is to bring him back. This urgency borders on obsession.

The dream shifts, and Stan is on main street, but it looks nothing like Stan remembers. It's eerily silent. The buildings are damaged, and the fog obscures any view of the mountains. Weeds sprout from the many cracks on the broken roads. He wanders aimlessly, calling out for Kenny, his voice echoing. The loneliness he feels is overwhelming, as if he's the last person left on Earth.

The dream changes again, and Stan finds himself in the South Park Elementary schoolyard. The swings and slides on the playground are empty, swaying in the wind. They look like they haven't been used in years.

Stan spots an orange-hooded figure in the distance - Kenny. Stan's urgency briefly turns to hope. He runs towards the figure, calling out Kenny's name. Stan reaches out to him desperately, but right as he's about to make contact, Kenny vanishes, a puff of fog left behind. 

Stan wakes up gasping for air. His long-sleeved dress shirt clings to him. He almost cries out when he realizes he's inside the same school he was just dreaming about, but the memories from last night come rushing back before he does.

Stan sits up on the cot, rubbing his face. Tweek and Craig are huddled on a nearby cot, watching him with a mix of concern and morbid curiosity.

“You guys always watch people sleep, or just me?” Stan asks, his voice rough with sleep.

Tweek's eyes widen, his hands fidgeting nervously. "Gah! No, we weren't- I mean, you were just-"

"Dude, you were freaking the fuck out in your sleep," Craig interrupts. "Thrashing around, muttering some creepy shit. It was like watching a live-action horror movie. I was just telling Tweek all we were missing is the popcorn."

Stan groans, rubbing a hand over his face. Great. As if he didn't have enough to deal with, now he's putting on a goddamn performance for Craig of all people.

“Glad my nightmares are entertaining for you,” he mutters, swinging his legs over the side of the cot. His body aches like he's been running all night.

“But seriously, dude, are you okay?” Tweek asks, his hazel eyes wide.

“Yeah, fine. It was just a dream.” Stan honestly doesn’t want to know what he was muttering in his sleep.

Tweek’s eyes widen more. “But...dreams can be important, man! They can be, like, messages from the subconscious, or a message from someone else-”

"Or just random brain noise," Craig interjects. "Damn, Marsh, your hair is greasy as fuck."

Stan stands up, stretching his limbs. “As much as I love being psychoanalyzed and insulted first thing in the morning…. I’m gonna get ready for the day now. Also, don’t forget that I have questions I need to ask you.”

Tweek fidgets. “What about?"

Stan fights the urge to roll his eyes. “I think you know, dude. Kenny.”

Craig frowns at Stan. “We don’t promise to say shit to you. When exactly are you wanting to talk about it, anyways?”

“I don’t know, like…after I take a shower? Soon.” 

“Maybe use some shampoo, Marsh?” Craig calls out as he leaves.

“Thanks for the fucking fashion tip, Tucker! I’ll be sure to not take it,” Stan retorts as he rushes away, despite the fact that he was already obviously fucking planning on washing his hair with shampoo. 

Stan has been fighting for air throughout the conversation and just needs a moment alone. He tries to avoid the other people in the gym as he makes his escape, reminders that he's not truly alone. Once he reaches the boy's locker room, he slips into one of the stalls, leaning his weight against the door and trying to calm his breathing. He gives Kyle a call, filling him in on his plans to talk to Craig and Tweek before they head out to pick up Stan's work laptop.

Stan also calls Mia from work, asking her to grab his laptop from his apartment. She agrees to bring it to the entrance of South Park later that morning for him to pick up. She seems to have many questions, but Stan has to cut the conversation short, promising to fill her in on as much as he can later.

Finally, Stan showers and gets ready for the day as best he can with the supplies provided by the National Guard. He's not particularly thrilled about putting his sweat-soaked button-up shirt back on.

Stan walks into the gym, now much livelier with people out of their cots. A middle-aged man lounging on one of the cots, reading a newspaper, chuckles when he sees Stan. "Hey, Nightmare on Elm Street. Finally awake? You were putting on quite the show last night. Some of us are trying to have boring dreams here, but it's kind of hard over your sleep yelling."

“I’ll be sure to see if I can fucking… schedule my nightmares better next time,” Stan mumbles, annoyed.

A group of teens in the corner snicker. “Yeah, Sleeping Beauty, were you dreaming of Slender Man or something? Could you, like, dream a little bit more quiet next time?”

A woman glares at him. “You better not give a sequel tonight.”

“Goddamnit,” Stan mutters, his ears turning a bit pink with embarrassment. He avoids eye contact or responding to anyone.

As he nears his cot, he's surprised to see Kyle sitting on it, deep in conversation with Tweek and Craig. They're listening in on the complaints directed at Stan. Craig is laughing softly at the commentary, while Kyle shoots him warning glares.

As he approaches, Kyle looks up, his green eyes filled with concern. "Hey, dude. I brought you some clean clothes. Figured you'd want to get out of..." He gestures vaguely at Stan's rumpled attire.

Stan grunts his thanks, taking the offered bundle. "What are you doing here so early? I thought we were meeting up later."

Kyle shrugs. "And miss the chance to interrogate these two? Not a chance."

“You can at least be more tactful and less inconspicuous about this, guys. Instead of saying ‘interrogate’ us, say you want to ‘catch up’,” Craig suggests. 

Stan rolls his eyes, too tired to deal with Craig's particular brand of assholery. "Give me five minutes to change. Then we'll 'catch up' properly. I'll meet you guys in the cafeteria."

The cafeteria's atmosphere is more relaxed compared to the tense air of the gym. Stan finds Tweek and Craig sitting at their old elementary school table, picking at their cafeteria food. As Stan slides in next to Kyle, Kyle hands him the thermos he left in his car.

“Sorry, not sure how you like your coffee. So you just get some coffee courtesy of Sheila Broflovksi’s Keurig,” he says.

Stan takes a sip, grateful for the warm liquid. It feels nice on his throat. “Usually I add in a couple more shots… but this is great- thanks.”

“You add in shots to your coffee in the morning? I always figured you’d be an alcoholic, but damn,” Craig says.

“Shots of espresso, asshole. Not alcohol.” Stan doesn't mention that he used to put alcohol shots in his coffee back in college and could really go for some actual shots right now.

“I also can’t function until I have my coffee,” Tweek pipes in awkwardly, sounding like he wants to ease the tension.

“Well, if we’re confessing our morning rituals, I’d like to add that I can’t start my day without sacrificing a small animal. Really gets the blood flowing, you know?” Craig says.

Tweek’s eyes dart to Craig. “Craig! What have I told you? You can’t just say stuff like that. What if someone believes you?”

“What, you mean that Craig has used this line on someone else? And I agree with Tweek. You’d better better be careful with your confessions,” Stan laughs.

“So, is the animal ritual before or after you’ve had your morning coffee?” Kyle asks.

“During, actually. The animal sacrifice pairs nicely with a dark roast,” Craig responds, his tone dry.

There’s a small moment of silence as Stan realizes he doesn’t quite know exactly what he should be asking them. 

“So… it’s been a while. How… How have you guys been?”

Craig laughs. “It’s fine, Marsh. You can just go right in on your interrogation time. We can skip the whole small talk portion. Though to answer your question, we’re doing fantastic. I mean, who wouldn’t love being crammed into the gym with a bunch of strangers, right?”

“Kay, fine then. Interrogation time. Let’s cut to the chase. When was the last time you saw Kenny?” Stan asks, his voice a little bit more authoritative than he meant.

“Jesus, dude! You don’t have to make it sound like we’re murder suspects!” Tweek says, sounding terrified and like he’s debating running away from the conversation.

“... Do you guys want small talk first instead then?” Kyle asks.

“Yes!” Tweek says at the same time that Craig says “No!”

Stan closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. Kyle looks like he's about ready to lose it, so Stan quickly puts a light hand on his shoulder before continuing. He doesn't let his hand linger long.

“Look. Tweek. I promise you’re not a murder suspect,” Stan says.

“Maybe not Tweek. But Craig sure as hell is,” Kyle mutters. Stan shoots him a warning glance.

“Anyways, we’re just trying to piece together Kenny’s last few months, okay? Did either of you hang out with him much lately?” Stan asks.

“I’ve only seen him at the gaming nights with the old friends. You know, the ones you never go to. Kyle knows this, he goes to those gaming nights too,” Craig says.

Kyle is one of the main reasons Stan never goes to those gaming nights, along with just never having the energy to drive to South Park. Though he always turned down Kenny’s invitations to carpool. Stan feels a pang of missing Kenny terribly and desperately wishes he sucked it up and went out to some of those gaming nights anyways.

“What about you, Tweek?”

“Tweek basically does everything I do,” Craig says.

“I’m not asking you, Tucker. I’m asking Tweek.”

Tweek’s jittery energy seems to spike. “I… Well, I guess I’ve seen him a lot more in the past year, man.” Craig raises an eyebrow at this admission.

Stan stays quiet, giving Tweek the chance to explain more. 

“I work at Mephesto’s lab sometimes. Not every day, but more often than not this year I’ve been assigned there. Kenny would pop in sometimes. But it wasn’t like we were hanging out or anything. It was all… very official.”

“What do you mean by ‘official’? What kind of work do you do there, and why would Kenny be there?” Kyle asks.

“Well, I still call it Mephesto’s lab, but it’s not really… anymore. I mean, it’s a lab, but the government owns it now. My work is classified, guys. I can’t just tell you what I work on. Kenny didn’t work for the government, but he was high up enough at the college and smart enough that my bosses just always let him in. Kenny was interested in the… uh, research stuff. Yeah.”

Stan leans forward. “Please, Tweek. I know you say it’s classified… but please tell us anything you can about the type of research.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to help, but I signed a lot of papers, guys. I can’t just go blabbing about the lab’s work. But Kenny… he was curious about the genetic stuff, you know? Like, advanced biology and genetics research. Genetic anomalies, mutations, stuff like that. Also some theoretical physics.”

Stan exchanges a look with Kyle. He thinks they’re on the same page: they’ll need to visit the lab later.

“Theoretical physics? In a government lab in South Park? What, are they trying to build a fucking time machine?” Kyle asks skeptically.

Craig snorts. “Yeah, right. If they were, they’d have escaped this hellhole a long time ago.”

Stan can’t disagree with that. “Did Kenny ever tell you why he was interested in this stuff? Did he talk to you about it?” He asks Tweek.

“Not with me, no. It was all above my paygrade. And they’re not building a time machine. It’s just some really advanced AI stuff.”

Stan searches Tweek’s eyes. They don’t look scared, not really. They look confident, if not a little confused. He doesn’t think Tweek is lying about anything. 

“So, is that all? Because if so, I’d like to go to the store now. We don’t all have Kyle’s who can bring us a change of clothes,” Craig says, gesturing to the fact that Tweek and Craig are still in their clothes from the previous day. He stands up to leave.

Stan quickly interjects. “Wait, one more thing. Tweek, do you know anything about a cult here in South Park? Anything about Cthulhu, or weird rituals?”

Tweek’s eyes widen, and he glances at Craig, who rolls his eyes but remains silent. 

“Uh, yeah, I’ve heard some stuff. It’s hard not to when you work at the lab. I’ve heard they’re interested in some of the research going on there. Something about… immortality or something. It’s all pretty hush-hush.”

“Yeah, they’re South Park’s worst-kept secret. A bunch of adults playing dress-up wanting to master all the secrets of life and death.” Craig says.

“Did Kenny ever mention this cult to you, Tweek?”

“Nah, not really. He was more into the science stuff. But, I mean… it’s Kenny. He was always into weird things.”

Craig snorts. “Weird is an understatement. He was probably in the cult himself.”

Stan frowns, not appreciating Craig of all people joking about Kenny given the circumstances. “Okay, thanks guys. If you hear anything else, let us know, alright?”

Tweek nods, looking relieved to be done with the questioning, following Craig out of the cafeteria. 

“God, this is going to suck. Having to get acquainted with everyone in South Park with no way out,” Kyle mutters. Stan grunts in agreement, absentmindedly spinning the thermos on the cafeteria table.

“Stan? You okay?” Kyle asks.

“Yeah,” Stan says absentmindedly. “Let’s go get my laptop, I bet Mia will be there soon.” He stands up abruptly.

“Go grab all your stuff first,” Kyle says. “You can just stay in Ike’s old room tonight.”

“No, dude. It’s fine. I’m fine staying here.”

Kyle gives him an incredulous look. “No you aren’t. And even if you were, it sure doesn’t sound like any of the other people here exactly like you being here. They’ll probably clap as they see you leaving.”

Stan groans but walks into the gym as Kyle instructed to grab all his stuff. 

“So… you have bad nightmares or something?” Kyle asks as they get into his car.

“Something like that,” Stan mutters.

“Because I’ve been having bad nightmares too. Ever since Kenny died,” Kyle says.

Stan glances at Kyle. “What about?”

Kyle shudders. “Just… different scenes from South Park. Just more apocalyptic.” 

“Almost like all the locations in South Park are like a maze, but it’s a different version of South Park? And you’re trying to find Kenny, but you can’t find him?” Stan asks.

Kyle had put the car into drive, but his foot is frozen on the break pedal. He turns to look at Stan, fear in his eyes. “Yes. Exactly like that,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

A heavy silence falls between them as they process that they’re both having similar nightmares. 

“How could we be having the same nightmares?” Kyle’s voice is still low, shaking.

Stan runs a hand through his hair, unsettled. “I don’t know, dude. It’s too specific to be a coincidence, but I don’t think…. I don’t think I’m ready to confront that or the other weird shit that I’ve seen in South Park.”

Kyle nods slowly, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. “I know, Stan. But we’re going to have to. If our dreams are connected, they’ve got to be some kind of clue. Along with… probably some of the other shit we went through as kids. We’re gonna have to face it at some point.”

Stan exhales deeply, looking out the window to avoid Kyle’s gaze. “I… I know. I think we’re, like,… past being against that weird shit happening at this point, especially after Cartman’s confirmation of Kenny’s deaths last night. But can we… can we just go get my laptop now? And we can try piecing this all together later?” It’s the first time Stan has confirmed out loud that Kenny has likely died multiple times in the past. It sounds weird to say out loud, even though Stan feels it in his core that it’s the truth.

Kyle gives Stan a long look. He finally nods, lifting his foot off the break pedal. “Alright, Stan. We’ll go get your laptop. But we can’t keep avoiding this. I have a really bad feeling about this.”

Stan remains silent, staring out the window as Kyle drives back to the blocked-off South Park exit. He tries to take a deep breath, realizing that his posture is so tense to the point that it’s hurting his muscles.

After arguing with the National Gaurd for a bit, they finally obtain his laptop. Kyle says they can use his house as a base as they start using his work resources to try to figure out what’s going on. They make a quick Walmart pitstop to grab some more clothes for Stan and some contact lens solution for Kyle before arriving at Kyle’s childhood house. Stan feels his heart clench in both anxiety and nostalgia as they pull into the driveway. They both load up their arms with Walmart bags and Stan’s laptop, narrowly avoiding Sheila.

Kyle leads them to his childhood bedroom. As they enter the room, Stan stops in his tracks, his mouth agape. The walls are covered with photographs, newspaper clippings, and notes, all connected with a web of yarn in different colors. It looks like a classic detective’s wall, something out of a crime drama, meticulously organized yet overwhelmingly complex.

“Jesus Christ… Kyle, when the hell did you have time to do all this?” Stan asks, setting the laptop down on the desk and stepping closer to examine the wall. 

Kyle shrugs. “It was hard to sleep last night. So, I started putting together everything we know so far. I may have gotten a bit carried away.”

“A bit?” Stan echoes, his eyes scanning the detailed web of connections. “This looks like something straight out of a conspiracy theoriest’s basement.”

Stan can hear Kyle dropping off his belongings in Ike’s bedroom across the hall and return to plug in Stan’s laptop, setting it up to his two monitors and his desk while Stan continues to scan the Detective Wall that Kyle had set up.

“These yarn colors… what do they mean?” Stan asks.

“Yeah, red is for confirmed cult activity, blue for suspected connections, and green for anything directly involving Kenny. Yellow is for the weird shit in South Park we can’t explain yet.”

Stan nods, impressed despite himself. “This is… actually really thorough, Kyle. A really good start. How the hell did you have this much yarn; do you knit or something?”

“Or something. I got yarn back in high school for my cat. Turns out it was not a great idea; she kept trying to choke on it. So I had to hide it in my closet.”

Stan raises an eyebrow, surprised. “You got a cat in high school?”

Kyle nods. “Yeah, I found her with Kenny, actually. She took a…. Very intense liking to me. Found her when she was just a kitten.”

Stan turns to look at Kyle. “I didn’t know you really liked cats all that much. Or even ever really wanted a pet in general.”

Kyle shrugs, smiling faintly. “I didn’t think I did either. I actually kept trying to get rid of her at first. Tried to get Kenny to take her, since Kenny really loved her. But she’s stubborn as hell and kept coming back to me specifically. She really helped with my anxiety, much more than I thought an animal could. She still lives here actually; I’m not allowed to have cats in my apartment. She’s the one good thing about visiting South Park. Her name’s Shadow.”

Stan looks around the room, wanting to meet her. Kyle seems to pick up on his eagerness. “She’s probably hiding somewhere. Doesn’t really like strangers much. But I’m sure she’ll take a liking to you; animals always seem to.”

Stan sits down at the desk chair to boot up his laptop. As if on cue, a petite black cat seems to jump out of seemingly nowhere, jumping up to try to grab at the string on the wall. Stan watches in amusement as the cat bats playfully at the strings while Kyle tries to stop her with a look equal exasperated and fond, a look that is so very… familiar and Kyle-like. A look that Kyle used to give to Stan all the time.

 Shadow ignores Kyle’s reprimands, continuing her brutal attack on the yarn, causing a couple of the pins to dislodge and fall to the floor.

“Looks like she’s trying to solve the case herself,” Stan says.

Kyle moves to gently shoo Shadow away from the wall. “Or she’s trying to destroy it. Or both.”

Shadow, finally deterred, jumps down and saunters over to Stan, rubbing against his legs with a soft purr. Stan reaches down to scratch behind her ears. She jumps up on his lap, and Stan smiles at her, continuing to pet her. Shadow settles down onto his lap and starts to give herself a bath, looking like she intends to settle down there for a while.

Kyle raises an eyebrow as he sneaks glances of Shadow in Stan’s lap as he fixes the yarn that Shadow knocked down. “She usually hates….. Well, anybody except for me.”

Stan reaches down to pet Shadow, smiling as she purrs louder. “Guess I’m just irresistible.” 

“Or maybe she just has a thing for detectives. She’s probably thinking, ‘Finally, someone who can help me with my master plan.”

“Right,” Stan says, scratching Shadow behind the ears with one hand as he types in further credentials into his laptop with the other. “She’s probably plotting world domination as we speak. Good thing we’ve got Detective Shadow on the case.”

“Thank God. She’s the most stubborn being I know; she can definitely help us out. She’s very persistent."

“Sounds like someone else I know,” Stan teases

"Hey, you can be just as stubborn as me when you feel like it, dude. Maybe even more so."

Kyle sits on the edge of the bed, and Stan focuses some of the monitors so he can see them more easily. It reminds Stan of the many times they would watch something on TV or play video games back in the day, one of them on the bed and the other in Kyle’s desk chair. Kyle occasionally reaches over to stroke Shadow who is now resting contendedly in Stan’s lap.

Stan clicks through several security levels on his laptop. “I’ll be honest; I’m used to working with more screens than this.”

“What, my extra two monitor setup isn’t enough for you?”

“Nope, not at all. I have, like, 10 monitors at my work. Much better for getting things done.”

“Doubt that. Sounds more like a hoarding problem to me,” Kyle says.

Stan chuckles as he adjusts the display one of the monitors as he pulls up a keyword search of ‘The Cult of Cthulhu’ into one of his databases. “Okay, let’s focus here,” Stan says.

He creates a timeline in the notes software, naming the timeline “Kenny McCormick.’ He creates another timeline called ‘Cult of Cthulhu’, and another called ‘Kenny’s Deaths’. He adds separate notebooks for different people in South Park so they can reference if they have any significance to the cult or Kenny.

Stan gently strokes Shadow, who has once again curled contently on his lap, as he focuses on the task at hand. He painstakingly continues to organize the notes on his laptop, creating detailed folders and bullet points that meticulously categorize everything they know. Occasionally, he glances up at Kyle’s detective wall, adding some of Kyle’s observations. Occasionally Stan and Kyle share notes and discuss what conversations they had with folks at the funeral. At times he almost forgets that Kyle is in the room with him as gets lost in this world of gathering all the pieces they know so far together.

“When do you first remember Kenny mentioning the cult?” Stan asks, breaking a long stretch of silence. Kyle is leaned forward on his bed, his face scrunched in thought as he watches Stan type and create the online notebooks.

Kyle rubs his chin, his brow furrowed.“Hmm… well, I only remember two instances of him ever really being involved in it. The first when we played superheroes. He got really into his Mysterion alter ego, remember?”

Stan leans back, nodding. Their friend group always got way too into whatever game they were playing, going through lots of different ultra-creative phases, superheroes being one of them. But Kenny definitely was especially into his Mysterion alter-ego, taking it to another level. “Yeah… I kind of remember it. But not too much the cult aspect of it.”

“Me neither, not really,” Kyle shakes his head. “And then there was the beginning of Freshman year when Kenny was super into it as well, right?”

Stan shudders slightly. “Yeah, when he dragged me to hang out with the Goth kids…” he trails off, memories of Kenny’s intense, almost fervent attitude flooding back. He remembers how out of character it seemed for Kenny, who was usually more laidback and not the instigator of these types of adventures.

Stan vaguely remembers them trying to stop an extra pandemic virus, but if he’s being honest with himself, he was bit too invested in his own personal problems to have paid too much attention to the actual cult itself, especially to the same intensity that Kenny seemed to be at the time. He’s pretty sure Kyle is the same way, especially since that's around the time they had their big falling out.

“But back to superheroes… he was very into trying to figure out Mysterion’s origin story. Like, he was really fixated on it. Remember? We all had our own fake origin stories, but it’s almost like Kenny was actually trying to figure out his origin. I remember getting pissed at him for it and telling him he was already supposed to have it fleshed out,” Kyle says.

Stan’s fingers pause on the keyboard, a cold realization washing over him. “Kyle. Do you remember what Mysterion’s superpower was?”

Kyle looks puzzled, his eyes searching the ceiling as he tries to remember. “No, I honestly barely even remember what my own powers were, much less Kenny’s. I think one of them was shooting lasers out of my eyes or something? God, it was so long ago, and we went through so many different phases, dude. I only remember your powers because you were so fucking unsubtle about it all with all your ‘it’s time to screw the bad guys’  and ‘time to show off my toolset’ bullshit. I think you even always said, ‘You got fucking drilled!’ every time you did something right in battle as one of your catchphrases.”

Stan swallows hard, the pieces falling into place with a clarity that sends chills down his spine. He ignores Kyle’s teasing about his early teenage boy catchphrases as his Toolshed alter-ego. “Mysterion’s power…. Kenny’s power… it was immortality. He couldn’t die.”

Shadow, sensing the shift in mood, lifts her head and looks up at Stan, her green eyes piercing.

Kyle’s expression shifts from confusion to dawning realization, mirroring Stan’s. “So, we’ve established that Kenny used to die when we were kids. So the whole piano falling on him situation and the gunshot while he was Mysterion… those were real. And Cartman said he would die all the time and tried to tell us. But… but I don’t remember Kenny ever telling us anything of the sort, much less him dying. But Cartman said we used to watch his deaths all the time.”

“Of course Kenny probably tried telling us, Kyle. He was our best friend. And this seems like it would fucking suck to always die all the time. One of the questions is, why can’t we remember?”

Kyle rubs his temples, looking frustrated. “This is so fucked up. We should have known, right? Best friends don’t just… forget something like that.”

“There’s something deeper at play here, something beyond our understanding… like there was a spell or something on us.”

Kyle lets out a dry laugh. “A spell? Seriously, Stan? We’re dealing with enough weird shit as it is. Let’s not add magic into the mix.”

“Like fucking dying all the time and coming back to life isn’t fucking magic? Seriously, Kyle? Just the other night you were saying Imaginationland was real, but a spell where we can’t remember shit is where you draw the line?”

Kyle sighs. “Okay, fine. Sure. Yeah, so we’re cursed with a magic memory-wiping spell on us where we forget shit. Great. But what does this have to do with this stupid cult and the destruction of South Park? Kenny said we have to stop some people in South Park in my letter.”

Stan mirrors Kyle’s sigh. “I think that’s what Kenny wants us to try to figure out. We’re way in over our heads, dude. I’m going to pull up some databases, k? Let’s just… try to focus on this cult for now and learning the basics of it. We can worry about the fellow townspeople later.”

Stan and Kyle read up on the Cult of Cthulhu on the database, writing down some of the basics of it. Kyle’s head is close to the back of Stan’s shoulder, looking in between the different screens that Stan pulls up and occasionally adds things to his wall. The ancient cosmic entities, new dimensions, the new age where those beings will rule the earth, the odd names of locations and gods… they read about it all over the next several hours. Stan jots down notes extensively. It reminds him of the time he went through his Tolkien phase where he read all those books meticulously. They run into diagrams of symbols, and Stan takes out the photos from Kenny’s autopsy as well as tries to rack his brain from his nightmares of the symbols to see if any match.

“It looks like there’s a big following in South Park specifically… and that this particular branch has been keen on ushering a ‘new age’ or something like that. This particular branch was very interested in immortality, which would explain the connection to Kenny….” Stan summarizes. He glances outside. The sky is already turning dark. He didn’t realize that him and Kyle had been doing research for this long.

“It says something about… ‘the cycle must be completed.’ What cycle?” Kyle asks.

Stan shrugs. He caught that too and thinks it has some significance. “Don’t know. Maybe something to do with the new age or whatever they’re trying to bring to South Park.”

“Here’s what I wrote down… The cycle must be completed for the Great One to awaken. The cult believes that certain conditions must be met, including the sacrifice of a being who defies death. So… maybe Kenny.”

“Almost certainly Kenny,” Stan says, emotionally exhausted. “This cycle… we’ve got to stop it from being completed somehow. They’re gearing up for something monumental. You think this cult’s gods could like… actually be, like… real?”

Kyle’s expression is unreadable. “I mean… no. But… I didn’t think immortality could be real two days ago either, so.”

Kyle’s stomach growls, and Stan feels bad that he didn’t stop for lunch or dinner. Not for himself, but for Kyle. Stan himself doesn’t feel hungry at all, just sick and anxious. He gives Kyle a sideways glance. “We’ll just add it to the timeline. Ancient Gods and Immortality. Should fit right into with ManBearPig and Scuzzlebutt sightings.”

“God, dude. What the hell is up with South Park?” Kyle asks.

“Hmm… yeah, no… still don’t want to confront that question. Let’s get you some food, dude. I just feel bad kicking Shadow off,” Stan says. Shadow has been asleep for hours on Stan’s lap.

Kyle stands up, stretching. “You don’t need to feel bad. She’s spoiled as fuck.” Kyle walks over to Stan and reaches down to pick up Shadow. Stan tries to ignore the feelings that rush through him as Kyle’s fingers brush over his thighs as he grabs onto Shadow to deposit her on his bed.

They Doordash some Taco Bell, not wanting to have to deal with running into Sheila and Gerald despite them usually going to bed early anyways. Kyle brings it into his bedroom and turns on some shitty reality TV while they eat. This time it’s Naked & Afraid Dancing with the Stars Max. The narrator is speaking to the contestants. “You managed to find food in the jungle. But can you find rhythm on the dance floor?”

Stan and Kyle give incredulous laughs.

"Dude, the stupidity of these reality shows will never cease to amaze me," Kyle says in between bites of his chalupa.

Stan smiles. “That’s the one good thing about the future. The shows are so dumb that they’re at least funny.”

Kyle eyes Stan as he takes small bites from the supreme nachos he ordered. “I can’t believe you’re struggling to eat Taco Bell, dude. It’s like the easiest thing to eat. Not to digest… but to eat. You used to be able to eat more of it than me and Kenny combined.”

Stan pokes at his food, his face twisting in disgust. “Yeah. Should be. I used to like it. Sometimes still do. I don’t know how to explain it,” he mumbles. 

People have accused Stan of having an eating disorder before, but that's not the case at all. He desperately wishes he had an appetite, hates this feeling of wanting to gag whenever he looks at food. He yearns to remember what it's like to enjoy... anything, really. Food included. But nothing sounds appealing. Every meal feels like a chore, forcing down tasteless shit when his stomach already feels uncomfortably full, even though he knows, logically, that his body needs the nourishment. It's maddening, because he remembers a time when he actually liked Taco Bell. He used to devour these loaded nachos, his go-to order as a ravenous teen. He can vaguely recall the cheap satisfaction, the flavor, but it's a distant memory now, frustratingly out of reach. He'd give anything to recapture that feeling, to savor these nachos like he once did. But right now, they might as well be a heap of gravel.

It's a fog that not only envelops his appetite but every aspect of life that once brought him joy. It's not just about the food he used to like - it's everything. Friends, the games he used to like, his old hobbies... they all appear dull and lifeless, as if Stan is stuck in an old black-and-white film permanently after he had once known the pleasure of being in a film of color.

The strum of a guitar, the poetry in the words - they no longer stir his emotions. Even his interactions with friends, once a source of comfort and laughter, eventually became too burdensome. It's why he only ever really had one friend in his adult life. Conversations feel like navigating a labyrinth, where he's lost, unable to find the right words or muster the energy to engage. As he reflects on Kenny's loss, he can't help but feel a pang of sorrow not only for the death of his best friend but also for all the times he distanced himself from other friends in the past.

He wishes he had never loved any of these things in the first place because maybe then their absence wouldn't feel like such a frustratingly stark loss. He sits there, staring at the nachos, and wishes with bitter intensity that he had never known the pleasure of enjoying it before. At least then, he could force himself to eat it sooner, not dwelling on the loss of that enjoyment. He thinks ignorance would have been a kinder fate than this acute awareness of what he's missing. But that's the problem - he's incapable of liking the things he used to. Everything is just... shit.

This desperate yearning for emotional numbness, for a life untouched by the highs and lows of joy and sorrow, to feel nothing at all, consumes Stan in this moment. He knows it's ironic, knows that part of the problem is that he often doesn't feel anything at all. Stan almost starts laughing at the spiral a simple Taco Bell Nacho Supreme is sending him down as the reality TV show drones on in the background.

"Everything just tastes like shit, I guess," he says eventually, long after Kyle has finished his food.

"I can get you some protein shakes," Kyle offers gently. Kyle is the only one who's seemed to understand in the past - that when Stan isn't hungry, it isn't because he doesn't want to eat. It's that eating is the equivalent of forcing garbage down his throat. Kyle always seemed to pick up on the fact that liquids were at least easier for Stan to get down because then he doesn't have to chew the shit he puts in his mouth. Remembering this gives Stan a small boost of mental strength.

Sighing deeply, he closes his eyes, summoning all the willpower he can muster, and forces himself to eat the nachos. He doesn't want to seem dramatic, but making himself eat genuinely feels like torture. It's not the nachos' fault. It would be this way with any food. Each bite feels like a battle, a challenge against his own body's aversion to sustenance. But he keeps trying to eat quickly, regardless.

As he mechanically chews and swallows, Stan doesn’t initially notice Kyle’s hand resting gently on his elbow. The touch is subtle, a silent gesture of support. When Stan finally finishes the nachos and opens his eyes, he finds himself leaning into the warmth of Kyle’s touch.

Kyle's hand moves slowly down Stan's arm to his wrist, almost as if he's about to intertwine their fingers. They sit like this for a while, absentmindedly watching the show and poking fun at its absurdity. Stan finds himself stealing glances at Kyle as they watch, the lamp's glow bringing out the deep auburn and reddish-gold highlights in his hair. Lost in the moment, Stan focuses on the warmth and closeness of his childhood friend, the safety, understanding, and familiarity of it all. The heat from Kyle's hand radiates through him, piercing the numbness that has long shrouded his senses. He feels a flicker of something he hasn't experienced in ages - a genuine sense of comfort and connection.

"You built a shelter out of sticks, but can you build a dance routine that sticks?" one of the judges asks. Stan rolls his eyes, feeling Kyle silently laughing under his breath, the warm puffs of air on his neck making him shiver. Instinctively, he draws himself closer to Kyle, the sides of their bodies barely touching, craving more of that comforting warmth.

The show is ridiculous, but that's exactly why they put it on. As for why, Stan isn't entirely sure. Maybe it's because mocking shitty TV is their long-standing pastime, or perhaps the absurdity helps them forget, even briefly, about the shitstorm they're facing.

When Stan turns to look at Kyle, he notices the exhaustion etched on his friend's face.

“You should go to sleep, dude,” Stan says softly. 

Kyle nods, lifting his hand from Stan’s wrist.

“I haven’t gotten much sleep lately. Sorry, I’m just… I’m so fucking tired, dude,” Kyle says apologetically.

Stan can relate. He moves off the edge of Kyle's bed to sit back in the desk chair. "It's cool, dude. Go to sleep. I'll wrap up here in the next half hour." He gestures to his work laptop, where he needs to compile the day's notes into something more cohesive.

Kyle gives Stan a grateful smile and heads to the bathroom to get ready for bed. He returns in old pajamas and climbs under the covers.

"Stay as long as you need to do your research. I'm so fucking tired I'll probably be out as soon as my head hits the pillow," Kyle says with a yawn.

"Kay. Night, dude."

“Goodnight, Stan. You sure you’re good to wrap up on your own?”

“Yeah, for sure. I feel super refreshed after this inspirational show, after all. It’s getting me hyped thinking about all the other reality TV show possibilities, like a Queer Eye meets the Hoarders.”

Kyle laughs softly, his sound muffled by the pillow. “Don’t give them ideas, Stan.”

“But it’s genius, Kyle. The Fab Five trying to declutter a house? It’s a great idea; admit it. That, or I could always pitch my idea of combining The Bachelor with Survivor."

Kyle snorts, shaking his head on his pillow. “That’s just a lawsuit waiting to happen.”

“Fine, then what about ‘American Idol’ mixed with Fear Factor?”

“Stan, seriously, you must have some weird-ass kinks. You want to watch people singing while eating bugs?”

Stan laughs. “Who said I want to be the one to watch it? Maybe I want to be the one on the show doing it.”

“You would be the first one to sign up for the show, wouldn’t you? So you can sing your heart out whole being covered in spiders.”

A grin tugs at Stan’s lips. “Oh, absolutely. I’d belt out a power ballad while skydiving into a tank of sharks. The ratings would be through the roof. You’d obviously be a judge on the show, like a fucking…. Simon Cowell or something.”

“Sure, Stan. My critique would be so helpful.” Kyle goes into a bad British accent while he says, “Your rendition of ‘My Heart Will Go On’ was moving, but next time, try not to flinch so much when the snakes are around your feet. It’s a no from me’.”

Stan snickers at Kyle's awful impression. “That was a terrible Simon Cowell impression, Kyle. And for the record, I would totally rock that performance, snakes or no snakes. I can obviously totally hit the high notes of that song.”

Kyle scoffs jokingly in response. After a moment of silence in which Stan thinks Kyle is finally asleep, Kyle speaks up again.

“What other ideas do you have, Stan the TV Producer?” He sounds so tired, but also extremely anxious and on edge.

“How about… um, Top Chef? But in a haunted house. Like, with those ghost hunter dudes,” Stan says, trying to rack his brain of other reality shows back in the day that haven’t miraculously been combined yet.

Kyle laughs, his eyes starting to finally droop with sleep. “You just want to see Gordon Ramsay screaming at ghosts, don’t you?”

“Like you said, I have weird kinks, Kyle. I am my father’s son, after all,” Stan jokes softly.

Kyle laughs tiredly. “You’re nothing like your dad, Stan.”

“You should really go to sleep, dude,” Stan says quietly, nearly whispering.

Kyle sounds almost desperate when he speaks. “I will, soon. Please, keep talking. God, please don’t stop talking, Stan. Pitch your ideas, or talk about fucking… anything. Please.”

Stan really is out of ideas, mentally exhausted, but Kyle seems to really need to listen to him. So, he just says things for Kyle’s sake, not really caring if they make any sense.

“Well… back onto the cooking and ghost hunter show. Gordon Ramsay can be going around with an EMF reader, you know? And every time someone tries to present their dish, there’s, like, a ghost hunter in the background yelling “Fuck, did you hear that? Shit! The spirits are saying this rice is undercooked!’” Stan looks to Kyle. He looks like he’s going through hell, his eyes full of fear, but he also looks tired. So fucking tired.

Stan clears his throat and continues to talk. He doesn’t know why, but Kyle really seems desperate for the distraction of Stan pitching extremely lame reality TV show ideas. Stan isn’t really used to being the one to talk so much. 

But Stan keeps talking, for Kyle’s sake, trying his best to keep his voice light and soothing. “And instead of a pressure test, they call it a ‘possession test’. Maybe one of the ghosts would, like…. Possess one of the contestants and make some recipe from the 1800s. And the winner of the show isn’t ‘Top Chef’, but ‘Top Chef Medium’.”

“You’re an idiot,” Kyle says fondly, tiredly. “But I’d hate-watch the shit out of that trainwreck.”

Stan gives Kyle a reassuring smile, glad that he piped in with at least some talk so it isn’t just Stan rambling. “And they set up infrared cameras in the pantry. “We’ve heard reports of paranormal activity near the paprika, so chefs are not allowed to use it.” 

Kyle’s laughter is softer now, his voice barely above a whisper and full of fatigue. “We should pitch these ideas, make a fortune.”

Stan watches as Kyle’s eyes finally close, his breathing evening out. "Yeah, I'll get to copywriting our genius ideas,” Stan whispers, more to himself than Kyle. Stan quietly gets up to turn off the lights and turns off the TV, the only light in the room now from his laptop and the other monitor, throwing away the Taco Bell remnants and pulling the covers tighter around Kyle’s feet. He feels relieved that he doesn’t have to come up with more TV show ideas. Stan blinks quickly as he tries to adjust to the new lighting. He feels a little bad staying in here while Kyle needs sleep, but every time he glances at Kyle, it looks like he’s in a pretty deep sleep, and he really needs to get more research done and to wrap up some organization aspects of what they’ve learned so far today.

Stan’s fingers dance quietly across the keyboard, his focus narrowed. The quiet of the room is only broken by Kyle’s steady breathing and the occasional soft purring of Shadow who is now resting at the foot of Kyle’s bed.

Stan is now looking into the public databases, searching more into South Park and the cult. He runs into a message hidden deep in a thread discussing supernatural occurrences in South Park from a ghost-hunting board on the deep web. It dates back over 10 years ago. The username of the guy posting is ‘EctoHunter303’.

‘The crazy cult doesn’t just worship ancient forces; they seek to unleash them. The immortal child they seek after is more than a curiosity. He’s a key. A key to a door that should never be opened. This child has been marked since birth. But it’s not just him- it’s the town, South Park itself. It’s a nexus, a focal point for energies that most don’t dare to acknowledge. The cult seeks to manipulate these energies, to open a door that’s been locked for aeons. But they don’t understand the forces they’re trifling with. If they successfully sacrifice this kid…. That door that would open? It wouldn’t be just South Park at risk. It’s bigger than anything can fathom.”

Stan, feeling a mixture of skepticism and dread, rubs his temples. Stan reads through the message several times, a gut feeling telling him this is obviously about Kenny. He gulps as he tries to think of different scenarios that the door could have potentially opened. As he reads through it again, he hears Kyle toss and turn in his sleep. His movements are restless, his brows furrowed as if he’s struggling with an unseen adversary in his dreams. Kyle mutters incoherently.

Stan frowns as he looks over at Kyle’s restless body. A pang of concern washes over him. He quietly closes his laptop, the room now near pitch black. Stan silently walks to Kyle's bed, dropping on his knees. He places a hand on Kyle's shoulder.

"Hey, dude… wake up" Stan whispers, gently shaking his shoulder.

Kyle twitches, and his restless sleep grows more intense.

Stan leans closer to Kyle, the mattress digging into his chest. He uses his free hand to grab one of Kyle's hands, squeezing it.

“Kenny, where are you?” Kyle mutters. “Can’t escape… can’t let the door open.” Kyle is now shivering, his twitches growing more intense. Stan’s grip on Kyle tightens. He can’t stand to see Kyle like this any longer.

 “Kyle… Kyle, please. Wake up. You're having a nightmare." He gently shakes his friend, continuing to try to rouse him as he mutters desperately in his sleep. But Kyle won't wake.

Kyle’s mumblings become more agitated, his body twisting under the sheets. “No, no. Don’t open it… too dangerous…” he groans, his voice barely audible.

Stan’s concern deepens. He’s never seen Kyle like this before, so tormented. He leans closer, his forehead nearly touching Kyle’s, speaking softly, “Kyle, you’re here with me, in your room. You’re not in the nightmare. Wake up, please. I'm right here.”

Kyle's eyes finally snap open, scanning his room in terror. His eyes finally rest on Stan.

“Stan?” he whispers.

“Hey, dude. You were having a bad dream,” Stan whispers back, pushing back some of Kyle’s now damp hair from his eyes.

“I’m so fucking tired,” Kyle whimpers.

“I know,” Stan says softly, gently rubbing circles into Kyle’s temples and to his hair and back. “I know, dude. I’m so sorry. You can try going back to sleep. Maybe… maybe the nightmare is over now.”

Kyle sits up abruptly. He pulls his arms around Stan, pulling Stan up and into the bed with him, taking Stan off guard. He buries his head into Stan’s bicep, wrapping his other arm around Stan’s waist. He’s still shaking. Stan isn't sure why, but he doesn't hesitate to reciprocate and put his arms around Kyle. It feels so instinctive, so natural. He rests his head on the pillow, pulling the blanket over both of them.

“Please don’t leave me, Stan. Stay. Just… promise you won’t leave me again,” Kyle whispers, his voice raw and desperate.

Stan squeezes Kyle. They are so close, but it’s somehow not close enough. “I’m right here, Kyle. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Promise, Stan,” Kyle insists weakly, his fingers digging into Stan's back.

Stan is quiet for a moment, one hand carding through Kyle's hair, the other rubbing circles on his back. A wave of affection washes over him as Kyle clings to him, the feeling so intense it almost brings tears to his eyes. He's missed this, missed being Kyle's rock, his safe haven - and having Kyle be the same safe haven for him. And while they never really cuddled quite like this before, he's missed the pure trust and the intimacy, the unbreakable bond they once shared.

 “I promise. It's okay, Kyle. You’re safe here with me. We’ll figure this out together. I promise,” he murmurs reassuringly after a moment of contemplating. And he means it. He feels Kyle's grip on him relax slightly, his shaking subsiding, his breathing evening out. Stan releases a sigh of relief and finally closes his eyes, pulling Kyle even closer, intertwining their legs.

Stan falls asleep shortly after, succumbing to his own exhaustion. He feels sick after realizing he instantly slips into another dream in another apocalyptic version of South Park. But this time, he’s not alone. Kyle is there too, standing by his side.

Stan looks to Kyle in surprise, and Kyle reaches out, grabbing his hand and squeezing it tightly. Stan gives him a grateful smile and squeezes back, drawing strength from the contact. Taking a deep breath, they walk forward, navigating the twisted streets together. The maze seems endless, the paths constantly shifting and changing, but having Kyle by his side makes Stan feel less isolated, less hopeless. As they wander, Stan catches a glimpse of a door in the distance, a massive lock sealing it shut. Hooded figures surround it, trying to force their way through. Their movements send shivers down Stan's spine, and whispers fill the air, an indecipherable chant that sets his teeth on edge.

The dream shifts from location to location, but the lingering sense of dread remains, as does the desperate need to find Kenny. But there's something new, too. Hope. A fragile, tentative thing, but hope nonetheless. Because he has Kyle. Kyle is right here, holding his hand, his warmth radiating into Stan's soul, piercing through the coldness of the unforgiving dreamscape. And somehow, that makes it okay. It makes the fear seem distant, almost inconsequential.

They approach the door with the lock. As they draw nearer, Stan feels a palpable sense of foreboding emanating from its doors. Despite the fear it instills, Stan feels a surge of courage, bolstered by Kyle’s presence. They look at each other, and there’s a silent understanding between them, a mutual agreement that they must confront whatever lies behind the door. Not right now in the dream, but in real life.

Stan is not scared anymore…. He’s not scared, and he doesn’t feel the utter despair and loneliness he’s become accustomed to.

Because Kyle is right here with him, holding his hand tightly.

Chapter Text

2021/2022

The vaccine distribution turns out to be a massive success. Cartman's shady associates get the good press they were after, and once the vaccine proves effective for the teachers, a steady supply floods into town just in time for the end of summer break before sophomore year.

Thanks to all the countless hours wasted on Discord, Kenny finds himself growing closer to his classmates. Slowly but surely, they start transitioning their online gaming sessions to in-person hangouts. Stan and Kyle still show up, managing to remain civil despite the icy tension between them. Their chilly interactions hang like a dark cloud over Kenny whenever he's with them and their mutual friends, but hey, at least they both still make time for him separately. Kenny tries not to bitch about it too much.

The gang picks up their biweekly movie nights again, sometimes streaming shows on Discord, but usually crashing at Wendy or Butters' place. Kenny and Wendy often find themselves tucked away in a separate room, talking for hours on end. Wendy's made it clear she's got no time for a relationship, so Kenny's too scared to try for another kiss.

At the beginning of Sophomore year, Stan’s dad announced that they would be moving to a weed farm at the far end of the town. Randy lost his job at the beginning of the year and suddenly got ultra-obsessed with weed, moving his family to the farm despite their protests. As Sophomore year progresses, Stan’s presence becomes increasingly rare. His visits with the friend group become scarce, dwindling until he hardly ever comes to any social event at all and Kenny only sees him during track meets and in the hallways at school. 

For Kenny's 16th, he puts together a chill gaming night at Stan's family's weed farm. Lucky for him, Stan's folks are spending the night in Denver for some musical, and Shelly's fucked off to college. Stan and Kyle have promised not to be at each other's throats, even though they've been playing nice lately anyway. They've accepted the fact that they're stuck with the same friend group, so they might as well suck it up. It's not the same as them being actual friends, but Kenny figures he'll take what he can get.

After school, he meets up with his handpicked crew, ready to get the pre-game started before heading to Stan's. He's got Stan, Kyle, Wendy, Heidi, Nichole, Butters, Red, Bebe, Clyde, Tolkien, Scott, Tweek, and Craig all lined up for the festivities.

“So…. how are we going to get to Stan’s place? It’s pretty far away, and none of us have a car yet,” Wendy points out. 

Kenny flashes a grin that immediately earns a collective groan from the group. Apparently Kenny has a certain mischievous smile that Kyle once told him was ‘like the Joker’s, only way worse’. 

“Don’t worry, Wendy. We’ll get there. No cars, no problem. We’ll walk— a hike, if you will,” Kenny’s smile only widens at the new chorus of groans from the group.

“Come on guys, it’ll be fun! It’s not a death march! Besides, this may make things a little more fun,” Kenny says, opening his backpack to reveal a couple large bottles of rum along with some red plastic shot cups. This elicits a mixed reaction of groans and excitement. 

"Rum? What, are we pirates now? You gonna make us walk the plank next?" Clyde asks.

Kyle rolls his eyes, eyeing the bottles skeptically. “Seriously, Kenny? It’s 3 in the afternoon. Even pirates had some standards.”

”Kyle, my man, the sun’s over the yardarm somewhere in the world. Perfectly acceptable pirate time,” Kenny says good-naturedly. 

“Yeah, and Craig and I already dropped off a shit ton of alcohol to the farm farm last night, just like you asked!" Tweek chimes in.

“Wh… you did? When?” Stan sputters.

Kenny quickly cuts in before Craig and Tweek can spill the details of their covert alcohol delivery mission. The last thing Stan needs is unsupervised access to a stockpile of liquor at the farm. "Doesn't matter. Point is, we're all set for tonight. Now, let's get this pre-game started! Drink up, bitches!" He winks at his friends as he distributes the shot glasses, pouring a round for everyone except Butters and Scott, who politely opt out.

"Aw, geez, Kenny. Ya sure you're gonna be okay drinkin' and walkin' at the same time?" Butters asks nervously.

"Kenny, you're such a fucking frat boy, and you haven't even started college yet." Despite his bitching, Kyle throws back his shot along with the rest, a hint of a smile betraying his amusement.

Kenny grins as everyone downs their shots, promptly pouring another round for the willing participants. He slides himself and Stan a third shot, knowing their tolerance is a notch above the rest. With that, he zips up his backpack and gestures for the group to start moving.

“Hey! Let’s play a game on our way,” Kenny suggests as they start walking. It really will be a pretty long trek to the farm, but this is one of the things Kenny really wanted to do. He loves nature, and what’s better than forcing his closest friends to spend time in nature against their will while a little tipsy? It’s a little chilly outside with some snow still on the mountains and valley, but the sun is out, and with their jackets and hoods and hats on it feels alright, promises from the weather that it’ll start properly warming up soon along with some of the trees starting to turn green again. 

“Like what,” Craig asks.

“Let’s play ‘South Park Safari’ on the way there. You know, spot a member of the town doing something bizarre and take a sneaky selfie with it in the background. Whoever gets the best shots wins,” Kenny says.

“That’s so creepy, Kenny. You realize that, right?” Wendy says, raising an eyebrow.

“Okay, fine. We won’t do that then. But hey, if you guys are worried about the walk, I can always serenade you with my rendition of Cartman’s greatest hits,” Kenny smiles.

“Oh God, please no. I’d rather walk in silence,” Kyle groans.

Unperturbed by Kyle’s protest, Kenny launches into a spirited rendition of Cartman’s ‘Faith +1’ hits, his voice teetering between serious and hilariously bad. He then transitions into a dramatic rendition of Cartman’s ‘Give Life a Try’ rap. Stan joins in, and soon they’re both belting out the rap, barely able to sing through their laughter.

As the song reaches its climax, Kenny passes around another round of shots to those who want them, coercing Kyle into taking another one. “Here, Kyle, this’ll make my singing sound better to you.”

Kenny leads the group in a loud, off-key chorus. “Everyone join in! Eric, we don’t want you to die. Eric, give life a try. Oh God no, Eric!”

Even Kyle is suppressing a smile. “Where the hell did Cartman even get other kids to record that part of the song? Also, shoutout to Heidi for getting a call out in the song.”

Heidi scowls at this before bursting out in laughter. Wendy gives her a sympathetic look. “What? It’s either laugh or cry, and I’d rather laugh about it,” Heidi says.

The group’s laughter hangs in the air as they continue their trek, the late afternoon sun filtering through the branches.

As they get close to the farm, Kenny spots a creek. “Hey guys, watch this! I’m gonna jump over that creek and meet you guys on the other side.”

”Kenny, no, dude. That’s more slippery than you’d think, and you’ve already had like 4 shots,” Stan says.

”Relax, it’s just a small jump. I got this,” Kenny says confidently.

Kenny takes a few steps back, his buddies' warnings fading into the background as the thrill of the challenge takes over. He barrels towards the creek, but right as he pushes off, his foot snags on a loose rock. Time slows to a crawl as the realization hits: he's fucked.

The world goes dark as Kenny hits the water, his head cracking against something solid beneath the surface. In a blink, he's ripped from the physical realm and dumped into the otherworldly plane he's visited before. But this time, it's different. Usually when he dies, the world around him stays pretty much the same, minus his corporeal form and anyone giving a shit that he's there.

Kenny takes a slow look around. The warm sunlight's been replaced by a bleak, endless gray sky. The air is fucking freezing, and a creepy mist clings to his skin. He can still see Stan's family farm in the distance, but it's all wrong. The home is run down, the vibrant fields now barren. The ground is cracked and lifeless. The feeble light that remains is a sickly gray, casting long, warped shadows that seem to squirm and writhe like they've got a mind of their own.

When Kenny turns back to his friends, his heart nearly stops. They're frozen, like someone hit pause on the fucking universe. Their faces are stuck in various shades of shock and worry, their bodies locked in place. It's unnatural. Kenny's pulse pounds in his ears. He realizes that his body is actually here; he's not some ghostly observer. In all his countless deaths, he's never experienced anything like this.

Kenny cautiously approaches his friend group. The creek water is still there, but it's a thick, inky black. The dark liquid splashes up, staining Kenny's skin. He stops in front of Wendy. Her hair is frozen mid-gust, her eyes wide with concern. Kenny reaches out to grab her wrist, but he can't quite make contact, like she's the one who's dead and gone.

Kenny stands alone in this fucked-up version of reality. Shadows seem to crawl and shift around him, alive and watching, biding their time.

Out of the creeping fog, a hooded figure materializes—the same one Kenny met back in 8th grade when he bit the dust after the whole flaming Tacoma fiasco. The figure’s presence is both chilling and commanding, their robe seeming to absorb the weak light.

"Who the fuck are you? Why is this death so different? What did you do to my friends?" Kenny demands, his voice sharp with fear and anger. The wind picks up, whipping his hair into his eyes as his temper flares.

The figure is silent for a moment before responding, their voice echoing from the very shadows around them.

"Kenneth McCormick. Your fate is unique, tied to a cycle few can comprehend. This death... was orchestrated. Fear not; I shall return you to your pre-death state shortly. Your friends will be unharmed and will retain no memory of this. Meeting you here was necessary to deliver a warning."

Kenny's frustration boils over. "A warning? You couldn't have just hit me up while I was alive? The fuck are you trying to warn me about? And don't you dare pull that cryptic, vague bullshit on me."

The figure glides closer to Kenny, the air around them shimmering with an otherworldly energy. "Ancient and powerful forces are at play. A cult seeks to open a door that must remain forever sealed, and you are the key. The consequences are dire, not only for you but for all. The path ahead is treacherous, and the choices you make will have repercussions beyond your own existence."

Kenny's heart races. "You haven't told me a damn thing I don't already know, you creepy hooded fuck. I said no cryptic shit. What is this place? And how do I stop the cult from trying to sacrifice me down the line? Give me something actionable, something useful. I'm so fucking done with the vagueness."

”Very well, Kenneth. You seek direct answers, and so you shall receive them. The fate that awaits you; your permanent death- this is inescapable. The cult you fear, they will succeed in their designs to end your cycle of rebirth. You will die a permanent death at their hands.”

Kenny’s blood runs cold at these words. His voice trembles with a mix of fear and defiance. “You’re saying I can’t stop them? That’s it? I just… die?”

The hooded figure nods slowly. “Your death, while inevitable, is not the end. It is, in fact, the beginning of a crucial journey. After your permanent death, you will exist on a plane where ancient forces dwell. There, the true battle begins. The cult seeks to unlock a door — a gateway that would usher in an era of darkness. Your role is to stop them.”

Kenny can hardly register his weak voice. “How?”

”Your preparation starts now, in the life you're currently living. Forge alliances, seek knowledge, and strengthen your resolve. Find courage. When the time comes, your spirit will know its path. Remember, Kenneth. Your sacrifice will be the shield against the darkness. The cult’s victory in your death is but a fleeting triumph. In the realm of the ancient ones, you shall have the power to thwart their grand design.”

Kenny opens his mouth to protest, to demand more answers, but right as he does, it’s as if the cold air forces his mouth closed. 

“Enjoy times like these with your friends while you can, Kenneth. You still have a good amount of time left on this plane. Choose your friends wisely, for they shall play a big role in helping you in your war against the grand design after you die for good. I shall reveal more along the way.”

Before Kenny can demand more answers, the world around him starts to blur and warp. Time resumes its march, and he finds himself gasping for breath, back at the creek, his friends’ concerned faces coming into focus. The heat of the sun hits Kenny harshly after the biting cold of the dark plane, as does the light from the sun. His head doesn’t hurt, and he realizes that he was reset to where he only fell at the edge of the creek on his knees, only the bottom of his jeans getting wet. 

“Kenny! Are you alright? It didn’t look like a hard fall,” Wendy shouts worriedly.

Kenny's breath is coming fast and his heart is pounding like crazy. Shaking, he stands up. “Never been better!” He lies cheerfully. 

The group seems to buy it and keeps walking, meeting Kenny on the other side. Wendy sticks close to Kenny, the rest of the group marching ahead as they hang back. Wendy's gaze lingers on Kenny, still looking concerned. "Are you sure you're okay, Kenny? You seem pretty shaken up."

”Oh, I’m fine. The water was just kind of cold,” Kenny says, forcing a smile.

Kenny is so fucking far from fine. He's seriously rattled, barely able to wrap his head around the mysterious figure's words. A lump in his throat forms. He needs so badly to be able to talk to someone about this.

”You sure you didn’t get hurt? Are your knees okay?”

”Yeah, I’m fine,” Kenny lies again.

They stand still, watching the rest of the group enter Stan’s house in the distance. Wendy steps closer. “You’re a shitty liar, Kenny. But if you insist you're fine....  just, you know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

”Thanks, Wendy. I’m glad to know that I have you to worry about me.” Kenny tries to pass this off as a lighthearted joke, but he means every word of it. He really needed to hear that from her right now.

Wendy smiles teasingly. “Well, someone has to keep an eye on you, especially with your daredevil stunts. Seriously Kenny, are you ever going to get over your parkour phase?”

Kenny scoffs. “Jumping over a creek is not parkour, Wendy. Just for that, I’m going to show you what parkour actually is the next time we’re downtown.”

Wendy laughs. There’s a pause as Kenny becomes aware of just how close they are. Kenny’s heart beats a little faster, the adrenaline from his death now mixed with a different kind of excitement.

In a spontaneous moment, driven by the emotions of the day, Kenny leans in, closing the distance between them. Wendy meets him halfway, their lips touching in a soft, tentative kiss. Kenny pulls away, looking into her eyes. They're so fucking pretty, the brown glowing lighter than usual in the sun.

Wendy grabs Kenny’s hand and pulls him behind the barn nearby, placing her hands around his neck. Kenny once again closes the gap between them, placing his body against hers. He places his hands on her waist, letting them roam across her back and through her hair as he leans down to kiss her. The kiss is deeper this time, and longer. 

Wendy’s hands grasp Kenny’s hair as she sighs into the kiss, allowing Kenny to lick her lips open. The kiss deepens. Kenny’s racing heart calms down, and he savors the warmth of Wendy’s body against his, the gentle pressure of her hands on his neck, the way their breaths mingle.

Kenny isn’t sure how long they kiss, but they both pull apart at the same time and smile at each other, their foreheads resting against each other. Wendy’s breath is form against his face, her eyes sparkling with a mix of emotions.

They both have an understanding that they need to get back to the group before anyone suspects anything, so they walk hand and hand to the front door of the house, only losing grip of each other as they walk inside. 

The party is exactly what Kenny wanted. Something laid back, and complete with weed, gaming, and alcohol. It’s absolutely perfect. 

They find some of Randy’s special weed, and Stan shows them how to roll the joints. He doesn’t partake in smoking the weed, opting to stick to alcohol. 

They dig out Stan's ancient Xbox 360 and fire up a dusty old copy of Rock Band. Stan had made sure his parents didn't toss it during the move. The group even convinces Stan and Kyle to play 'Carry on My Wayward Son' on extreme difficulty on the guitar together, just like old times. Somehow, Kenny gets roped into playing both the drums and being the vocals for the song, and he likes to think he didn't let the crowd down with his performance. He even kinda wishes Cartman was there to do the vocals during the song.

Eventually, the crowd splits off into different groups, some playing old-school games on the Xbox 360, some busting out Stan's collection of physical board games, and others gaming on the PS5.

Kenny finds himself at the dining room table with Wendy, Kyle, Tolkien, Stan, Red, and Nichole. Kenny asks Stan to bring them a fun board game, so he brings over Scythe, saying it's a good game for people that don't play board games as much.

Stan is way more than a few shots deep, clumsily trying to set up the board with Red and Nichole, who already know how to play. Stan starts to explain the rules, his words slurring slightly. Wendy teams up with Kenny, and Red partners with Tolkien since the game only allows for 5 players.

Stan waves his hands over the board. “Okay, so, each of us is, like, in charge of a faction, right? And we gotta build mechs…. Or was it do farming? Anyway, we’re conquering shit and building things!”

Kenny grins. “That’s it? Those are the only rules? We conquer shit and build things? Sounds like my kind of game.”

”I think he’s mixing up a farming sim with mech battles. Which, you know, easy mistake.” Wendy laughs.

”Yeah, are we growing crops or starting wars?” Kyle asks. 

“Ugh, you guys suck,” Stan grumbles.

”You’re doing great, Stan. Keep it up!” Red laughs. 

“Just control your hex territories. This popularity track affects your score at the end. And you gotta strategize, like, moving around the board and fighting, but also be nice to people? It’s all about balance, guys,” Stan says clumsily. He squints at the board, struggling to focus.

”Uh… alright, let’s just start and figure out as we go. Worst case, we accidentally start a mech war while trying to harvest wheat,” Kenny jokes.

”You guys are assholes,” Stan mutters, but he joins in on the laughter and attempts to explain a little more. “Basically, we’re in this alternate 1920’s universe, right? And we all control these factions trying to, uh, do stuff.”

”Great start, Stan. Very enlightening,” Kyle says.

”Shut up, Kyle. So, you’ve got this board, and your goal is to… um, build stuff, and there are these mechs, and you do also have to farm! Kay, I remember now. So take that.”

”So Stan, when does the actual ‘strategy’ part come in? Or is the strategy just trying to understand your rules?” Wendy teases.

Stan grins at Wendy. “Ha-ha, very funny. Look, it’s about making moves on the board, expanding your territory, and these stars, see? You collect them for achievements like winning fights or, uh, farming really well. When someone gets six stars, the game ends, and then we count money… I mean, coins. Coins and stars and stuff. Alright, pick your factions. It’s like… chess, but with more farming and less… horses? Does this make sense?”

Kenny is starting to think that maybe trying to learn a new game while crossfaded is maybe not the best idea. It’s hard enough to grasp a new game while sober. “Uh… yeah, makes total sense, man,” Kenny says uncertainly.

“Can’t wait to send my sheep into battle. Do they have lasers?” Kyle asks.

”No, Kyle, no lasers on the sheep. Focus, guys! This is serious stuff.”

Wendy laughs. “Okay, enough! Let’s just start on it.”

”Alright, fine. But if your sheep mech gets destroyed, it’s not my fault. I did try to explain the rules,” Stan says.

”You sure did, Stan. You tried your best,” Nichole says encouragingly, biting back a laugh.

They all get the hang of the game despite Stan’s tipsy instructions. Red and Nichole chime in with more wisdom where needed to fill in the gaps. Kenny watches quietly as Stan and Kyle argue over a rule interpretation while Nichole quietly amasses resources on the board.

"No, Kyle, you can't just... you can't just move your character across the river! That's not how rivers work!" Stan says.

"You literally just did the same thing three turns ago!" Kyle protests, pointing at Stan's faction pieces.

"Yeah, but I have the river-walk ability. See this little symbol?" Stan squints at his faction map. "See this... this squiggly thing?"

Wendy leans over to Kenny, whispering, "I have no fucking clue what I'm doing."

Kenny snorts. "I've been moving pieces randomly for the last twenty minutes and nobody's called me out yet."

Nichole slides a card to Tolkien with a wink. "Here, this lets you build another mech."

"Wait, are you two cheating?" Kyle asks.

"It's called an alliance, Kyle," Tolkien says smoothly. "Something you might try instead of arguing about game mechanics with Stan for half the goddamn game."

Kenny turns to Stan. "I offer two lumber and one metal in exchange for... not attacking me for three turns."

"Deal," Stan says immediately, then frowns. "Wait, I don't think that's allowed."

"Too late, we shook on it," Kenny says, though they definitely hadn't. 

"We did not!"

"Spiritually, we did," Kenny insists.

The game continues as Tolkien makes a particularly aggressive move, capturing one of Stan's territories.

"Dude!" Stan protests.

"All's fair in love and mech farming," Tolkien shrugs.

"That's it." Stan announces, dramatically repositioning his pieces. "I'm declaring war on every single one of you assholes. Except for Kenny, since it's his birthday."

"Is that even a thing you can do?" Wendy asks, to which Nichole laughs and simply says, "No."

"Watch me," Stan slurs, knocking over one of his own mechs in the process.

Red sighs. "Stan, your mech just fell into the river."

"It's a... submarine prototype," Stan mumbles, fishing the piece out and placing it haphazardly on the board, half on Nichole's territory.

"Um, excuse me?" Nichole points at the intrusion. "Your drowning robot is on my farmland."

Tolkien takes a swig from his drink. "Look at us, fighting over fake countries while Kenny's just been stockpiling resources this whole time."

All eyes turn to Kenny's side of the board, where he's somehow amassed a ridiculous pile of wood, metal, and food tokens.

"You haven't built a single thing," Kyle laughs. "What's your endgame here?"

"Economic victory, bitch. While you guys are busy starting world wars, I'm cornering the market on... whatever the hell these little wooden cubes represent."

"I think that's called 'capitalism'," Kyle mutters.

Stan squints at Kenny's board position. "Wait, how'd you even get all that shit? That's not even possible with how many turns you've had."

"Holy shit, you have like twice the wood I do," Kyle points out. 

"That's what she said," Stan mumbles, only getting a laugh out of Kenny.

"I literally watched Kenny pocket three metal cubes when Nichole was explaining combat rules," Tolkien shrugs.

"Snitches get stitches, Tolkien," Kenny grins. "I'm just stimulating the economy."

The game descends further into chaos when Tolkien produces a bag of weed gummies, offering them around with a mischievous smile. "For those seeking enhanced gameplay," he says. The colorful edibles make their rounds, some players grabbing them eagerly while others wave them off. Kenny takes just one, watching with interest as Kyle grabs two.

”Kyle, maybe you should skip those. You’ve already had some from the joint earlier,” Stan cautions.

Kyle frowns at Stan. “I can handle it, Stan. Pretty sure I don’t need you babysitting me.”

’Yeah, Stan, let Kyle live a little, dude. Worst case scenario, he becomes the most chill farmer-warlord in the game,” Kenny says. "Let him make his own choices."

"Yeah Stan, let me make my own choices," Kyle echoes, deliberately swallowing both gummies while maintaining eye contact with Stan.

Stan shoots Kenny a displeased look for taking sides before turning back to Kyle, aggressively moving one of his mechs across the board. "Whatever. When you're having a paranoid meltdown in two hours when those things kick your ass, don't come crying to me."

"I won't," Kyle says flatly.

"Good."

"Great."

"Fantastic."

Kenny watches the tension between Stan and Kyle escalate, a familiar knot forming in his stomach. Wendy squeezes Kenny's hand under the table before clearing her throat awkwardly. "So... whose turn is it?"

Tolkien tactfully changes the subject back to the game, pointing out a good move that Nichole made. As the game drags on, Kyle's sheep are MIA, Stan's mechs are all over the place, and Kenny's economy is thriving but completely unbuilt. In the final rounds, Stan and Nichole each have five stars, both the most familiar with the game. Nichole manages to complete the objective for the final star first, winning the game. 

Most of the people at the table end up having to leave right after the game with it getting pretty late. Everyone else is sorting out rides to come scoop them up within the next hour. Kyle, Heidi, and Wendy go chill with Bebe and the handful of stragglers who are still waiting for their rides. Kenny sticks around at the table with Stan, taking turns playing on Randy's Switch.

After a bit, Stan nudges Kenny, chuckling under his breath. “Dude, look at Kyle trying to flirt with Heidi.”

Kenny turns to see Kyle sitting on the couch way too close to Heidi, who looks like she's only sticking around because she's too polite to ditch his ass. Kyle is talking her poor ears off at warp speed. Somehow, Heidi manages to look both bored and amused at the same time. Kenny strains to hear what Kyle's rambling about.

"Is he seriously giving her a lecture on... the Roman Empire?" Stan asks, bursting into laughter.

Kenny clumsily shifts in his chair to get a better angle to eavesdrop on the conversation.

”I’m telling you, the Roman Empire was, like, super advanced for its time,” Kyle slurs animatedly, his hands gesturing wildly as he talks. 

“Oh my God; he totally is. He’s so passionate about it, too. Poor Heidi,” Kenny laughs.

”Think about it, Heidi. They had fucking aqueducts. Aqueducts! And they built roads that lasted longer than… That lasted longer than, um….” Kyle stops mid-sentence, his train of thought derailing. He looks confused for a moment before he continues. “Uh, lasted longer than, like…. Everything.”

Kenny and Stan keep eavesdropping, their laughter growing as Kyle's impassioned, albeit disjointed, history lesson unfolds. Kenny is nearly pissing himself at Kyle's slurred enthusiasm and Heidi's polite yet bewildered expression.

”The politics were so wild, too, but like, in a good way. They had this one emperor who made his horse a senator. A horse!”

Heidi nods politely. “That’s… really interesting, Kyle.”

”I know, right?! Here’s what you’ve gotta understand. They had the Republic system, and then it became an Empire. Julius Caesar, right? Crossed the Rubicon, changed everything. Also, they invented fucking concrete. Can you believe that? And then, their military strategies. God, I could give a 2 hour lecture on it. They conquered, like, the whole Mediterranean. Hannibal couldn’t even stop them with fucking elephants .”

Wendy sits down in between Kenny and Stan. “What in the world of Drunk History is going on here?” She mumbles, joining in on Kenny and Stan’s laughter.

”A more accurate term would be ‘High History’,” Kenny corrects between fits of laughter.

Kyle is now moving along to the culture, describing some of the literature and philosophers. Heidi keeps trying to get a word in, but Kyle is far too gone to understand social cues and way too passionate to stop talking.

"I'd better go intervene. I'm pretty sure Heidi and Bebe's ride is here, but Heidi's too nice to cut him off," Wendy says, finally managing to get her laughter under control.

Wendy walks over to Kyle and Heidi and speaks loudly and authoritatively, cutting Kyle off. "Kyle, what a lovely history lesson! It's so... Detailed. Heidi needs to get going, though.

Heidi gives Wendy a thankful glance and stands up. 

“Yeah, I’ve got to go. I’ll see you all at school on Monday! Thanks for the, uh…. Roman Empire lesson, Kyle. And Happy Birthday, Kenny!” Heidi makes a rushed exit, probably the best tactic. 

Kyle frowns, disappointed. “I didn’t even get to the good stuff, though.”

Kenny and Stan burst out into another round of giggles at Kyle’s crestfallen expression.

”Wh… are people laughing at me?” Kyle looks around for the source of the laughter, confusion mixing with distress. His bewildered look only fuels their laughter further. Wendy shoots Kenny and Stan a warning glance, though Kenny can tell she’s holding back a smile. Wendy sits down next to Kyle, offering him a freshly rolled joint. 

"Here, Kyle. Maybe this will help you get to the 'good stuff' in your story. I'll give you 10 minutes. But I'm warning you, if you start rambling about the intricacies of the sewage systems again, I'm out,” Wendy says as Kyle takes the joint.

”Only 10 minutes?” Kyle asks.

”Yes, Kyle. 10 minutes. I have a hard limit of only learning about the Roman Empire for 30 minutes each day, and I already read up on it for 20 minutes. You know how it goes,” Wendy says.

Kyle looks confused. “No, I don’t know how it goes. That’s fucking stupid. Who would want a limit on something like that,” he mumbles.

Kenny finds himself smiling at Wendy, staring at her. He isn't sure for how long, just that eventually, Stan awkwardly clears his throat, poking Kenny with the Switch so he can take his turn on the game. Kenny jolts up, his cheeks turning a bit pink at getting caught staring. He doesn't bother trying to make eye contact with Stan.

Kenny continues laughing at Kyle’s rant to Wendy, but Stan is no longer laughing. He’s tapping the table, his face distraught. Kenny can see Stan make quick glances towards him and Wendy, occasionally catching Wendy give Kenny an amused smile. Kenny pretends to be engrossed in the game.

Wendy cuts through Kyle’s monologue as his ten minutes expire. “I’ve got to coordinate my ride to get me in the next hour. I’ve got a volleyball game in the morning. You’re coming to the game, right, Kenny?,” she says, standing up to text on her phone. Her glance lingers on Kenny, a subtle invitation in her eyes. Kenny has gone to all her games. She’s captain of the JV team and Kenny has no doubt that she will be upgraded to the Varsity team for Junior year.

"Uh... yeah, of course!" Kenny says, ignoring Stan's scrutinizing gaze and hoping his face doesn't look as red as it feels. An awkward silence falls as he continues to pretend to be completely absorbed in the game, even though he keeps fucking up because he actually has no clue what's going on. Stan watches Kenny repeatedly fail in spectacular fashion, a thoughtful frown forming. Finally, Stan breaks the silence.

"Dude, maybe you should cut Kyle off. I think his fun high is probably gonna crash soon. He's had enough," Stan warns.

“He’s a smart guy; he’ll know when to stop,” Kenny dismisses. He lets out a sigh of relief that Stan didn’t confront him about Wendy.

“Seriously, Kenny. He’s not used to this. You need to take that joint away from him. It’s going to hit him hard later, especially since he had those gummies and those don’t hit until later.” Stan's gaze keeps nervously bouncing toward Kyle, who's dragging another lengthy hit from the joint.

"Just let the man live. Like you've got any room to preach, dude."

Stan exhales sharply through his nose. "Just—fuck—watch him, okay? He's gonna spiral. I know."

Kenny examines Stan's expression and the genuine worry etched there that doesn't align with someone supposedly at odds with Kyle. It's that same anxious look from childhood, the one exclusively reserved for Kyle-related concerns.

“I thought you said he hasn’t done anything like this? Then how would you know?” Kenny raises an eyebrow. He's floating too pleasantly in his own haze to give a shit, much less police anyone else's indulgences. Plus, he's slightly irritated by Stan's double standard—fretting over Kyle's cannabis consumption while regularly drowning himself in liquor.

“I… just know him, okay? Whatever, have fun with that, but just …please at least watch out after him cuz he’s going to be an anxious mess.” Stan gives one more glance between Kenny and Wendy and abruptly stands up.

“You know what…. I think I’m going to go to my room and call it a night. I’m not feeling great. Don’t worry about cleaning up; I’ll do it tomorrow. Happy birthday, dude,” Stan mumbles.

“Hey, are you okay, Stan?” Kenny asks, finally looking up from the game. 

“Yeah, just not feeling well,” he repeats, grabbing a half-full bottle of vodka and heading towards the stairs. He accidentally bumps lightly into Wendy on the way, who is standing at the bottom of the staircase typing on her phone.

 “Sorry, Wendy,” he mumbles, his eyes flicking to her with a hint of sadness before he continues upstairs. Kenny knows he should probably follow after Stan or at least try and take away the vodka, but he finds himself rooted to the spot.

“Hey Wendy! You should come sit,” Kenny smiles over to Wendy.

Wendy gives him a conflicted smile. “I’ll be right back, Kenny…. I should probably go talk to Stan. At least try and get that vodka bottle away from him.”

Kenny wants to object, tries to think of a reason she shouldn’t go upstairs, but all the angles he thinks of make him sound either jealous or like a bad friend, so he gives her a small nod. “Yeah, sure. I’ll catch you later.”

Kenny’s stomach twists as he watches her walk upstairs. He looks over to Kyle, who is taking yet another hit. Sighing, he walks over to him.

“Kyle, man… I think you’ve had enough. You’re gonna fry your brain.” Kenny holds out his hand to grab hold of the joint.

Kyle looks up at Kenny, his eyes dazed and wide. It seems to take him a moment to recognize him. 

“But, Kenny…. Dude! I need more because it makes me… think more critically and stuff about things. Like, for example, the Roman Empire! I still have so much about the Roman Empire I need to tell Heidi. And if I take more I think I can probably discover more of the secrets of the universe. Ooh, I should try doing my homework while high! I can probably get the best grades.”

Kenny chuckles. Kyle is probably one of the only people he knows besides maybe Wendy who would get high and think to themselves, ‘you know what? Maybe I should do homework right now.’ 

“It doesn’t actually make you think more critically about shit, dude. You just think it does. You’re not unlocking secrets; you’re high off your ass talking about aqueducts. And Heidi already left; do you not remember?”

Kyle looks disappointed to hear this news. “Ah, shit… but I didn’t even get to the good stuff.”

“It’s okay, buddy. I’m sure you can bore her to death again some other time.” Kenny finishes the joint, holding it out of Kyle’s reach. 

Kyle breaks out into a fit of giggles. “Buddy? What are you, Canadian? Next thing I know you’re gonna start calling me…. Guy. And Friend.” Kyle laughs throughout talking.

”Eh, what’s wrong with that, my guy?” Kenny smiles.

Kyle laughs way harder than the situation calls for. “I’m not your guy, friend!”

Kenny shakes his head, but can’t help but to laugh along despite him not finding this nearly as funny as Kyle. It’s been so long since he’s seen Kyle shed his uptightness to this extent. His wishes this lighter side of Kyle was out more often. He collapses on the couch next to him. 

“Should we start a podcast?” Kyle’s laughter cuts off abruptly and his question sounds completely serious. Kenny, still buzzed from the alcohol and not really feeling any effects from what little weed is in his system, is starting to have trouble following Kyle’s ease of jumping from topic to topic. 

"So we're starting a podcast now?" Kenny asks skeptically, eyebrow raised. "Dude, I love you, but the last thing this world needs is two more white dudes yapping into mics about their oh-so-fascinating perspectives."

Kyle scoffs. “I wasn’t meaning a podcast like that you dick, although I’d support you even if you started an alpha-male podcast. I wouldn’t be mad at you, just… disappointed. I’m meaning more about like, the mysteries of South Park or something like that. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Kenny, but there’s some weird shit that goes down in our town.”

Now Kenny scoffs. “Nah, never noticed anything like that.”

“Bullshit! You know, sometimes I feel like you know the most about the weird things that happen. I’m just realizing… There’s something weird about you, Kenny.” Kyle studies Kenny, looking thoughtful.

Kenny laughs nervously. “What? What seems weird about me?”

“Shit, I didn’t realize it was this late! We’ve got to leave soon, dude! I’ve got my basketball game tomorrow.” Kyle jumps up with a jolt, tugging on Kenny’s shirt to try to get him to stand up as well.

”No, Kyle. Tell me what you meant first,” Kenny pleads.

Kyle looks confused, frowning. “I… honestly have no idea why I said that.” 

Wendy walks down the stairs. “Hey, I’ve got to head out. My dad’s here. I’ll see you tomorrow morning, Kenny.”

Kenny walks from the living room to the front door to say goodbye.

”Thanks for coming, Wendy. We’ll have to hang out more later,” Kenny says softly.

Wendy pauses as she is about to exit the house. She turns around and pulls Kenny in a warm, lingering hug. “Happy birthday, Ken,” she whispers, her lips brushing his ear. Kenny shivers. He presses his lips to a spot above her eyebrow, kissing her. The car outside honks, pulling them apart abruptly. Wendy rushes outside.

Kyle lets out a low whistle. Kenny turns around to face him. He didn’t know that Kyle moved from the living room.

”Kyle….. I-” Kenny starts hesitantly. 

“Dude, I don’t want to know. Really, I don’t. Mostly because I don’t want to say anything to you I’d regret right now,” Kyle says, almost sounding sober. He also even looks a little more sobered, his face stretched classically into a look of Kyle-judgment.

Kenny nods slowly. “Well, let’s get going. We’d better start walking.”

”No, we need to get all the alcohol out of here first.,” Kyle insists, glancing worriedly upstairs towards Stan’s room. “Is… is Stan okay?”

Kenny sighs. “I don’t know about okay. But… I don’t think he’s any worse than usual.”

Together, they collect the alcohol bottles scattered around, throwing away the empty cans and stashing the rest in Kenny’s backpack. Kyle hurriedly does a surface-level cleaning before they head out, looking stressed at the thought of leaving the place a complete wreck.

Kyle’s previously relaxed state has seemed to turn to unadulterated anxiety. He keeps looking around and behind them anxiously as they start the trek home.

“What are you looking for?” Kenny asks.

Kyle jolts at Kenny’s voice. “Oh, uh…. Just making sure there’s no cops, you know?”

Kenny laughs under his breath. “Dude, there’s not gonna be cops just hanging out by the farms. I promise they're not out here patrolling the cornfields. Besides, we’re just walking.”

“You never know, okay? I just feel like there’s gonna be cops. Oh God, I can’t get arrested, Kenny! My mom would kill me!”

Kenny makes multiple failed attempts to convince Kyle that they aren’t going to get pulled over while walking by the police. 

“What if I’m still high for my basketball game tomorrow? I can’t make baskets like this! And they just barely moved me to varsity. They’re gonna kick me off the team!”

At this point, Kenny is pretty sick of repeating himself that everything will be okay, and he mentally kicks himself for not listening to Stan earlier. He mutters reassurances that go unlistened to as Kyle continues to spiel anxious rants. Somehow he is convinced that not only will he still be high for the game tomorrow night, but that he’ll also be completely kicked out of High School and his parent’s house and inevitably thrown in jail.

Kenny sighs, frustrated. “Kyle, relax. I promise the police have better things to do than to throw teens in jail who smoked some weed. This is South Park. 95% of high schoolers have smoked weed at some point, and the police know this. By the way, I’ve smoked with at least most of the dudes on your basketball team. Hell, I’m pretty sure some of them actually do show up to the games a little high sometimes.”

“Oh my God…. I’m going to end up living in a van down by the river! And Stan… what if he’s going to kill himself? I should have just sucked it up and checked on him.” Kyle looks like he actually might start crying.

“Whoa, dude! Hey, stop walking for a second. You’re not going to live in a van down by the river. There’s not even a river in South Park, so it would have to be in a van down by the pond or the creek. And Stan is safe, okay?” Kenny reaches out to stop Kyle in his tracks. He keeps a firm hand on his upper bicep. They are walking down a steep hill and Kyle is starting to lose more balance as the gummies seem to hit him full force.

Tears run down Kyle’s face. “No, he’s not! I don’t think he’s ever safe! I worry about him all the fucking time! And… and it’s not safe out here at night. What are we doing? Why did I fucking smoke weed? There’s….  A bear can jump out and eat us at any moment! Or aliens could abduct us. I’m not ready for an intergalactic mission right now to get our asses probed, Kenny, I don’t think I could emotionally handle that right now,” his sobs punctuate the still night air.

Kenny holds back a laugh at Kyle’s irrational fears near the end of his rant, pretty sure that would make him a bad friend.

“Okay, Kyle… I don’t think you can really emotionally handle anything right now.”

Kyle opens his mouth to talk, but Kenny tightens his grip on his shoulder. He remembers Stan used to do this a lot to shut him up and is hoping he can have a similar effect. “No, Kyle. Don’t talk. Look at me, and listen to me.”

Kenny waits for Kyle’s darting eyes to meet his gaze. He looks terrified. Kenny winces and feels guilty. He himself has had some scary highs in the past and would never want his friends to have to experience that. “Good. Listen. You are having a bad high right now, okay? It’s scary, I get it. But this feeling will pass. Repeat that to yourself. This feeling is going to pass.”

A moment passes. Kyle is fidgeting, and his balance is almost completely gone. Kenny feels like he has to use a lot of strength to keep him balanced. “Say it, Kyle. This feeling is going to pass. I’m not moving until you do.”

“This feeling is going to pass,” he mumbles weakly. Kenny nods, satisfied. He hooks Kyle’s arm in his as he leads them down the hill. 

“Hold on, Kenny….. Everything is… I’m so fucking dizzy right now. This is so much worse than alcohol dizziness.” Kyle unhooks his arm and throws up in one of the bushes. Kenny curses whoever brought the gummies, then curses himself for passing out said gummies to Kyle. He’s a little glad for once that Kyle and Stan aren’t on speaking terms, because at least this way Stan doesn’t have to know this happened to get in an ‘I told you so’ to Kenny.  After a while, Kenny sits down on the ground. It doesn’t seem like Kyle can catch a break from throwing up.

Kyle eventually moves to sit next to Kenny, breathing hard. “I genuinely don’t think I can even stand up right now, dude,” Kyle says hoarsely. Kyle draws his legs close to him, hugging his legs and resting his head down on top of his knees. Kenny keeps a safe distance, worried that if he moves that it’ll trigger Kyle’s nausea. Kenny feels bad for him, but feels more than content to sit outside. It’s so peaceful this time of night and this far away from town.

They sit quietly for a while. Above them, the stars shine brightly, unhindered by the city lights. At the crest of this hill, the panoramic view of South Park below is breathtaking, the town almost looking charming from this far away. The town’s lights twinkle like distant stars, mirrored by the silhouettes of the mountains surrounding them. The mountains are tinged with the soft hues of early spring. What little snow that’s left at the peaks is no longer bright white, but muted grays and blues that look almost purple in the dark with the way the moon and stars shine on them. The lower slopes show more hints of green outside of the dark green pine trees with promises of more to come soon as the weather continues to warm up. Kenny feels a sense of calm wash over him.

Kenny glances at Kyle, noting that his breathing has steadied a bit. Kyle keeps his head down on his knees, so Kenny can’t get a good read on how he’s doing. The crisp, cool March air brushes against Kenny’s skin. He inhales it deeply, the earthly scent of damp soil filling his lungs. Kenny’s thoughts go back to Wendy, the memory of her hug, the soft warmth of her breath against his ear. Kenny tries not to think of Kyle’s disappointed reaction. He knows he has to think of some way to rip off the bandaid for Stan, because Kenny is not willing to let Wendy go. Kenny runs his fingers through the cool, dewy grass. He doesn’t even think of the cult or his immortality once as he sits on this hill, feeling a rare moment of peace.

After a while, Kyle speaks up. “This is going to suck, but… I need to try walking.”

Kenny nods in agreement. He stands up first and instructs Kyle to stand up very slowly. Kyle still looks super dizzy, so Kenny once again hooks his arm in his as they start walking down again. They walk silently for a while until Kyle suddenly jumps with a yelp.

“What?” Kenny asks, startled.

“Nothing… it’s just, my shadow was doing weird things. Ugh. I don’t think I like being high, Kenny. I still feel like we’re going to be arrested at any moment, for the record.”

Kenny looks down at their shadows and notices a small shadow next to Kyle. He smiles as he locates the source.

“Aww. The shadow wasn’t you, dumbass. It was this little kitten here,” Kenny bends down to pick up a small black kitten who is standing right next to Kyle.

Kyle looks at the kitten with an expression conveying terror and awe. “Where the hell did that thing come from?”

“It’s so cute! Oh my God, can we keep it?” Kenny asks eagerly.

Kyle snorts. “Be my guest. And by that, I mean, you can keep it. Just make sure it’s a girl so you can’t use the poor thing for cheesing.”

The kitten squirms in Kenny’s arms, desperately wanting to get away. Eventually, the kitten does make its escape. Kenny makes a sad sound, but Kyle looks a little relieved. He was looking at the creature like it was a bear that would attack him.

Right as they continue walking, the kitten reappears in front of them and meows, looking up at Kyle. 

“Aw, she likes you,” Kenny taunts.

“Let’s keep going,” Kyle says, giving the kitten a weary side glance. The kitten jumps straight from the ground up onto Kyle’s shoulder. “What the hell?” he exclaims, surprised.

Kenny laughs. “Told you.”

Kyle grips onto the cat, picking it up and setting it gently on the ground. “Don’t follow us,” he instructs with a glare, picking up his walking pace.

The cat completely disregards Kyle’s instructions. They continue on their walk in a cycle of the kitten jumping up onto Kyle’s shoulders, Kyle putting the cat down, but the kitten stubbornly not giving up. Kyle eventually gives a frustrated sigh and lets the kitten settle further on his shoulders as they pick up the pace to get back home.

“Aw, Kyle, you’re a cat whisperer! It’s so cute, you have to keep it.”

Kyle glances nervously at the kitten. “I am not a Cat Whisperer. I’m just… high, and… this is weird, Kenny.”

“Come on, you have to admit that she’s cute. What are you going to name her, Kyle? Agent Fluffy? Midnight? Luna?”

“How about ‘Not My Problem’?”

“Nah, that’s a terrible cat name, dude.”

They finally reach Kyle’s house. Kenny helps Kyle climb the tree, Kyle setting the kitten down on the ground. Naturally, the kitten jumps onto the tree and darts into Kyle’s room before they can even make it in themselves. 

“Fucking hell,” Kyle mutters. “I’m too fucking tired to deal with this.”

”Aww. You’re now officially a cat dad,” Kenny says.

”More like cat hostage,” Kyle says grumpily.

Kenny waits for Kyle to get ready for bed, wanting to make sure he makes it to his bed safely.

“Do you need anything before I leave? I can take the cat out of here for you.”

Kyle lays on his bed, the kitten jumping onto his chest and curling up in the crook of his neck, instantly purring. Kyle looks confused, looking down at the kitten. Each purr seems to calm Kyle’s external paranoia down a little bit. He hesitantly pets her for the first time, eliciting more loud purrs from the cat. His copper curls fall gently on top of her black fur.

“No… no, I’ll let Shadow stay for tonight, I guess,” he says softly.

Kenny hides a grin. “Goodnight, Kyle. Drink lots of water. And good luck with your game.” Kyle is already asleep as he climbs out of his window.

Kenny will only have a couple of hours to sleep tonight before he needs to wake up for Wendy’s early morning volleyball game, but he doesn’t mind. He feels like he needed that long moment sitting on the hill. He tries not to think too much about his encounter with the hooded individual. He knows he’ll have to confront it soon, but for now, he just wants to focus on what the hooded man said about enjoying his time alive while he still can. His inevitable sacrifice looms large, yet Kenny pushes these thoughts aside. 

Chapter Text

2035:

The coffee shop assaults Stan and Kyle with an air of pretentiousness as they place their coffee orders. In front of them, quinoa muffin displays battle CBD kombucha taps for attention. Stan's nose wrinkles at the burnt-orange stench of over-roasted beans. Near the restrooms, a barista wearing a large hat berates a customer who dared ask for a plastic straw for their iced coffee. "Plastic straws? Do I look like I want sea turtles to fucking die today? This is the future; we don't do that anymore."

The place is buzzing with activity, the hiss of steaming milk and the clinking of cups and saucers mixed with the low murmur of hushed work Zoom meetings. Folks seem eager to get out of their homes where they have to quarantine. Stan spots a few people with VR headsets on, lost in their own virtual worlds.

Wendy's corner table looks like a war room. Three empty espresso cups form a triangle around her laptop, and she has dark circles under her eyes. When she waves, Stan notices how chewed down her nails look.

"Dude, she's going crazy with research," Kyle mutters through a forced smile as they approach.

"Gee, wonder why," Stan whispers back, clocking the tremor in Wendy's hands when she hugs him in greeting.

The barista slams down Kyle's $14 cold brew with unnecessary force. Stan stares at his black coffee - the oily surface reflecting back a man who hasn't slept properly since... Well.

“Hey, guys! Stan, I’m glad you brought Kyle. It’s nice to see you guys working together; Kenny would be so happy to see that.”

They settle into their seats, making small talk for a bit before steering the conversation towards the inevitable shitshow that is the reason they're all here. Wendy fills them in on her life - she's been working as a lawyer in Washington DC for a couple months, but usually works out of Denver. She came back to South Park for Kenny's funeral and is crashing with her parents during the lockdown.

"So, Stan, you still play the guitar?" Wendy asks, her eyes curious in that laser-focused way that always made him feel put on the spot.

Stan shifts uncomfortably in his seat. He'd really rather skip the small talk and get to the point, but Wendy looks so utterly exhausted and sad, and despite everything, he still cares about her. It doesn't feel right to just launch into a full-on interrogation.

"Oh, well, I still can. But I haven't really played since college," he admits, fiddling with his coffee cup. "I don't have a guitar anymore and just never really got around to getting a new one, I guess."

Stan remembers his bright idea when he started college to study music theory. It was one of the few things he still found somewhat interesting, and one of the only things that came easily to him in school. Probably because it was one of the only things he actually gave a shit about. But he found out pretty quickly that the career possibilities were pretty fucking slim, and with how expensive college was, he decided he needed to be a little more strategic with his major. He ended up borrowing a guitar from the college for the classes he needed it for, since his dad had smashed his own guitar at some point during his senior year of high school. Wendy was there for that, along with Kenny. Good times.

"Wait, you don't have a guitar?" Kyle asks, looking surprised. "Since when?"

“Long story,” Stan mutters, not really wanting to get into it.

Wendy winces. "Shit…Sorry, I shouldn't have brought that up. I was just thinking about that night, you know? With your guitar, and Randy..." She glances at Kyle, who still looks confused, and trails off.

"Yeah, that night was crazy," Stan says in a low voice. He hasn't thought about it in a long time, mostly because it's one of those things he tries his best to forget. And Wendy's too emotionally intelligent to just bring up such a fucked up night so casually, and she's not cruel enough to do it out of spite. So why the hell is she mentioning it now? Kyle’s knee bumps his under the table - solid, present. Stan realizes he’s been shredding a napkin into confetti.

Wendy clears her throat, looking apologetic. "Really, Stan, I'm sorry. God, that was dumb of me to bring up. That night was just crazy for other reasons too, and I need to talk to someone about it. Because it has to do with Kenny and his death. Not the part you were involved in, obviously, so I don't know why I even... Again, I'm sorry."

“It’s okay, Wendy. I'm sure you're on the same page as us here - Kenny's death is suspicious as fuck, right?"

Wendy rests her brown eyes on the table. When she speaks, she keeps her voice low and quiet. “Promise me that anything I tell you guys stays between us. I have some stuff I need to talk about with you guys, and you have to know that I’m putting in a lot of trust by just talking about any of this.” She raises her eyes and looks pleadingly at Stan before glancing at Kyle.

"Always,” Stan says immediately.

Kyle nods. “Anything said stays between us.”

Wendy takes a deep breath, visibly steeling herself. "Okay. So the reason I'm only telling you two is because you were Kenny's closest friends. No, scratch that - you were more than friends to him. He considered you his brothers. And I think you guys can help me figure out what the fuck is going on with his death and all the weird shit happening in South Park. I'm guessing that's what you guys are trying to do?"

She looks up, her eyes pleading as they dart between Stan and Kyle.

Stan and Kyle share a glance before Kyle answers. “Yeah, Wendy. We are."

Wendy nods, unsurprised. “God, I don’t even know where to start. So, Stan, that night that… you know, with your guitar. Senior year, when Kenny and I tried dropping you off after prom. After we left the farm, Kenny was having a really bad day, and he kept telling me he needed to tell me something. That was the night I learned he couldn't die. I know this sounds insane, but it's true. Kenny was immortal."

Stan and Kyle nod to indicate that they’re listening. Wendy pauses for a while, looking back and forth between them.

“Why aren’t you freaking out about this? Don’t tell me you guys knew the whole time,” she says, almost looking angry.

“We’ve only found out over the course of the past week. We’ve pieced together that he used to die a lot and come back from the dead. We don’t remember any of this happening, though,” Stan says. 

Kyle narrows his eyes at Wendy, suspicion written all over his face. "Yeah, and how the hell do you remember this conversation with Kenny about his deaths? Apparently he tried telling us too, but we both have gaps in our memories and can’t remember anything about it.”

Wendy's eyes dart between Stan and Kyle, her expression shifting somberly. She takes a deep breath before speaking.

"We created a system to get me to remember our Senior year of High School. It was trial and error, but we were able to get it to a point where I could remember that Kenny couldn't die. We worked tirelessly on it. We used coded journal entries, video diaries, research... The idea was to create triggers that would help me piece things together in my core memories over time. I still can't remember specific deaths, but I've been able to remember that he couldn't die. So now that you know he couldn't die, do you two remember any of his deaths? He told me you guys probably witnessed more than anyone else."

Stan and Kyle shake their heads guiltily. Wendy sighs.

Kyle leans forward. "Are you saying that Kenny's immortality somehow affected your memories too? All I know is I can tell there are... gaps in my memories. Like my brain is just now catching up to these gaps and to the weirdness of Kenny missing from certain moments."

Wendy nods gravely. "I think so. It's like his curse extended beyond his own life and started affecting those around him. Kenny believed that his condition affected reality itself around him, bending it so his deaths became non-events to everyone else. But for me, it started to work differently. Maybe because of what we set up, I began to notice his absences. But it's not just the memories, guys. There's something else...something darker."

Stan leans in closer, curious. "What do you mean? What else did Kenny tell you?"

"Not enough, the cryptic asshole," Wendy grumbles. "I'm sure you know about the cult by now, and how they wanted to permanently kill Kenny. Well, he knew about that plan for a long-ass time. Always said it was inevitable. But he also said that after he finally died for good, he needed to find a way to stop the cult from taking over South Park. He was convinced their endgame was bigger than just controlling our little town. They're after something ancient, something that's been here in South Park all along. Kenny mentioned another dimension, or plane of existence, with a door that the cult is just itching to open."

The three of them sip on their coffee, quiet for a moment. After growing up in South Park and dealing with the past week's revelations, interdimensional bullshit barely even phases him anymore, and judging from Kyle's unimpressed look, he must feel similarly.

"Another dimension, huh?" Kyle says flatly. "Did Kenny happen to mention how to get there?"

Wendy shifts in her seat. "No."

Stan watches her carefully, sensing that she's holding something back. Before he can dig deeper, Kyle's phone buzzes. He mutters, "Sorry, gotta take this," before walking away from the table.

Stan drums his fingers on the table, trying to figure out how to steer the conversation back to the door Kenny mentioned without sounding like he’s interrogating Wendy. She looks like she’s two seconds away from passing out into her coffee cup.

“So, uh... this door,” Stan starts, awkwardly clearing his throat. “Kenny said it was some kind of... interdimensional thing? Did he say anything about, like, what’s behind it?"

“I wish. All he said is there’s something terrible behind it. Like, world-ending, everyone-dies terrible. He didn’t exactly give me a detailed brochure, though.”

“Great. Cool. Awesome. Did he at least say how to stop it from opening? Or are we just supposed to sit around and wait for some cultists to start chanting Latin or whatever?”

Wendy shrugs, looking frustrated. “You know Kenny. He was always vague as hell and then he’d just disappear for days."

"Probably off dying somewhere," Stan mutters.

Before Wendy can respond, Kyle comes back to the table, sliding his phone into his pocket.

“Everything okay?” Stan asks, though he already knows the answer by the way Kyle’s jaw is clenched.

Kyle sits down heavily and rubs his temples. “Hell’s Pass Hospital just called. They’re practically begging me to work there for a while.”

Stan blinks. "Really? But you're still in residency at Heaven's Pass."

“I know,” Kyle says, clearly annoyed. “But apparently Hell’s Pass is short-staffed because people keep disappearing there. Because of fucking course they are. Staff and patients."

Stan feels his stomach drop. “Uh... what the fuck?”

“Yeah. They’re desperate enough that they offered to end my residency early if I come down and help out.”

“No,” Stan says immediately, louder than he meant to. Both Kyle and Wendy give him a weird look. “Sorry, I mean... that sounds sketchy as hell, dude.”

Kyle raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, no shit it sounds sketchy. But if people are disappearing and I can actually do something about it—”

“Or you could disappear too!” Stan interrupts. He doesn’t miss the way Kyle glances at Wendy like is he serious right now? but he doesn’t care. He knows this may make him seem really codependent especially considering how much time he's spent with Kyle the last couple of days, but Stan doesn't care. "Dude, you can't go. We need you here, helping with the investigation. And if the other doctors are disappearing... it's too risky."

"I don't really have a choice, Stan. They basically ordered me to and I'd rather not lose my job. I'll be fine - it's just a short shift until tonight."

"I don't want you to go," Stan manages to get out, trying not to let his anxiety show.

"Stan, come on," Kyle says, his voice gentler now. "I'll be fine. I've dealt with way worse shit than a creepy hospital. And it's honestly probably better if we split up. We can gather more information this way."

Wendy leans forward, her lawyer-mode activated. "Look, this could actually work in our favor. Kyle can check things out from the inside, see if there's anything weird going on. He'll be just as safe at the hospital as he would be anywhere else in South Park, and it would be nice to hear back from someone on the inside of Hell's Pass. That place has been a hub of unnatural activity for a couple years now."

Stan reluctantly nods. He takes a deep breath, trying to suppress his worries."Kay. I'll try talking to others in town, see what else I can find out. Just... be careful, Kyle. We don't know what we're dealing with here, and I'll fucking kill you if you decide to vanish."

"Good luck killing me if I'm not around. But yeah, I'll be careful. You guys be careful, too. Stan, if you drop me off you can use the car today and just pick me up from the hospital later." He walks outside to the car while Stan lingers behind to talk to Wendy.

"Wendy... you know more than you told us, don't you?" Stan says in a low voice.

Wendy's eyes dart nervously. She fidgets with a strand of her dark hair and adjusts her glasses. She shifts in her seat, avoiding Stan's intense stare.

"Hey, I'm not mad at you. I just know there's something more," Stan says softly.

"Okay, fine," she finally admits, her voice barely above a whisper. "There is something. But you have to promise me, Stan, that you won't go running into action or something stupid."

Stan scoffs. "Dude, I'm not Kenny."

Wendy gives a sad smile. "No, but I still know you pretty well, Stan. There's a reason you guys were such good friends. Anyways... there's something at Mephesto's Lab. Kenny gave me these keys. Said there’s instructions on how to get to the other dimension there." She pulls out a set of rusty keys from her pocket, the metallic jingle breaking the silence. Stan's fingers reach out instinctively to touch the cold metal.

"Tweek told us that Kenny spent a lot of time there. It sounds like some kind of weird South Park Area 51 thing. Have you been there?"

She shakes her head. "No, not yet. Kenny said to wait until the cult's presence in South Park gets stronger."

Stan looks outside and catches Kyle giving him an annoyed eyebrow raise in the passenger's seat.

"Okay, Wendy... I'd better go drop Kyle off. But let's go to the lab later today. I'll pick you up. Are your parents still in the same house?"

"Oh, I'm not sure that we should-"

"I'll get you right after Tolkien's. You don't have to go if you don't feel comfortable, I guess. I could just do it alone," Stan says casually. Wendy may have been bossy with Stan growing up, but that doesn't mean Stan doesn't know how to get her to do things when he really wants to. 

Wendy narrows her eyes. "Fuck you, of course I'm coming. Not gonna let your dumbass go alone."

"Thought so," Stan grins, already backing away. "I'll pick you up in an hour!"

He hurries out before she can change her mind, hearing her mutter "fucking idiots" under her breath as he goes.

Kyle's drumming his fingers impatiently on the dashboard when Stan slides into the driver's seat. "What was that about?"

"Wendy's got keys to Mephesto's lab. We're checking it out later."

"Jesus Christ," Kyle mutters. "Would it have killed her to lead with that instead of twenty minutes of cryptic bullshit?"

"Probably."

The drive to Hell's Pass is quiet except for Kyle occasionally giving directions, even though Stan remembers exactly where it is. He may hate hospitals, but that didn't stop him from having to spend a fair amount of his childhood there with all the schemes him and his friends got in. He spent a good amount of time having to visit Kyle there as a kid.

He pulls into the hospital parking lot. It's crowded, the windows fogged despite the mild weather. The words they don't say hang heavy in the air as they make plans for Stan to pick him up later, both acutely aware of the risks they're taking today.

"Text me when your shift ends," Stan says as Kyle gets out. The parking lot is suspiciously full for a hospital that's supposedly losing staff.

"Yes, mom."

"Fuck off."

Kyle flips him off, but tells him to be careful before he rushes through the automatic doors. Stan sits there for a moment, trying to shake off the feeling that he shouldn't leave Kyle here. But he's got other shit to deal with first.

Tolkien's precinct is only ten minutes away. On his way, he gives his partner Mia a quick call to fill her in. She has him share all he's learned about the cult, promising to do her own digging. Their boss is glad Stan is in South Park as they'd been wanting a closer eye on the cult activity for a while now. Mia confirms Stan's hunch that the town's not closed because of some illness, but because the cult's gotten so out of control that they need to keep everyone contained, hoping the weird shit stays put. Stan feels a wave of relief wash over him. At least everything he's doing lines up with his actual job so he doesn't have to be put on unpaid leave. He just needs to remember to log his notes in the work databases.

At the station, Tolkien looks like he's seen a ghost when Stan walks in. He quickly ushers him into his office, locking the door and yanking the blinds shut. Stan fills him in on what he's learned so far about the cult, keeping some details out like Kenny's deaths.

Tolkien sighs, rubbing his forehead. "Honestly, I wish I could say I was more surprised. There've been cases, disappearances, all sorts of weird occurrences that never quite added up. And it's only gotten worse since Kenny died. It's like all the bizarre shit from our childhood is back with a vengeance."

Tolkien shuffles some papers around, lowering his voice. "Look, I can't talk much here, but I've been looking into some stuff. Don't trust anyone else in the department right now. Half of them are acting weird as hell, and the other half are too scared to do anything about it."

He slides a manila folder across the desk. "Here's what I've got so far. It's not much, but... well, you'll see. Also, I'm doing a game night with everyone at my old place tomorrow night. Would love to see you and Kyle there."

Stan hesitates, but catches the determined look in Tolkien's eyes. He realizes this is less about a friendly game night and more a chance for both of them to ask questions to their old peers.

Stan nods, giving Tolkien a grateful smile as he gathers the folder. "Thanks, man. We'll be there."

As Stan drives towards Wendy's place, the sun's glare is so bright he can barely see the road. He fumbles through Kyle's car, hoping to find some sunglasses, and finds a pair of Aviator Ray-Bans in the center console. He slips them on, feeling like a douchebag but at least able to see. Wendy's already waiting on the porch when he pulls up, looking like she's ready for a goddamn spy mission. She's wearing jeans and a jacket, her hair back in a high ponytail. Backpack straps dig into her shoulders.

She hops in the car, giving Stan a determined nod. "Ready to do this thing?"

Stan shifts into drive. "Fuck yeah. I mean, I have no clue what 'this thing' actually is, but let's do it anyway."

Wendy eyes his shades. "Lose the sunglasses before we get to the lab. You look like a discount Tom Cruise in Top Gun."

Stan scoffs, deeply offended. "Wow, rude. At least I'm not trapped in the closet like that guy."

Wendy smirks. “Is this you finally coming out of the closet to me?”

Stan rolls his eyes. This is the fucking future; people don’t really have to come out of the closet anymore, because nobody cares. Stan doesn’t answer and instead attempts to hum some action movie themes to hide his nerves.

Wendy groans. "Please tell me you have an actual plan that involves less humming."

Stan continues to try to put up a false front of confidence. He’s not really sure how you can actually plan for anything like this. “Um…. plan? Of course I have a plan. It involves walking in, finding what we need, and walking out. Seems straightforward enough to me.” Stan doubts it actually will be straightforward, but maybe for once something in South Park will be. Would that be too much to ask for?

The rest of the drive to the lab is filled with anticipatory silence, the kind you experience before making questionable life decisions. Stan hasn't been to the lab in a long time. He thinks the last time must have been when he was around 12 or 13 the summer they played superheroes, though they used to go more often when he was even younger. Dr. Mephesto himself died a couple years after that. Wendy fiddles with the keys before putting them in a hidden compartment in her backpack.

As they approach the lab, the building looms ahead, its exterior battered by time and neglect. The sun casts long shadows, making the lab appear even more foreboding. Stan parks the car a little further in the forest, and they sit for a moment, taking in the sight.

"You know, this place used to give me nightmares," Stan admits.

Wendy laughs humorlessly. "Yeah, we had some fucked up experiences here as kids. Remember when our biggest worry was Eric's latest scheme getting us in trouble?"

"Yeah," Stan sighs, "Good times."

Wendy points to a building behind the main lab. "That's where the current staff works. We need the old building, which should be empty. Some accident made it unusable."

They get out, Wendy leading the way to a side door. They do their best to avoid being spotted by the cameras on the premises as Wendy quickly unlocks the front door. They step inside, dust particles immediately assaulting Stan's vision.

The air inside is thick with dust and the smell of something vaguely chemical. Stan waves a hand in front of his face, coughing.

Wendy pulls two flashlights from her backpack and tosses one to Stan. “Here. Watch your step.”

Stan catches it and flicks it on, the beam cutting through the gloom. “Oh great, now I can see all the nightmare fuel up close.”

The lab is a graveyard of Mephesto’s experiments— broken glass, rusted machinery, and shelves lined with jars of... things. Things that probably shouldn't exist. The lab is almost eerily quiet, with broken equipment scattered on the floor. Stan's flashlight reveals the remnants of Mephesto's work - broken tanks that used to hold monkeys with four asses and cages that used to house mutated cats. Stan remembers being pissed about the animal experiments and hating Dr. Mephesto for that reason. He even bitched about it on social media, and he hates social media.

"Ah, great memories. I always wondered if having four asses would improve your sitting experience."

Wendy snorts as she waves her flashlight around, looking for anything useful. "Can't say I ever considered the practical applications of Mephesto's madness myself."

They steer clear from the newer section of the lab where they can hear muffled voices, staying in the old research wing. They search for a while, but most of the stuff has already been cleared out.

Eventually, Wendy freezes in excitement as her flashlight lands on an old filing cabinet. They rush over, Wendy trying different keys. Stan taps his foot impatiently as they hear sounds in the hallway.

"Stan, stop doing that. It's not helping," Wendy mutters as she tries key after key. She jams another key into the lock. It doesn't turn.

"That key's not it," Stan says helpfully. "See? Now I'm helping."

Wendy rolls her eyes, one of the keys finally working. The cabinet opens with a high-pitched squeak that makes them both wince.

Inside are stacks of yellowed files and folders, some labeled with Mephesto's plans like ''Project: Quadruple Asses" and "Cat Hybrid Phase 3".

Stan picks up one of the folders and flips it open. “Oh my god, Wendy. Look at this.” He holds up a diagram of what looks like a lizard with four asses wearing sunglasses. “Mephesto was truly ahead of his time.”

Wendy snorts, shoving some of the materials into her backpack while Stan continues to sift through the cabinet. Stan continues to read some of Mephesto's insane documents.

"What kind of mad scientist shit are we looking for anyway?" Stan asks. He's honestly not sure if he's referring to Mephesto or Kenny as the mad scientist at this point.

Before Wendy can respond, a low rumbling sound cuts her off. The ground beneath them starts shaking violently. Wendy and Stan shoot each other panicked looks.

“What the fuck is happening?” Stan yells over the noise, clutching onto the filing cabinet for balance.

Wendy stumbles as another tremor hits. “I don’t know, but we need to leave! Now!”

He yells over all the crashing sounds, "I'll meet you outside! I've got to get everything first!" Stan grabs Wendy's backpack from her shoulder, and Wendy books it out of the room.

Stan frantically rummages through the filing cabinet, grabbing at all the documents and materials he can. The tremors in the ground grow stronger, sending lab equipment crashing to the floor around him. He shoves papers, hard drives, and more photographs into Wendy's backpack, the weight growing heavy in his hands. Beakers and test tubes shatter all over the lab floor around him.

The rumbling around him continues, but he focuses solely on the task of getting all he can into the backpack. A hazy fog spreads around him, obscuring his vision, and he makes out shadows moving through the fog. He swallows, grabbing at the last of the papers.

Stan's head smacks against the sharp corner of the filing cabinet as another violent tremor rocks the building. Pain explodes behind his eyes and he tastes copper in his mouth. The floor seems to tilt and shift beneath him as he struggles to his feet, one hand pressed against the throbbing spot on his head.

The fog thickens, making it impossible to see more than a few feet ahead. He stumbles toward where he thinks the general direction of the exit is, backpack clutched tight against his chest. His shoes crunch over broken test tubes and debris.

A dark shape materializes through the shadows, advancing towards him. Before Stan can react, a figure dressed in dark robes rushes towards him. He spits out some blood as he attempts to outmaneuver the cultist, but finds himself trapped between a wall and the exit.

As the cultist nears him and lifts what looks like a broken piece of equipment as a weapon, Stan lifts up the backpack, thrusting it into the cultist's face with as much force as he can muster, sending the cultist off-balance.

Before he can register what's happening, he and the cultist are on the ground nearly wrestling, each trying to get the upper hand. Through the haze, Stan sees them raise the broken equipment over him. He jerks his head to the side as the makeshift weapon comes down. White-hot pain explodes through his elbow where it connects instead. Gritting his teeth, Stan brings the backpack up between them again, ramming it into the cultist's hooded face. The force knocks them back enough for Stan to get his legs under him.

He can vaguely hear Wendy shouting in the distance, and he almost yells at her to get the fuck out. Didn't she leave already?

Just as the cult member raises the metal object for another blow, a sudden impact knocks them sideways. Stan glances up to see Wendy standing over them, also wielding a long mental broken lab equipment piece. The figure grunts in pain in the aftermath of Wendy's blow, momentarily distracted.

"Stan, get out of here!" Wendy shouts.

Stan scrambles to his feet, barely able to register the pain through the sheer adrenaline forcing him forward. He grabs Wendy's hand and sprints toward the exit. The cult member, recovering, makes a move to follow, but Wendy swings the rod again, this time catching the figure in the face. There’s a sound of impact, a grunt of pain, and then they’re running. Stan doesn't look back as they burst through the door into blinding daylight.

After what feels like forever, they finally reach the safety of the car. Stan collapses his body weight against the car, his energy spent, some of the pain in his body registering.  He grips the car for dear life, barely able to stand.

Wendy's eyes are wide as she takes in the blood dripping from Stan's forehead. She takes off her jacket, balling it up and placing Stan's' good hand over it on the gash. “You’re going to be okay,” she says, sounding more like she’s trying to convince herself than Stan.

Thank fuck Kyle put the car in Guest mode - Wendy starts it with a push of a button, no facial recognition needed. She navigates them quickly out of the forest, driving well above the speed limit when she makes it onto the normal road.

"Hospital, now," Wendy says, her voice steady despite the fear in her eyes.

"No way," Stan argues, trying and failing to sit up. "We gotta get these documents somewhere safe first. Kyle's old place. I'll be fine."

Wendy navigates the town like a pro, moving quickly. She occasionally glances at Stan, concern written all over her face as she drives. Stan's head leans against the window, the adrenaline fading.

"Wendy, keep those documents secure," he mumbles. Wendy nods, placing the backpack at her feet, making sure it won't spill.

As they get closer to town, Wendy misses the turn for Kyle's neighborhood. Stan notices the change in direction and musters the energy to protest. "The fuck, Wendy? We need to go through those documents, not waste time at the hospital," he insists, annoyance cutting through the pain.

Wendy keeps her eyes on the road, her voice firm. "Stan, you're hurt and in no shape to be making decisions. Those documents are useless if you're not well enough to help. You need medical attention, end of story."

Stan wants to argue, to insist they have more important shit to do, but the pounding in his head and the dizziness clouding his vision shut him up. He slumps against the window, frustrated as hell but too weak to fight her. Not like he was ever good at winning against her anyway.

They pull into the hospital lot, Wendy promising, "I'll keep the documents safe, Stan. We'll go over everything as soon as you're out, I swear."

She slings the backpack over her shoulder, grunting at the weight. "Jesus, what did you put in here, rocks?" She helps Stan out of the car, and he feels like a dick for leaning on her when she's already weighed down.

Wendy takes charge, talking to the receptionist and filling out paperwork, keeping things vague. 

She clutches the backpack to her like a lifeline. "I'm gonna stash these somewhere safe. Call me when you're done, I'll have the car waiting," she says quietly.

“Okay, yeah. We’ll go over things tonight. Uh... thanks for saving my ass I guess," Stan mumbles before he's wheeled away to an exam room.

Inside the examination room, the nurse begins to assess Stan's condition. "Hey, can you get Dr. Broflovski in here?"

The nurse gives Stan a confused look. "Dr who? Oh, you mean the young one from the Denver hospital. Sure, kid. I don't see why not. We should probably at least get your head stitched up as soon as possible anyways." She leaves the room.

Kyle rushes in, confusion rushing to his face as he sees Stan. He mutters something in a low voice to the nurse before closing the door and locking it, ensuring they're in the room alone.

"Dude! What the fuck happened? When I said to come get me, I didn't mean like this!"

Stan tries to sit up, wincing at the pain. "Long story short, shit went down at Mephesto's lab. Wendy's okay, she saved my ass. What'd you find out here?"

Kyle's eyebrows shoot up, worry and curiosity battling it out on his face. The more he looks at Stan, the more concerned he gets. "Okay... um... we can exchange findings later, alright? Let's try to get you to not look like you just came straight out of a horror movie first. Here, Stan, fucking... stop trying to sit up, dude, Jesus! Here." 

He gently pushes Stan's head back onto the pillow, grabbing the remote to raise the bed so he's not totally flat, but not fully upright either. Kyle carefully parts Stan's hair to get a better look at the wound, dried blood matting the dark strands. He cleans the gash and the blood streaks down his face, and Stan can't quite stifle a groan of pain at the pressure.

"How many stitches do you think it'll be?"

Kyle shrugs, snapping on gloves and grabbing the numbing shot and suture kit. "Not too many, I hope," he mutters under his breath.

The room is quiet save for Stan's heavy breathing and the faint murmurs of the news station. Stan tries to focus on the TV to take his mind off the fact that he's in a hospital. He instinctively jumps at the sharp feeling of the numbing needle, Kyle pushing Stan's shoulder down so he doesn't lose balance. Stan hisses in pain as his busted elbow bumps the bed.

"I know it sucks, but you gotta stay still, dude. Normally I'd have a nurse helping to keep you steady, but this place is so understaffed right now."

Kyle quickly works, and it doesn't take him too long to stitch up the gash in his head. He ties up the last stitch in no time, leaning back to inspect his handiwork.

He checks Stan's arms next, eyeing the bruises. "Anything else hurt besides the obvious scrapes and bruises? Legs okay?"

Stan nods, then immediately regrets it as pain lances through his skull. He tries to hide a wince, but Kyle's not buying it. His left arm throbs when Kyle lifts it, and Stan can't help but hiss.

Kyle gives Stan a pointed look. "If you had just told me it hurt, I could've been more gentle, you dumbass."

Stan grunts. "Wow, do you sweet-talk all your patients like this? Gonna leave a Yelp review. One star." He's not even sure if he's making sense anymore, his head pounding and thoughts scattered.

Kyle snorts. "Right, because Yelp for doctors is totally a thing. Good luck with that."

Kyle palpates around the right elbow. Stan tries to keep a straight face, but a sharp pain flares up. He twists his head to see how swollen it is, but quickly looks away, queasy at the sight.

"I'm going to need some X-rays of this," Kyle says.

Stan sighs. He just wants some pain medicine and to look through the documents from the lab. Kyle helps Stan get up to get the X-ray in another room.

He grunts as they hit a bump. "Careful, man! I'm already injured enough without you trying to finish me off."

Kyle rolls his eyes. "Don't be such a baby. I'm being gentle."

"Gentle? You call that gentle?"

"Well, maybe if you didn't feel so fucking heavy, it wouldn't be such a problem," Kyle shoots back.

"Was that a fat joke? I'm reporting you for malpractice!"

"Please, like anyone would take a complaint from you seriously," Kyle scoffs. "You're lucky I'm even helping your dumb ass."

They trade insults back and forth, their usual ribbing a welcome distraction from the pain. There's never been anyone to Stan quite like Kyle when it comes to joking around - everyone else he tries to riff like this just gives Stan weird looks. He's missed it more than he cares to admit.

"Hey Kyle... make sure they get my good side, kay? I've been working on my X-ray poses."

Kyle snorts. "Dude, the only thing that'll show up on the X-ray is your hollow head."

Stan chuckles, then winces as the movement jostles his elbow. "Ow, damn. Laughter is actually the worst medicine."

"Then quit being a dumbass and stay still."

"Hey, Member that time I got shot in the arm by the school shooter? You should get an X-ray of that."

Kyle laughs, because that's just how they coped with the fucked up reality of school shootings. They laughed their asses off the day Stan actually got shot, at least until shit got real when Stan's dad refused to visit him at the hospital. Apparently Randy convinced Sharon it wasn't a big deal either, so she never showed up either. Kyle was the only one who stayed with Stan that day, sneaking in after visiting hours with his Gameboy, letting Stan hog it when he had to stay overnight after surgery to get the bullet out.

"I 'member! Dude, I totally will. I wonder what it looks like now," Kyle says, still chuckling.

The X-rays show a nice, clean fracture in Stan's radial head. Kyle helps him back to the exam room, both of them cracking up at the old gunshot wound on the other X-ray.

Kyle returns with an elbow brace, and Stan immediately groans at the sight of it, recognizing the same type of torture device they slapped on him multiple times as a kid. The memories of the itchy, restricted confinement aren't fond.

"Do I really have to wear that thing, dude?"

"Are you seriously gonna try and argue about wearing a brace on a fractured bone?" Kyle rolls his eyes, already unstrapping the brace. "Wear it or I'll admit you overnight for clearly being a concussed moron."

"You wouldn't," Stan challenges, though he knows Kyle probably absolutely would.

He slumps back against the bed in defeat as Kyle gently positions his arm. Even careful, it sends jolts of pain through his elbow. Kyle places a cushioned pad around Stan's elbow first, then wraps it with an elastic bandage, keeping it snug but not too tight. Stan bites his tongue to keep from whining like a little bitch, but a hiss escapes anyway.

In an attempt to try to forget about the shooting pain, Stan focuses on watching Kyle's face as he works. He watches, transfixed, at the way Kyle's brows furrow in concentration, the way his green eyes are laser-focused on trying to make things perfect. It's the same look he'd seen a million times growing up - Kyle lining up a basketball shot, Kyle strategizing in their video games, Kyle rifling through Stan's messy papers in an attempt to help him with homework. Stan can't take his eyes off him.

Kyle has him flex his fingers before adjusting the straps. Once he's done, Kyle sighs and plops down in the chair next to the bed, scooting close to Stan. He hands him a water bottle and a couple of pain pills. "These are the good shit, so they might knock you out. I'll write you a prescription for something milder that won't make you as drowsy."

Stan swallows the pills, then looks at Kyle with a determined expression. "Am I good to go now?"

Kyle runs a hand through his curls, looking like he wants to strangle Stan. "Jesus fuck, Stan, no. You're not going anywhere right now. Just... just stay put until my shift is over, okay? Try to get some rest, and then we can tackle the documents together. And we can tell each other all about our days."

Stan stares at the ceiling, his head throbbing despite the pain meds. The quiet of the room weighs heavy, broken only by the soft hum of medical equipment. His throat feels tight, chest constricting with the effort of what he wants to ask.

"Kyle?" Stan asks softly after a moment.

"Yeah?"

Stan picks at a loose thread on the thin blanket. "Could you maybe stay and sit with me for a bit? Just until the meds kick in or whatever."

Kyle studies him, and Stan's stomach drops. Stan's already composing his retreat - just kidding, dude, the Percocet's making me hallucinate your face - when Kyle sighs through his nose, the sound fondly exasperated.

"Yeah, okay." Kyle moves to the edge of the bed, carefully settling next to Stan's good side. "For a little bit. But then you need to rest, and I need to get back to work."

Relief floods through Stan, easing some of the pain. He doesn't let himself think too hard about why Kyle's simple presence makes him feel better. Can't focus on how nice it is to have him close, the warmth of his body anchoring him in a way he doesn't think anything else ever has.

"Thanks," Stan mumbles. The solid warmth of Kyle next to him makes the spinning in his head a little less intense.

Kyle flips through news channels until landing on a grainy shot of police tape fluttering outside City Wok. "You'll pay for this in shitty cafeteria coffee later."

"Worth it," Stan slurs, eyelids at half-mast. His knuckles brush against Kyle's thigh - accidental, maybe.

South Park's Main Street fills the screen, police tape cordoning off the main road. The reporter's voice dissolves into static as the camera pans across Main Street. Tom's Rhinoplasty sign dangles by a single chain, swinging like a metronome over storefronts choked by inky fog. Stan squints. Meds or murder weather? Hard to tell.

His skull lolls sideways, temple meeting the firm slope of Kyle's shoulder. He expects a shove, a sarcastic jab about personal space. Instead, Kyle shifts subtly, letting Stan slot against him.

"Main Street... quarantined?" Stan rasps, words dissolving into glue as the screen flickers. The fog onscreen swirls with faint patterns — almost glyph-like. Cult shit. Definitely cult shit. He should care more.

The reporter's voice comes in and out. He can barely make out the words from the newscaster as a fog overtakes his mind… or wait… fog over Main Street? No, it must just be the pain meds taking effect. His brain claws at the details, but the Percocet drags it back into the murk as his eyes close.

"Shit," Kyle hisses, body tensing. Stan jerks awake, chin smacking Kyle's collarbone. The movement sends nausea rolling through him.

He tries to focus on the newscaster's words. “Tom, I’m here on Main Street where an unexplained phenomenon struck just moments ago. Authorities are baffled, and the already strained resources of the town are stretched even thinner...” The reporter drones on about the ongoing quarantine, the shadowy figures sighted by eyewitnesses, the increasing reports of disappearances, the damage to buildings.

"Stan." Kyle's fingers card through his hair. "That fog – it all looks just like my nightmares. Is that what you see in yours, too?"

"Mmh." Stan licks dry lips, his tongue thick. "Saw it... at the lab, too." Each word costs him, the ceiling pulsing like it's alive. The TV flickers to a list of missing persons – Stan recognizes Mr. Mackey as one of the photos.

Kyle grabs the remote, volume blaring to life. "-unconfirmed biological agent. Residents urged to shelter in-"

The remote clatters to the floor as Kyle spins toward him. "You saw that fog at the lab? In real life?"

Stan's eyelids flutter. He forces them open as he nods in confirmation, focusing on the mole beneath Kyle's left ear. "The ground started shaking. It's how I cracked my head."

Kyle's fingers linger in Stan's hair for a moment before sliding down to squeeze his hand. "Gotta check on some other patients," Kyle mutters, not meeting Stan's gaze. "Try not to die before my shift ends. Silver lining, with all these disappearances, some of our patients have fucked off to who knows where, so I might be able to get off a little early."

Stan grunts, eyelids at half-mast. "It's not like I'm... going anywhere..." Each word slurs into the next, his tongue thick from whatever cocktail Kyle pumped into him. "Unless the ceiling decides to eat me. It keeps... moving."

Kyle snorts as he stands, the sudden absence of contact leaving Stan's skin prickling. "You're so fucking out of it, dude."

The overhead lights dim as Kyle hits the switch.

"Don't let the creepy shadow guys take me, dude. They probably want my... organs or something."

He meant it as a joke, but Kyle freezes for a moment, his shoulders tensing beneath his white coat. "Nobody's taking you anywhere, shithead. Now shut up and sleep. That's an order."

Stan's laugh turns into a wet cough. He's sinking into the mattress now, the world tilting sideways. Maybe it's the drugs. Maybe it's the way Kyle's silhouette blurs at the edges, haloed in pale light, making him look angel-like. Is Kyle an angel? No - he's too much of a hard ass to be one. Stan still smiles at the thought as he closes his eyes.

The last thing he remembers before he drifts to sleep is a light pressure ghosting across his forehead - warmth lingering for a moment close to the stitches. But he's probably just imagining that, too.

Chapter Text

2024

Kenny stands in front of the mirror in Kyle's bedroom, adjusting his tie for the tenth time as he checks out the borrowed fitted black tuxedo he's wearing for prom night. It doesn't fit perfectly, but it fits well enough. Kyle convinced his mom to let him get a new one for Senior prom so Kenny could use Kyle's suit from last year's Junior prom. Heidi insisted on Kyle wearing blue this time around, probably because she didn't want any reminders of him going with Bebe last year.

"Dude, relax, you look great," Kyle says from his spot on the bed, watching Kenny obsess over every little detail. Kyle had finished putting on his suit a while ago, and his hair was already perfectly styled even before Kenny's arrival.

"I know, I know. Guess I just feel like I don't really look like myself," Kenny sighs, running a hand through his messy blonde hair in an attempt to style it. Kyle had offered him some of his fancy hair products, but they both gave up pretty quick. Kyle's got no clue how to handle Kenny's hair texture, and Kenny's never given enough of a shit to figure it out himself. "I just want everything to be perfect tonight."

It's finally Senior year, and somehow Kenny is still alive. Sometimes. Most of the time, anyways. There were times when Kenny truly thought his next death would be his last, especially when he turned 18 last month. But somehow, Kenny is still coming back from the dead per usual, though his deaths have been much more rare lately. Soon he will be the first McCormick to start college, having earned a full-ride scholarship to CU Boulder thanks to his grades. And that's on top of staying on the Track team and working lots of hours at Walmart.

Kenny doesn't think he's ever felt proud of himself, but reflecting on his time in high school and all the mental shifts he's gone through, he can genuinely say that he is proud of himself. When he was a kid, he never would have even dreamed of being in such a stable place, and Kenny is so excited to celebrate in a couple of weeks at graduation, especially surrounded by Wendy and his friends. Wendy and Kyle's insistence were both pretty brutal at times, but they both have really helped to push him to do extremely well in school to the point where the scholarship he got not only will pay for all his housing and tuition, but he'll also have leftover money for food and textbooks. He won't have to worry about any of the costs, so when he picks up a part-time job, all of the money can go to help Karen out.

"No, you look like yourself… it's just weird to see you not wearing jeans and a hoodie," Kyle says.

"Yeah, but Wendy wouldn't let me wear that. Let me tell you, she vetoed that idea real quick. Couldn't even finish my sentence," Kenny pouts.

"Wait, you actually tried asking if you could take her to prom in jeans? Dude. That's bold, even for you."

Kenny shrugs. He knew Wendy would say no, but figured it wouldn't hurt to ask. Kenny is rarely anxious, but tonight is his and Wendy's first time going public. They've had to be very careful, mainly because they don't want news traveling to Wendy's parents who still look at Kenny suspiciously even though Kenny feels like at this point it should be pretty obvious that he's not a bad influence. Well, not too bad of an influence, anyway. Maybe he does smoke a lot of weed… but it's not like he's out there cheesing every day like he used to. He's still a little crazy, but he's far from the wild kid he used to be.

Kenny's phone buzzes, breaking his train of thought. He glances at the screen and answers with a grin.

"Yo Stanley, you all set for tonight?" Stan is going to be joining their group tonight. It'll be Kenny and Wendy, Kyle and Heidi, Bebe and Clyde, and Stan and some girl that Kenny doesn't know very well named Carly. Carly is good friends with the other girls in their group. The guys in the group are all pitching in to pay for a limo to share.

Stan sighs, his voice tinged with a hint of resignation. "Yeah, I guess so. I'll be on my way there soon. I just wanted to know who to Venmo? For the limo? You haven't been answering my texts."

"Right. Uh, it was Kyle who paid for it, but you can Venmo me and I'll transfer it over to him." Kenny is pretty sure Stan and Kyle aren't friends on Venmo.

"Kay, sounds good. See you guys soon."

"It'll be fun, Stan!" Kenny tries to assure him, but Stan has already hung up.

Prom isn't really Stan's thing. Hell, dances in general aren't his thing. He only goes when someone asks him, which, unfortunately for Stan, has been pretty much every dance, including this one. Carly had other options, but she chose Stan. She seems cool, and she's hot as hell, but even that doesn't seem to be enough to get Stan excited. Kenny can't recall a single time that Stan has shown interest in anyone in High School.

It's not just dances, either. Stan's been checked out of most school stuff, avoiding it like the plague unless it's track. Even then, he's only doing it to have something to put on his college applications. He's got natural talent, but zero passion. Watching Stan sleepwalk his way through high school is depressing as fuck. Kenny has tried his best to be to Stan what Wendy and Kyle have been to him, but it's been rough. He's going to have to take a year break from school to work full-time because his grades aren't good enough for any scholarships, though he somehow did get into CU Boulder as well.

Kenny feels like an asshole for thinking it, but part of him wishes Stan wasn't coming tonight. Stan knows Kenny's taking Wendy to prom, but he doesn't know they're dating. Kenny should've told him ages ago, but he kept putting it off, and now he's stressing about their big relationship reveal. It sucks seeing Stan so miserable all the time, too. He's nothing like the Stan Kenny knew back in elementary and middle school. There was a time when Stan was the leader of their little gang, the one who got them invited to all the cool parties and shit because he could get along with everyone in a way the rest of their little group couldn't.  He could've done anything he wanted in High School, but he just... doesn't want to do anything anymore, not even join the fucking gaming club. He doesn't even try to make other friends besides Kenny and Wendy. It's seriously depressing, but Kenny refuses to give up on him. Stan's his brother, no matter what.

Kyle and Bebe are the only ones who know that Wendy and Kenny are dating. Kyle was pretty judgmental about it at first, saying that even he wouldn't try dating Stan's ex, and he isn't even Stan's friend anymore. He's mostly let it go by now.

"You think Stan's gonna flip his shit about me and Wendy?" Kenny asks, nerves creeping into his voice.

Kyle shrugs. "Who cares if he does? Wendy is her own person, and it's not like you're dating to spite him. Though he might be more pissed that you've been keeping it a secret from him more than anything."

Kenny checks the time on his phone. Clyde and Stan should be here soon; they'd agreed to meet here a little early and go together to Heidi's house where they are meeting to take pictures. Heidi's place is also where they coordinated the limo to pick them up. The girls don't know about the limo yet. Kenny really wanted it to be a surprise for Wendy.

The doorbell rings, and soon they hear a soft knock on the door. Stan. Kenny can't remember the last time he, Kyle and Stan were together in Kyle's room, and that makes him a little sad and nostalgic to think about. Kyle's cat runs to hide under the bed.

"It's open," Kenny calls out.

Stan steps inside, looking awkward as hell in his dark gray suit and blue tie that matches his eyes. He's even got his hair all gelled and styled.

"Damn, dude, you clean up nice!" Kenny says, grinning. They all look pretty fucking sharp, if he does say so himself.

Stan's eyes scan Kyle's room. "Clyde not here yet? You look great too, Kenny. The suit... suits you."

Stan sits down awkwardly on the floor, avoiding looking over at Kyle. He continues to look around the room. "This place hasn't changed much. Still got that weird poster, Kyle?"

"You mean my Lord of the Rings poster? It's a classic, dude. Sorry we can't all have your sophisticated taste in wall decor."

Kenny snickers. "Yeah, Stan, where's your emo quote poster?"

"Fuck off, I never had that. I had a South Park Cows poster, thank you."

"Yeah, and it was the most color you ever had in your room," Kyle snickers.

The doorbell rings again. "That's probably Mr. Fashion himself."

Stan raises an eyebrow. "Since when is Clyde a fashion icon?"

"Since he spent an hour deciding between two nearly identical ties," Kyle says, heading downstairs to answer the door. Kenny and Stan follow, opening the door to reveal Clyde in a brown suit with a tie covered in little yellow ducks.

Stan leans in close to Kenny, whispering, "I thought Kyle said he was choosing between two ties. Where the fuck did he find two different duck ties? And how did Bebe sign off on that?"

Kenny cracks up. "Dude, I can't wait to watch Bebe rip him a new one. She specifically told him to get a yellow tie."

"Well, the ducks are yellow, at least," Stan mutters.

"Hey guys! You all look so fire! What are you laughing at?" Clyde smiles at them.

"Nothing, just excited for tonight! You look awesome, too," Kenny says, composing himself.

Clyde grins. "You guys like my tie? I thought it added a touch of class. Adds some personality, you know? No offense to you guys and your one-toned ties."

"It's very... you, Clyde. Uh, anyways, let's get going. Stan, you cool if we go in your car?" Kyle asks.

Stan grumbles something about wanting to have his own ride in case he needs to bail early, but agrees to drive them to Heidi's.

Heidi's place is a whirlwind of activity when they arrive, the living room filled with their dressed-up friends and the chatter of excited voices. Mrs. Turner is armed with a camera, ready to document every moment. Heidi greets them with a beaming smile, looking stunning in a shimmery silver dress and dark blue heels, her hair in a half-updo. She's already posing for photos with her parents. She grins when she sees Kyle, running to give him a kiss on the cheek.

Clyde grins when he sees Bebe who is wearing a pretty yellow dress with spaghetti straps. She starts to smile at him, but the grin quickly fades when she spots his tie. "What the fuck is that tie? I really didn't ask you for anything that difficult, Clyde. I picked out your suit for you, and all I asked was you get a yellow tie."

Kenny and Stan exchange amused looks, Kenny biting back a laugh as Bebe continues to lay into a crestfallen Clyde.

Carly walks shyly towards Stan, wearing a pastel blue dress. "Thanks again for going with me. I know you aren't into dances all that much, so you just have to stay for a little bit," Carly says.

Kenny scans the room in search of Wendy, finally catching a glimpse of her. Wendy steps forward to greet Kenny, her eyes lighting up. She looks absolutely stunning. Her dark hair is curled, and her lavender dress hugs her in all the right places. "You look amazing, Kenny," she says, taking his arm.

"You look absolutely beautiful, Wendy," Kenny whispers to her. She smiles up at him and has Bebe take a picture of her and Kenny with Wendy's Polaroid camera.

After what feels like a million group photos and couple shots, with Wendy taking plenty of Polaroids with the girls, Kyle whispers to Kenny that the limo has arrived. They start herding everyone towards the door.

"Hold up, you three stay put for a sec," Wendy says, pulling a confused Stan over to where Kenny and Kyle are standing. She waves off Carly's questioning look, promising to return Stan soon.

Wendy grins at the trio. "I want a Polaroid of just you guys."

"If you want one of the boys, why not get Clyde," Kyle asks, raising an eyebrow.

Wendy shrugs. "Just want one with only you three, okay? It'll only take a second. Just humor me."

Kenny smiles at Wendy appreciatively. She probably knew he'd want a pic with just these two.

Stan and Kyle exchange a look but oblige, moving to stand on either side of Kenny. Kyle's arms are folded, and Stan tucks his hands in his pockets.

Wendy steps back, aiming the camera. "Okay, big smiles!"

Kenny throws his arms around their shoulders, pulling them in close against their wills with a grin.

"Dude, stop squeezing so tight," Kyle grunts, trying to wiggle out of his grip.

"Aww, what's the matter, Kyle? Can't handle a little affection?" Kenny teases, squeezing even tighter for good measure.

Stan rolls his eyes. "Dude, let go of me before I shove that camera up your ass."

"Kinky," Kenny winks, releasing them after Wendy snaps the picture. Wendy waves the picture as it develops on the way outside. 

"Oh my God! You got a limo!" Wendy says excitedly, grabbing Kenny's hand and giving him a kiss on the cheek.

They pile in the limo, a buzz of nervous excitement going around. Once Kenny is sure they are away from the Turner's prying stares, he grins at the group in the limo.

"Can you guys believe we've made it? Just a couple more weeks and we're High School graduates!" Kenny says, because he sure as hell can't believe it. He reaches into a bag and pulls out a couple of champagne bottles he'd managed to bribe Kevin to get for him.

Wendy laughs. "You got champagne? I didn't even know you knew what that was."

The limo driver glances back at them suspiciously. 

"Uh, champagne?" Kenny intentionally mispronounces the word, making eye contact with the limo driver. "I'm afraid you're correct in that I don't know what that is, Wendy. What is that? This is.... sparkling cider."

The driver chuckles. "I don't get paid enough to care what you kids are drinking. There's real glasses under the seat, though, if you want something classier than Solo cups for your 'cider'."

There were actually fancy glasses in the compartment, much fancier than the solo cups Kenny had picked up from the Dollar Store. Everyone accepts the champagne, Stan taking his after giving a wary glance to Kenny and Wendy who have gotten increasingly more touchy. Kenny absentmindedly runs his hand up and down Wendy's thigh that's exposed via a slit on her right leg, Wendy leaning into Kenny's side.

Stan downs his first glass in one go and holds it out for more. "Hey Ken, can I get a refill on this 'cider'?" Kenny winces at the sharpness in Stan's voice. If he didn't know about him and Wendy before, he sure as hell does now.

"Dude... Stan, why'd you take that like it's a shot? This shit is expensive; you're supposed to enjoy it." Kenny tries to keep his tone lighthearted.

Stan frowns at Kenny, still holding his cup out expectantly. Kenny holds back a wince at the fierceness in Stan's eyes that he knows is directed towards him. If Stan didn't know that Wendy and Kenny were a couple before, he certainly does now. "Yeah, well... it's just 'sparkling cider',  yeah?  Not enough alcohol in it."

"That's right. It's gotta be at least 80 proof for it to be worth it to you, Stan, huh?" Kyle pipes in. Kenny knows he's doing it in a taunting rather than a joking way. Stan scowls but doesn't respond.

Kenny shoots Kyle a warning glance. He'd really rather not start drama tonight. Kenny can feel Wendy tense up next to him. Kenny sighs and reaches out to pour Stan's cup to the brim, and Stan drinks that next cup way too fast as well. Kenny notices a flask in Stan's pocket and sighs, though he can't say he's surprised. He tries to hold back annoyance at him.

The limo rolls to a stop in front of the school, and even Kenny has to admit the gym looks pretty damn magical. There are pretty LED lights glowing in different colors and even a table with finger foods and punch. 

"Damn, they went all out," Kenny says, nodding towards the gym's entrance where two ice sculptures flank the doors, their surfaces glistening.

Wendy squeezes his hand and leans closer. "It's beautiful. They even got ice sculptures? That's some next-level prom shit. Especially for South Park."

Inside, the music is thumping, the dance floor already packed with their classmates. It's not long before a slow song comes on, and Wendy perks up. Kenny doesn't recognize it, but Wendy looks excited and says it's Taylor Swift, a song called "You Are in Love". Kenny smiles at Wendy's excitement. Turning to her, he offers her his arm.

"Shall we?" His voice is barely above the music. Kenny doesn't think he's said anything so formal since he wrote Stan and Kyle his formal letters when he was in Hawaii with Butters. With a laugh, Wendy takes his arm and lets him lead her towards the dance floor. She puts both arms around his neck and Kenny closes the gap by putting his hands on her waist and pulling her against his chest.

Kenny looks down at her, her eyes bright even under the dark lighting. They begin to move together with ease; Wendy follows Kenny's lead as they sway to the music's rhythm. Despite all the people around them, Kenny feels like they're the only two people in the room. He swallows down the pang of sadness that comes with thinking about the future, determined to stay in this perfect moment with her. Kenny feels each moment acutely—the brush of Wendy's dress against his leg, her fingers tightening around his own as they turn in time with each other.

"You're a pretty great dancer for someone who claims to have never done this before," Wendy murmurs, smiling up at him.

Kenny chuckles softly. "You make it easy."

The song ends and transitions into a much more upbeat song. Kenny pulls Wendy into his arms. He can feel her heartbeat against his chest. After a minute, Wendy softly laughs. "Kenny, I don't think this is the right way to dance to this song."

"I know; I just don't want to let you go," Kenny says defiantly. After another minute he releases her, smiling down at her. They spot Bebe and Clyde nearby dancing with Tolkien and Nichole, and Wendy starts leading the way to their small group, Kenny following close behind. On their way, Kenny catches sight of something - a strange dark reflection off one of the ice sculptures, causing him to stop in his tracks. He looks around him in the direction he saw the odd figure, but there's nothing behind him. It's gone from the ice sculpture when he looks again.

Wendy looks behind her at his distressed expression. "What is it?"

"Nothing," Kenny says quickly. "Just thought I saw... Well, it doesn't matter." He smiles down at her again and joins the group, trying to get back in the mood for dancing to the upbeat song with his friends.

The night goes by too fast for Kenny's liking. He takes advantage of every slow dance by pulling Wendy close to him and wishes there were more slow songs than fast ones. After a couple of hours, Kenny eyes Stan, who had just said goodbye to Carly as she apologetically told him she's going to join some of her friends on the dance floor for a while. Stan watches as Carly smiles and leaves to go dance with some of her friends. He's standing by the punch and finger food table in the corner, close to one of the exits. He takes a sip from his flask. Judging from his swaying, Kenny is pretty sure he's already drank quite a bit.

Wendy follows his gaze, frowning. "We should probably get Stan home, or at least take that flask away from him. Maybe both."

Kenny nods, sighing. "Yeah..." He hesitantly walks up towards Stan, grabbing his shoulder despite his drunken protests to try to pull him out of the room so they don't make a scene.

Stan jerks away from his touch, slurring out a "Fuck off, Kenny."

"Dude, c'mon, you're wasted.  You shouldn't be in public, and you definitely should not be drinking more. Come on," Kenny says, attempting again to pull at Stan's shoulder.

A few nearby groups have started to take notice despite the fact that Kenny and Stan were keeping their voices down, watching the exchange with curious eyes. Wendy steps closer, placing a gentle hand on Stan's arm.

"Stan, come on. Let's go get some fresh air, okay? It's a little crowded in here. Besides, it smells like sweat and it's gross in here anyways," Wendy says.

Stan glares at her, shaking off her touch. "This is the first time tonight I was finally able to fucking be alone. God, leave me alone you guys!"

His words are slurred, flecks of spit hitting Kenny's cheek. Kenny wipes it away, annoyed, but he doesn't budge from Stan's side. The music pounds in the background as they stand there in tense silence, the onlookers pretending not to stare.

Stan takes another swig from his flask, grimacing at the burn. He looks and Wendy and Kenny sadly. His eyes start to water and he starts to ramble. "I'm not stupid, you guys. Or... maybe I am, I don't know. I could always tell there was something going on between you guys. Why the fuck couldn't you just tell me? You're my friends for god's sake."

Kenny crosses his arms over his chest. "Stan..." he starts but trails off when Wendy interjects gently by shaking her head at him, silently conveying that talking won't help right now.

She looks at Kenny pleadingly before turning back to Stan. "We are your friends, Stan. I swear. We were just scared of how you'd react. And I promise, we can talk about this, you can even yell at us if you want. But not now, not when you're this drunk. Please, just let us get you home so you can sleep it off. Carly's off with her friends anyway, she won't mind."

"No, fuck off! I don't want to talk to you guys right now."

Wendy folds her arms defiantly. "Well, tough shit, Stan. Whether you believe it or not, Kenny and I care about you. And you're way too drunk to be here right now. We need to get you home, and you need to eat something."

Stan throws up his hands in exasperation. "Fine! Stay with me, then! But I'm not leaving. You don't get to tell me what to do. And while you're here, maybe you can finally tell me why you broke up with me in the first place. You said you'd tell me someday. Well, it's someday, Wendy. So let's hear it." His eyes shine with the threat of tears, but also with a drunken resolve that makes Kenny feel uncomfortable.

Kenny gulps, feeling more uncomfortable by the second. He'd really rather not have to be with both Stan and Wendy while Stan drunkenly asks her why she left him.

Wendy looks at Stan with pity in her eyes, keeping a tight grip on Kenny's wrist. "Okay, Stan. I will. If you let us take you home."

The tears in Stan's eyes evaporate, replaced by a stubborn, angry resolve. "No. Tell me right now. You guys have decided to keep everything a secret from me. I don't fucking care if this sounds pathetic, but you two are literally my only friends. So you owe me. No more bullshit, Wendy. Why did you break up with me? Spit it out."

Kenny's annoyance turns into anger. "Stan! Don't fucking talk to her like that. You don't tell her what to do! She already said she'd tell you, so back off!" Wendy tightens her grip on Kenny, also looking angry.

Stan laughs humorously, swaying from drunkenness. "Dude, seriously? Wendy always tells me what to do all the fucking time. You guys are both bossing me around to get me to leave right now. I can fucking ask her to tell me something that she should have said a long time ago. Fuck off, Kenny."

Kenny opens his mouth to retort back, but Wendy tightens her grip even more. Jesus Christ, Wendy is stronger than she looks. She's gripping him tight enough to bruise him, and Kenny does not bruise easily. Her face is red with frustration and anger as she glares at Stan.

"You want to know why I left you? Fine then! You never actually loved me or even liked me romantically, Stan!"

"What the hell?! That's not true, Wendy!" Stan sputters.

Wendy's glare doesn't falter. "Yes, Stan. It is. And I'm not mad about it now, trust me. Maybe you loved me, sure. But not... not in the way you were supposed to."

"And what the hell does that mean?" Stan exclaims.

The groups around them are now turned back to them, curious to watch the unfolding drama. Wendy and Stan aren't necessarily yelling, but their voices are loud and passionate enough for those nearby to listen in on.

"It means that there was always someone else who you clearly loved more than me!"

Stan looks genuinely confused. "What the fuck are you talking about? I've never even had a crush on anyone else! I... I fucking adored you, Wendy!"

Wendy fiercely shakes her head. "No, Stan. You never paid me half the attention of love that you gave Kyle."

Stan's jaw drops, shock written all over his face. "Wait, what? You broke up with me because of Kyle?"

Even Kenny is a little taken aback by this. He looks at Wendy with confusion, but her gaze is still angrily on Stan. Kenny notices more of the people in the crowd nudging those around them and pointing at Wendy and Stan.

"Yes, Stan! I broke up with you because you clearly cared about Kyle more than me! God, Stan, do I really have to spell it out for you? Every time I had issues, you left me to deal with it alone. Every time Kyle had a minor inconvenience, you would drop your soul to run to help out. Seriously, if you had shown me half the passion you acted towards Kyle, maybe we wouldn't have-"

Kenny has heard enough. "Okay, guys. You're starting to make a scene. Let's get out of here."

"No, let Wendy finish! She's so wrong. I never cared about Kyle more than her," Stan snaps.

Wendy laughs bitterly. "Are you fucking kidding me, Stan?  Remember when Cartman started that rumor about me in class and I was getting picked on? You couldn't even be bothered to call me back because you were too busy helping Kyle with some trivial bullshit his mom was putting him through. It wasn't nearly as bad as what I was dealing with, but you dropped everything to be there for him, like always. You put so much fucking energy into Kyle, and you were always way more excited to see him than me. It's like you never even noticed how much it hurt me when you ignored me for him. I deserve better than that in a relationship, and now I finally get better than that in a relationship with Kenny. So you don't have the audacity to be mad at me. Stan, stop fucking with yourself. It's so obvious. You loved him. Hell, you still do. So stop being mad at me and Kenny, and just suck it up and make up with Kyle."

Stan stares at Wendy, mouth agape, looking like she just slapped him across the face. "Are you... are you saying I'm gay? That I'm in love with Kyle? What the actual fuck, Wendy?"

He looks genuinely confused at Wendy's reasoning, though Kenny can't disagree with Wendy's assessment. He decides for safety reasons not to say that though, much preferring to live through Senior prom night before he even gets to the good part.

Stan's outburst has drawn even more attention from the people around them, but he and Wendy seem oblivious to the gawking onlookers. Kenny's about to suggest they take this shitshow outside when Kyle himself walks up with Heidi, grinning at Kenny and Wendy. Kenny tries to shake his head at Kyle to indicate that now is not a good time, but Kyle and Heidi make their way over to the corner.

"Hey, Kenny! I feel like I haven't seen you since the limo. We've been looking for you so we can hang out since we were thinking of leaving soon," Kyle grins at him.

Kenny grimaces, not sure what the fuck to say now that Kyle has chosen the worst possible moment to show up. The nosy assholes around them have completely stopped dancing, watching the drama unfold with rapt attention now that Kyle's here. Kenny can feel the weight of their stares boring into him.

"Kyle! Hey, man, uh... yeah, totally! Listen, is it cool if we catch up with you in a-"

Kyle cuts him off, finally picking up on the weird vibe. "What's going on here?" He looks between the three of them, suspicion and concern written on his face. Wendy and Stan are glaring daggers at each other, occasionally shooting fierce looks at Kyle too.

Kyle leans in close to Kenny, whispering, "I'm guessing Stan's not taking the news of you two dating very well, huh?"

Stan throws his hands up in exasperation. "Fuck this, I'm out. Tell Carly I got sick or something." He roughly shoulders past Kyle on his way out, stumbling drunkenly and grabbing onto the wall for balance as he makes his exit.

The crowd is still dead silent, all eyes on Kyle, who seems to finally notice the attention. He rubs his shoulder where Stan bumped him, annoyance flashing across his face.

"The fuck did I do this time?" he grumbles.

Kenny lets out a low whistle. "Kyle, buddy... you've got the worst timing. Like, you could win awards for it."

The onlookers, realizing they've been caught staring, awkwardly turn away and try to act like they're dancing again, trying to start dancing again to an Ice Spice song.

Wendy's still seething, glaring at the door Stan just stumbled through.

Kyle sighs, moving to follow Stan. Heidi looks annoyed and impatient. "Of course he got wasted and ruined everyone's night. Selfish prick. I'm gonna call his dumbass an Uber since you two are just standing there with your thumbs up your asses," Kyle mutters.

Wendy grabs his arm, "No, Kyle, bad idea. Let us handle it."

Kenny nods in agreement, "Yeah, man. Let us handle it. We'll go find him and make sure he gets home safe."

Kyle hesitates, clearly torn, but eventually relents. "Fine, but you better text me later and let me know he's okay, even if he is being a total fucking douchebag right now."

Kenny claps him on the shoulder. "Will do, bro. Now go have fun, dance your little ginger ass off. Heidi looks like she's about to explode if you make her wait any longer."

Wendy and Kenny exchange a worried glance before heading outside to find Stan. They find him sitting on the curb, his head in his hands.

Wendy approaches him cautiously, "Stan, listen. I'm sorry; we really shouldn't be having this conversation while you're so drunk. We need to get you home. Can you stand up?"

Stan looks up at her, eyes glassy and unfocused. "Why do you even give a shit? Just... go back inside, enjoy your prom night."

Wendy sighs, "Stan, we're not going to leave you. We're your friends, okay? We just want to make sure you're safe."

Stan tries to stand up, but he's too unsteady on his feet. Kenny rushes over to help him, but Stan pushes him away. "I don't need your help. I can do it myself."

Kenny throws his hands up in surrender. "Alright, man, whatever you say." He knows damn well Stan's not making it two steps on his own, but he's not about to argue with a belligerent drunk.

Wendy pulls out her phone and orders an Uber. "It'll be here in a few. And don't even think about arguing, Stan, you're in no condition to walk home. I'll come get you in the morning to get your car from Heidi's."

She shoots Kenny a look, and he knows they're on the same page. No way in hell are they letting Stan ride alone in this state. Dude would probably end up passed out in a ditch somewhere.

The Uber ride is tense and silent, Stan nearly passed out in the backseat while Wendy and Kenny stew in their own thoughts. When they finally pull up to the Marsh residence, they have to practically drag Stan's nearly unconscious ass out of the car.

The lights are on upstairs. Kenny was hoping the Marshes would be asleep, but it seems like they aren't going to be so lucky. The front door groans a welcome as Wendy and Kenny half-drag, half-carry Stan into the darkened foyer. Kenny gives Wendy a weary look as he eyes the light coming from the master bedroom upstairs. They drag Stan half-conscious up the stairs to his bedroom.

Sure enough, Randy fucking Marsh appears in the hallway, beer bottle in hand, looking like he just rolled out of bed. Or a dumpster. Kenny is at least glad that he's wearing a shirt and pants as usually when Kenny gets the unfortune of running into drunk or high Randy, he's usually missing at least one or the other.

"Oh, Stanley! Home early from prom, huh?" Randy slurs, taking a precarious step further into Stan's room. "And look, he brought his little buddies to tuck him in, how sweet."

Kenny tenses, glancing at Wendy who bites her lip in concern. They hoist Stan between them more securely as Randy continues his descent into the bedroom, swaying with each step.

"Look at you," Randy continues, squinting at Stan. "The big man on campus can't even handle his booze. Your old man could drink you under the table before he even hit puberty."

Stan groans, the sound muffled by his own arm. Wendy clears her throat. "Mr. Marsh, we were just—"

"Ah! Wendy Testaburger! The girl who broke my son's heart!" Randy hiccups dramatically. "And Kenneth! The poor redneck McCormick! What a fucking circus act my house has become."

Kenny offers a weak smile. "We're just here to make sure Stan's safe."

Randy scoffs, taking another swig from his bottle. "Safe? The world isn't safe, Kenny boy. Stanley, why aren't you bringing your hot date home? Why are you bringing your ex-girlfriend and this redneck piece of shit into your bedroom instead? You're 18! When I was your age, I had a girl over all the time."

Wendy, Kenny, and Stan remain silent, Wendy and Kenny tethered to one side of Stan, arms interlocked. Kenny reaches his free hand over Stan to squeeze Wendy's hand, trying to think of a way out of the situation. Stan's room is dark save for the light from the moon and the hallway light filtering in.

Randy eyes the guitar resting against Stan's bedpost. "What's this? Still strumming on this piece of junk?"

He grabs the guitar by the neck, plucking at the strings discordantly.  "Did you know this dumbass wants to study music in college? Fucking music! Kid could've been on the football team and get good grades for a scholarship, but no, he'd rather prance around with this fucking guitar like some kind of fairy."

"Please don't touch that," Wendy says softly.

Randy ignores her, instead launching into an off-key rendition of a song that might be 'Smoke on the Water'. It's painful to listen to and only gets worse as he tries to sing along.

Kenny winces and places a hand on Randy's shoulder."Hey, uh, maybe we should let Stan rest now, yeah?"

Randy rounds on him with surprising speed for a man so inebriated. "Oh, I get it. You all think you're better than me!" He thrusts the guitar forward like it's an accusing finger.

Stan's room suddenly feels too small, the air thick with tension and the sour tang of alcohol.

"Nobody's saying that," Kenny tries to assure him, even though he knows there's no way to actually talk logically with him at the moment.

Randy stumbles back against Stan's desk, sending papers fluttering to the floor. His grip on the guitar tightens as he glares at it like it's responsible for all his woes.

"You know what your problem is, Stanley?" Randy points at his son with the headstock of the guitar. "You never commit! You could've been something great in high school, earned yourself a scholarship... you could've stuck with one of those sports. But you've always been so goddamn sensitive!"

Wendy steps forward with her hands outstretched soothingly. "Mr. Marsh—"

But Randy isn't listening; he's caught in his own spiral now. "You know, I was going to be a rockstar at one point. I was so close. But then, your mother said it was either the band or her. So, I chose... well, I chose wrong, obviously. I don't even know why I taught you to play in the first place. If I'd known it would turn my son into a spineless pussy who'd rather finger a fretboard than a cheerleader...." Randy continues eyeing the guitar in his hands with anger, but Kenny sees a flash of sadness pass through his eyes as well.

Randy brings the guitar crashing down onto his knee. The sound of splintering wood cuts through the air like a scream as pieces scatter across Stan's bedroom floor.

Kenny lunges forward to catch what remains of it but stops short when he sees Stan's eyes flicker open — clouded with confusion and pain. Wendy covers her mouth with her hands while Kenny shakes his head in disbelief.

"Look at that," Randy slurs, dropping the remains of the guitar onto the bed where it lands with an undignified thump next to Stan. "That’s what giving up looks like."

Stan just stares at the shattered remains, blinking slowly like his brain can't quite process what just happened. Kenny's seen Stan call his dad an asshole to his face more times than he can count, but now, Stan seems beyond words, too drunk or too broken to even muster a 'fuck you.' He just blinks slowly at the wreckage of his beloved instrument as if processing what had happened takes every ounce of sobriety he can muster.

"You see," Randy continues in an almost conversational tone as he plops down onto Stan’s desk chair which creaks under his weight, "life’s about making your mark... doing something memorable! Like… like winning a nobel prize or selling award winning weed!"

Stan mutters something unintelligible before passing out again — oblivious to his father’s ramblings and Kenny’s helpless attempts at peacekeeping. Wendy steps closer to Kenny and whispers just loud enough for only him to hear over Randy’s monologue about ‘the time he almost invented something.’

"We need to get him out of here," she says urgently.

Kenny nods in agreement — they will have to maneuver past Randy without setting him off any further.

But before they can act on their plan, Randy leans back too far in Stan’s chair which gives way under him — sending him sprawling backward onto the floor with a grunt while still clutching his bottle.

For one brief moment, there’s silence except for Randy’s heavy breathing from where he lies amidst the broken guitar wreckage. Wendy seizes the opportunity to guide Kenny toward moving Stan away from this sad spectacle before anything else could go wrong tonight, ordering an Uber through the app on her phone.

The Uber ride to Kenny's house is quiet, the atmosphere heavy with unspoken thoughts. Wendy keeps glancing in the rearview mirror, like she's making sure Stan's place isn't following them. Kenny can't take his eyes off Stan, passed out against his shoulder, his breathing shallow and uneven. It's like Stan's weight is pressing down on Kenny's soul, a physical reminder of the shitstorm they just walked out of.

Wendy reaches into her bag and pulls out two of the polaroid photos from earlier tonight- one with Kenny and Wendy posing with bright smiles, and the one she took of Kenny with Kyle and Stan, Kenny grinning in the middle. Despite everything that just happened, the photos bring a smile to Kenny's face, and he gently places them in his wallet, knowing he will always keep them in his wallet.

When they get to Kenny's, Wendy helps him maneuver Stan's deadweight onto the bed, handling him with a gentleness that's a total 180 from her frustration at prom. Once Stan's tucked in and snoring away, Wendy turns to Kenny.

"He'll be okay now," she says softly, but Kenny knows she's saying it more for his benefit than Stan's.

Kenny nods but says nothing. His mind races with thoughts he can't quite articulate — not yet. Tonight has reminded him that they'll all be off to college soon and that nothing will ever be the same. Kenny doesn't know what that means as far as how much he will die, but he does know one thing. It means that he nears even closer to his final death, the thing he was warned about on his 16th birthday. He's always felt so isolated and alone, but as he thinks about his future, his feeling of loneliness increases to a level that Kenny didn't even think was possible for a human to even feel.

He turns away from Stan's sleeping form and wanders over to the window. The night outside is dark and still, the stars distant and uncaring. He presses his forehead against the cool glass pane.

"I'm sorry things ended up like this... you handled it really well, though. You're a good friend, Ken," Wendy says from behind him, her voice low and comforting.

Kenny huffs out a humorless laugh. "Am I? Because it feels like I just keep fucking up."

Wendy moves to stand beside him. "You didn't fuck up, Kenny. You're dealing with...a lot. I can tell. And don't you dare try to smile and laugh casually that you're not, because we both know that you'd be full of shit."

Kenny snorts. A lot is an understatement, and they both know it. "You have no idea."

She studies him for a moment before speaking again. "So tell me, then. Kenny. Tell me what you've been keeping from me."

The words hang in the air between them — an invitation, a challenge. Wendy has tried multiple times over the past couple of years to get Kenny to talk to her on a deeper level, but Kenny has always expertly avoided the subject of his immortality with her because he knows she would just forget the conversation, and that would hurt more than keeping it from her in the first place.

He hesitates, every instinct screaming at him to maintain his silence. But Wendy's brown eyes gaze into his own with such a loving intensity, such a caring intensity.

"I..." His voice cracks. Wendy waits patiently. "I'm tired," he admits at last, his voice barely above a whisper. "So fucking tired."

She takes his hand, lacing their fingers together, and the simple gesture is like an anchor keeping him from drifting away.

"It's okay to be tired," she says gently, and Kenny wants to laugh, because she has no idea what he's talking about, not really.

He turns to face her fully now, the dam within him crumbling piece by piece under her gentle gaze.

"I'm not just tired," he begins again, voice stronger but laced with pain. "Wendy, you won't believe me, and you're just going to forget this conversation. I'm immortal. I can't die. I have died hundreds of times before, and I always come back to life."

Wendy doesn't flinch or laugh or dismiss his words as drunken ramblings — because they're not drunk now; they’re too far removed from the champagne earlier that seems like a lifetime ago. Nor does she dismiss his words as a prank as Stan and Kyle have done in the past. Instead, she takes a step closer, her eyes searching his intensely.

"Immortal?" she echoes quietly.

"Yeah." Kenny runs a hand through his hair in frustration. "I die over and over again...and I always come back."

Wendy absorbs this revelation quietly. "How?" It's all she can manage — one word laced with curiosity rather than doubt.

Kenny shakes his head; how can he explain something he himself doesn't fully understand?

"Fuck if I know," he says helplessly. "But I've died so many times..seen so much shit."

"It’s lonely," he adds after a moment, his voice barely audible now.

Wendy closes the gap and wraps her arms around him. Kenny sinks into her hold like someone starved for contact — which in many ways he is; contact that doesn’t reset or fade away with time’s relentless march forward.

"I wanted someone else to know...just one person who’d remember," he whispers into her hair as they stand entwined amidst shadows cast by moonlight. "But it fucking sucks, because you're gonna forget this too, just like everyone else."

Wendy holds on tighter, Kenny clutching onto her with a shaking hand. He wishes he hadn’t just told her. The thought of her forgetting this by the morning time fills him with unbearable dread. He swallows a lump in his throat.

She pulls back slightly to look him in the eye, her eyes filled with a familiar Wendy determination. "We have to figure out a way for me to remember this. I can't just…. Forget this."

Kenny sighs, the flicker of hope in his chest sputtering out as quickly as it ignited. "Wendy, I've tried everything. Notes, recordings, fucking skywriting. It doesn't work. My curse, or whatever the fuck it is, makes people forget. Every time."

Wendy's brow furrows as she ponders the problem. She wants to be a lawyer and has always loved solving puzzles, and Kenny can see the wheels turning in her head.

"Maybe that's because you're trying to preserve the memory directly," she muses, tapping her chin. "What if we tried something more abstract? A trigger that doesn't explicitly remind me, but leads me to the truth on my own?"

Kenny considers this, hope flickering inside for the first time in ages even though he knows better than to actually get his hope up. "Like what?"

"Let's think outside the box," Wendy says, stepping away and beginning to pace the room. "Something symbolic, maybe...an object or an action that doesn't relate directly to your deaths, but still somehow points me back to it."

Kenny watches her pace, admiration for her sharp mind growing by the second. She stops suddenly and snaps her fingers.

"What if we created a puzzle? A series of clues that only I would understand because they relate to shared experiences or inside jokes between us?"

"That... could work," Kenny says slowly, hardly daring to let himself believe it. "But it'd have to be something you encounter regularly, so it doesn't just fade away."

Wendy nods eagerly. "What about music? Every time I hear a certain song—"

"No," Kenny interrupts gently. "Music is too common; it wouldn't stand out enough."

They fall silent again, both lost in thought until Wendy's eyes light up again.

"Kenny," she says excitedly, "what if we turn it into a game? Something continuous that we can play over time?"

"A game?" Kenny repeats doubtfully.

"Yes! We could create our own version of tag—you know, like when we were kids? Except this time, there are special rules and conditions."

Wendy's excitement is palpable, and Kenny can't help but be drawn into the possibility. "Okay, say we do this game. How does it help you remember I'm immortal?"

Wendy sits down next to Kenny. "Here's the thing: every time 'it'—the tag—is passed between us, it comes with a coded message. Something that seems innocuous to anyone else, but triggers the memory for me. They keyword here is it really does have to be true triggers, so we condition myself to piece it together on my own. We could use phrases, symbols, anything that we decide on now. It may take some trial and error, but you have to promise to keep reminding me you’re immortal like you just did now and where we left off the last time you told me."

Kenny nods, beginning to see where she's going with this. "So, if I 'tag' you with a phrase or symbol we've agreed on, it's meant to remind you of my... situation."

"Exactly," Wendy beams. "And we'll change the symbol or phrase every time I figure it out, to keep it fresh. The constant change will force me to actively remember why we're doing this."

"But what's to stop you from forgetting the game itself?" Kenny asks, the skepticism in his voice barely masked.

Wendy bites her lip, pondering. "We make it a habit. A part of our daily routine. Plus, we can involve something you know I do every day. Like...like drinking coffee or my cup of ice! You can leave a note under my coffee cup, or use a marker to write the symbol on the bottom of the cup."

Kenny chuckles, feeling a little lighter than he has in a long time. "You're determined to make this work, aren't you?"

Wendy's gaze is steady, filled with an intensity that Kenny has always admired. "I refuse to believe there's no solution. Besides, this could be fun. It’s a puzzle that’s actually difficult. And we get the opportunity to try to crack it."

Kenny feels a warmth spread through him, a mix of affection for Wendy and the flicker of hope she's ignited. "Okay, we'll try it. But we need rules. Strict ones to make sure the game works and doesn't just become another forgotten attempt."

Together, they brainstorm the rules. They don't stop the game, not until they find a permanent solution and Wendy remembers on her own. They will document each tag in a shared online journal that only Kenny has the password to. Wendy makes Kenny promise not to give up, even if she keeps forgetting.

Kenny grins back, the weight on his shoulders a little lighter. He pulls Wendy in and gives her a deep kiss. "Tag- You're it." 

Chapter Text

2035

Wendy is already at Kyle's parent's house when Stan and Kyle get back. She looks lost in thought as she studies the notes on Kyle's wall. Her backpack rests on Kyle's bed, bulging from all the documents Stan haphazardly put in it. Her gaze only drops from the wall briefly as she greets them. Stan grabs the backpack off the bed, sitting down on the floor and depositing the contents from the backpack onto the floor, not wanting to waste any time.

"Hey, guys. Stan, how are you doing? And Kyle, how were things at the hospital?"

Stan does a one shoulder shrug as he tries to organize the piles of paper that are scattered on the floor, sipping from his thermos some of the coffee that Kyle brewed for him at the hospital when he complained that the pain medicine won't stop him from being drowsy. The coffee is pretty disgusting, but according to Kyle, it's very strong since he got it from the doctor's break room.

Kyle sits down next to Stan on the floor, thumbing through some of the papers. "That place is fucked. South Park is fucked. We're all fucked."

Wendy frowns and joins them on the floor, sitting crisscross. "Care to enlighten us as to why?"

Kyle sighs. "It's just a shitshow. Patients and staff kept disappearing. It's so awkward having to go out to the patient's family to inform them that their loved one just vanished. Guys, I really think we're genuinely running out of time here to stop whatever it is Kenny wants us to stop."

"Let's figure out how to get to that dimension, then," Wendy says, sounding determined. They sit in a circle over the backpack, looking for anything that sticks out.

Stan flips through papers until he finds one that catches his eye. "Kyle... it's like that map in Kenny's wallet." Stan pulls out his phone to compare it to the picture he took from the hospital, and sure enough, it's similar. But this one is much more detailed. A map full of names that Stan can vaguely tie to the cult.

Stan points to where 'R'yleh' rests on the map. "This place has to have some kind of significance. R'yleh, the place they mentioned in my voicemail." Stan takes out his phone again to play the voicemail for Wendy.

"I don't understand... why would they specifically target you, Stan? I was the one who knew about Kenny's immortality," Wendy says after she shudders from listening to the playback.

"Uh, I don't know. It's not like I wanted to be targeted. But it's a warning that R'yleh is where dead men go, and that madness will find me there. So... I think I'm supposed to go there, where ever it is."

"Well, according to our earlier research," Kyle says, "R'lyeh is some kind of underwater city where this Cthulhu creature is sleeping."

"There's really only one substantial underwater structure in South Park. Stark's Pond," Wendy mutters.

"So maybe the entrance to the other dimension is somewhere over by the Pond?" Kyle says, thinking out loud.

Stan flips through more pages, but everything else seems to be unrelated notes about different assed animals. He continues inspecting the papers until one thing captures his attention. It's on a diagram of a 7-assed turtle, the document clearly just one of Dr. Mephesto's. But there's a drawing on the back of a large weeping willow tree, drawn in orange pen. There are some smaller aspen trees drawn around it, but the weeping willow tree is clearly the subject of the drawing.

Realization dawns on Stan as vague memories flood back from the summer Kenny dragged them to learn more about the cult. "Kyle! Remember that weeping willow tree the cult gathered around? Over by Stark's canyon?" Stan points to the drawing.

Recognition lights up Kyle's features. "Dude, that has to be it! The entrance to the portal!"

Wendy lays out the map. "Yes, that's it! Look here on this map. This location here is in the same orange pen. So we enter it from the side of Stark's Canyon, and use this map to navigate us in the other portal to R'yleh, which must correspond to around where the Pond is. We've got to get there before they get to the door."

"Okay, so we know the location... but how do we even get into the portal? Just waltz up to the tree and ask nicely?" Stan says, feeling discouraged.

Kyle leans in, his eyes on the map. "There has to be a ritual or something. Why does the map say 'Manuscript of Pnakotus?' It's a map, not a manuscript. Stan, do you remember anything in the databases about that manuscript?"

Stan jumps up to pull his work laptop down. "There was a lot of stuff in the databases... let me see if I can pull it up." He located the manuscript on the database, eyes skimming the long text. "It mentions a ritual... but it's vague. Something about aligning with the stars and speaking some words at the stroke of midnight."

"Does it at least give you the words we're supposed to say?" Kyle asks.

"No," Stan groans, close to snapping the laptop shut in frustration.

"What if... what if we don't need to know the exact words? Maybe it's more about the intention?" Wendy suggests, though even she sounds skeptical of her own words.

Kyle nods slowly. "It's worth a shot, I guess. Mostly because it's all we have."

Stan sighs. "Yeah, I guess it's worth trying at least. Well, let's get going then," he says, standing up.

Wendy and Kyle give Stan a weird look.

"Dude, we're not going right now!" Kyle says.

"You said it yourself that we don't have a lot of time!" Stan says.

"Stan, settle down. We're not going tonight; we're not prepared. We should try to see if we can figure anything out tomorrow night at Tolkien's game night. We know there are people in the town in the cult, and if we can get someone who's in it, we may be able to get the words necessary for the ritual," Wendy says.

Stan takes a couple of steadying breaths. He doesn't really see how they can actually prepare for this and wants to at least go to the canyon even if it's just to scope out the area. But then he remembers the images from the news of the fog and shadows and shudders, remembering the feeling of the fog on him from the lab earlier today.

Stan nods. "Okay. Yeah, good idea. But we should at least go the night after tomorrow, even if it's just to search the area."

The others nod in agreement, the air thick with anxiety and uncertainty.

As they enter Tolkien's house the next night, Stan hears the familiar voices of his old friends and classmates. He breathes in the smell of beer and pizza. He's glad to see that there's only beer and no heavier liquor, because he's not sure if he'd be able to control himself right now otherwise. There's the sound of the laughter, but the laughter sounds tense, forced even.

"Guys, you made it!" Tolkien greets them, still wearing semi-formal clothing from his work day. "We were just about to start a game of Mafia. Perfect timing."

Red does a double-take when she sees Stan. “What the hell happened to you?”

Stan frowns before he remembers that he looks like shit. Unfortunately, his bangs weren’t long enough to style over the stitches, and it was too warm to try to pull off wearing a sweater over his arm sling. It didn’t occur to him that this may look slightly sketchy. 

“Uh… car accident,” Stan says. Stan is relieved that he’s not particularly known for a lot of talking, because the others seem to accept this answer and nobody presses for further information. 

Clyde grins sloppily at Stan as he takes a seat next to him. Stan grabs a beer, ignoring his old classmates as they play the game, letting Kyle take over the socializing aspects. Stan is surprised they even make it through the game, because the conversation keeps going back to the people disappearing and the fog around Main Street. Everyone seems eager to listen to the other’s speculations. They also share condolences and memories of Kenny.

 Just as they wrap up the game, a familiar voice calls out, "Miss me, losers?"

"Cartman, what the hell are you doing here?" Stan asks, the tension in the room skyrocketing. Stan warily looks at Kyle, trying to convey to him to just not engage with Cartman.

"Uh, I was invited, buttfucker.  Wasn’t I, Tolkien? Ew, what the fuck happened to you, Stan, you somehow look even worse than the other day.”

Tolkien gives an apologetic look to everyone. "Yes, he was invited. I figured it would be good to not exclude anyone. Figured we can catch up and...discuss the things happening in town together."

Cartman, unfazed by the clear tension in the room, plops down on an empty seat, grabbing a couple of slices of pizza. "So, about this lockdown and all the freaky shit happening around town. It sucks that there had to be the lockdown aspect of it all because it means people like these two here are back in South Park, but aside from that, it's pretty interesting, huh?"

Bebe eyes Cartman with a mix of disdain and curiosity. "Well, considering how most weird things in this town seem to come back to you, Cartman. I wouldn't be surprised if you know something about it we don't."

Others in the group mutter in agreement. Cartman scoffs, rolling his eyes dramatically. "Please, Bebe. If I were behind this, do you really think I'd be stuck here with you losers?"

"But it makes sense, dude! You always had some type of crazy plan. Maybe you finally did something that went too far! You have to know something about it, so just tell us, man!" Tweek pipes up, his voice rising with every word. Craig puts a calming arm around him, whispering something in his ear.

"Yeah! Remember that time you had that theme park and wouldn't let any of us in? Or when you pretended to be a psychic detective? Or that one time you turned the cafeteria into a mafia food joint and almost got us killed," Clyde chimes in loudly.

"Or when you tried starting your own church and scammed everyone out of their money?" Heidi adds.

"It was a legitimate religious movement!" Cartman retorts, his voice an octave higher in his defense.

Stan watches with curiosity as more and more people speak up, yelling at Cartman and recalling some of Cartman's numerous and often dangerous schemes from the past. Stan doesn't think that Cartman actually has much to do with what's going on, nor does he want to offer classified information to anyone in the room. He sure as hell doesn't want to go to Cartman's defense, because he can't blame his old friends for ganging up on him. It's not Stan's fault that Cartman did so much shit that it's coming back to bite him in the ass right now. Kyle looks like he's trying to hide back a smile, clearly enjoying this. Stan takes a long swig of his beer as the energy in the room continues to shift into irritation towards Cartman.

Cartman's face is red with anger. "Okay, okay! You've all had your fun! But I'm seriously, you guys. I don't have anything to do with this one! Why would I sabotage my own town? There's no profit for that, no reason! Like I would have time for that kind of petty small town bullshit!" he yells.

"You're seriously calling what's happening 'petty'? People are disappearing, Cartman. And we're all trapped here," Tolkien says.

Cartman is on his feet now. "Screw this, I'm going home! I thought we could have a nice discussion about this together, but noooo. You all decide to gang up on me! You're wasting your time. I've been too busy with my business ventures to try doing something like this."

Tolkien steps forward, his demeanor changing from casual host to officer mode. Stan knows that Tolkien likely only organized tonight to see if anyone had any information, but now he’s also wondering if it was also partially to get Cartman specifically for questioning. "Alright, that's enough. Everyone calm down. Eric, everyone is bringing up fair points. Given your history... I think it's best if we take this down to the station for formal questioning. Please don't fight this, Eric. I have enough on you for your past crimes to arrest you on the spot, but I think it would be best if you just came willingly with me to the station right now, don't you?"

Kyle nearly chokes on a piece of pizza, barely holding back a laugh. Stan instinctively brings a hand to Kyle's back, patting him.

"What?!" Cartman explodes. "You can't be serious! I'm being framed!"

"Framed? B-By who? The entire t-t-town?" Jimmy asks, a smirk playing on his lips as he leans on his crutches.

"Maybe it was ManBearPig," Craig suggests dryly, eliciting snickers from around the room. Stan bites back a laugh.

Tolkien has a strong arm on Cartman's shoulder, trying to usher him out the front door.

"Stan! Kahl! You two know I have nothing to do with this; say something, you assholes!" Cartman yells. The crowd turns to look at them, and Stan awkwardly takes away his hand from Kyle's back.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, fatass. Looks to me like you reap what you sow," Kyle says calmly, giving intense eye contact to Cartman. Tolkien has Cartman out the door before he can respond.

The room is quiet as the front door closes. Some people look relieved, but the tension is still clearly there.

"What was he meaning? That you guys know he has nothing to do with it?" Bebe asks.

Stan gives a one-shouldered shrug, picking up another beer desperately. "How should we know? We aren't Cartman's keepers," Kyle says.

"Wait, guys. If we're throwing around accusations based on history, then what about Stan and Kyle? They were always with Cartman and Kenny back in the day, getting into some weird shit," Bebe says.

"That's what I've been saying ," Craig mutters.

Stan's stomach drops as a chorus of agreement rises. The air suddenly feels too thick around him, the walls of Tolkien's living room feeling like they're closing in.

"Yeah, and all the weirdest stuff started happening right after Kenny's death. Are you sure you actually got in a car accident, Stan? I don’t buy that for one second," Heidi chimes in, her eyes narrowing at Stan. Stan can hear the crowd starting to talk about some of the shit Stan and Kyle got into when they were kids, the conversation even turning to the topic of Stan's dad at one point. Once the conversation turns to the topic of Randy Marsh, people's accusatory looks close in specifically on Stan, seeming to forget that Kyle is even there.

Stan feels the weight of their stares like physical blows. "Guys, you can't be serious. We don’t have anything to do with this," he protests.

"C-come on, Stan. You have to admit it's c-convinient that as soon as you show up, things get worse," Jimmy says, his usual friendly demeanor hardened.

"Yeah... Kyle joins us for these game nights once a month, and I haven't noticed anything odd when he comes. But you basically stopped talking to everyone in High School, which is fucking weird, by the way. Weren't you basically the leader of your little group back in the day? And there's no denying that your dad has always had something weird to do with South Park. I think maybe we should have Tolkien bring you in for questioning, too," Heidi frowns.

Stan was ready to defend himself, but the mention of his dad causes his throat to restrict a bit. His classmates always knew when they were kids that his dad's antics were embarrassing to him, and it really hurts that they would use this as ammunition against him right now. Stan glances to Kyle for support, but finds him already standing, his posture rigid with indignation.

"This is ridiculous," Kyle snaps. "You're all letting paranoia get the best of you! Just because weird things happened when we were kids doesn't mean we're responsible for what's going on right now."

"But you guys are always so secretive! And now you come back to town right when everything goes haywire? And not only that, you kept trying to get information out of us and you're working together as a team again?" Tweek says nervously.

Stan tries to reason with them, thinking it may be good to let them know some information about what's going on. "Look, we're just as concerned as you are. Tweek, I’m a detective, I was just doing my job by questioning you, dude.  And I'm willing to talk to you guys civilly, but not when you're throwing accusations at me, okay? We have nothing to do with it. Let's just let go of that for a moment. We have no reason to hurt South Park or its people."

Craig leans against the wall, his gray eyes piercing as they settle on Stan. "It doesn't have to be intentional," he says coolly. "Maybe something you guys did in the past is catching up with you... catching up with all of us."

"Why do you even have that arm sling on? And those stitches and bruises? Those weren't there at the funeral. You had to of done something sketchy," Bebe says.

Stan watches powerlessly as his former classmates continue with flinging accusations towards him. He can’t focus on what they’re saying anymore. Stan gets up, needing to get away from this.

"Where do you think you're going?" Scott asks.

"Anywhere but here," Stan mutters as he tries to walk to the exit. "I'll talk to you guys when you calm the fuck down." Stan knows there's no trying to reason with them right now.

"Hold him back!" Clyde instructs Scott.

Before Stan can protest, Scott's hands are on Stan, one of them grabbing directly onto his sling.

"Dude! Fuck off , and be careful with that!" Stan hisses. He tries to get out of Scott's grip, but his arm on his fractured elbow proves to be a big disadvantage. Stan stops trying to struggle, resigning himself to the fact that maybe it's for the better if he just cooperates for now. Maybe if he cooperates, they'll see that he's on their side. Besides, Stan knows he can easily overpower Scott if he actually tried, which is exactly the reason he doesn't. He doesn't want to hurt him, nor does he want the mob mentality of people right now going after him if he tries to get away again. As annoyed as he is with his former classmates right now, he can still logically see where they are coming from, even if he knows they are going about it the completely wrong way. He'd probably be a little suspicious of himself too if the roles were reversed.

"I can't believe this is happening," Stan mutters under his breath, feeling trapped by his former friend's spiraling paranoia. Scott at least takes his grip off his left arm once he feels Stan settle, moving to cover Stan's mouth so he can't talk.

Kyle is fuming, trying to step over to Scott. Craig steps in between them, blocking Kyle from getting to him. "Get out of my way, Tucker! And Malkinson, get your hands off of Stan right now." Kyle isn't yet yelling, but his words sound like venom all the same.

"Broflovksi. I'd suggest you stay out of this unless you want us to have Tolkien take you in for questioning as well," Craig says calmly.

"Or, you could just try talking to us like we're adults instead of acting like paranoid freaks! Why are you all turning on Stan like this? You guys know him; you know he would never do anything like this to the town!"

"I don't think we really do know him, Kyle. No offense, but he’s never been the most mentally stable. He went from being one of the more popular kids in school to being the loner most likely to shoot up the place." The crowd laughs nervously at Craig's assessment.

"Oh, fuck off, Craig. I can say the same fucking thing about you. Oh, wait.... no, because you didn't have school shooter vibes, just serial killer vibes. Still do," Kyle interjects, moving to position himself closer to Stan.

"I think I liked it better when you two weren't talking. The way you guys gang up together is ridiculous," Craig says.

Clyde steps closer to the commotion, standing next to Craig in a show of support. The tension in the room feels thick.

"Listen, guys... This is nothing against you personally. But... Craig does have a point." Clyde speaks louder, and someone turns the music down. If everyone in the room wasn't already listening in to the conversation before, they certainly are now.

"And what the hell kind of point is that?" Kyle bites out venomously. His arms are folded and Stan's eyes move to the way his fists clench painfully tight. Stan tries to reach forward to Kyle to place a hand on his shoulder out of sheer habit, but Scott still has a hold of his good arm, so the best he can do is twitch a little bit.

Craig speaks up again. "Everyone, think back on it. Let's all be logical here. Every time something weird happened in this town, these two were always in the thick of things-

"Craig, if I have to tell you to fuck off one more time! Is this about Peru? Because we've already fucking told you a million times that we're sorry, and also that we didn't plan it. You think we wanted to go to Peru? It was awful for us too! And we told you then, we never tried to get into shit like that, it always found us against our fucking will. You want me to give your $100 back? Will that make you finally fucking shut up about it? We were 10 years old, fucking deal . Get. Over. It."

Craig scowls and Clyde takes over speaking again. "Uh, I don't know what the hell happened in Peru, and I don't… think I want to know. All I'm trying to say here is that there's a clear common denominator of people who were always there when weird shit happened in South Park. And you two are part of that. As much as I hate to say it, I don't think that can be a coincidence. Especially considering how insane the town is going now that you two are back, and not just that you're back, but now that you're clearly working together again on something."

There are murmurs of agreement throughout the room. Stan darts his eyes around the room as best he can with his head stuck in place, and the few people he's able to make eye contact with quickly dart their eyes guiltily away from him.

Kyle's glare is icy, and between Cartman's presence earlier and now the accusations, Stan just knows he's a ticking time bomb ready to explode. Stan finally finds Wendy, who is looking at the scene by the stairs, frozen in place. He manages to make eye contact with her and he gives her a desperate look. Wendy nods almost imperceptibly back.

"You want to blame us? Fine! Blame us for all the weird shit that's happened in this shithole town," Kyle retorts, his voice trembling with pent-up emotion. "But let Stan go; you have no fucking right to hold him hostage like that. Jesus Christ, all we want was to figure out what happened to Kenny, and it seems like none of you even fucking care about him! Now let go of Stan now , or I swear to God-"

Craig and Clyde seem to have an unspoken agreement to grab onto Kyle, and they move towards him at the same time.

"Hey, don't fucking touch me!" Kyle yells as Craig and Clyde lunge forward to grab hold of him. Kyle tries to twist out of their grip and almost succeeds a couple of times before he must realize that two men against one does not put the odds in his favor. He slumps back, but he doesn't look defeated. He looks angry as hell.

"Guys, stop this right now!" Wendy shouts, stepping closer to the commotion, the other shouts dying down as everyone curiously watches her. "I'm sure Stan and Kyle will be fine to talk to you if you aren't so aggressive about this! Going on a witch hunt right now isn't helping anything. What exactly are you trying to accomplish here by restraining them and accusing them of things? You want to bring them to the authorities? How do you even know you can trust the authorities; we all know how fucking incompetent they were in this town growing up. That's not going to help you guys get good information, now is it? I promise you need these two if you want to figure out what's going on, and it would be better if you can get the answers directly from the sources themselves."

"Yeah, we already know we need them if we want to figure out what's going on. That's exactly why we've got to lock them up, so the authorities can interrogate them. And I bet once they're locked up, we'll start seeing some of the weird stuff happening in town stop and we can finally get the fuck out of this town," Craig says with an eye roll.

Wendy gives everyone a stern look. "Let them go. Right now emotions are clearly high, so here's what we're going to do. We're going to end this tonight. We are all going to go to sleep. And tomorrow we'll meet up again. I don't care where. It can be at my parents house, or Tweak Bros, or wherever you'd feel most comfortable. But we will meet up and talk like civilized adults. I can act as a mediator if need be and help facilitate the conversation. Now let Stan and Kyle go."

It's quiet for a moment. They don't make any moves to let Stan or Kyle leave, keeping tight grips on them.

It's Bebe who finally speaks up, standing up shakily as she does so. "Wendy, I'm not sure you're the best option as someone to act as a mediator in any type of conversation about this. I don't think you'd exactly be... unbiased."

Others in the room voice their agreement to that statement. Wendy turns to Bebe with a hurt look on her face. "Really, Bebe? You don't think I can remain impartial? That's what I do every day for my fucking job! How dare you-"

Bebe holds up her hand. "Please, Wendy. I don't want to argue with you. But given your history with both Stan and Kenny, it's just a fact. You aren't the most qualified here to exactly act like you can be this impartial person as we try to figure out-"

Stan zones out of the conversation as more people in the room start to speak above each other. As the voices in the room start to rise, Stan's anger begins to simmer. He feels like he has been pushed aside throughout the entire night, his ideas and opinions ignored. Stan has felt this entire conversation that if they would have just let him do the talking instead of Kyle or even Wendy that it wouldn't have progressed to this point. There's so much he's wanted to add to the conversation earlier if they just would have fucking let him talk, things he could have said that would have prevented this entire goddamn escalation. He could have kept everyone civilized, he just knows it. He was already going to suggest earlier on basically what Wendy had recommended about sleeping it off before emotions got too high and have Tolkien be the one to the third party mediator in the conversation tomorrow. And had he suggested that solution when he wanted to, Stan is certain everyone would have gone for it, because it was before all the shouting started, before the looks of anger and accusations were thrown out. But no , they just had to bring up his old mental health problems and treat him like some kind of teenager emo who can't possibly have anything useful to add to their grown up conversation.

Stan's eyes flicker to Kyle, his friend being held in a brutal grip by Craig and Clyde. He can already see the bruises forming on Kyle's pale skin. And sure, Kyle can take it, Stan knows that. But they shouldn't be touching him like that; nobody should be able to. Stan can feel the anger that was at a simmer slowly creeping up to the surface, rising in temperature. Wendy and Bebe continue to argue, and Stan realizes that this is past the point of resolving things maturely right now. All he can do at this point is jump into defensive mode and physically get out of here.

Stan clamps his teeth down hard on Scott's hand. He's careful to hold back just enough to avoid breaking skin, but still delivers a sharp warning. Scott recoils in pain, momentarily releasing his hand from Stan's mouth.

"Scott... I'm warning you. Let go of me now ," Stan says in a low voice through gritted teeth as Scott tightens his grip on him, not bothering to replace his hand over Stan's mouth again. Scott uses that free hand to grab painfully on to his hurt left arm, his grip reaching under his arm sling.

"I can't do that, Stan," Scott says. The pain from his grip on his hurt arm shoots through Stan's entire body, adding to his anger. Scott's grip on his left arm is starting to feel unbearable.

"I said let go!" Stan yells, not caring that this has caught the attention of the others in the room. Stan gathers his strength that he's been holding back and wrenches himself free from Scott's hold, not looking back to see if Scott got hurt because he just can't be bothered to care anymore about that, and it honestly feels weird to Stan that he even cared about that earlier considering Scott was the one holding him hostage.

Stan rushes towards Kyle, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he reaches for Kyle's arms, attempting to pull him away from Clyde and Craig.

"Let go of him!" Stan demands. He doesn't spare a glance at Craig and Clyde, even as one of them shoves his arm away, aiming right for his elbow. Stan lets out a painful gasp, stumbling backwards. He quickly corrects himself and lunges towards Clyde as he regains his balance, figuring that he will be the easiest for him to take out with one arm. Using all his strength, he rips Clyde off of Kyle and pushes him away. This leaves Kyle able to get out of Craig's grip. They rush towards the door once he's free, not bothering to look behind them. Stan can hear Tweek yelling that it's not worth it to go after them, and he can hear Wendy slamming the door as she too leaves the house.

Kyle gets in the driver's seat and immediately turns on auto drive, Stan following close by. They take a moment to take deep breaths once they realize that nobody is running after them. Wendy walks over to the passenger's side window, and Stan rolls the window down.

"We'll meet again soon. Keep low profiles. I think once everyone calms down we can hopefully catch everyone up to speed on things, but we can't risk them turning you into the authorities," Wendy says before she gets in her own car. Stan and Kyle watch as she peels out of the driveway, both breathing heavily.

“Jesus Christ , dude. That was just like all those times back in the day when all the parents and adults in South Park would go on a witch hunt,” Stan breathes.

Kyle looks pissed. He finally spares a glance at Stan, who is holding his arm, trying to hide from his face just how much it hurts. Kyle’s face softens a bit. “Dude, I should probably take you to the hospital for another X-ray to make sure the fracture didn’t get worse. Those assholes could have at least been more careful.”

Stan shakes his head. “No. Please no, I just want to go back to your place.”

Kyle is silent for a moment, still looking at Stan with concern. “Okay. I’ll give you some of the stronger pain medicine, but tell me if it’s unbearable.”

He finally urges the car that it can go, not bothering to take it off autodrive. Stan figures that’s for the best with how angry he is. 

Back in Kyle's dimly lit room after giving Stan the promised pain medicine, Kyle erratically paces, his hands clasped behind his back, lips moving in a constant stream of anxious articulation. He's been spiraling, spilling his nerves ever since they got inside. Stan leans against the wall, watching Kyle unravel thread by rapid thread. Stan thought it would be good to let Kyle let some of it go, but now it's reaching the point where Stan doesn't think this could possibly be helping him feel better. If anything, Kyle looks even more anxious the more he talks.

"I can't shake this feeling, Stan. It's the quiet before the storm – you know what I mean?"

Stan opens his mouth to respond, but Kyle barrels on.

"And what if we're too late? What if they've already set their plans in motion and we're just... chasing ghosts here?" His green eyes flit around the room as if expecting the shadows to leap into action.

Stan pushes away from the wall, walking over to Kyle. He places a hand on his shoulder. "Kyle—"

"No, listen to me," Kyle cuts him off. "We're in over our heads. I'm supposed to be a doctor, not some... some vigilante detective. We don't even know what we're dealing with here! We can't just… go into some other dimension with no plan! But how the fuck do you even plan for something like this? And another thing… why did Kenny choose us to help?”

Kyle runs a hand through his hair in frustration, strands springing back defiantly.

Stan attempts once more to interject some reason into the conversation. "Kyle, you need to take a breath—"

"Breath? Stan, breathing is a luxury we might not afford soon! Do you understand the gravity of our situation?" His voice cracks slightly with strain.

"I do," Stan assures him softly, but Kyle seems to not hear.

"It's like... it's like there's this constant pressure on my chest," Kyle says while clutching at his shirt as if trying to alleviate physical discomfort with his hands. "And it won't let up; it won't give me fucking peace. Every decision feels like life or death now. I can't…. I can't do this, Stan. I can't be responsible for other people's lives. How am I supposed to manage that? I can barely manage my own!" He stops pacing, sinking down on his bed, his legs bouncing wildly.

Stan crosses the room and crouches before Kyle, eyes level.

"Hey," he tries again gently, once again placing a hand on his shoulder. "Stop talking for a moment."

Kyle barely blinks at him, not registering his words as he continues on his rant. "This is why I can't be in South Park, dude. It's... it's toxic for me. We've got to figure this out, but we're getting nowhere, and now I feel like a fugitive in my own goddamn hometown, and-"

"Kyle!" Stan says louder this time, tightening the grip on Kyle's shoulder. He's always shut up in the past when Stan does this; why isn't it working right now?

"No, Stan, I can't calm down right now! Just let me rant, okay? Look, I know it stresses you out, and I'm sorry. I know I'm way too much of a fucking handful, everyone has made that abundantly clear, and I know I'm a self-righteous asshole- hell, you said that to my face one time, but I know it's what everyone thinks, and I know-"

Stan doesn't know how he can get Kyle to shut up right now. Kyle needs to stop going down these rabbit holes, because if he doesn't, Stan knows they will be here all night and it won't make Kyle feel any better at the end of it all. But Kyle is not in a state to listen to Stan right now, but goddamnit... Stan just needs him to shut the fuck up and listen to him.

Stan isn't sure what compels him to do this; it's like his body gets a mind of its own as he moves his hand from Kyle's shoulder to cup his chin, gently moving his face closer to his own. Kyle doesn't even seem to notice this change in posture as he continues his rant.

"And I already know I'm getting nowhere in life with my temper issues. All the women I've dated, not that that list is very long, have left me because they can't deal with me. The hospital won't listen to me, because they think I'm some kind of... fucked up maniac that can't keep his emotions in check, and they think I'm too demanding, so it's not like-"

Stan leans forward with a surge of confidence and presses his lips to Kyle's, successfully finally shutting him the fuck up. He kisses him aggressively at first as if trying to make sure that he won't pull back and continue his rant again, but after Kyle's initial shock, he can feel him hesitantly kiss back. Stan moves his lips slower now, more gently.

It doesn't take long for Stan to think about the implications of exactly what he's doing. He freezes and abruptly ends the kiss. Sure, Kyle may be technically kissing him back, but Stan didn't miss the part where Kyle had just said something about the women he's dated. Stan is pretty aware of the fact that he is not, in fact, a woman. Shit. He'll worry about what the hell this means for them in just a moment, but first, he needs to get back to the task at hand before he kissed Kyle, namely, why he wanted to get Kyle to shut up in the first place.

He has some apologies in order.

Stan moves his hand back to Kyle's shoulder, trying his best to ignore Kyle's shocked expression.

"Kyle, shut up for a second. Please. Just listen to me. Don't talk until I say you can," Stan says breathlessly. He forces himself to be brave and to look into Kyle's eyes. Stan doesn't know for how long, but they hold each other's gaze. Kyle does as he's told and stays quiet.

"I'm sorry, Kyle," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. God, he really hopes he doesn't already start crying. They still have never acknowledged the night that tore them apart in the first place and all the issues that led up to it, but it's past time they did. He knows deep down that he doesn't deserve forgiveness, but knows this still needs to be said.

"I should have said this years ago, when we were in High School. Fuck , I never should have ever yelled any of those things to you in the first place. I regretted fighting with you as soon as it happened, and I've regretted it every day since then. I've missed you every day since then. I would have said this to you sooner, but I was in such a self-destructive mode at the time that I really thought you were just better off without me being your friend anyways. And I'm not just sorry for that time we fought, Kyle. I know I was a shitty friend. You never should have had to be in a position to try to help me when I was in such a dark place. That wasn't fair to you. Just... I'm sorry. For everything. For always being so selfish, for making you have to deal with some really fucked up emotions I was going through at the time, for not defending you enough against the human piece of shit that is Eric Cartman. You're not a self-righteous asshole, Kyle. You just care about people, and you're passionate and motivated, and you're better at getting shit done than anyone else I know. And anybody who thinks otherwise is a fucking idiot, this town and your work included. The things I yelled at you for are the things I love about you, Kyle. I'm not saying this in hopes that you'll forgive me, because I know you shouldn't. But... I had to say it."

A couple silent tears break free, and Stan quickly attempts to wipe them away before closing his eyes, no longer brave enough to look Kyle straight in the eyes. He hates so much how easy it's always been for him to cry. He lets his hand drop from Kyle's shoulder. He feels fragile yet liberated after finally getting this off his chest. He steps backwards to sit on Kyle's bed, not sure if he can support his own weight standing up. With his eyes squeezed shut, he holds back the other tears and swallows the lump in his throat.

He feels the bed sink down as Kyle moves to sit down next to him. Stan is too painfully aware of the gap that Kyle leaves between them. For how desperate Stan was not too long ago to get Kyle to shut up, he really wants him to say something right now, even if it's just to yell at him. Before he can dwell too much on that, he feels Kyle readjust to be closer to him, gentle fingers wiping away the couple of tears that escaped earlier. Stan takes a deep breath and opens his eyes.

"Can I talk now?" Kyle asks softly. Stan is confused before he remembers that he told Kyle earlier not to talk until he had permission. Stan lets out a quiet laugh, surprised that his demand actually worked. He nods his head, not quite able to talk yet.

Kyle puts his arm around Stan's shoulder, pulling him close. "Stan... you fucking idiot."

Stan frowns. He'd rather Kyle just yell at him and get it over with.

Kyle moves his arms from Stan's shoulders and puts them on his face, pulling their faces close together and forcing Stan to look him in his eyes, his grip tight, their foreheads brushing against each other.

"I don't ever want to hear you apologize for having bad mental health issues ever again, do you understand? Because that was what you were dealing with at the time. And yes, I don't disagree that it was above my ability to try to help you out with, and it means a lot to me to know that you recognize that. But that doesn't mean that it wasn't just as unfair to you. Even more unfair to you. Stan, I really regret a lot of the things I said to you, and I'm sorry too, okay? I didn't understand what you were going through. I tried to, but I just couldn't . And I said some shit to you that probably made things so much worse, things like telling you to snap out of it, yelling at you how selfish you were for wanting to die... like it was your own fault you were that way. But it wasn't. There was nothing you could have done differently to.... will more positivity back into your life, as much as I wanted you to be able to. It just.... it hurt so fucking much to see you hurting so much, and I didn't know how to properly deal with that."

"Kyle, please. I really was just a cynical, alcoholic, shitty burden. I'm fine with admitting that. There's nothing you could've done; you went above and beyond what anyone your age should ever have to-" Kyle places a gentle hand on Stan's mouth, his grip on Stan's face tightening as he stops him from talking. His eyes look fiercely into Stan's, but there's a gentleness there that's so genuine that makes Stan want to cry even more.

"Stan, I know that. Really, I do. What I'm trying to say here is that, sure, we both said and did things we regret. But at the end of the day, we were dealing with things that were beyond our control, and we both need to forgive each other and forgive ourselves. It was a shitty situation that maybe couldn't have had a happy resolution at the time, because God knows where the adults in our lives were at the time that should have been helping with this shit. We were just kids , Stan. Don't you fucking dare ever call yourself a burden again, or apologize for having issues with alcohol when you were a fucking child, or for being hard to be around when you were just a kid who didn't even want to live. That's not fair to yourself, and I won't listen to it."

Stan nods, still struggling to withhold the threat of tears. He didn't know how much he's needed to hear something like this from anyone, but it's exactly what he's needed to hear for God knows how many years.

"Kyle," he says, his voice breaking.

Kyle pulls Stan into a tight hug, allowing him to fully let go and cry. Stan wishes he had full use of both arms, but he holds onto Kyle tightly with his good arm, burying his face into his neck. They stay there for a long time. Stan wishes they can stay like this forever.

"Stan? Um… you kissed me," Kyle whispers after a while, after Stan's tears have stopped.

Stan freezes, not sure what to say. He was kind of hoping Kyle would pick up the whole talking bit again and be the one to address that sometime later, because Stan doesn't want to touch that subject right now.

"...Yeah. Guess you're an observant one, huh," Stan says.

Stan isn't looking, but he's pretty sure Kyle just rolled his eyes.

"I've missed you too, Stan," Kyle says softly after another long pause.

"Yeah?" Stan says, moving his face from Kyle's neck to meet his gaze. Kyle moves his face closer to Stan and cups his chin with one hand.

"Yeah," he whispers into Stan's mouth, brushing their lips together. The kiss is soft, gentle. Kyle's other hand finds its way around Stan's waist, pulling him closer.

Stan doesn't think he's ever really kissed another man before, at least not like this. He's never been super into kissing in general. With Wendy, he was still so young and kissing just made him feel nauseous. And after that, the only 'relationships' he's been in are technically with women, but he really only kissed them out of obligation because he knew they liked it. It's not that he hasn't fucked other men before; he's just only really had one nightstands with them, and they always seemed to be on the same page as Stan that making out was not a necessary part of the arrangement.

So Stan is surprised that he wants this so bad, that he wants to just stay here and make out with Kyle. He's never enjoyed kissing this much. If he knew it could feel like this, so relaxing and so serene and so good , he would have kissed Kyle a long time ago. Because this feels like one of the big things that's been missing from his life, this moment right here. It feels so much better than any time in the past that he's tried dulling his senses with alcohol.

Kyle's fingers trail down Stan's jawline and neck, sending shivers down Stan's skin. Stan presses his body further into Kyle, moaning softly against his lips as he deepens the kiss. Stan's free hand roams, trying to make up for the fact that he can't use his other at the moment. Right now it's tangled in Kyle's hair, tugging at the loose curls. Kyle thrusts his tongue in Stan's mouth just as hungrily, the kiss deepening every passing second, Stan responding with equal fervor.

Stan's hand continues its exploration down Kyle's back, tracing the curve of his spine under his shirt before gripping onto his ass. He gives it a playful squeeze, bringing out a gasp from Kyle. Stan pulls away briefly from the kiss, letting them breathe in the air more fully for the first time in a while. He looks into Kyle's eyes, and the lust in them causes Stan to dip his head to Kyle's neck, tracing a line of kisses down his throat.

Kyle lets out a moan when Stan playfully bites at his neck, and the sound makes his erection twitch with more anticipation beneath his jeans to the point where it's getting more noticeably uncomfortable. Stan grabs at Kyle's shirt, tugging on it. He knows he won't really be able to get either of the shirts off right now without Kyle's help.

"Stan... wait," Kyle says breathlessly.

Stan's heart sinks at those words and fully expects Kyle to back out, to say that this has been a huge mistake. Stan lifts his hand away from Kyle, but Kyle quickly grabs his good hand in his own, looking at him with concern.

"Are you sure this is okay? Right now, I mean. You just had some pretty strong pain medicine," Kyle says.

Despite the relief he feels, Stan internally groans at the delay but tries not to let that show outwardly, mostly because he doesn't want to seem like a complete whiny bitch right now. "Yes, I'm sure this is okay. I don't feel, like.... high or drunk or anything from the medicine if that's what you're worried about. Are you okay with it?"

"Stan, you have no fucking idea how long I've wanted this. I just don't want to take advantage of you right now."

Stan unsuccessfully hides a smile at that. "Dude, I promise you're not taking advantage of me right now. I mean, we probably won't be able to do everything I want to right now because of this dumbass elbow, but Kyle... I need you so fucking bad right now."

"...You sure, Stan?" Kyle asks again, though his insistence to double-check again with Stan doesn't stop him from already fumbling to unzip Stan's jeans.

"Fuck yes. You can't just end it right now and leave me with this," Stan grunts, his words choked on desire. He guides one of Kyle's hands down towards the straining hardness pressing insistently against his boxers.

Kyle's eyes squeeze shut and he lets out a low moan as he gets a better feeling of Stan. "Yeah, poor Stan... I couldn't just leave you like this." Stan thrusts lightly into Kyle's grip, desperate to get more friction, but Kyle takes his hand away.

Kyle gets Stan's pants and boxers off, but before he can do anything else, Stan impatiently tugs again at the hem of Kyle's shirt. Kyle understands what Stan wants and wordlessly takes his own shirt and pants off and turns back to Stan. He looks a little lost for a moment as he glances at Stan's arm sling and shirt.

"Just leave it on," Stan grunts. It would be too much trouble to try to get his shirt off right now despite how much Stan wants to press against Kyle skin against skin without any fabric in the way.

Kyle gives Stan a quick kiss on the lips, wrapping his hand around his cock, giving it an experimental tug. He puts a couple of pillows on top of each other and gently guides Stan to lay back on them, making sure that Stan's left arm is in a safe position. Kyle keeps a grip on Stan as he trails kisses down Stan's neck, moving further down his body. He lifts the hem of Stan's shirt up, careful not to tussle anything near his left arm as he spreads kisses down his chest and thighs.

Stan closes his eyes once Kyle's kisses reach his dick, because he thinks he could probably come just at the sight of it. Kyle keeps one steady hand on the base as he licks the precum off the tip, his tongue swirling around the head before taking him deeper.

"Fuck... Kyle..." Stan gasps out as Kyle takes him more fully in his mouth. A jolt of pleasure causes Stan to arch his back, eliciting a low moan from Kyle as he unexpectedly grinds himself further into the wet warmth enclosing him.

Kyle momentarily takes his mouth off of Stan. “Keep doing that,” he instructs in a low voice, referring to the grinding. Stan shivers at his warm breath and nods, not sure if he can trust himself to speak coherently right now.

Stan complies, now fully arching into Kyle's mouth, grinding against it as much as he can with his sore arm in the sling. He moans and whines, begging for more with every movement. He grips onto the sheets with his good hand. 

Kyle just hums around Stan's dick, his head bobbing up and down slowly. Stan thrusts his hips into his face as much as he can.

Stan tugs at Kyle's hair. "Fuck, I'm gonna-" Stan warns, but Kyle doesn't let up. Instead, he increases the pace and tightens his grip on Stan's thigh. Stan opens his eyes and is met with Kyle's own eye contact.  Kyle easily swallows, gently licking up what he missed.

Kyle looks up at Stan, his face flushed and beads of sweat dotting his forehead. He leans up to kiss Stan, grinding his hips against him. Stan tries to flip over, desperate to get a better angle to pleasure Kyle. He accidentally puts his weight on his left arm, and with all the hustle it's been through tonight, his elbow releases a pain that shoots down to his hands and up to his shoulder, a surge of pain that's the worst yet. He tries to hide a hiss of pain and accidentally bites Kyle's lip a little too hard.

"Shit- Stan, are you okay?" Kyle breaks away to scrutinize him, concern etched on his face.

Stan breathes raggedly, the sharp pain refusing to leave. Kyle presses his side against Stan and backs him back down on the pillow again.

When his arm gradually succumbs to an ache rather than a shooting pain, Stan reaches forward, curling his fingers around Kyle's cock, wishing he could get a little closer. He presses his face closer to Kyle's, nuzzling his face into his neck, dusting slow kisses on his jaw and neck. His hand pumps Kyle, bringing a couple moans out of him.

"Stan, no- damn it, you're really in no condition for this right now. It's okay, we can pick this up lat-"

Stan moves his lips to kiss Kyle's to drown out his protests, needing him to shut the fuck up for the second time tonight. His grip tightens around Kyle, dancing his fingers on his skin, wanting to memorize the feeling. Kyle's eyes slide half-closed as Stan's tongue traces the shell of his ear, gasping and arching into his touch. Stan picks up the pace, Kyle leaning back further into his touch. He hooks an arm around Stan's waist to pull him closer, pressing their hips together as close as he can given the circumstances. Kyle's hand squeezes Stan's ass hard, bucking his hips in rhythm with the strokes, moaning Stan's name in hot breaths against his neck in between kisses. Stan shudders as he watches Kyle, torn between leaning back and watching him and kissing him.

Stan's breaths come out in soft pants as he continues to stroke Kyle, feeling him pulse in his hand. Kyle groans against his neck, meeting their lips in a needy kiss as Stan feels him start to tremble underneath him, knowing he must be close. Kyle breaks off the kiss, pulling back slightly to put his fingers in Stan's mouth. Stan moans against Kyle's fingers, sucking on them in pace with his thrusts.

Kyle comes in quick jerks that almost causes Stan to lose his grip. "Fuck... Stan," Kyle pants out. Stan hums in contentment as he gently removes his hand from Kyle, keeping eye contact with him as he lifts his own hand to his mouth to taste Kyle on his tongue. "You taste so fucking good," Stan says softly, eyes roaming over Kyle's spent and sweaty body, Kyle's breathing fast and heavy.

"God, Stan, " Kyle breathes out. After he cleans himself up with some wipes from the nightstand, he gently pushes Stan down to lay on his back on the pillow, laying down on top of him once Stan is situated. He gives him a gentle kiss. They lay there holding each other in comfortable silence, their breaths settling down. Stan can feel Kyle's heart beat gradually slow down, and he feels his own settle in a similar rhythm. A sense of overwhelming peace washes over him, a feeling of comfort and even familiarity, even though this was his first time with Kyle. Stan can't hold back a genuine smile as he looks down at Kyle's hair.

Right as Stan is about to speak up, Kyle raises his head so they are eye level. "I love you, Stan," he whispers, brushing a stray piece of hair out of Stan’s eye.

Stan smiles at him, kissing the top of his hair. "I love you too, Kyle." Stan doesn’t think he can remember the last time he’s ever felt this happy, if ever. 

Right as Stan is about to drift to sleep, Kyle speaks again, his voice still almost a whisper. "Stan? Let's try to get to that other dimension as soon as possible."

Stan grips tighter onto him, pushing away a wave of nausea effectively as he breathes in Kyle’s scent.

"Yeah, let's kick some creepy cultist's asses,” Stan says. 

Chapter Text

Kenny saunters up to the bus stop for the last time ever on graduation day, wearing his orange hoodie despite it being fairly warm. He smiles as he hears the familiar sound of Kyle and Cartman arguing. He feels a pang of sadness that Stan isn't there for nostalgic reasons, though he does have plans to meet up with him later today during the graduation ceremony.

Today's school day is an optional couple of hours for them to sign yearbooks and gather their items from the lockers they've had for the past four years. The graduation ceremony will be later that afternoon, so most students are going to gather their items and head straight home to get ready for the ceremony.

"I'm telling you, Cartman, there's no planet in which you would ever have been valedictorian," Kyle scoffs, his red curls blowing in the wind. Even Kyle's arguing sounds a little lighthearted today.

"Oh yeah? Well, maybe I just have a natural genius that you can't comprehend, Kahl."

Kenny chuckles, shaking his head. He stands next to Cartman, facing the road. He's pretty sure the only reason Cartman is even graduating is because he convinced poor Butters to let him cheat off for everything. "More like a natural ability to cheat off others."

"Ey! Shut up, Kenny!" Cartman snaps, but there's no real bite to it. Not today.

Kenny grins as he watches Kyle and Cartman go at it, their banter as familiar as the worn-out hoodie he's wearing and the jeans he wears every day (these the same ones he's had since his growth spurt the summer after Freshman year. Not to be mistaken for the one pair of jeans he wore every day from grades 6-9).

"Face it, Cartman," Kyle says, rolling his eyes. "The only way you'd ever be valedictorian is if you ate the real one."

"How dare you, Kahl! I'll have you know that I have a very high IQ. Higher than yours, even!"

"Oh really? Then what's the square root of 144?"

"Easy! It's...uh...24?"

Kenny snorts, trying to hold back his laughter. "Dude, even I know that's not right. We learned about that in, like, fifth grade."

"Shut up, Kinny! Nobody would have guessed you would be the secret genius of our friend group. " Cartman glares at him before turning back to Kyle. "Okay, so maybe math isn't my strong suit. But I bet I could still beat you in a debate."

Kyle scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. "Debate? You? Dude, be fucking for real."

"Oh yeah? Well, I bet I could argue that the sky is green and the grass is blue, and people would believe me! I'll have you know, I almost had our entire town exterminate the Jews in the third grade! I've got more charm than both of you assholes combined."

"The only people who would believe that are the ones you've brainwashed with your bullshit. And don't flatter yourself, the people in our town are fucking idiots," Kyle retorts, shaking his head.

Kenny chuckles, enjoying the show. As annoyed as he would get at Kyle and Cartman's rivalry in the past, he is really going to miss it. It's one of the few things he could always count on in life.

"Hey, Kyle," he interjects, deciding to stir the pot a little. "I bet Cartman could argue that the earth is flat and people would believe him. Give our little fatass some more credit, Kyle."

Cartman's eyes light up at the suggestion. "You know what, Kinny? You're absolutely right. In fact, I think I'll make that my next project. Proving that the earth is flat, once and for all!"

Kyle groans, burying his face in his hands. "I swear to god, Cartman, if you actually try to do that, I will personally push you off the edge of the earth myself."

Kenny laughs, throwing an arm around Kyle's shoulders. "Don't worry, Kyle. I'll help you. We can make it a team effort."

"You guys are just jealous of my superior intellect and persuasive skills."

"Sure, fatass. Whatever helps you sleep at night."

Kenny can't believe that High school is finally over, a new chapter of their lives about to begin. He's especially looking forward to tonight - he's saved up for months to surprise Wendy with a romantic getaway to Denver.

As they wait for the bus and Kyle and Cartman continue their lighthearted argument, Kenny spots some shadows in the corner of his eyes reflecting off of the bus stop sign. They disappear when he squints at the sign. Probably just his imagination. Or lack of sleep. Fuck knows he was up late last night, putting the finishing touches on his big surprise for Wendy.

"So, what are your plans after the ceremony?" Kyle asks, adjusting his backpack.

Kenny grins, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief. "I've got a surprise for Wendy. We're heading to Denver for the night."

"Ooh, Kenny's getting laid!" Cartman crows, making obscene gestures.

Kyle rolls his eyes. "Real mature, Cartman."

"Yeah, I'm getting laid, Cartman. Bet you can't say the same," Kenny says, the bus arriving as he finishes the sentence, saving Kenny from having to hear Eric's comeback. Kenny thinks he may see some odd shadows reflecting in the school bus windows, but those also disappear quickly.

Kenny starts searching for Wendy as soon as he's inside the busy school. Students litter the hallways, trying to get people to sign their yearbooks. He finally spots her in the auditorium, wearing a ponytail as she bosses around a bunch of poor saps hanging decorations.

"Hey, beautiful," Kenny greets her, sidling up beside her.

Wendy turns, her eyes lighting up when she sees him. "Kenny! Perfect timing. I need your height, we've got a ton more of these to put up."

"Actually, I was hoping to steal you away for a sec. Got something important to tell you."

Wendy huffs, blowing a stray piece of hair out of her face. "Can it wait? We're kind of on a deadline here."

"Just for a minute, scout's honor," Kenny promises, giving her his best puppy dog eyes.

Wendy rolls her eyes, but allows Kenny to pull her out of the auditorium into a less crowded spot in the hallway. "Okay, what's up?"

"You and me. Denver. All night. After the ceremony. You need to tell your parents you're not free after the ceremony."

Wendy's eyes widen. "All night? What do you have planned?"

"It wouldn't be a surprise if I told you," Kenny says mischeviously. "But pack a bag."

Wendy narrows her eyes at him, trying to suss out his scheme, but he just winks at her. Finally, she sighs. "Fine, keep your secrets. But this better be good, McCormick."

"Oh trust me, it will be," Kenny says, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Wendy smacks his arm, laughing. "Alright, consider me intrigued. Now let me get back to work before they stage a mutiny."

"Wait wait wait, one more thing," Kenny says, catching her hand and pulling her close. "Remember that game of tag we've been playing?"

"Yeah... actually, I've been meaning to tell you..."

Kenny waits paitently. He's learned things stick better if he doesn't press for things. Everything that has stuck so far has only been because Wendy figures it out on her own without Kenny's help.

Wendy shrugs. "I don't know; it's hard to explain. It's just, sometimes, I get these flashes of... something. Like déjà vu, but more intense. And it's always connected to you, somehow."

Holy shit. Kenny swallows hard, trying to keep his cool. If he spells it out for her, she'll forget this conversation and they'll be back to square one. "And what do you think that means?"

Wendy looks up at him, her eyes searching his face for answers. "I'm not sure. But I have a feeling it's something important. Something that I'm supposed to remember. Something about you disappearing. The other night, I found a Tacoma Hot Wheels on my bed and had a nightmare that you died in one in 8th grade. But it didn't seem like a dream; it seemed real."

Kenny's mouth goes dry. The Hot Wheels thing, that was her idea, a way to trigger her memory. She'd asked him to give her examples of his deaths. He can't believe it's working.

Kenny thinks it's just a matter of time before Wendy connects the dots herself and ultimately remembers. She's already come a long way remarkably fast. Their game involves Kenny (and sometimes Wendy herself on the nights that Kenny reveals his inability to die again) giving Wendy subtle clues related to previous deaths/times he was missing. For example, Kenny died earlier in the year and missed his friend group's Spring Break trip to Vegas. It was something they had been planning for a while. His friends predictably forgot about Kenny during that time, not even registering that he wasn't there- Wendy included. It's something Kenny is used to, and probably something Kenny could never understand. After that, he tagged Wendy with subtle clues to Vegas, and she eventually connected the dots that Kenny didn't go on the trip, that he was missing. As far as Kenny knows, she's the only one who has been able to figure something like that out (aside from Cartman, but he just apparently always remembers Kenny's deaths for whatever reason).

"Well," he says, his voice low and conspiratorial, "maybe it's a sign. A sign that there's more to this than meets the eye."

Wendy's eyes widen, her lips parting in surprise. "What do you mean? You know what this means, don't you, Ken?"

Kenny just smiles. "That's for you to find out."

Wendy looks thoughtful and determined. "Alright, I really need to get back to work now. But I'll see you at the ceremony?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," Kenny promises, watching as Wendy hurries back to the auditorium.

Kenny empties out his locker, saying goodbye to friends in the hall. He signs some yearbooks before picking up his graduation robe. The school is letting him rent one for free.

He finds Stan on his way out of the building, already dressed in formal clothes. He's holding his gown and cap. Kenny approaches him with a grin. "Hey, dude. Looking sharp."

"Thanks, man. I figured I'd save myself the extra drive back to the farm to change."

"Smart thinking," Kenny nods, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. "I still need to head home and get ready."

"I can give you a ride," Stan offers, pushing off the wall. "It'll give me something to do aside from getting roped in from Wendy to hang up more decorations."

"Yeah, I managed to dodge that bullet. That would be great if you could give me a ride, thanks," Kenny accepts gratefully, following Stan out to the parking lot.

Stan fiddles with his radio for a bit as Kenny stuffs some things in his backpack. His cheap bluetooth stereo he and Kenny installed works about 25% of the time. "So, uh, my parents are finally getting divorced."

Kenny pauses, one foot on the running board. "Shit, really?"

"Yup," Stan shrugs, starting the engine. "Fucking finally, right?"

Kenny hoists himself into the passenger seat, tossing his backpack in the footwell. "Damn. How're you holding up?"

"Honestly, it's about time. They've been miserable together for years. I'm just relieved it's finally happening."

They haven't talked much about his parents after prom night. Stan has been evasive whenever Kenny brings it up, thinking it would be good for him to talk about what happened. But Stan refuses to talk about it, so Kenny has given up on trying. Kenny fiddles with the broken AC controls before remembering they don't work. He rolls down the windows instead.

"So, what are your plans? Now that your parents won't be living together?"

Stan shrugs. "I'll probably go live with my mom. She found a condo with a couple of bedrooms. I'll pick up some extra shifts at the gas station, work overtime to save up for college. I hope to start next fall."

"Shit, that's right, you're not doing the college thing this fall."

Stan's shoulders tense at the reminder before he smiles slightly. "Well, not all of us can be fucking geniuses like you, dude."

Kenny winces, remembering how sensitive Stan can be about school stuff. He wasn't able to get any scholarships, and tuition is too much for him to go. It takes Kenny a moment to realize that Stan's not actually mad; he's just giving him shit.

"I'm really proud of you, you know," Stan says, glancing over at Kenny. "Getting that scholarship, I mean. You've worked really hard for it."

Kenny feels his cheeks warm at the praise. "Thanks, dude. But listen… don't be down on yourself for taking a gap year. Lots of people do it; college is fucking expensive. Doesn't mean you're not gonna do great things too."

Stan snorts. "Yeah, because pumping gas and selling cigarrettes all day is super fucking promising."

"Well, who knows. Maybe you'll become a world-famous gas station attendant or some shit."

That gets a laugh out of Stan, a real one. "No, that sounds way too competitive. I'll just join you at college next year."

Kenny smiles at him. It's rare that he gets to spend time with sober Stan. They pull into Kenny's driveway.

"Hey, Stan. I mean it when I say don't be down on yourself from taking a gap year. Don't listen to the pressure of having to start right away, okay? You've gotta do what's right for yourself."

"Thanks, Kenny. I needed to hear that," Stan says quietly.

"Anytime, dude. See you at the ceremony?"

"Wouldn't miss it," Stan says. "Save me a seat next to you, yeah?"

"You got it," Kenny promises, slamming the door shut. They'll be in the same section for the M last names.

Kenny dodges beer cans as he makes his way to his bedroom to get ready for the ceremony. He rummages through his closet before he finally finds the suit he wore to prom. He has no idea why he has to dress in such nice clothes if he's just gonna throw a gown over it anyways, but remembering that Wendy likes him in the suit is a good motivator.

Kenny has been so excited for today for months now. He's been busting his ass for months to save up for tonight - working odd jobs, picking up more shifts at City Wok. But it'll all be worth it when he and Wendy get to Denver. Their first night as high school graduates. He grins at the thought.

"Kenny? You almost ready?" his mother's raspy voice calls out.

"Be right out!" Kenny promises, deciding to skip the tie. He pulls the gown over his dress shirt and pants.

Carole is waiting for Kenny in the living room, already in her Sunday best. Her face breaks out into a smile when she sees Kenny, pulling him into a crushing hug. She smells faintly like weed and cigarettes. "My baby boy, all grown up."

Kenny feels a lump form in his throat at his mother's display of affection. It's not often his mom's sober enough to play the doting parent. He leans into her touch, just for a moment.

"Thanks, Ma," he says gruffly, trying to play it cool.

Carole breaks the hug, looking at Kenny proudly. "First McCormick to go off to college. That's a big fuckin' deal."

Kenny nods, his chest swelling with pride. Even though his parents aren't the best at showing it, he knows how proud they are of him. They talk about it to anyone who will listen at church, beaming with pride as they talk about Kenny going off to college with full ride scholarships. Karen and Stuart join them in the living room. Karen looks extremely proud of Kenny. His graduation is all she's talked about for the past week.

Kenny pulls them all in for a group hug. Kevin is nowhere to be found, and Kenny doubts he'll go to the graduation. Kevin has always been jealous of Kenny - both for his academic acheivements as well as for his ability to not get in fights with his parents. Kenny isn't upset that Kevin isn't here right now. He mostly just feels bad for him.

"Alright, let's get going before we're late. I think the Broflovski's are saving us a spot up front," Stuart says, clearing his throat.

Kenny follows his family out to the car (a newer Tacoma his dad bought after the other one caught on fire- this one being a brand new '99, while the other one was a '91), but as he's about to climb in, he remembers the Polaroid pictures from prom tucked away in his bedroom. He made two copies of the Polaroid photo Wendy took of him, Kyle, and Stan, and he wrote them both letters and planned on giving the photos with the letters to put in their yearbooks at the ceremony.

"Hang on, I forgot something," he calls out, jogging back into the house.

Kenny rummages through his dresser drawer, pulling the photos and letters out. He smiles at the Polaroid photo- Kenny in the middle with a big cheesy grin on his face, and Stan and Kyle on each of his sides, looking stubborn as fuck. He feels like this pretty much sums them all up. He stuffs the photos and letters in his pocket underneath his robe.

As Kenny turns to leave, he sees a dark shadow out of the corner of his eye. Before he can even react or process what's happening, he feels a hand clamp over his mouth, muffling his attempt to shout for help.

Fuck. This can't be happening. Not right now, not today. Shit. Kenny feels a surge of anger, and he violently thrashes in the arms of his assailant to no avail. Whoever has a hold of him is stronger.

Kenny has no time to try to process what's happening as he feels himself being hauled out the window, the warm afternoon air on his face.

Who would want to kidnap him? And why now, on the day of his graduation? This seriously cannot be happening right now. He's been too excited for today; he can't just fucking die right now.

A blindfold is placed over his eyes, and he can't make out anything of his surroundings other than the added sunlight filtering through the cloth on his eyes. He feels himself being shoved into some type of vehicle, tied to the chair. His head hits something hard, and pain explodes behind his eyes.

As the vehicle peels away, Kenny tries to sit up, to make sense of what the fuck just happened. Kenny desperately tries to kick at the window next to him to no avail. He's bound too tightly. Still, he doesn't stop his desperate attempts to kick and writhe out of his bondages. His assailant gives a grunt of annoyance, and Kenny hears a loud crashing sound before he feels something heavy hit him on the head, knocking him out cold.

It's dark outside when Kenny finally regains consciousness. He's no longer tied up, and the vehicle is nowhere to be found. He groans, his head pounding. His eyes struggle to adjust to the darkness. He's outside, somewhere in the woods.

Wait, not just any woods. He'd know this place anywhere. Stark's Canyon. And there, looming in the distance, is that big ass weeping willow tree. The same one where he'd stumbled on that cult freshman year. A hooded figure looms over him, silently observing him. Kenny internally groans. Not this creepy fucker again. If this were any other day, Kenny would probably curiously follow him. But today is kind of important.

"The fuck is going on?" Kenny demands, his voice hoarse, jumping to his feet. There's no way he will make it in time for the graduation - judging from how dark it is, the ceremony is probably long over by now. But he can at least try to track Wendy down and make it to Denver still.

The hooded figure takes a step closer. "Kenneth McCormick. Do not run. I do not wish to tie you up again. I mean you no harm."

Kenny scoffs, taking a step back. "Yeah, right. Kidnapping me and knocking me out really screams 'no harm.'"

The figure sighs, like Kenny's being difficult. "I apologize for the abrupt manner in which I brought you here, but time is of the essence. We must go to the other dimension. Now."

"Other dimension? Why should I believe you? For all I know, you could be part of that fucked up cult that wants to end my life for good. You're literally wearing the same robes they do, for Christ's sake."

The figure shakes his head vehemently. "No. I'm not a part of that cult. I'm here to help you, to protect you from them. Listen to me, Kenneth. Last time I met with you, you begged me not to be vague with you. Well, this is my only chance to fulfill your request. You have about 10 years time left, give or take, and I must show you the dimension. You must remember everything about tonight. Commit it to memory."

A pit forms in Kenny's stomach. Ten years? That's it? That's all he gets?

Kenny lets out a fake laugh. "Wow. That's...wow. This can't be happening. Not now, not tonight. This is some type of prank, right?"

The figure doesn't laugh, just stands there with the same cryptic seriousness that makes Kenny want to punch him. The reality of the situation crashes down on Kenny like a tidal wave. This is it. This is his life, his future, slipping through his fingers like sand. All his plans, all his dreams...none of it matters. Because in ten short years, he'll be gone. For good this time. Kenny wants to fight this, wants to try pushing this responsibility onto someone else. But he knows deep down that the hooded figure isn't lying. He thinks he's always known, deep down, that it would end like this one way or another.

"Why?" Kenny asks, his voice breaking. "Why me? I never asked for any of this. The dying, the coming back, the fucked up cult shit. I just wanted to be normal. Please. Is that so much to ask?"

The figure bows their head, like they're actually sorry. "I wish I had answers for you, Kenneth. Truly, I do. But this is your path that has been chosen for you. And you must walk it, whether you want to or not."

Kenny wants to scream. He wants to tell this asshole to go fuck themselves, to take their cryptic bullshit and shove it up their robed ass. But he doesn't. Because deep down, he knows it won't make a difference. He's never had a choice, not really. His whole life's just been one big cosmic joke for others to laugh at his deaths, and he's the punchline.

With a shaky breath, Kenny follows the hooded figure to the weeping willow tree.

As they walk, Kenny clears his throat awkwardly. "So, uh. You got a name? Or should I just keep calling you 'Creepy Robe Guy' in my head?"

The figure glances back at him, and Kenny swears he catches a hint of a smile beneath the hood. "You can call me Guide."

"Guide. Right. Cool." Kenny shoves his hands in his pockets, feeling the crumpled up letters he wrote for Stan and Kyle.

"Okay, Guide," he says, steeling himself. "Lay it on me. What's this interdimensional field trip gonna entail?"

"Kenneth-"

"Dude, please just call me Kenny," Kenny says in a small voice.

"….Kenny. I am about to demonstrate the way into the other dimension; how to open up the portal. Commit this to memory. You must remember this as this is the only time you can pay it a visit between now and your permanent death. Now, keep in mind that this ritual is more likely to be successful closer to midnight. But you're a special case, Kenny. Your power is strong enough to open the way, even now."

"My power," Kenny echoes, feeling dazed. "Right."

The Guide crouches down, laying out some kind of woven mat thing on the ground. It's covered in weird symbols that make Kenny's eyes hurt to look at.

The Guide points to the items on the mat, his voice low and urgent. "Listen to me very carefully. When the time comes - your time - you must gather these items. The chalice and blade, I give to you now for safekeeping. The elixir can only be obtained from Mephesto's lab. There is a plant that grows there, and at Stark's Pond. You must get someone at the lab to prepare it for you. It is vital."

Kenny nods, his heart pounding as he commits the information to memory.

The Guide pulls out an old, weathered book from the folds of his robe. "The Chant of Leng," he says reverently, running his fingers over the cracked leather cover. "From the Cipher of Eldritch. An invocation of great power. One not to be taken lightly."

He hands the book to Kenny, open to a page covered in strange, spidery writing. "Memorize this," he commands. "Or copy it down, if you must. But do not lose it. When the time comes, you must recite it exactly. Any deviation could prove...disastrous."

Kenny nods, pulling out the letter he had written to Stan from his pocket, his hands shaking as he writes down the odd names.

"Here- give me that. I will write the words to the chant down. Do not let this get into the wrong hands, Kenneth."

The guide takes the paper from Kenny and writes down the words to the chant, placing it back in Kenny's pocket. Kenny sheds his graduation cap and gown, nodding at the guide to continue.

The guide begins to chant in an ancient language, his words echoing through the canyon, calling upon the guardians of the threshold to open the path between worlds. The wind howls by them, Kenny's hair flying in the wind.

The guide picks up the intricate dagger, making a cut across his palm. The blood hits the ground in front of the tree. Next, the guide picks up the vial of green liquid. It glows faintly. "This, Kenny, is the catalyst. Do not drink it tonight. I will be the one drinking it. Doing so will effectively make me a conduit so I can guide us to the other side."

The guide pours the liquid into the chalice, the green substance swirling and pulsing with an otherworldly energy.

The guide raises the chalice to their lips and drinks deeply, consuming the green liquid. As the does, his form begins to shimmer and blur.. The guide begins the final chant, his voice rising in intensity. The symbols around the tree light up, a low hum filling the air as a tear in the fabric of reality appears beneath the weeping willow.

The guide steps up to the portal, motioning for Kenny to follow.

"You must go through the dimension first. I shall meet you shortly."

Kenny tries to protest, but before he can, he is pushed through the portal ahead of the Guide into darkness.

Kenny gasps as he finds himself in a dark, twisted version of South Park. It seems to mirror the world he just came from, but everything is dark, so dark. Weeds sprout everywhere, and the buildings around him are crumbling. Even the mountains themselves look dilipidated and apocalyptic.

He backs away slowly, his mind reeling with questions. What is this place? How did he get here? He feels a suffocating sense of lonlieness. It's so quiet here.

The Guide materializes by Kenny, still glowing. Kenny turns to give the Guide an expectant look, wanting answers.

"What is this place, exactly?" Kenny questions quietly. "Is it… hell? Some kind of nightmare dimension?"

The Guide sighs, like he's explaining quantum physics to a particularly dense toddler. "In a manner of speaking. This realm is not precisely 'hell' as your human myths describe it. But it is a place of great and terrible power, where the laws of reality are thin and malleable. As previously mentioned, you have around 10 years before the Cult sacrifices you. You will find yourself here after death, and you must thwart the cult's plans from beyond the grave."

"And these cultist fucks want to let Cthulhu and his buddies come party in our world? That's their big plan?"

"A crude oversimplification, but essentially correct," the Guide confirms. "They believe that by offering your blood, your unique connection to the veil between life and death, they can tear open the barrier and allow these entities to cross over."

The Guide gestures for Kenny to follow. "Come, there is much for you to understand about this realm."

As they walk, the swirling void shifts and morphs around them. Eerie shapes and structures flicker in and out of existence. Kenny tires to bring in the laws of physics and logic, but falls short. He will have to study this somehow on Earth, how all of this can be possible. There has to be some scientific explanation for it all.

"This dimension parallels your own," the Guide explains, his ethereal voice echoing in the emptiness. "It is a realm of pure energy and thought, shaped by the beliefs and intentions of those who access it. The cult seeks to harness its power for their purposes. Sacrificing you is but the first step- after that, they must open the Door to realize their plans to usher in the new era."

As they continue walking, the Guide points to various points of interest in the eerie landscape.

"Here, in this dimension, thought and intention hold sway. You must learn to navigate its shifting tides and use its energies to your advantage.In time, you will learn to shape this realm to your will," the Guide assures him. "But be warned - the cult's influence runs deep, even here. You must be vigilant and cunning if you hope to thwart their plans. You must succeed in your task."

"And what is my task, exactly? You keep talking about me like I'm the chosen one or some crap, but I still don't know what the hell I'm supposed to do."

The Guide turns to him, his glowing eyes intense. "You must stop them, Kenneth. You must find the Necronomicon - the ancient tome that holds the key to their plans - and keep it from their grasp. You must find a way to stop them from here, in this place. You must seal the breach before it's too late."

Kenny swallows hard, his mouth bone dry. "Sure, no pressure or anything. Just save the fucking world from an army of eldritch horrors. Easy peasy."

"This Door you mentioned," Kenny says, trying to focus on something concrete. "What's the deal with that? Is the cult gonna bust out some creepy ass Monsters Inc. shit or something?"

The Guide waves his hand, and a shimmering image appears in the air - an enormous, ancient-looking door, covered in runes and symbols that make Kenny's eyes ache. It pulses with a sick, wrong energy that turns his stomach.

"The Door is the key," the Guide explains. "A weak point between realities. If opened fully, it will allow the Old Ones to pass through and consume your world."

"Of course it fucking will," Kenny sighs. "Alright, so I gotta keep that bad boy closed at all costs. Got it."

The Guide pauses, turning to face Kenny with glowing eyes. "The Door is not merely a physical gateway, but a breach between realities. It is a tear in the fabric of existence itself, allowing the energies of this dimension to seep into your world. The cult believes that by opening the Door fully, they will allow ancient beings to infiltrate and consume your reality. These entities are beyond human comprehension - vast, eldritch horrors that hunger for the energy of living souls. The cultists foolishly believe these entities will share power with them."

Kenny shudders at the thought. "And they want to sacrifice me to make this happen?"

The Guide nods solemnly. "Your unique connection to death makes you a powerful conduit. By spilling your blood on the threshold, they hope to shatter the barriers between worlds and usher in a new era of darkness."

Kenny's mind reels as he tries to process the Guide's words. The weight of his impending death and the responsibility that comes with it threaten to crush him.

"Once you have passed, you will become a guardian of the balance between dimensions, with unique abilities to influence both worlds. However, your methods will be more subtle and indirect than you might expect."

Kenny frowns, trying to wrap his head around the concept. "What kind of abilities are we talking about here?"

"You will be able to communicate with your friends through dreams, visions, and even seemingly coincidental events. Your energy will guide them towards the knowledge and tools they need to continue the fight against the cult."

The Guide places a hand on Kenny's shoulder, his grip firm and reassuring. "But remember, Kenny, you are not alone in this. Your friends on Earth will be crucial allies. You must leave behind clues, knowledge, and even trigger memories that can guide Stan, Kyle, Wendy, and others to carry on your mission."

Kenny freezes, gulping. "How do you know my friend's names?" He hates the idea that others may know of his friends. As far as Kenny is convinced, they can stalk him as much as they want, but his friends are off limits.

"I know a lot more about you than you can understand, Kenny. I have been with you to protect you since you were a child. I told you to make good friendships the last time we met, and you have done just that."

Kenny feels a surge of nervousness and desperation. "Dude, leave my friends out of this. I'm serious. Take me if you need to, fucking…. kill me permanently right now if you have to. Wendy, Kyle, and Stan can't be in danger, and neither should any of my other friends or family for that matter!" Kenny yells.

"Kenny, please. I promise I will keep them safe. But you simply cannot do this without them."

"Fuck… fuck!" Kenny takes a couple of deep breaths. "Okay, fine. So, this 'Chant of Leng,' the artifacts that can seal the door... I need to make sure they have access to all of that."

"Yes," the Guide agrees. "And you must prepare them for your permanent death in their dimension. It will be a shock, but they must understand that it is not the end, but rather the beginning of a new phase in this cosmic battle."

Kenny takes a deep breath, his resolve hardening. "I'll do whatever it takes. I won't let the cult win."

The Guide smiles beneath his hood, a glimmer of pride in his glowing eyes. "I know you won't, Kenny. I have faith in you. In your strength, your resilience, your bond with your friends. You will succeed. I know it in my bones."

Kenny swallows around the sudden lump in his throat. "And if we don't? What happens then?"

The Guide is silent for a long moment. "Kenneth. I mean….. Kenny. Do not dwell on that. You will succeed, together with your friends. You've been doing it your whole lives."

Kenny's mind races as he considers the implications of the Guide's instructions. He really doesn't want to rope in his friends, but it sounds like the fate of their town and maybe even the world may depend on it. Depend on Kenny working together with them, even after he dies.

Before Kenny can respond, the ground starts to shake. The wind picks up, a creepy howling sound bringing chills to Kenny's core.

The Guide's eyes are wide beneath his hood, glowing with an urgent light. "They know you're here," he hisses, fumbling in his robes. "The cult, they can sense your presence." He pulls out the chalice filled with a glowing green liquid and the wicked looking dagger, shoving them into Kenny's hands. "Take these," he urges, his voice strained. "You'll need them, in the fight to come."

The trembling in the ground increases, and Kenny can hear distant chanting closing in on them, getting closer.

"Go, now!" the Guide shouts, shoving Kenny towards the portal.

Kenny hesitates, torn. "But what about you? Aren't you coming with me?"

The Guide shakes his head, something like sadness flickering in his glowing eyes. "My place is here, Kenneth. I must keep the darkness at bay, for as long as I am able. Goodbye, Kenny."

Before Kenny can protest, the Guide pushes him through the portal with surprising strength. The world spins and stretches, reality twisting like taffy, and then-

Kenny stumbles, blinking in the sudden brightness. He's back in South Park, on a familiar street corner. The portal winks out of existence behind him, leaving him alone and reeling. "What the fuck," he breathes, his mind racing. Did that really just happen?

He's not sure who The Guide is, but he was sure of one thing: the Guide drinking that liquid effectively killed him, trapping him in that dimension. And Kenny believes the Guide has been in his life, protecting him. A wave of grief and determination washes over Kenny as he clutches the chalice and dagger. He doesn't want to let the Guide down.

Kenny checks his phone- it's 3 a.m. The day after graduation.

"No," he whispers, his blood running cold. "No no no no no."

He missed it. He missed the whole fucking thing. The ceremony, the parties, his night with Wendy. All of it, gone in a blink. Guilt crashes over him like a tidal wave as he stumbles towards his house.

As he climbs through his bedroom window, he's startled to find Wendy already there, pacing back and forth with a fury he's never seen before. Her eyes blaze with anger and hurt as she whirls around to face him.

"Where the hell have you been, Kenny?" Wendy demands, her voice trembling with barely contained rage. "I waited for you all night, Kenny! I called you a hundred times! I thought you were dead in a fucking ditch somewhere! And everyone else around me acted like I was crazy for asking where you were, like they didn't even know who you were!"

Kenny's heart cracks down the middle. Kenny opens his mouth, but Wendy cuts him off, furious.

"I trusted you, Kenny. We…. we worked so fucking hard to get you to this point, to graduate with honors! But you just disappeared without a word. Not to mention how excited I was for the suprise you promised me. Do you have any idea how worried I was? How betrayed I feel? Kenny, what the actual fuck?!"

Kenny's heart clenches at the pain in Wendy's voice. He can't even bring himself to feel the hope he should at the fact that Wendy realized he was gone when nobody else did. All he feels right now is desperation and guilt. He reaches out to her, desperate to make her understand. "Wendy, please, let me explain..."

Wendy backs away, getting closer to the door. Her eyes well with angry tears. "I don't even understand what there can be to explain, Kenny. I can't… I can't think of anything that can justify this. Not a fucking thing."

Kenny catches Wendy's wrist as she reaches for the door, his fingers gentle but insistent.

"Wendy," he says desperately. "Please, I promise I didn't ditch you on purpose."

Wendy looks up at him, her brown eyes so furious that it causes Kenny to flinch. The fury in her eyes turns to confusion as she looks more closely at Kenny. She reaches out, gently touching Kenny's head where he got hit earlier. He flinches at the contact, as gentle as it is.

"What happened to you, Ken? Just tell me what's going on. And don't tell me I have to figure it out myself, like you always do," Wendy whispers desperately.

Kenny takes a shaky breath, his mind racing. He knows he can't just blurt out the whole truth, can't expect her to swallow the insanity of immortality and eldritch cults in one gulp. But he's so close, so fucking close to finally having someone who remembers. Someone who understands. But he also knows that Wendy is too smart, too observant, to let this go without an explanation.

She needs to realize this out on her own. It's the only way to permanently remember. Kenny is so fucking sick of all of this, of the revelation that he's nothing more than a sacrifical pawn in the stupid cult's plans. Fuck them. Kenny is going to get one goddamn person to remember his deaths.

"Wendy," Kenny begins, his voice soft and measured, "I know things have been... strange lately. And I'm sorry for worrying you, for disappearing like that. But there's something going on, something bigger than you or me or anyone in South Park. Do you ever get the sense that there's…something that nobody talks about, but everybody kind of knows?"

She blinks at him, taken aback by the sudden subject change. "What do you mean, Kenny? What's going on?"

Kenny hesitates, choosing his words carefully. "You know how sometimes, in this town, weird things happen? The way people just... forget, afterwards. Like it never even happened."

Wendy nods slowly, her eyes widening with realization. "Like... like my dreams. The ones where you... where you die, over and over again."

Kenny nods, his heart pounding. They're so fucking close. "Exactly. And like how you mentioned nobody seemed to notice I was missing from graduation…like I was never even supposed to be there."

"Oh my god. Kenny, are you... are you saying...?"

Kenny stays silent. It can't be him that's saying it. He waits paitently. Kenny can practically see the gears turning in her head, the pieces starting to slot into place.

Wendy looks at Kenny, her face a mixture of realization and confusion. "Are you... are you telling me that you can't die? That you always come back?"

Kenny looks into her eyes, an intense feeling of relief rushing through him. Kenny's not sure how he knows this, but he knows that now that Wendy has worded herself, she will remember this conversation. He nods. "Yes, Wendy. That's exactly what I'm saying."

Kenny feels a wave of relief wash over him. The feeling of someone finally permanently knowing about his deaths is a relief and feeling he can't possibly describe.

"Wait…. I'm starting to remember things, Kenny. Things you were missing for. And… .and deaths in elementary school. And our conversation on prom night! What the fuck?" Wendy looks like she may pass out, extremely pale.

"Wendy," Kenny says softly, "I know it's a lot to take in. But, yes, you figured it out. I've died countless times, in ways you can't even imagine. And every time, I come back, like nothing ever happened. But the memories all stay with me."

Wendy reaches out, her hand trembling as she gently touches Kenny's face. "All those dreams, all those nightmares... they were real, weren't they? You were trying to tell me."

Kenny nods, leaning into her touch. "You helped, actually. It was a joint effort. Wendy, there are lots of things that even I don't fully understand. But I know that they're connected to the cult, to the strange things that keep happening in South Park. I'll tell you later."

And he will tell her later. He'll tell her everything. But right now, he just needs to hold her.

Wendy's eyes widen. "The cult? What do they have to do with this?"

"Everything," Kenny says grimly. "They're the ones behind it all, behind the weird events and the memory loss. And they're after me, Wendy. They want to use me for my immortality."

Wendy's grip on Kenny tightens, her voice filled with determination. "Then we'll stop them, Kenny. Together."

Kenny pulls Wendy into a tight hug, burying his face in her hair. "Wendy," he breathes. He doesn't trust himself to say anything else without breaking out in tears.

Kenny backs them gently onto the bed, not breaking their embrace. He pulls Wendy on top of him, holding her closely, matching his breath to hers. He traces his fingers gently on her back.

“We’ll figure this out, Ken. I won’t let anything happen to you,” Wendy whispers, kissing his jaw.

Kenny pulls back, tilting Wendy's face towards his, meeting her gaze. "I don't know what I did to deserve you, Wends."

Words can’t describe how he feels about her right now. So he’ll have to show her in other ways for the time being. He traces his fingers down the small of her back, tracing her spine, pulling her in for a deep kiss. Wendy lets out a soft gasp when his fingers graze her stomach. She arches into his touch, impatiently tugging at Kenny's shirt. She pulls it over his head and tosses it aside.

Kenny will worry about the whole saving the world thing later.

Chapter Text

Stan, Wendy, and Kyle huddle together in Kyle's childhood bedroom. They have shut themselves in trying to piece together all the clues they have for 72 hours straight, barely pausing for food breaks. The disappearance and natural disasters in town are getting worse by the minute, creating a sense of utter urgency. Now that they know that the weeping willow is the entrance to the other dimension, they have gone deep into the cult to figure out the ritual to get into it, knowing they have little time to figure things out before the world goes to hell.

Papers are scattered across the floor, a jumbled mess of notes and clues. Kyle's wall now looks like the set of a 1980s detective show, with connections, papers, and yarn strewn across it. Stan's laptop setup probably has no less than 2000 tabs open on it at this point.

Wendy remembered something Kenny said about a plant that produces a liquid for the cult near Mephesto's lab. Piecing together some notes from their original investigation, the resources Tolkien gave Stan, their now much more vivid nightmares and the papers from the lab, they piece together that Cartman must have the dagger and the chalice must be at Kenny's childhood home.

With this in mind, they come up with a plan.

"We need to split up," Stan decides. "Get these items without drawing attention."

Kyle nods. "I'll take Mephesto's lab. I can probably get in with my hospital ID."

"I'll search Kenny's place. His family knows me pretty well," Wendy offers.

Stan exhales slowly. "Guess that leaves me to deal with Cartman." His stomach twists at the thought. The last person he wants to see is Cartman, but he knows it's probably for the best that he be the one to deal with him.

"What about the chant?" Wendy reminds them. "We still need the words to open the portal."

"Let's keep our eyes open," Kyle says. "I say we split up now to get what we already know, and then we worry about the chant."

Stan's heart pounds as they all stand up, the gravity of their mission settling on their shoulders. He looks at Kyle and Wendy and sees the same determination and fear in their eyes that he feels coursing through his own veins. Stan has a sinking feeling in his gut that everything is coming to a head very soon, whether they are ready for it or not.

"Good luck, everyone," Stan says awkwardly as they all head off on their respective missions. "Be smart about it…. and, uh, stay safe and all that."

Kyle reaches out and squeezes Stan's good shoulder. "You too, dude. Don't let Cartman get under your skin."

Stan nods, swallowing hard. He gives Kyle a joking smile. "Kind of funny to hear you being the one saying that."

Wendy gives them both a tight smile. "We've got this, guys."

Cartman's house is the last place Stan would like to be at the moment. To be honest, he would have much rather taken Mephesto's lab or Kenny's childhood home. The last person he ever wants to deal with is Cartman. But Stan knows deep down that Cartman was way more abusive to Kyle and Wendy growing up and that it has to be him to deal with Cartman because of that. He knows he's the only one of them who can hold himself back from starting an argument at the get-go. He may never know why, but he knows that Cartman always had some twisted sense of respect for him that he did not reciprocate.

It takes a moment for Cartman to open the door. He's likely looking at the video feed, deciding if it's worth it to speak to Stan.

"Stanley! The hippie detective! To what do I owe the displeasure?" Cartman's voice drips with mock warmth as he opens the door.

"I need your help, Eric." Stan keeps his tone even, not wanting to give Cartman the satisfaction of seeing him flustered. He doesn't think he's ever referred to Cartman as Eric once in his entire life, but he's learned a couple of things about the art of manipulation both from Cartman as a child himself as well as his time being a detective.

Cartman raises an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "Oh? The great Stan Marsh needs my help? And without the Jew by his side? This must be serious."

Stan fights the urge to roll his eyes, keeping his expression neutral. "It's about Kenny," he begins, gauging Cartman's reaction. A flicker of concern crosses Cartman's face before he masks it with indifference.

"What about that poor piece of shit? Don't tell me you're still hung up on his death."

Stan takes a step forward, lowering his voice. "He left something important behind. A dagger. I think you know where it is."

Cartman scoffs, but there's a hesitation that Stan latches onto. "A dagger? Why the hell would Kenny leave a dagger with me? Do I look like a fucking pawn shop to you?"

"Come on, Cartman. I know you have it. Kenny trusted you with it, because he knew you'd keep it safe. Because you're the only one who remembers his deaths."

A flicker of pride crosses Cartman's face before he catches himself. "Damn right, I remember. You assholes were always too busy with your own lives to notice when Kenny was gone. But I noticed. Every single time."

Stan nods. "I need that dagger to finish what Kenny started. To put an end to the cult's plans and save South Park."

Cartman studies Stan for a long moment, his eyes narrowed in calculation. "And what's in it for me, huh? Why should I hand over the dagger to you?"

Cartman is too fucking predictable.

"Don't you want the town to know how much you helped if we can stop the cult? I'll tell them how you were the one who kept the dagger safe, how you were the key to stopping the cult. You'll be a hero. Maybe they'd even want to elect you as Mayor. And I would personally endorse you."

Cartman's eyes widen, a gleam of ambition and desire for recognition sparkling in their depths. He's silent for a moment, considering Stan's offer.

"Kenny came to me, you know," Cartman says slowly, his eyes distant. "Before he died. He was acting all weird and cryptic, like he knew something big was about to go down."

Stan leans forward, his heart pounding. "What did he say?"

"He said he needed me to keep the dagger safe, that it was going to be important in the fight against the cult. Said I was the only one he could trust with it, not even you or the Jew."

Stan gives Cartman a pointed look. "I highly doubt he told you that, dude."

"Yeah huh! He did! And I, being the thoughtful and generous friend to Kenny that I am, agreed to safeguard the dagger. Who else in this godforsaken town has the sheer resourcefulness to safeguard it? He certainly wouldn't have ever trusted you with it, Marsh."

"Right, because hoarding cheesy poofs and plotting world domination from your mom's basement screams 'reliable guardian' to everyone," Stan retorts, unable to resist the jab.

Cartman's eyes narrow, but there's a glint of amusement in them. He hesitates for a moment but smiles at Stan, opening the door wider.

"Come on in, Marsh. I'll give it to you. As long as you promise not to drag me into whatever it is you, Kenny, and the Jew have planned. I've sworn off craziness from my life and must admit I am much healthier without all your crazy schemes impacting my life."

Stan bites his lip to keep from saying anything too snarky to that. God, he's glad Kyle isn't here right now. He rolls his eyes and quietly follows Cartman into the house.

"Sworn off craziness? You literally just wrote another conspiracy theory book." Cartman has seemed to have a thing for writing books of the sort after he wrote some conspiracy book about Wendy and Smurfs back in fourth grade.

Cartman scoffs as he leads Stan through the messy living room toward his equally chaotic bedroom. "That, my friend, is called entrepreneurship. Something you'd know nothing about, considering your biggest accomplishment is nearly failing high school."

"Nearly, but didn't. Thanks to Kenny, actually."

"Ah, yes. Our golden boy Kenny," Cartman drawls, rummaging through a pile of assorted junk on his dresser. "He always did have a soft spot for the underachievers."

Stan watches Cartman shuffle some things around, a part of him still unable to believe that Cartman is willingly helping. He thinks it's likely Kenny must have had a very serious conversation with him about it while he was still alive.

Cartman pulls out a small, ornate box from under a stack of questionable magazines, tossing it onto the bed with a flourish. "Here," he says, unlocking the box to reveal the dagger nestled inside.

Stan reaches for it, his fingers brushing against the cool metal. He secures the dagger carefully in his jean's pocket. "Thanks, Cartman. Seriously."

As Stan turns to leave, Cartman's voice booms down the hall, "Hey, Stan! I'm open to hanging out with you should you ever dump your boyfriend Kahl."

"Dude. You literally just told me like 10 minutes ago that you're so much healthier without my…. uh 'crazy schemes'."

Cartman shrugs. "I'm sure you've matured a bit. I'm seriously, you were a wild kid. You're lucky you had me to tame you. Good luck regardless with whatever the fuck it is you're doing."

Stan rolls his eyes. "Yes, Cartman. You were the tame one." Stan shakes his head in disbelief. He has a feeling that Cartman genuinely believes that.

"My offer to hang out still stands. I know it may be hard for you to stop fucking the Jew for a bit since you're the biggest fags I know, and I know Big Gay Al. But-"

"Bye, Cartman!" Stan interrupts loudly, rushing out the door.

In Kyle's childhood bedroom, a nervous energy fills the air as Stan and Kyle wait for Wendy's return. The walls, once plastered with posters of basketball stars and debate club accolades, now bear the weight of conspiracy boards and scribbled notes about cults and other dimensions.

Stan paces back and forth, his mind racing with the weight of their impending mission. The dagger feels heavy in Stan's pocket like it weighs 1000 pounds. Kyle easily got the green lab at the lab, though it took him some convincing with Tweek. Now they're just waiting for Wendy to get back.

Kyle looks up from his phone and pats the spot next to him on the bed. "C'mere, dude. Wearing yourself out isn't gonna make her show up any faster."

Stan sighs, plopping down next to Kyle. Their shoulders brush, and Stan feels a familiar warmth spread through him at the contact.

"I know. I just... I hate waiting, you know? It feels like we're just sitting here while the world goes to shit as I speak."

Kyle bumps his shoulder against Stan's. "Hey, at least we're sitting here together, right? There's nobody else I'd rather face the apocalypse with, Stan."

Stan smiles at him. "Yeah? Not even Kenny?"

"Damn straight." Kyle's grin softens into something more tender, his green eyes searching Stan's face. "I mean it, though. You're my rock, Stan. You always have been."

Stan's throat goes tight, his heart doing a funny little flip in his chest. He reaches out, tangling his fingers with Kyle's. "Goes both ways, dude.

Kyle squeezes Stan's hand. "You're the only one I can really talk to about any thing when it comes to our childhood. Anyone else would just immediately send me to the psych ward. I know that Wendy keeps saying the craziness in South Park is due to the cult concentrating by Kenny, but I'm still pretty sure that like 90% of was all just Cartman."

"Only ninety percent? Feeling generous today, are we?" Stan teases. "We did have some normal times. Occasionally.

"Yeah, like trying to figure out how to sneak into R-rated movies like Terrence & Phillip's Asses of Fire."

Stan grins, turning his head to face Kyle. "And failing miserably every time. Until we convinced the homeless dude to let us in by getting him a bottle of vodka each time. I wonder what ever happened to that guy?"

"He probably died. Not from alcoholism, but from my mom tracking him down," Kyle snickers, Stan joining in on his laughter.

"Remember the summer we were superheroes?" Kyle asks.

"How could I forget? You were the Human Kite, soaring through the skies with your trusty kite and laser eyes."

Kyle bumps his shoulder playfully against Stan's. "And you were Toolshed, the master of all things handy. I seem to recall you had a particular fondness for your power drills."

Stan grins and winks playfully. "What can I say? I know how to handle my tools."

Kyle snorts. "Oh my god, that was terrible. I can't believe I actually found that kind of hot when we were kids."

Stan laughs uncontrollably. "Holy shit, Kyle. I had no idea you were into the whole 'handy man' thing."

Kyle rolls his eyes. "Oh, don't get too full of yourself there. Stop laughing."

It's not that funny at all, but Stan can't stop laughing. Finally getting some alone time with Kyle has made his heart feel lighter than it has been the past several days spent poring over research, and it feels so good.

"I can't stop laughing, dude. You'll have to make m-"

Kyle grabs Stan's face harshly towards his, closing the gap to drown out Stan's laughs in a kiss. Stan laughs into Kyle's lips, but deepens the kiss regardless.

They get so lost in each other that they don't hear the door open. Wendy stands in the doorway, a look of amused surprise on her face.

"Awwww," she drawls. "About time."

Stan feels his face go even hotter, ducking his head to hide his smile. He falls into Kyle's side to rest his head on his shoulder. Kyle just flips her off, his other hand still tangled with Stan's.

"Like you didn't see this coming a mile away," Kyle grumbles, but there's no real heat to it.

Wendy just grins. "Now, are you two lovebirds done making out and ready? We've got another dimension to get to. Now all we need are the words to the chant." She pulls a chalice out of her pocket, holding it up.

The giddy bubble in Stan's chest pops, reality rushing back in like a cold bucket of water. Right. The cult, the ritual, the fate of the fucking world hanging in the balance.

Stan takes Kyle's hand, intertwining their fingers. "Ready as we'll ever be."

Wendy sets the chalice down on Kyle's desk next to the green liquid. Stan takes the dagger out of his pocket, adding it to the desk.

"What about the chant?" Kyle asks, dejected. "We've went over all the resources multiple times but still haven't found anything.

Wendy breathes deeply. "I think I might know where to find it."

Stan sits up straighter. "Where?"

Wendy looks nervous. "I think it may be at your dad's farm, Stan. Where Kenny and I shared our first kiss."

Stan's first instinct is to grapple with the fact that his ex shared her first kiss with his best friend at his own damn house, but he feels Kyle squeeze his hand and doesn't feel any type of anger or jealousy. He mostly feels sick at the thought of returning to his dad's place. He doesn't exactly have warm feelings for the weed farm.

Kyle's grip on his hand tightens, anchoring him. "Hey," he says softly, ducking his head to catch Stan's eye. "We can handle this, okay?"

Wendy nods. "If it's too much, I can go by myself. You don't have to-"

"No," Stan cuts her off, his voice rough. "No, I... I need to do this. Kenny would want us to finish this together, as a team."

Wendy reaches into her pocket, pulling out the chalice. She sets it gently on Kyle's desk, next to the vial of shimmering green liquid. Stan adds the dagger to the collection, the three items gleaming in the low light. They quietly look at the items before Wendy gathers them all into her backpack, leading the way to Kyle's car.

Kyle drives them to Randy's weed farm as the sky turns dark. As they pull onto the gravel path leading up to the farm, a thick fog begins to envelop them. Kyle slows the car to a crawl, the headlights barely cutting through the dense mist.

"God, this place gives me the creeps," Wendy mutters.

All Stan can do is give a tight nod in response, his voice lost in his throat as he eyes the porch lights from the house at a distance. He tries to push away his memories from this place. His family moved here around the same time he had his falling out with Kyle at the beginning of High School. He hated it when they moved here and struggles to think of one good memory from his time on the farm. With that in mind, he can't even really think of a single good memory from all of High School. Those years were shrouded in listening to his parent's arguing, and missing Kyle like hell. All he can think as he looks at the two-story house is old memories of shouts echoing through the night, the sound of shattered glass and his guitar breaking, his mom's muffled sobs, and the lack of Kyle's presence that he so desperately craved. He would try to drown out everything nearly every night by drinking stolen liquor, drinking his mind into a state of barely livable numbness. Stan closes his eyes and clenches his fists, fighting the urge to tell Kyle to turn the car around.

They get out the car, looking to Wendy to lead the way to the location she has in mind. Their footsteps crunch loudly on the gravel. Wendy leads them to the barn near the house. "It's just behind here," she says, pointing the flashlight from her phone onto the old wooden barn.

Kyle walks closely to Stan, their hands brushing together in a silent show of support. "You okay, dude?" he asks, his voice low and concerned.

Stan swallows hard, his throat dry. "Yeah. Let's just do this."

The back of the barn is even more unnerving, remnants of old, twisted farming tools casting long shadows. Stan's breath hitches as a sudden chill sweeps through him, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and something faintly metallic.

"Right here," Wendy announces. She kneels down on the ground at a spot behind the barn, her hair blowing in the breeze. Stan kneels beside her, the ground cold to his touch. Kyle momentarily goes into the barn to find a shovel, handing it to Stan. As he digs as best as he can one-handed, Kyle stands watch, his hand resting reassuringly on Stan's shoulder. Wendy's eyes dart nervously around the farm, eyeing the fog warily.

"There!" Wendy exclaims as Stan's shovel makes a metallic noise as it clashes with something harder than the dirt. Stan gently removes the remaining dirt over the object with the shovel, Wendy reaching over to pull out a small, weather-worn notebook from the ground. Her hands tremble as she flips it open to reveal Kenny's handwriting.

Stan's breath hitches. "The chant," he says, filled with both relief and nervousness for what comes next now that they have all they need to travel to the other dimension.

"Holy shit," Kyle murmurs as the trio kneels down around the journal in Wendy's hands.

Stan leans in, his heart pounding as he reads the words scrawled across the cover in Kenny's familiar handwriting.

"The Chant to End All Chants (a Guide to Friends from Kenny McCormick)." Because of course Kenny would fucking word it so casually. They all read through the beginning quietly, only the sound of the wind enveloping them, their hair whipping around wildly, the only light from the occasional moon and stars peeking through the fog and Wendy's flashlight along with the house's front porch light.

The first page includes instructions that Kenny wrote out in his barely legible handwriting. Stan wishes they could just get to the core of it immediately to the actual chant, but at the same time feels a pang of nostalgia at Kenny's friendly written bullshit. It's as if Kenny knew they would be on edge and he wanted to help ease their nerves. For as inappropriate as Kenny could be, he always seemed to be the most in tune with how to make his friends feel better. They all let out breathless laughs as they read his first pages, Wendy's eyes shining with amused but sad tears.

Kenny took his goddamn time to get to the actual chant. It is clear he had fun trying to write a guide to getting to another dimension. In his chicken scratch handwriting, he first wrote out some pre-snack suggestions. He wrote: "If you're gonna chant yourself away to another dimension, experts (re: expert being Kenny McCormick) say it's best to do it on a full stomach. Experts recommend a healthy diet of Takis and Dr. Pepper. For extra power, throw in some of Cartman's mom's brownies (the regular kind, not the 'special' ones). Sonic pebble ice obviously will give you special abilities."

Stan rolls his eyes but smiles. He wonders how old Kenny was when he wrote this out, knowing the Sonic pebble ice is a specific callout to Wendy. The next page has a badly drawn stick figure in a hoodie. Written by Kenny is "Dress code for world-saving chants: Hoodies are a must, preferably orange. It adds +10 to mystic abilities and +20 to stealth. Bonus points if you wear mismatched socks for chaotic energy. "

"Damn, I thought I was bad at drawing, but I think Kenny may actually be worse," Kyle laughs.

On the next page, Kenny continued his world-ending chant tips, numbering them. Tip 3 was to remember to breathe. "Deep breaths in through the mouth, out through the nose. Or was it the other way around? Ah, just… don't pass out," Kenny had written super helpfully.

Tip number four is a suggestion for them to create a playlist to set the mood. Kenny recommended 'The End of the World as We Know It' by R.E.M. on repeat, but also wrote down, "If you're feeling classical (…looking at you, Kyle….), 'The Danse Macabre' is a certified banger." Kenny wrote several other songs, most of them weird choices but made sense given that this was Kenny, after all. He wrote out 'Stayin' Alive' as a playlist rec simply because he helpfully quote 'hoped they would stay alive'.

Stan laughs hard at the classical music callout to Kyle, earning a glare from Kyle. Stan knows that Kyle secretly probably has even more of a goth taste in music than he does, which makes it funnier to him.

The next page is a written pep talk to them from Kenny, which Wendy reads aloud.

"If you're reading this, by now I'm dead, but don't worry about it. You're the best team a guy could ask for, even better than the Avengers. Stan, stop rolling your eyes. Kyle, keep Stan from doing anything too impulsive. Wendy, make sure they actually do the chant and don't just stand there arguing about it (also I love you pookie). Anyways, after we save the world, first round of drinks is on me. Oh wait, I'm dead…. Uh, put it on Cartman's tab then. Tell him Kenny authorized it. Anyways, I know you all can do it! Turn the page for the chant. You've got this.

P.S. Maybe delete my browser history. Just in case.

Stan is about to say something to break the silence when he hears a familiar voice walking to them from the main house.

"Who the hell is on my property messing with my Tegridy?!"

They whirl around to see Randy striding towards them, his face twisted in anger by the aggressive glow of his flashlight. Stan feels his heart sink, a wave of dread washing over him.

"Dad!" Stan says, stepping into the beam of the light to reveal himself. "It's just me."

Recognition flickers across Randy's face, the harsh lines softening just a tad. "Stan? What the… What are you doing here? Thought you were too good for the farm."

"I'm here with Kyle and Wendy," Stan says, his voice tight. "We're just looking for something."

Randy's stance hardens, his voice dripping with a mix of scorn and genuine hurt. "Oh, so you'll come here with your at night to sneak around with your friends, but you can't be bothered to visit your old man? Too busy being a fancy detective in the city?"

"Jesus Christ, Dad, this isn't about you!" Stan snaps, his temper fraying. "We don't have time for this."

"You never have time for anything except being a pessimistic little shit," Randy slurs, swaying slightly on his feet. "Always complaining about the farm, about how much you hate it here."

Stan feels his temper flare, years of pent-up frustration bubbling to the surface. "Maybe I would've helped if you weren't always so drunk off your ass and treating me like shit! All you ever cared about was your precious fucking Tegridy; why do you think I hated weed so much? Bye dad, we're leaving now."

Randy scoffs. "Don't talk to me like that, Stanley. You haven't came to visit once since you went to live with your mom after graduating, and you're just going to leave? Come on, Stan. Let go of your weed problem and come share a joint with your dad like a good son and catch up."

Stan rolls his eyes, not having the energy to justify that with a response. He attempts to turn away from the front porch before his dad whines again.

"Ugh, I bet Jaden Smith would come in and share a joint with me! I wish Jaden Smith was my son! The world is ending and you won't even stay with your dad? Where are you even staying in the lockdown?"

Kyle steps forward, placing a hand on Stan's shoulder. "Mr. Marsh, we really do have to go. There's a lot going on right now that you don't understand."

Randy's gaze shifts to Kyle, a sneer twisting his features. "Oh, I understand plenty. I understand that my son would rather spend time with his little boyfriend than his own father. I always said he was too sensitive, so I guess this all makes sense now."

Stan sees red, his vision tunneling. He's not sure if he wants to charge his dad, run away, or scream at him. Before he can decide, Kyle steps in front of him.

"Okay, Randy, you know what? Fuck you. We're out here trying to save the goddamn town, and all you can do is bitch about how Stan doesn't want to sit around and get high with you after you pull this bullshit? Newsflash, asshole, maybe if you'd lay off the bottle and weren't such a self-absorbed prick, your son would actually want to be around you!"

Randy blinks, taken aback by Kyle's bluntness. Stan's pretty sure he's never heard anyone talk to his dad like that, let alone Kyle.

Stan reaches for Kyle's hand. Kyle takes it without hesitation, lacing their fingers together and squeezing hard.

Randy looks between them, his face a mess of conflicting emotions. Anger, confusion, hurt. But beneath it all, a glimmer of something that might be shame. "Get off my property," he says finally, his voice rough. "Before I call the cops and have you all arrested for trespassing."

"With pleasure," Kyle bites out, tugging on Stan's hand. "C'mon, Stan. Wendy. We're done here."

Kyle vibrates with fury as they walk away. At the car, Kyle hugs him fiercely. A tightness in his chest loosens, letting him breathe.

"Thank you," he mumbles into Kyle's shoulder.

Kyle just holds him tighter, his breath warm against Stan's ear. "I've got you, dude. No matter what. I've always got you." And for the first time in a long time, Stan believes it. Believes in Kyle, in Wendy, in himself. Believes that maybe they can actually do this. That they can find the chant, stop the cult, save the world. Save Kenny.

They stay like that for a moment. When they finally pull apart, Stan feels a renewed sense of determination. He meets Wendy's gaze. She's observing them with a soft yet determined smile.

"Okay, let's do this," Wendy says. 

As they arrive at Stark's Canyon, the night's eerie stillness envelops Stan. The full moon casts an otherworldly glow through the aspen and pine trees. The Weeping Willow looms, its gnarled branches resembling skeletal fingers.

Approaching the tree, a shiver runs down Stan's spine. The air hums with anticipation, Wendy and Kyle flanking him on either side.

"This is it," Wendy whispers amidst the rustling leaves.

Kyle nods, grim determination in his eyes. "We've got this."

Stan inhales deeply as Wendy retrieves the notebook, turning to the page with the chant.

"Okay," she says, his voice trembling slightly. "Here goes nothing."

They huddle close, kneeling by the tree, reading from Kenny's terrible handwriting. Together, they recite the Chant of Lang, the foreign words resonating within Stan. The air thickens and wind swirls as they chant.

Once their voices fade, a glowing sigil appears beneath the weeping willow, inviting yet foreboding. Stan's eyes widen, understanding dawning on him. Trembling, he retrieves the dagger, its blade gleaming under the moonlight.

Stan steps forward, the dagger in hand trembling slightly. He looks to his Wendy and Kyle, finds encouragement in their nodding faces, and draws the blade across his palm. Warm blood wells up from the cut, dripping onto the illuminated ground below. As the droplets fall, the clearing brightens.

Kyle steps forward, holding the chalice. He pours the green liquid with precision, its glow casting eerie shadows on his face. The liquid pulses and writhes in the chalice. Stan watches as the green light intensifies, electrifying the air around them. He turns to Kyle, bewilderment mirrored in their expressions. In silence, they stand amidst the hum of the light.

After a long stretch of silence, Stan's mind races with possibilities, trying to recall any other details from Kenny's journal that might help them.

"So, uh... what now?" Stan asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

Kyle shrugs, his eyes wide. "I don't know, dude. I thought the chant would like, open a portal or something."

Stan nods, looking around the clearing for any signs of change. He rubs the back of his neck nervously. "Yeah, maybe Kenny should've given us more specific instructions about this part. 'Perform mysterious chant, then stand awkwardly' for some reason doesn't sound quite right."

Kyle snorts. "Maybe we need to say 'please' or something. Or maybe there's a dance ritual or something?"

Stan eyes him suspiciously. "Admit it, you just want to see me dance, huh? Hmm... maybe we need to sacrifice a goat or something? I mean, it wouldn't be the weirdest shit we've done. I just call not being the one to do that part."

As Stan and Kyle exchange increasingly ridiculous suggestions, Wendy steps forward, taking the chalice from Kyle's hands. Before Stan or Kyle can react, she brings the cup to her lips and drinks it like it's a shot, the green liquid disappearing down her throat.

"Wendy, what the hell are you doing!" Stan shouts, reaching out to stop her, but it's too late.

Wendy's body begins to glow, the same eerie green as the light around them. She gasps, her eyes wide with shock and something else Stan can't quite place. Fear? Acceptance?

"What did you do?!" Kyle exclaims, his gaze locked on Wendy as if willing her to be okay.

Wendy's voice is calm, almost serene, as she meets their stunned gazes. "It had to be done. You guys need to go in and not look back once it opens. I don't know how long it will stay open for."

The ground beneath them begins to tremble, and Stan grabs onto Kyle for support. A crack appears in the earth, widening rapidly as the green light pours out of it. The portal is opening, and Stan can feel the pull of it, like a black hole threatening to swallow them whole. The same glowing green light defines the portal's edges, but inside is a kaleidoscope of dark purples, blues, and blacks, moving and changing as if alive. There is a spot that looks like solid ground to walk into, like a door entrance to the portal.

The portal is a swirling vortex of green and black, tendrils of energy reaching out and grasping at anything they can find. Flashes of a distorted South Park flicker within the portal's depths, unsettling Stan's stomach.

Wendy hovers above the ground, consumed by the green light while the portal expands. Stan and Kyle watch in horror as she begins to drift towards the opening. Except she isn't drifting to the clear entrance; she's drifting much higher.

"Wendy!" Stan screams, trying to reach for her, but Kyle holds him back.

"We have to go after her!" Stan yells, struggling against Kyle's grip.

Kyle shakes his head. "We can't, Stan. We have to go through the portal. We don't know how long it'll stay open. We might be able to find her in the portal."

Stan hesitates, feeling torn. All his instincts yell at him to run after Wendy, but he knows Kyle is right. They have to keep going.

Taking a deep breath, Stan tries to calm his racing heart while approaching the swirling portal with Kyle. Their eyes meet briefly before stepping into the unknown together.

The moment Stan crosses the threshold, his stomach lurches as if being pulled apart and reassembled. The world becomes a spinning kaleidoscope of senseless colors and shapes. Clenching his eyes shut, he tries to block out the disorienting sensation.

When he dares to look again, he stands in a distorted South Park. A sickly green sky casts an unsettling glow on crumbling buildings and empty streets. The air carries the stench of decay accompanied by something that makes Stan's skin prickle. His eyes search for Wendy, but she is nowhere to be found.

Stan turns to Kyle, who appears just as uneasy as he feels. "This is exactly like our nightmares," Stan whispers, his voice barely audible over the distant sounds of something skittering in the shadows.

Kyle nods, eyes filled with apprehension. "I don't like this, dude. Something feels off."

A shriek echoes through the desolate streets, startling them both. Stan spins around, seeking the source of the sound in the twisted version of his childhood town.

Suddenly, Stan feels a rough cloth being thrown over his head from behind, covering his eyes and mouth. He tries to cry out, but the sound is muffled by the fabric. Next to him, he can hear Kyle struggling, his muffled shouts of protest mixing with Stan's own.

They're dragged forcefully, their feet stumbling over unseen obstacles. Stan's heart races as the cloth is ripped from their heads, revealing a bright white room where they are bound to chairs.

Blinking against the harsh light, Stan's eyes slowly adjust to his surroundings. And there, standing before them with a grin on her face, is none other than Liane Cartman.

Liane gives them her sweet smile, her voice sickeningly sweet as well.

"Hello, boys. I've been waiting for you."

Chapter Text

2027

Kenny navigates CU Boulder's lively campus, backpack slung over his shoulder and orange hood shielding him from the January wind. Excitement builds as he returns home from his first class, aware that graduation looms just months away. He's worked really hard, and he'll be getting his undergrad a year sooner than his other peers.

Just a couple more months, and he can finally start getting to the good stuff. Despite only graduating with a bachelor's soon, his long discussions after classes with professors have paid off. He's been offered a chance to get a doctorate degree in physics. He'll be transferring over to CSU after the semester ends. The offer to get his doctorate had come as a surprise, but he knows it's the perfect path to delve deeper into the mysteries of the other dimension.

It seems like the other dimension has consumed most of Kenny's mind. He's constantly trying to find parallels from the dimension to his studies at school. And when he isn't thinking about it in his waking hours, he falls into immediate nightmares where he's in a dystopian version of South Park, trying to hold back a door full of unspeakable horrors and creatures.

As he exits the lecture hall, Kenny spots Wendy waiting for him, a radiant smile on her face.

"Wendy!" he greets her as she throws her arms around him, her lips meeting his in a kiss that melts away the winter chill. "What are you doing here?"

Wendy playfully pokes his chest. "I feel like I hardly see you anymore. Figured I'd kidnap you for lunch. How does that sound?"

Kenny's smile falters momentarily, a pang of guilt twisting in his gut. Wendy's right; he has been distancing himself from her, especially as his research into the other dimension intensifies and the looming specter of his permanent death draws closer. Wendy has been his rock throughout college, their bond growing stronger with each of Kenny's erratic deaths. Her unwavering support has been a lifeline for him, particularly when he misses stretches of school due to his untimely demises.

But therein lies the problem. Kenny fears he's become too dependent on her, and as the inevitability of his final death looms larger, he can't bear the thought of stringing her along, only to leave her heartbroken in the end. She's young and brilliant, with a promising future ahead of her in law school. She shouldn't be tied down to someone with an expiration date.

Kenny has tried multiple to gather the courage to end their relationship, to set her free. Each time, his determination has faltered. The idea of facing life without her is too much. So, he's been trying to distance himself gradually, hoping for a less painful ending for both of them when it inevitably arrives.

"Kidnapping sounds extreme, but lunch... lunch sounds perfect. What's the plan?" Kenny asks, readjusting his heavy backpack.

"How about Sonic?" Wendy asks.

"Sonic? Really? Gotta get that pebble ice fix, don't you," Kenny jokes.

"…Maybe. But come on, you know you love their tots."

"That's only because I love all tots, Wendy. I don't discriminate when it comes to tots the way you do when it comes to ice."

Wendy mocks offense. "Well, sorry that I actually have standards, Ken." Wendy tugs on his jacket, leading them on the trek to her Prius. Kenny still doesn't have a car, but is saving up for one.

Wendy turns the heat up in the car, her phone connecting to the speakers to fill the car with the soft sounds of Noah Kahan, Wendy's current musical obsession, which Kenny has heard enough times now to hum along to. He watches her as she drums her fingers in time with the music on the steering wheel, her gloves worn and familiar.

"You really need to update your playlist," Kenny teases, reaching over to turn the volume down. "Kahan's great, but variety is the spice of life, you know?"

Wendy gives him a mischievous smile. "My car, my rules. Besides, you're one to talk. How many times have we listened to that '80s playlist of yours?"

"Hey, those classics are timeless," Kenny defends with mock indignation. "But fine, we'll play something else. How about some Celine Dion? 'My Heart Will Go On'?"

"You're hilarious," Wendy deadpans with an eye roll, pulling into the Sonic parking lot.

They eat Sonic in her car, not wanting to have to deal with roommates. Kenny is currently living with Stan and Clyde (he roomed with Kyle his Freshman year, but Kyle decided to live somewhere off campus after that, constantly annoyed by Kenny's partying, stating they were not 'compatible roommates', whatever the fuck that means. Kenny has to admit that their friendship is better now as a result of it).

Wendy holds her pebble ice cup in purple-gloved hands, ignoring Kenny's teasing about her getting ice with how cold it is outside. Her eyes are a little distant as she watches the fog cover the windows of the car, occasionally reaching onto the window to draw little hearts in the fog, the hearts a little fat and lopsided due to her gloved fingers.

"You okay, Wendy?" Kenny asks, nudging her gently after she forgets to give him even so much of a half-hearted fake laugh to his last dad joke.

Wendy blinks, snapping out of whatever thoughts were consuming her. "Huh? Oh, yeah. I'm fine! Besides, I should be the one asking you that question."

"What do you mean?"

"Ken, I know something's been bothering you. You've been avoiding me- and don't you dare even try to deny it."

Kenny chews on his corndog. "I've just been really busy is all," he mumbles.

Wendy fixes him with a knowing look. "Is it about the cult? You know you can talk to me about anything, right?"

Kenny shakes his head. "It's nothing you need to worry about, Wendy. I promise."

Wendy bites her lip. It looks like she wants to push back, but she's come to learn that Kenny shares what he wants to share when he wants to share it. They fall into silence as they finish their food, snow starting to fall softly outside.

"I got some news from the law schools I applied to," Wendy says, breaking the silence. "I've been accepted to Berkeley and Yale."

Kenny's face lights up with genuine pride and excitement. "Wendy, that's incredible! Congratulations, babe!"

He embraces her, but as he pulls away, he sees her lack of enthusiasm.

"What's wrong?" Kenny asks, searching her eyes for answers.

Wendy shrugs, her gaze downcast. "It's just... the thought of being apart from you seems harder than I thought. Maybe I should just go to Berkeley instead."

Kenny frowns, his heart sinking. "Wendy, you can't make a decision like this based on our relationship."

"Why not? They're both great schools."

Kenny takes her hands in his, his expression earnest. "You deserve the best education, and that's Yale. Wendy, don't reject this chance because of me."

Wendy pulls away from Kenny. "You are trying to get rid of me," she says in an even tone, her face full of realization.

"No, Wendy. I just don't want you to make a decision based on-"

"Drop it, Kenny," Wendy says in a low voice, pulling her seatbelt on and turning the car on.

Kenny knows he should just end it right here, just pull the band-aid off.

But once again, the words to break up with her get choked out before they can make it out his mouth, replaced by a giant lump in his throat. He will wait until the end of the semester.

Graduation day creeps up on Kenny faster than expected. The spring day is beautiful outside, and yet Kenny feels a deep sense of foreboding. He hopes he isn't kidnapped for this graduation.

Kenny returns to his dorm room after his shower, a towel around his waist.

"Wendy! I didn't know you were stopping by," Kenny says, blushing despite the fact that Wendy has seen way more of Kenny than his bare torso.

Wendy doesn't respond. She stands frozen, clutching a piece of paper- one of Kenny's notes about the other dimension. Shit, he thought he hid those better. Kenny's heart races as he goes near Wendy, leaning down to see what notes he accidentally left out. Some water drips down from his hair onto Wendy's shoulder, but she remains unfazed, her eyes scanning the page in horror.

It's some notes Kenny had jotted down about the chalice in his messy scrawl. He wrote down his observation that drinking the liquid was the last step to the ritual and that it seemingly traps the drinker in the dimension.

Wendy turns to him, her eyes wide. "What is this? Please don't tell me you're planning something stupid, Kenny."

Kenny swallows hard, his mind scrambling for an explanation. "It's just some research is all, Wendy."

"And what ritual is this referring to, exactly?" Wendy asks, waving the paper in Kenny's face.

"It's… just cult stuff," Kenny laughs nervously. "Really, it's nothing."  He attempts to pry the paper from her grasp. Wendy tightens her hold.

"Kenny, goddamnit.... just talk to me! You're pushing me away and hiding things. You can tell me whatever it is, Kenny, please. I want to help."

"Wendy, I've told you all I can," he pleads. "Some things I have to do alone."

Wendy's eyes blaze as she retorts, "But you don't have to do things alone, Kenny! God, I don't know what I can say to get you to wrap your head around that."

Kenny runs a hand through his damp hair. "Wendy… I promise I've told you all I can while still keeping you safe. Please just trust me on that. I'm not discussing this anymore." He takes the paper gently from her hands.

"I made the decision to go to Yale." Wendy says softly. She walks over to sit on Kenny's bed. "And I know we can make it long distance work, but you have to be honest with me."

Kenny's heart plummets, guilt flooding him. He knows he can't tie her down, not with the knowledge of his inevitable death looming over him. It would be selfish, cruel even, to let her hold onto hope for a future that he knows will never come. He can’t keep pretending they have a future together because Kenny's future has always been written in the fine print of a cosmic contract he never got to sign. Realizing this should have come to him sooner, and perhaps less painfully.

Kenny McCormick is alone. He's experienced death countless times and journeyed through heaven, hell, and other dimensions, and through it all, he's always been alone.

He's been foolish to let it go this far, foolish to think he could have something so normal as love without consequences, foolish to drag Wendy into the murky waters that lap at the shores of his life. Letting her go is the only way to keep her from drowning alongside him.

Kenny exhales, steadying himself. "Wendy, I... I can't do long distance. It's not fair to you."

Wendy's eyes widen in shock, her silence filling the air as she processes what Kenny just said. "What do you mean?" she whispers.

Kenny looks at the floor, blinking back tears. "Wendy. I…. I can't do this anymore. I can't do this to you. I can't… I can't stay with you and keep you safe. You need to go to Yale without being tied down to me."

Wendy's eyes flash with anger. "I can handle tough things, Kenny. You don't decide what's best for me."

Kenny shakes his head, his heart shattering but resolute. He knows he needs to end this before she can further try arguing otherwise. He doesn't want to get trapped in an argument with an impending lawyer. When he speaks, he keeps his tone gentle yet firm.

"I know you can handle tough things, Wends. I love you, and that's why we can't be together. My decision is final."

The words feel bitter as they leave his mouth. He forces himself to hold her gaze, to look at the pain and confusion in her eyes. He longs to embrace her, reassure her, tell her that everything's going to be okay -  but it would be a lie. Letting her go is the only kindness left.

Wendy trembles, silent tears streaming. After deep breaths, she leaves Kenny's bed and wordlessly exits his room, leaving the door open. It takes all of Kenny's strength not to stop her. He can tell her right now that he takes it all back. But he doesn't.

With his choice made, the loneliness that has haunted Kenny floods back. The fleeting solace he found in Wendy's love throughout these past several years now gives way to his reality: he will always be alone.

Kenny throws himself into his studies at Colorado State University, his research focusing on advanced quantum mechanics and interdimensional physics. He pores over theoretical frameworks that suggest the existence of multiple dimensions accessible through specific cosmic alignments and rituals, particularly the "Necronomicon." The Guide wasn't specific in how he should prepare to go up against the cult, so he does it in the only way he knows how- to try connecting it to actual scientific theories. He refuses to believe that this is all just 'magic'. He can use science to learn how the other dimension works and use it against them. He doubts the cult is studying the theoretical and scientific impacts of other dimensions, and he thinks this can give him an advantage.

The concept of non-Euclidean geometries and their application in tearing the veil between dimensions fascinates Kenny, drawing parallels to the mythical city of R'lyeh, where Cthulhu is said to lie dead but dreaming. The more he delves into these concepts, the more he realizes that the cult's beliefs are not mere fantasy but rooted in a terrifying reality.

As he progresses through his doctoral program, Kenny uncovers historical references to cults similar to the one in South Park, learning about their rituals that could potentially awaken cosmic entities. This research invariably brings him closer to understanding the cult's motives—aiming to harness the power of Cthulhu for apocalyptic purposes. South Park just happens to be the perfect location to do so.

It's during this time that Kenny discovers a crucial piece of the cult's prophecy that hints at his role not just as a sacrifice but a key player in sealing the dimensional door.

Kenny's research consumes him, his days spent in the lab and his nights spent poring over ancient texts. He becomes a professor at the university, using his position to further his studies while keeping his true motives hidden. To others, he is merely a brilliant academic, but he secretly seeks to unravel the mysteries of the cult and his destiny. Delving into the ritual, Kenny discovers that the chalice, mysterious green liquid, and chant harmoniously align spacetime geometry with another dimension

As he pieces together the scientific underpinnings of the ritual, Kenny develops a theory about the true nature of the green liquid. He posits that it serves as a bio-quantum anchor, temporarily aligning an individual's biological rhythm with the pulsating energies of the portal. This alignment allows the person to guide others through the gateway safely, but at a great personal cost—a cost that Kenny knows he will have to bear when the time comes. He knows eventually one of his friends will have to do it as well, but he doesn't want to dwell too much on that.

Kenny starts trying to prepare Stan and Kyle for when he's gone. In his earlier days of college, he always assumed that Wendy would also be a part of the team he leaves behind with the responsibility to help overthrow the cult's plans, but now that he's successfully distanced himself from her, he's relieved. He had told her all about the other dimension in High School, even telling her where to find some blueprints at the lab at one point. He had even hidden the words to the chant back in High School at Stan's farm with the assumption that Wendy would be part of the team, but now he's just glad she's out of Colorado and safe. He doesn't feel great about roping Kyle and Stan into it, but he's not sure what other choice he has. He doesn't trust anyone else, and The Guide had specifically mentioned them by name.

Kenny isn't sure how he knows when it's time - just that he knows. He feels it in his soul. At the beginning of 2035, Kenny ramps up his preparations. He spends more time at Mephesto's Lab and South Park in general trying to learn all he can about which community members have ties to the cult. He also makes plans to secure the items necessary for the ritual.

Kenny knocks on Cartman's door, not super thrilled about having to entrust him with something so important. But he doesn't exactly have a lot of options - Cartman is the only one immune to the memory wipes that follow his deaths, and by extension, the memory wipe that would be associated with the dagger. When Cartman doesn't answer, he walks in anyways, finding Cartman seated in front of multiple video screens. Cartman quickly exits out of the browsers, taking off his headset in surprise.

"What the hell, Kinny? Haven't you ever heard of knocking? I could've been doing something important!" Cartman exclaims, his face slightly flushed.

Kenny raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. "Important, huh? Like what, beating your meat to government alien porn?"

Cartman scoffs, crossing his arms. "No, asshole. I was doing research for my latest business venture. Not that you'd understand the intricacies of entrepreneurship."

"Right, because selling your mom's used underwear on eBay is such a complex business model," Kenny retorts, rolling his eyes.

"Hey, don't knock it 'til you've tried it, poor boy. Now, what do you want? If this is about borrowing money, I'm not running a charity here."

Kenny carefully pulls out the carefully wrapped dagger from his backpack. "I need a favor, Cartman."

Cartman turns around in his computer chair, raising his eyebrows in confusion. "What the hell is that, and why should I care about it? Is it a murder weapon? Because if you've come to hide a body, I'm charging extra."

Kenny unwraps the dagger, holding it up for Cartman to see, its ancient and ornate handle gleaming from the sunlight coming from the window. "It's a dagger, genius. And I need you to hold onto it after my next death. Give it to Stan when the time is right."

"I'm not wasting my time keeping tabs on Stan's murder weapons. That drunken loser can shove that ancient letter opener up his ass." Cartman scoffs, spinning back to his computer. "Unless you're paying me to dispose of a body, take your crusty knife to someone else for safekeeping and fuck off."

Kenny sighs. "No, fatass. I need it to be you, because you're the only one who remembers things when no one else does."

Cartman's eyes flash with realization. "You mean your incessant dying?"

Kenny walks closer to Cartman, placing the dagger on the desk. He gives Cartman a serious look. "Look, I wouldn't be asking if it wasn't important, dude. It's… related to those times I died. This dagger is central to stopping something… catastrophic. It would be in your best interest to listen to me, Cartman."

Cartman picks up the dagger, examining it suspiciously. "You fighting Cthulhu or something? Is this the end of the world or something? Should I start building an arc?"

Kenny rolls his eyes. "Not an arc, just… keep it safe. And give it to Stan when it feels like the world's about to turn upside down. You'll know when it's time. There's also a chalice that I need you to hide in my childhood bedroom. After my next death, you need to take the chalice and dagger from my body immediately and put them where I've told you."

Cartman sets the dagger down, leaning back in his chair as he stares at Kenny. Kenny picks up the dagger and places it back in his backpack. After a moment, he says, "Alright, Kinny. I'll do it. Not for you, but because the idea of watching Stan squirm while handling a demonic butter knife sounds too good to pass up."

Kenny releases the tension in his shoulders. "And I wouldn't expect you to do it for me, obviously. Just… keep it safe. And hide the chalice good enough in my old closet."

As Kenny turns to leave, Cartman calls out his name. Kenny stops at the doorway, raising an eyebrow.

"What are you doing, Kenny?" Cartman asks, his tone uncharacteristically serious.

Kenny shrugs. "A little bit of this, little bit of that."

Cartman looks troubled. "Don't do anything stupid, Kenny... I mean, stupider than usual. I don't want to have to explain to everyone why you're not around to be poor and annoying anymore."

"Aw, Eric….. if I didn't know better, I'd say you care about me," Kenny grins at him, placing a hand over his heart.

"Ugh, get out of here, you poor piece of shit," Cartman mutters.

Kenny laughs as he leaves.

Kenny decides one Thursday morning that tomorrow will be the day he does it. He feels confident that he's done all the preparations he possibly can - well, as much as one can do when it comes to trying to prepare their hometown for a cult trying to open up a Lovecraftian portal, that is.

Weird activity has started occurring in South Park- as in, weird even for South Park. Shadows linger longer, and the air tastes of static. Dogs howl at the empty dark, and there’s a creeping moss that glows faintly under the moonlight, spreading across the park fields. The townsfolk whisper of figures robed in shadows, and the lake waters swirl midnight black even at noon. To Kenny, these signs are as clear as day: the cult is hastening their efforts, and the time to act is now. Kenny knows in his soul that it's the cult ramping things up, and he knows they want to sacrifice him to get him to the portal any day now. But Kenny refuses to let them dictate the time of his fate. If he's going to die, it will be on his own terms.

He spends the day tying up loose ends, making sure that everything is in place for the aftermath of his death. He writes two letters, one to Kyle and one to Stan. He pours his soul into each word, choosing his phrases carefully to keep the content safe from the prying eyes of the cult. These letters had to be cryptic; too much detail and the cult might anticipate their plans. He can already see the eye rolls from Stan and Kyle over how vague he keeps things, and that for some reason gives him a familiar sense of comfort. He knows they'll be fine. He feels a heavy burden lift slightly as he seals and addresses each envelope—one to Kyle’s apartment and the other to Stan’s workplace.

He feels a pit in his stomach as he thinks about how his family and friends will take his permanent death. He wants to write everyone he loves a letter, but then they'd think his death was purposeful. And while it will be to an extent, it's not. Not really. Kenny never asked for this.

With the letters sent, Kenny turns his attention to his family. He wants to give them one last happy memory, one final moment of normalcy before he shatters their world. He decides to take them to Olive Garden, a rare treat for the McCormick family.

As they sit around the table, laughing and sharing stories, Kenny tries to memorize every detail. The way his mother's eyes crinkle when she smiles, his father’s boisterous stories that, for once, don’t end in drunken rambles, the way Karen's face lights up as she talks about her latest art project. His parents, flawed from years battling addictions that often left Kenny and his siblings lurking in the backdrop of their priorities, are not villains in his eyes anymore, just victims of their own demons. They did some things he may never understand or be willing to completely forgive, but he loves his parents regardless.

As the evening ends, Kenny heads home with a sense of calm. Prepared and determined, he's ready to face his fate head-on.

Friday is a beautiful day - sunny and warm. Kenny texts Cartman, telling him to go to the Stark's Canyon/Pond area to retrieve the dagger and chalice at 11 p.m. He's sure he'll be done with the ritual by then.

Kenny heads to Stark's Pond as the sun is setting, the dagger and chalice in his pocket, along with the original chant he had written shakily on the back of the letter he wrote for Stan's yearbook so long ago. He walks around the pond, thinking of all the times he'd spent here growing up. Oddly enough, he's pretty sure he's even died here several times. As he walks, memories flash through his mind—ghosts of laughter and screams, sounds of motorcycles ruining nice days with friends and memories of skinny dipping with Wendy in Junior year of High School.

The knowledge that this will be his final death feels surreal. Dying and coming back to life is all Kenny has ever known. But now, on the brink of the unknown, Kenny faces his last death. Now there will be no second or thousandth chances. This time, it will be for good. The thought is simultaneously terrifying and yet strangely liberating. The idea of finally breaking free of Death's twisted cycle feels like such a relief, despite mourning the life and the people he will leave behind.

As the weight of his impending sacrifice presses down on him, Kenny can't shake a sense of unfairness. He never desired this curse or immortality; all he's wanted is normalcy.

Taking a deep breath, he embraces the cool evening air and gazes at the pond, captivated by the last sunbeams playing across its surface. Though his heart aches with the knowledge of what he's leaving behind, an unexpected peace washes over him.

Kenny's fingers find the dagger and chalice in his pocket, raising them to the dimming sky. The metal catches the light, casting a kaleidoscope of color on the chalice's surface. He lingers, pondering the implications

Taking a deep breath, he approaches the weeping willow near the canyon entrance. With ritual tools ready, Kenny has practiced this countless times. As he reaches for the dagger, a tremor quivers through his hand, instilling momentary doubt. Refocusing on his love for friends, family, and Wendy, determination returns. Clasping the dagger above his hand, he stands by the tree bark, prepared to face his destiny.

Under a star-speckled sky, Kenny McCormick - no stranger to death - braces himself for one final end.

Chapter Text

2035

Liane Cartman stands before them, her expression both serene and determined. "Welcome, boys," she says, her calm voice echoing in the stark white room.

"What's going on?" Kyle demands, straining against his restraints.

Stan's gaze darts around the colorless, lifeless space, seeking familiarity. The endless bright void leaves Liane as their only connection to the world they once knew. Stan and Kyle are tied to chairs seated next to each other, facing Liane.

"You're exactly where you need to be," Liane says, her smile thin and unsettling.

"And where is that exactly? And why are you here, Ms. Cartman?" Stan asks, trying to keep his voice steady despite the fear gripping his heart.

Liane's smile falters. "This is the beginning of a new era, boys. The cult has promised us a better world, a world where we can live forever, where justice will finally be served."

Kyle scoffs. "You're insane if you think we're buying into this cult bullshit."

Liane's expression softens, pityingly, as if she's regarding two lost children. "You will understand, in time. The cult didn't just choose you randomly. You're integral to this, more than you know."

Stan's mind reels, trying to make sense of Liane's words. "What do you mean, chosen us? What the hell does the cult want with us?"

Liane's gaze hardens, and she steps closer, her voice dropping to a whisper that chills him to the bone. "Oh, Stanley, always so quick to judge, just like your father. But unlike him, you're crucial, you and Kyle both, along with Kenny. You two are going to help us find him. He's somewhere here in this dimension."

Stan and Kyle remain silent, trying to take in everything that's going on. Stan silently tries to grab at his shoelace behind his back whenever Liane looks away, his fingers fumbling with the laces as he attempts to free himself from his bonds, his heart pounding in his chest. He tries to ignore the shooting pain emanating from his shoulder as it's twisted behind his back in an unnatural way. He catches Kyle's gaze, and they nod at each other, both silently agreeing they need to find a way out of this bright, oppressive room.

"You mean you don't know where Kenny is?" Kyle asks innocently, his voice taking on a mocking tone. "Some all-powerful cult you are, can't even keep track of one guy."

Liane ignores Kyle's question. "The cult has always known about your group's…. peculiarities. You two were always there, witnessing more of Kenny's deaths than anyone else. Each of Kenny's deaths, each resurrection, you were there, absorbing the aftershocks, being shaped by the forces you couldn't begin to understand."

"You know your fatass son was always with us too, right?" Kyle says with a glare.

Liane's face twists into something painful, a mix of anger and desperation. "Not as much as you guys were with Kenny. You three decided to drop my son after elementary school. Stan, I would beg you and Kenny at church to pay him more attention. But you all just left me with Eric by myself, left me to deal with his tantrums and schemes alone."

"Whoa, dude. If this whole weird villain arc you have is just due to us not wanting to be friends with the fatass-"

"It's not about that at all. He has no idea I'm involved with this," Liane snaps. She walks towards a darkened corner of the room where a small, ominous device sits on a pedestal. As she flicks a switch on the device, the room is suddenly illuminated with projections of the other dimension, the real world - chaotic, swirling, darkly beautiful landscapes that seem alive, moving. It's an image of a utopian South Park, the opposite of the apocalyptic one they are currently in.

"Imagine the power to control this," Liane whispers, almost reverently. "To reshape the world as we see fit. No more pain, no more poverty, no more death. Kenny was just the beginning. It's happening. With or without your consent, we are going to open that door with your help."

Stan continues to struggle with the knots holding his hands behind his back, his fingers slick with sweat as he tries to manipulate the shoelace into a makeshift lockpick. His face breaks out in a cold sweat of the pain shooting from his elbow. Kyle, catching on to Stan's silent signal, begins to stall for time.

"No more death? Old people already live for a fucking long time now that it's the future, Ms. Cartman. Don't you think it kinda sucks? I mean, have you seen the lines at the grocery store? It's like a geriatric convention in there. And they never know when to take their card out of the chip reader or how to use self-check."

Liane's smile is tight, unamused. "Imagine, Kyle, a world where age does not diminish you, where life is not cut short by frailty."

Kyle rolls his eyes. "Yeah, because overcrowded bingo nights are exactly my idea of utopia."

"What part of no pain do you not understand, Kyle? That would help alleviate the geriatric issues. We have so many people in South Park who are all in to this, convincing their friends to join the cause."

"So, let me get this straight," Kyle says, his voice dripping with sarcasm, continuing to talk while Stan focuses intently on loosening his own bindings. "You're telling us that the key to eternal life and world domination is... what, exactly? Some sort of interdimensional Ponzi scheme?"

Liane's eyes narrow, her patience clearly wearing thin. "Mock us all you want, Kyle. I can see that this is simply beyond your comprehension. But soon, you'll see the truth. The cult has been preparing for this moment for generations in South Park, gathering the necessary components to unlock the true potential of the human race."

"Beyond my comprehension?" Kyle scoffs. "Ms. Cartman, I've seen things that would make your cult look like a kindergarten play date. A mechanized Barbra Streisand, alien invasions, talking towels... trust me, interdimensional pyramid scams are pretty low on the list of weird shit we've dealt with."

Stan has to bite his tongue to keep from laughing, focusing all his energy on working the knots loose. He can feel them starting to give, the fibers fraying under his persistent efforts.

As Liane continues her monologue, Stan focuses on the shoelace, his fingers working deftly to manipulate the thin fabric into a makeshift lockpick. He can feel the knots loosening, the pressure on his wrists easing ever so slightly. With a final twist of his wrist, Stan's fingers finally coax the lace through the last knot and the bonds fall away. Stan has to fight the urge to let out a sigh of relief.

He catches Kyle's eye, giving him a subtle nod to indicate that he's free. But they both know that now is not the time to make their move. They need to gather more information, to understand the full scope of the cult's plans before they can even think about escaping. Stan and Kyle always seemed to be able to communicate with each other as kids with so much as a glance at each other, almost always being able to be on the same page without needing to verbally communicate, and it surprises Stan now that it seems to be the same after so much time as well. It's not that he can actually read Kyle's mind - though sometimes he wonders if Kyle can read his.

Liane steps out of the room, leaving Stan and Kyle alone for a moment. As they scan their surroundings, Kyle's gaze falls on a small Polaroid picture lying on the floor in the corner. He nudges Stan's shoulder with his own, motioning towards the photo with his head. Stan can't make out what the picture is exactly, but it sticks out.

"Dude, look," he whispers urgently. "We have to get to it."

Before Stan can respond, the door swings open, and Liane returns, this time with a familiar face in tow. Stan's eyes widen in shock as he recognizes Mia, his partner from the Denver Police Department. He's shared so many notes about the investigation with her.

"Mia? What the fuck are you doing here?"

Mia's expression is indecipherable, her eyes cold and removed. "I'm sorry, Stan," she says flatly. "It's time for you to see The Cult's reality."

"What the actual fuck are you doing here? How long have you been involved with this cult?" Stan spits out.

Mia sighs, her shoulders slumping slightly. "I was hired specifically to keep tabs on you, Stan. The cult has been monitoring you, Kyle, and especially Kenny for years, Stan. Ever since you first witnessed one of Kenny's... anomalies."

Kyle's brow furrows in confusion. "Anomalies? What the hell are you talking about?"

"Kenny's deaths and resurrections," Mia explains, her voice taking on a clinical tone. "The cult has been tracking them for decades, trying to understand the source of his power. And you two... you've been there for almost every single one, especially considering it happened much more when he was younger. Kyle, the hospital has been keeping a close eye on you as well."

Stan's mind races, grappling with Mia's revelation. "So you've been spying on us?"

Mia nods, remorse briefly clouding her gaze. "The cult infiltrated South Park's key institutions—the hospital, police department, and schools—maneuvering you and Kyle for the final ritual I had to save your sorry ass a couple of times after extreme alcohol poisoning."

Kyle leans closer into Stan, brushing their arms together in a comforting manner. His voice is barely above a whisper, his face pale with horror. "The final ritual? What the fuck are you talking about?"

Liane steps forward, her eyes gleaming with a manic light. "Your lifelong exposure to Kenny's supernatural events has made you both the ideal candidates for the cult's sacrificial needs. With your deaths along with a final sacrifice of Kenny, we will be able to open the portal fully, to unleash the true potential of the human race."

Stan and Kyle exchange a look of pure terror.

Stan's heart races as he tries to process the gravity of the situation. His mind whirls with the implications of Mia's betrayal and the cult's sinister plans. He knows he has to act fast, to seize the only chance they have at escape. His eyes dart to Kyle, still bound and helpless, and a surge of determination floods through him.

He needs to get Kyle free, grab that polaroid, and run like hell. In a desperate bid for survival against the cult's tangled web, Stan steadies himself, preparing for his next move. His hands slowly reach behind Kyle's chair.

As Liane and Mia continue their monologue, Stan sees his chance. His hands working frantically to free Kyle from his bonds. Kyle's eyes widen in surprise, but he quickly catches on, keeping up his stream of comments to keep their captors distracted.

"Hey, do you guys wanna explain why you have to wear robes? Are you trying to be super cliche or something?" Kyle asks.

Stan's fingers tremble as he works, the knots seeming to fight against him. He's too occupied to listen to Kyle taunt Mia and Liane or their annoyed responses. With a final tug, the ropes are free. Kyle discreetly catches the rope before it falls to the floor, keeping up the facade of being tied up. Stan and Kyle exchange a brief look, a silent communication. Mia and Liane talk in hushed tones at the front, letting Stan and Kyle know that some of the cult leaders will be in soon to see them and that they will be keeping an eye on them for now.

As Liane and Mia drone on about their plans, Stan and Kyle exchange another subtle glance, a silent agreement passing between them. They need to create a distraction, something to draw attention away from their impending escape attempt. With a barely perceptible nod, they put their hastily formed plan into action.

"You know what, Kyle? I've had enough of your self-righteous bullshit!" Stan suddenly shouts, his voice echoing off the sterile white walls.

"Oh, you want to talk about being self-righteous? How about the time you lectured everyone about the dangers of genetically modified foods, and then I caught you stuffing your face with Cheesy Poofs behind the school?" Kyle retorts, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Liane and Mia exchange a confused look, their eyebrows raising at the sudden outburst. They take a step back, watching the argument unfold with confusion.

Mia, thoroughly confused and concerned, whispers to Liane, “Should we do something? They seem to be… unraveling. We need them in good spirits for the ceremony tonight."

Liane, equally flustered and unsure of how to handle such juvenile behavior, nods slowly. “Perhaps let them tire themselves out? Like toddlers?”

Stan gasps in mock indignation. "That was one time, and I was hungry! At least I don't go around bragging about my college G.P.A.!"

Kyle rolls his eyes. "Oh, please! You're just jealous because I got a higher score than you on the SATs!"

"Guys, please," Mia interjects, her voice tinged with annoyance. "This isn't the time for petty arguments. We have important matters to discuss."

But Stan and Kyle ignore her, their voices rising in volume.

"You know what your problem is, Kyle? You've always thought you were cooler than everyone. Why don't you tell Ms. Cartman how much you hate her son! It was basically your idea we start ditching him in the first place!"

"Oh, that's hilarious coming from the guy who once abandoned his friends to join the goths," Kyle fires back.

Stan's mouth drops open in fake shock. "That was in fourth grade, and it was a phase! At least I don't play Forza Horizon Red Dead Redemption Max!"

Liane and Mia look increasingly uncomfortable, their eyes darting between them. They take another step back, clearly unsure of how to handle the situation.

"For your information, it's actually called Read Dead Redemption 4 Forza Horizon Plus. And it's a masterpiece of game design, and you know it!" Kyle argues. "You're just too uncultured to appreciate being able to customize your horse to car ratio!"

"Oh my god, listen to yourself! You sound like a basement-dwelling virgin!" Stan retorts.

Mia turns to Liane in alarm. "I don't have any more cloth or tape to put over their mouths to shut them up. Do you want me to go get some?"

Liane nods, looking pale. "I had heard these two don't get along anymore, but I didn't know the extent of it. Yes, please do, Mia. Get every form of restraint you can find while you're at it. I'll keep an eye on them."

Mia leaves the room, and Stan and Kyle continue their fighting. Stan has to hold back laughter at some points, their 'argument' growing increasingly ridiculous. He's not sure how Kyle can say some of this shit with a straight face. Stan knows they need to make their move now, before Mia gets back while only Liane remains in the room with them.

"You know what? I've had enough of this!" Kyle shouts. "I'm done with you, Stan! I'm done with this whole fucking cult!"

Stan correctly takes that as the cue to start running, Kyle already ahead of him. In a flash, Stan dives for the polaroid, his fingers closing around the small square of paper. He tucks it into his pocket, not daring to look at it yet, as he and Kyle make a break for the door.

The room erupts into chaos, Mia and Liane shouting for reinforcements as Stan and Kyle sprint down the hallway. Their footsteps echo off the sterile white walls, their hearts pounding in their ears. Stan can hear the pounding of feet behind them, the cult members closing in.

But he doesn't dare look back, his eyes fixed on the end of the hallway, on the promise of freedom beyond. Kyle is right beside him, their shoulders brushing as they run, Stan holding onto his left arm, trying to keep it steady with his sling now gone.

Stan and Kyle burst through the door, stumbling into the nightmarish South Park's main street. There's no time to contemplate the eeriness and the wrongness of the town, how much scarier it is outside of a dream. Shadows and fog seem to follow them everywhere, and the sky emits a sickly green color that barely pierces through the darkness.

Racing down the street, Stan struggles to process the revelations about Mia, Cartman's mom, and the cult's plans. He knows it's a long shot, but he keeps his eyes open for signs of Wendy. He's not sure where he and Kyle are running to, just that they need to get somewhere they can hide.

"I can't believe Mia was in on this the whole time," Stan pants, his voice strained.

Kyle nods grimly. "And the hospital... all those times they insisted on running extra tests, keeping me late for 'routine procedures.' They were studying me, trying to understand the effects of Kenny's deaths on my physiology."

A shiver runs down Stan's spine as they consider the betrayal. However, with their pursuers closing in, there's no time to dwell. They sprint for what feels like forever. They run past the warped murals of the ruined community center, shadows grasping at them like tendrils.

When they find an alleyway to hide, they lean against the cold brick wall, gasping for air. Kyle quickly forms a makeshift sling with his jacket for Stan's injured arm. They wordlessly slump to the ground, gasping for air, breathing shallowly. Stan leans his body against Kyle's, trying to ignore the searing pain starting in his elbow and shooting up his arm. He tries to focus on matching his breathing to Kyle's as a distraction.

Once their breathing becomes more steady, Kyle reaches into Stan's pocket to pull out the Polaroid, inspecting it closely. "What the hell?" he mutters.

Stan's brow furrows as he leans over to look at it. "What was that doing in there?"

It's a picture from their senior prom, with Kenny standing in the middle, a grin plastered across his face, his arms around Stan and Kyle. Stan and Kyle flank him on either side, their expressions less than thrilled.

Kyle flips the polaroid photo over. Kenny's messy handwriting is on the back, and it's addressed to Kyle.

"Hey Kyle, remember when you got like super high and wouldn't stop talking about the Roman Empire and then we found Shadow? Anyway, don't forget to let loose once in a while, dude. Life's too short to take it too seriously. -Kenny."

Kyle lets out a choked laugh, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "God, I remember that. It was actually terrible. I think you warned me not to take the weed gummies, but I did anyways."

Stan manages a weak smile, reaching out to wipe away an impending tear from Kyle's face, letting his hand linger gently on his cheek. "Yeah? And how did the rest of that night go for you?"

"Oh, fine. Nothing bad happened at all," Kyle says, though they both know he's lying. "I'll tell you later. Anyways, we need to think like Kenny. If he were trapped in this fucked up version of South Park, where would he go? What would he do?"

Stan considers the question, his mind racing. He rereads the words on the back of the Polaroid - Kenny's words about not taking life too seriously.

"That's the problem with him, dude. He would literally do anything," Stan groans.

"I mean, I have several ideas, but we don't have time to go over all of them. We need to pick a direction and go, before those cult freaks catch up to us."

Kyle flips the polaroid picture to the front and back, growing increasingly anxious. Stan's eyes shut as he searches for a useful idea. Suddenly, he remembers something.

"Remember Cartmanland?"

Kyle looks a little confused. "Yeah, the amusement park at the edge of town by the train tracks? I thought it went out of business years ago."

Stan nods. "It did, but Kenny liked going by the train tracks. He'd follow them from his home up to the edge of town on runs sometimes. I never liked going that route 'cuz I thought it was kind of creepy, but that's where Kenny would always run when it was just him."

Kyle is quiet for a moment before he deadpans, "So you're saying we should basically walk right into a horror movie scenario by going to the abandoned amusement park."

Stan shrugs. "You got a better idea? 'Cuz I'm all ears if you do."

"Goddamnit. Alright, let's go. I guess if Kenny's anywhere in this hellhole, there's a chance it's there."

Stan playfully shoves Kyle's shoulder. "Don't act like you wouldn't be the first one in line for a cult haunted house ride. Though you'd chicken out before you could get on the ride."

"No way, dude. I'd be fine," Kyle scoffs. "It'd be you who would be clinging to me like a scared little bitch."

Stan chuckles under his breath. He gets up off the ground, wincing as pain shoots through his injured arm. He offers his good hand to Kyle, helping him up. They stand still for a moment as they meet each other's gaze, Kyle's hand still in Stan's. Stan wants to be able to articulate the impossible whirlwind of emotions he's feeling - but he knows he doesn't have to, because he sees them mirrored in Kyle's eyes. And he knows that they're both conveying this to each other right now in silence. 

"Let's go," Stan says, his voice shaking slightly.

They set off through the dark streets of South Park, sticking close to trees and buildings.

"So, what the fuck do you think they meant about us being 'sacrificial candidates'?" Stan whispers.

Kyle shakes his head. "I don't know, but can't be anything good. We need to find Kenny and stop this."

After a while of strategically navigating town in the shadows, they round a corner, and the ruins of Cartmanland come into view. The once vibrant rides are now warped and rusted. The Ferris wheel casts an eerie presence above all else.

Stan shivers, his eyes scanning the unsettling surroundings. He senses Kyle's tension as they cautiously explore the desolate playground.

They find a decaying wooden stall to hide behind to give them more time to observe their surroundings. It smells strongly of wood and stale popcorn. They step behind the counter, crouching down. After looking around, they decide they need to travel further into the amusement park.

"Dude, this place is creepy as fuck," Stan murmurs.

Kyle nods. "Like a fucking horror movie. Let's find Kenny and get the hell out of here."

They navigate quietly through the debris, their footsteps echoing in the silence despite their best efforts to walk quietly.

As they round a corner, Stan spots a familiar figure in the distance. He grabs Kyle's arm, pulling him behind the rusted hulk of a carnival game booth. From their hideout, Stan spots movement in the distance. Squinting, a flash of orange confirms it's Kenny - but he isn't alone.

"Dude," Kyle whispers over the eerie groaning metal and wind. "Is that...?"

Stan nods. "Yeah. It's Kenny."

Their friend seems different - older, hardened. His wears his typical orange hoodie, but it's very tattered. He glows faintly green in the same way that Wendy did after drinking the liquid. His conversation with the stranger is intense; even from a distance, they can see Kenny's hands moving animatedly as he talks.

Crouched behind the decaying booth, Stan and Kyle strain to hear the heated exchange between Kenny and the mysterious figure.

Kyle grips Stan's shoulder, leaning closer to whisper in his ear. "Dude, who is that with Kenny?"

Stan shakes his head, equally perplexed. "No clue. We need to get closer."

They cautiously navigate through the shadows and deteriorating structures. As they get closer, Stan catches bits and pieces of the stranger's voice - low and raspy in a way that sends shivers down his spine.

"Great, he's making friends with boogeymen now," Kyle mutters under his breath, his words tinged with a nervous laugh.

Stan can't help but snort, the absurdity of the situation briefly overtaking his fear.

"...you can't stop it, Kenneth. The ritual will be completed, with or without your cooperation. Your friends will play their part, just as you have played yours. This is bigger than you. They will have to follow through if we are to stop the cult from opening the door," the hooded figure argues.

Kenny's response is angry, defiant. "I won't let you use them like this - you promised they'd be safe! I've given everything to keep them safe, to stop the cult. I won't let their lives be forfeit for their sick games!"

"Kenneth," the figure says authoritatively. "You need to understand. The wheels of fate are already in motion, and there is no going back now."

Kenny's voice rises, a desperate edge to his words. "No, I refuse to believe this is the only way! I'll find a way to stop the cult without having to resort to-"

"Seriously, Stan, what do we do?" Kyle's whispers tensely in a low voice as Kenny continues his argument so as to not draw attention. "We can't just rush in there. Not with that... thing."

Stan nods, his gaze fixed on Kenny and the mysterious figure. "I know. But we can’t just sit back and watch either. We need a plan."

Kyle frowns, his face scrunched in thought. "Maybe we should try to draw that cloaked dude away from Kenny. I could pretend to be hurt or something, act like I’ve fallen. That might get his attention."

"Dude, you want to bait the creepy hooded figure with a fake injury?" Stan raises an eyebrow, his tone skeptical. "That’s your plan?"

Kyle gives a half-shrug. "Got a better idea? Because unless you’ve suddenly developed superpowers, we need a distraction—and my ankle’s ready for its acting debut."

Stan snorts. "Fine, but if we end up captured again because you tripped over your own feet, I’m blaming you. Once he’s far enough away from Kenny, we rush in and grab him."

"Grab Kenny or the cloaked guy?" Kyle asks, a playful glint in his eye. Stan knows he already knows exactly what he's talking about and is just giving him a hard time.

Stan rolls his eyes. "Kenny, dumbass. Let’s not tangle with mysterious hooded figures more than we have to."

"Fine. Let's do this."

"If you end up getting us captured because you oversold your death scene, I'm haunting you in the afterlife."

"Deal," Kyle agrees. "Now, get ready to be amazed by my Oscar-worthy performance."

They wait for the right moment. The tension mounts, nearly unbearable. As the hooded figure leans closer to Kenny, Stan signals to Kyle to go ahead.

Gasping, Kyle screams and crumples against the debris. He writhes on the ground, gripping his chest theatrically.

"Oh, the agony!" Kyle wails, his voice echoing through the abandoned park. "The pain! The unbearable pain!"

Stan bites his tongue, suppressing laughter. He leans down to whisper, "Dude, tone it down. You're supposed to be dying, not auditioning for a fucking soap opera."

"But I must.... express the full depths.... of my suffering!" Kyle gasps, continuing his theatrical display of agony and seemingly taking Stan's mention of a soap opera to heart. "Goodbye, cruel world! Remember me fondly!"

"What the — what are you doing?" Stan hisses under his breath, a hint of real concern in his voice despite knowing it's an act.

"Improvising!" Kyle gasps out, wincing as he 'accidentally' knocks over a metal ray with a loud clang.

Stan rolls his eyes so hard he might actually see his brain. "Subtle."

Kyle ignores him. "Help! Anyone! I’ve fallen and I can’t get up! Everything's going dark! Oh God, I see a tunnel!"

The hooded figure whirls around, torn between the commotion and keeping watch on Kenny. He takes a step towards them, his movements hesitant, as if torn between investigating the cries and keeping an eye on Kenny.

"Now!" Stan hisses as the hooded figure is far enough away from Kenny, and they break cover, sprinting towards Kenny with all the speed they can muster.

As they close the distance, Kenny looks up, startled by the sudden commotion. His eyes widen in recognition, then narrow in determination as he seems to understand their plan.

Stan's heart pounds in his chest as they reach Kenny, grabbing his arms and pulling him away from the meeting. The cloaked figure's shout echoes through the streets, but they don't look back.

They sprint through the derelict attractions, jumping over bits of fallen metal from decaying rides. As they round the corner of the decrepit House of Mirrors, Kyle points towards a small maintenance shed.

"There!" he gasps. "That shed—it's got a heavy door. We can barricade ourselves inside!"

They dash into the cramped structure, slamming the door shut and dragging a heavy toolbox in front of it just as the hooded figure reaches them. The figure bangs against the door, his muffled voice carrying an otherworldly echo that chills them to the bone.

"Think this will hold him?" Stan asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

"For now," Kenny says, catching his breath. "But guys, seriously, what the hell are you doing here? You can't be involved in this!"

Stan steps forward, his voice firm. "We're not leaving you, Kenny. Not this time. We face this together."

Kyle clasps Kenny's shoulder and pulls him into a tight hug. Stan joins in the hug, both of them pulling Kenny's frail body closer.

"You guys need to leave, while it's not too late. I can't ask you to risk your lives like this. I was wrong to drag you into this," Kenny says shakily.

Stan's grip on Kenny's arm tightens, his voice fierce with determination. "You're not asking, Kenny. We're offering. We choose to be here ourselves. Jesus, Kenny, do you really think we'd be here otherwise?"

Kyle's voice joins Stan's. "We've been through shit just as weird as this together, Kenny. This is just another challenge, like when we were kids. And we'll face it together, no matter what."

Kenny glances between them, eyes alight with hope. He nods. "Okay. Okay, let's do this. But guys... I need you to promise me something. If things go wrong, if it looks like there's no way out... you have to leave me behind. I'm already dead, you understand? You have to save yourselves, no matter what."

Stan and Kyle exchange a glance, an unspoken conversation and understanding passing between them. They turn back to Kenny, their expressions set with grim resolve.

"Okay, Kenny. We promise." Stan says, speaking on behalf of both him and Kyle.

Kenny nods, a weight seeming to lift from his shoulders.

"Alright. Let's do this, then. But we need to move fast. The ritual is set for midnight, and we don't have much time to stop it."

Kyle's brow furrows. "What do we need to do, Kenny? How do we stop this?"

Kenny takes a deep breath, his gaze hardening with resolve. "We need to find the door, what the cult aims to open. Now that you two are here, they are going to be looking for us all. It's somewhere in this twisted version of South Park, hidden away from prying eyes. If we can disrupt the ritual, destroy the artifacts they plan to use... we might have a chance."

Stan nods, his hand reaching for the reassuring weight of the polaroid in his pocket. "Then that's what we'll do. We'll find this door and slam it shut in their faces."

Kenny looks at the polaroid in Stan's hand thoughtfully. "Stan…. Let me see that."

He takes the picture and inspects it closer. He pauses his gaze on their prom outfits, eyes sparkling with an idea. "Hang onto this. Keep it on you. You got anything else from our childhood?"

Stan shrugs, shaking his head. "No... why, what are you thinking?"

The hooded figure suddenly raps on the walls, causing them all to jump.

"Guys, guys, guys! Open up! I'm on your side. Kenny, these are the ones? I recognize them from your chatter. Kyle and Stan?"

Kenny says in a low voice, "Yeah, that's them. I trust these two with my life - or, well, my permanent death. They are not to be sacrificed. You understand that?"

The figure sighs in relief. "Good. I'm glad you aren't alone anymore. But we don't have time to chit chat like this is goddamn book club. The cult knows you're here. You being together is like a beacon to all things evil. If they catch you all together, it just makes things easier for them."

"Uh, who the fuck are you calling evil, discount Grim Reaper cosplayer?" Kyle quips.

Stan adds, "Yeah, and how do we know we can trust you?"

The figure sighs. "Look, I get it. Trust is earned. But right now, we don't have the luxury of a slow-burn friendship montage. The cult is coming, and they're coming fast. We need to move."

"He's right," Kenny says, his voice heavy with urgency. "We can't stay here, especially all together. They'll find us."

The figure nods. "I know a safe place we can gather for now to strategize."

Stan and Kyle exchange a look. Finally, Stan nods. "Alright, mysterious cloak dude. Lead the way. Why the fuck not."

They emerge from the maintenance shed, the eerie stillness of the abandoned amusement park sending shivers down their spines. The hooded figure takes the lead, guiding them through the twisting paths and decaying attractions.

As they walk, Kyle whispers to Kenny, "Can we really trust him?"

Kenny sighs, his eyes distant. "Honestly, Kyle... I don't know. But The Guide is our best shot. And if there's even a slim possibility that he can help us stop this nightmare... I have to take it."

Kyle nods. "Okay. We're with you, Kenny."

As they round a corner, the hooded figure suddenly stops, his body tensing. "Wait," he whispers, his voice urgent. "Something's not right."

Stan and Kyle exchange a look of trepidation, their hands instinctively reaching for each other. Kenny steps forward, his eyes scanning the shadows. The air feels charged and still.

The old movie theater stands before them, its marquee dark and lifeless. The cracked screen jumps to life, flickering with images. They all freeze in place as the light from the old screen shines on their faces. On the screen, an unmistakable image appears. Wendy comes into focus on the screen, her eyes wide with fear, her body bathed in the same faint green light as Kenny and the hooded figure.

"Kenny!" she screams, her voice distorted through the old speakers. "Stan, Kyle! Don't come for me, it's a trap! They're using me—"

Her words are cut off as a shadowy figure enters the frame, a cruel laugh echoing through the theater. "Poor little Wendy," the voice mocks, dripping with malice. "So brave, so selfless. But your sacrifice will not be in vain, my dear. Your friends will come for you, and when they do... the ritual will be complete."

The figure turns to face the camera. "If you want to help your little Wendy out, you will come to Hell's Pass Hospital."

Kenny's face is ashen, his eyes haunted by a pain that goes beyond mere grief.

"Wendy?" Kenny whimpers softly.

Chapter Text

The old movie theater's marquee flickers, Wendy's image vanishing and the ghostly green glow fading. Kenny gazes at the blank screen, his heart pounding. The Guide quietly observes the trio.

"What the hell is she doing here?" Kenny whispers.

Stan rubs the back of his neck. "Uh, dude, she's been helping with the investigation... but we kinda lost track of her right after that weird ritual thing."

Kenny turns to them, his face pale. "Guys... Did she... did she drink from the vial?"

Kyle nods. "Yeah, she did. What is that stuff anyways?"

"Why would you let her drink it? Are you out of your fucking minds?" Kenny snaps, running his hands through his hair.

Stan raises his hands defensively. "Whoa, hey, it's not like we handed her the vial and said, 'Bottoms up, Wendy!' She just grabbed it and chugged it like it was a fucking tequila shot."

"Yeah," Kyle adds, "and then she started... shining like a goddamn glow stick."

Stan's brow furrows in confusion. "Wait, what exactly happens when you drink that stuff?"

Kenny explodes, pacing back and forth. "It’s the last part of the ritual! It kills you, Stan, traps you here in this dimension! Why the fuck did you even bring her along?"

Stan and Kyle share a look of dawning horror, then face Kenny again, the wind howling around the decrepit buildings.

"We thought you wanted us all in on this," Stan protests. "It was in that guide you wrote, remember? Wendy's name was there too! Also, Kyle and I are fucking stupid; we didn't know you had to drink from the vial! You left things too cryptic for us to know that!"

"I only gave you two letters for a reason! Did you ever think about that? I thought that should make it obvious enough! I wrote that guide in high school when Wendy and I were still together!" Kenny is only really yelling out of fear. He knows they don't have much time, and he doesn't know how he's supposed to try to figure out a plan with the knowledge that despite giving up years of happiness to be with Wendy, that she still gets the short end of the stick anyways. It's too devastating to bear.

Kyle crosses his arms. "Well, if it was just supposed to be us two, which of us was supposed to drink the liquid?"

Kenny looks away, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I never wanted to think about it... It was too hard. But I guess... I thought it’d be Stan."

Kyle glares at Kenny, but Stan doesn't seem offended, just nods like this makes logical sense and sits down next to Kenny, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Makes sense, I guess. I always was saying that life kinda sucked."

"Kinda?" Kenny teases weakly, looking up at Stan. They share a sad smile.

"Kay, Kenny. Listen. We'll worry about Wendy later; there's gotta be something we can do to at least get her to you. But for now, we've got to make a plan on how to stop this. What do you need us to do?" Stan asks.

Kenny stares at Stan and Kyle, his eyes burning with a fierce determination. "We have to go to Hell's Pass. It's the only way."

Stan and Kyle exchange incredulous looks before turning back to Kenny. "Are you out of your mind?" Stan exclaims. "Did you not see Wendy literally screaming at us not to go? It's obviously a trap!"

"Yeah, dude," Kyle chimes in. "The cult is waiting for us there, ready to pounce the moment we step foot inside. And after they kidnapped us, they told us they specifically need us three for the last part of their ritual to open The Door. It'd be stupid to just willingly walk into that."

Kenny's mind is made up. "We go to Hells Pass. We don't have a choice, guys. That's where the book is, and we need to destroy it. It's the only way to save Wendy and stop this whole fucked up ritual."

"Ken-"

Kenny's already starting to walk. "Listen to me. We need to close The Door, yeah? Well, guess where that is? It's at the hospital. So we'd need to go there anyways."

"Shit," Kyle says.

"But we're walking right into their hands! Do you even know how we can close the Door?" Stan asks, but walks quickly alongside Kenny and Kyle. Kenny doesn't respond, determined to get to their destination.

Kenny leads the way, his footsteps light and cautious as they approach the looming silhouette of Hell's Pass Hospital. The many windows are dark and lifeless. The Guide trails behind them, silent and watchful. The overgrown grass and scattered debris provide ample cover as they move closer, the moon casting long shadows across the unkempt grounds.

Kenny signals Stan and Kyle to halt, crouching behind a crumbling wall in the cold night. He scans the area before motioning them forward, staying low. They communicate silently, a language of gestures and glances honed over years of friendship. Stan taps Kenny's shoulder, pointing to a side entrance. Kenny nods, adjusting their course.

As they near the hospital, the sound of voices drifts towards them. Kenny's hand shoots out, grabbing Stan and Kyle. He yanks them back, pressing them against the rough, cold wall of a nearby outbuilding.

Two cloaked figures emerge from the shadows. "Can you believe it's finally happening?" one asks with manic excitement. "After all these years, the ritual will be complete."

"And with those three idiots walking right into our hands," the other replies, "it's almost too easy."

Kenny grits his teeth, his grip tightening on Stan and Kyle's arms. They remain perfectly still, hardly daring to breathe as the cultists pass by, their footsteps fading into the distance. Kenny is so focused that he doesn't even realize the Guide is no longer with them.

Kenny's heart races as they enter Hell's Pass Hospital through the unlocked service entrance. The door creaks, echoing in the abandoned hallways. Stale air, tinged with antiseptic and decay, surrounds them. Kyle knows the layout so he leads, navigating the dark labyrinth towards the distant sounds of cult members.

The chanting intensifies as they approach the ceremonial room. Kenny's palms sweat and his breath quickens. He exchanges glances with Stan and Kyle, acknowledging their shared fear and determination. They reach the partially-open door to the ceremonial room, and Kenny's heart nearly stops at the sight before him.

The room is bathed in a surreal green glow from a figure slumped against the far wall, arms bound.

Wendy.

Her face is pale, bathed in the same green light that had enveloped her image in the movie theater. She appears ethereal, and Kenny's chest tightens with conflicting emotions. The chanting intensifies, reminding him of the need for caution.

Kenny instructs Stan and Kyle to stay hidden and watch the entrance. With his heart pounding, he approaches Wendy, who seems illuminated by an otherworldly glow. Her expression softens as he nears her.

Kenny's heart pounds in his chest as he cautiously enters the ceremonial room, his eyes immediately drawn to Wendy. The eerie green glow that surrounds her casts an otherworldly light on her pale face, her eyes wide and alert as she watches him approach.

"Kenny," Wendy whispers over the chanting, "You shouldn't be here. It's a trap."

Kenny kneels beside her, his trembling hands reaching for her face. "Wendy… why would you drink that liquid? You knew what it would do. What were you thinking?"

Wendy's gaze hardens, a spark of defiance in her eyes. "I was thinking…. that I couldn't let you do this alone, Kenny. I knew exactly what I was doing. Besides, Stan and Kyle were too fucking stupid to figure out what to do with the vial. Kenny, this is my choice. You don't get to push me away and decide what's best for me."

Kenny's frustration boils over, his voice rising despite the danger. "But you didn't have to do this! I was trying to protect you, to keep you safe!"

Wendy's voice holds steady. "Kenny. I'm here because I want to be. I'm not some fucking damsel in distress. I'm here of my own choice, not yours. Because I love you, you self-sacrificing ass."

Kenny's anger dissipates as he embraces her. A muffled laugh slips out.  "If you're not a damsel in distress, than what are you doing here being a damsel in distress?"

Wendy mocks offense, shifting slightly. "I'm not in distress. I'll have you know that I can leave at any point myself from this hospital. I just…. didn't want to."

Kenny smiles down at Wendy, gently taking off the bindings around her, pulling her into a proper hug once she is free.

Wendy's whisper disrupts his thoughts. "Kenny," she says, her fingers tightening in his hair. "We need to focus."

He nods, swallowing again. He forces himself to pull away from Wendy, his eyes meeting hers. "Right," he breathes out, "focus."

They share a brief moment of understanding before surveying the room. The chanting intensifies as they search for an escape or advantage amidst ancient artifacts and a leather-bound book on a small table.

His gaze snaps back to the book as the realization hits him. He knows this book - it's the one the Goth kids talked about, the one he saw at the ceremony when he was Mysterion. Kenny rises and approaches the table, casting a glance at Wendy before flipping through the ancient tome, searching for any clue on how to close The Door. The chanting of the cultists intensifies.

The door bursts open as robed figures, led by Liane Cartman and Mia, surge into the room. Their eyes gleam as they advance on Kenny and Wendy.

"The time has come!" Liane shrieks, her voice shrill with excitement. "Seize them! We need all three boys for the ritual!"

Kenny clutches the book tightly, his knuckles white. The cult needs this, and he won't let them have it. Wendy moves beside him, ready to fight.

The cultists lunge forward, their hands grasping for Kenny and Wendy. Kenny's fierce kick sends one stumbling back. Wendy wields a candlestick like a club, fending off another attacker.

"Hold them down!" Mia commands, her voice cold and authoritative. "We need to start the ritual soon!"

Just as the cultists seem to be overwhelming them, Stan and Kyle burst into the room, joining the fray. Stan, his broken elbow hindering his movements, grabs a chair and swings it at the nearest cultist, knocking them to the ground. Kyle ducks and weaves, trying to make his way to Kenny and Wendy.

"Kenny!" Kyle yells, his voice strained with exertion. "The book! Give it to me!"

Without hesitation, Kenny hurls the book towards Kyle, who catches it deftly. Kyle backs towards the door, eyes flickering between the book and the fight.

Wendy, with a determined expression, grabs a heavy vase and throws it at Liane. Shattered ceramic shards fly as Liane screams furiously.

"You idiots!" she screeches. "You can't stop us! The ritual will be completed, and the ancient ones will rise again!"

Kenny's fists clash with the cultists, his eyes alight with unwavering resolve. Stan and Wendy fight by his side, their movements desperate but coordinated.

"Kyle, go!" Stan shouts. "Get out of here!"

Kyle, clutching the book to his chest, darts towards the door, avoiding lunges from the cultists.  The cultists try chase after him, but Stan and Kenny block their path, fighting desperately to prevent them from chasing after Kyle. Wendy joins the fray, her candlestick connecting with the jaw of a cultist with a sickening crunch. She moves to Kenny's side.

"We need to give Kyle more time," Wendy pants, wiping a trickle of blood from her split lip.

Kenny nods, determined. "Let's give them hell."

The cultists close in, clawing at Kenny, Stan, and Wendy. A gust of icy wind extinguishes the candles, shrouding them in darkness. From the shadows, a faintly glowing figure cloaked in mist emerges.

The Guide.

He moves gracefully, hands weaving intricate patterns as shadowy tendrils gather around him.

"Go," he commands.

Kenny and Wendy sprint out of the room, Stan hot on their heels. They race through South Park's shadowed streets, cultists' enraged shouts and footsteps urging them forward. Kenny's thoughts whirl, intent on finding Kyle and the ancient book.

"Where would he be?" Kenny asks frantically.

"Elementary school," Stan gasps, running the opposite direction Kenny intended to go. "Kyle... he'd go to the school. Remember ManBearPig?"

Kenny nods, his determination renewed. They sprint towards the school, their guide vanishing into the shadows. Nearing the building, Kenny spots a figure huddled by the entrance, tightly holding a large book.

"Kyle!" Kenny calls out, relief flooding through him.

Startled, Kyle looks up. "Kenny! I can't find a way to destroy it! I've tried everything!"

Kenny, Wendy, and Stan rush to Kyle's side, their gazes locked on the ancient tome. The pages squirm under his grip. Kenny touches the book and feels its dark energy crawl along his skin.

"It probably has some kind of protection on it," Kenny frowns. "Have you tried fire?"

"Where the hell am I supposed to start a fire?" Kyle asks.

Stan's eyes light up with an idea. "The metal shop! We could use the blowtorch and the forge."

Kenny hesitates, not sure if that will work either. They don't have much time- whatever they decide needs to be final, and it needs to work. A realization hits him.

"I don't know if that will work here, guys. The other dimension- it needs to be destroyed there," Kenny says.

"We go through," Kyle says, his voice steady despite the fear in his eyes. "Stan and I will take the book to the other side and destroy it there."

"No," Kenny protests. "It's too dangerous - we don't know what will happen."

Stan puts a hand on Kenny's shoulder, his grip tight. "You're not asking, Kenny. We're offering. We're in this together, okay?"

Kenny wants to argue, but knows it's really their only option. "Okay. Be careful."

Kyle tucks the Necronomicon under his arm, determination etched on his face. "We'll see you on the other side, Kenny. Both of you."

After a brief, intense embrace, Stan and Kyle sprint towards the shimmering portal leading to another dimension. Kenny and Wendy watch as their friends vanish into the vortex, consumed by sickly green light.

Kenny gathers himself. "Come on," he says, grabbing Wendy's hand. "We need to get back to The Door. We've got a job to do."

Together, they race back towards the hospital, their hearts pounding. Kenny knows they all have to get this exactly right - failure is not an option. Approaching the hospital, Kenny's steps falter. The once chaotic building now stands eerily silent.

"Do you think...?" Wendy starts, her voice trailing off into uncertainty.

Kenny shakes his head, pushing forward. "We have to keep going. We have to trust that the Guide did his part."

They burst into the ceremonial room, breath catching in their throats at the sight that greets them.

The cultists lie strewn about the floor, their robes smoldering and twisted. Liane Cartman is slumped against the far wall, her eyes glazed and unseeing. Mia is absent. The Door commands attention, pulsating with furious red light as it quivers - something behind it struggling to be let loose.

Wendy gasps, her hand flying to her mouth. "Kenny, look!"

Kenny's heart skips a beat seeing a familiar figure on the floor before The Door: The Guide. Motionless and bloodied, his cloak in tatters. Kenny rushes to him and drops to his knees.

"Kenny," he utters weakly. "You made it."

Kenny nods, relief and gratitude washing over him in equal measure. "Thanks to you. You saved our asses back there."

The Guide coughs, wincing. "It's what I'm here for. But we're not done yet. The Door..."

Kenny's eyes return to the portal, jaw set.  "We're fixing it. Stan and Kyle are in the other dimension, destroying the book. We just need to hold on until they finish the job."

Wendy moves to Kenny's side, her eyes locked on The Door. "How do we do it, Kenny? How do we seal the portal for good?"

The Guide sits up and takes one of Kenny's hands and his, Wendy's in the other to form a circle of three. Kenny looks at him in confusion.

"I have a protection chant for the Door. But we must wait until your friends have destroyed the book," The Guide explains.

"How will we know when they have?" Wendy asks in confusion.

"We will know," The Guide says confidently. "And when I tell you, you both must close your eyes and put all your energy into thinking about the door being slammed shut and locked. And no matter what, do not break the circle. Do you understand?"

Wendy and Kenny nod in understanding. 

Wendy and Kenny exchange a glance, and as Kenny grips her hand, distant shouts from cult members echo through the halls. The door trembles violently under the pulsing red light, malevolent energy threatening to unleash untold horrors.

Out of nowhere, an explosion jolts them, shaking the hospital foundations. Smoke stings Kenny's nostrils while heat from flames permeates the air. He recognizes the explosion originated near the elementary school. Shattered glass showers onto pavement, its sound barely audible amidst the fire's roar. Outside, it looks like a nightmarish mix of black shadows and smoke being consumed by bright orange fire.

As the flames consume the buildings of the apocalyptic version of South Park, Kenny knows that the book must have been destroyed. The Guide begins to chant, his voice low and steady. Kenny, Wendy, and the Guide close their eyes, their hands clasped tightly together.

Kenny squeezes his eyes shut even tighter, putting all his mental strength into envisioning the Door locked permanently. Slowly, the tremors and sinister light start to fade away. His grip on Wendy's hand tightens as the wind howls around them. Invasive thoughts attempt to distract him, but he focuses on the task at hand. The ground quakes beneath them, but they maintain their circle, eyes shut while the Guide's chant intensifies.

With a final, ear-splitting crack, the chaos around them abruptly ceases. The wind dies down, the dark shadows dissipate, and the Door falls still. Kenny, Wendy, and the Guide open their eyes, blinking in the sudden silence. The angry red light is gone, leaving behind a plain, unremarkable door.

Kenny staggers to his feet. Wendy moves to his side, her hand finding his. "Is it…is it over?" she whispers.

The Guide rises slowly, his movements stiff and pained. Facing them with a weary smile, he says, "It's done. The book is destroyed, and the Door is sealed.

Kenny's heart leaps, relief flooding him. Relief is soon replaced with worry. "Stan and Kyle... where are they? Did they make it out?"

The Guide places a reassuring hand on Kenny's shoulder. "They are safe, Kenny. They are back in their own world, the world as it should be. The destruction of the book has reset the balance."

Wendy lets out a shaky laugh. "They did it. Those bastards actually did it."

Kenny wraps his arms around her, pressing his face into her hair. "We all did it," he whispers, voice laden with emotion.

The sound of the Guide clearing his throat captures their attention.

The hood pulls back, unveiling a familiar visage: glowing red skin, curved horns, and an envy-worthy goatee.

Kenny's eyes widen. "Satan?"

Satan grins, spreading his arms. "In the flesh, so to speak. Surprise!"

Wendy's jaw drops, her eyes darting between Kenny and Satan. "You're telling me that the mysterious guide who's been helping us this whole time... is the literal devil? Wait, Kenny, do you know him?"

Satan shrugs, a playful glint in his eye. "Kenny and I go way back."

Kenny laughs sharply. "I knew you were a shady motherfucker, but this tops it all. What's next, is Jesus gonna pop out next to tapdance?"

Satan chuckles, shaking his head. "No, no, that's more my thing. Jesus is more of a classical ballet kind of deity."

Wendy's mouth is still open in shock. "I can't believe I just did a ritual with Satan himself. My therapist is never going to believe this."

Kenny slings an arm around her shoulders, his grin wide. "Welcome to my world, babe. It's always been a little bit of a trip."

Satan clears his throat, refocusing their attention. "We need to discuss your reward, Kenny."

Kenny's brow furrows in confusion. "My reward? What are you talking about?"

Satan places a hand on Kenny's shoulder. "As gratitude from the powers that be, I offer you one wish - anything your heart desires. Like old times. What do you say?"

Kenny's mind reels, the weight of Satan's words sinking in. A wish. Anything he wants. The possibilities are endless, and yet...

He looks at Wendy, sees the love and devotion shining in her eyes. He thinks of Stan and Kyle, his best friends, his brothers in all but blood. He reflects on his countless deaths, resurrections, and the burden of his curse.

And in that moment, he knows exactly what he wants.

Taking a deep breath, his voice unwavering, he says, "I wish... I wish to go back. Back to before my permanent death, right before I did the final ritual to come here. I want a chance at a normal life without death constantly after me—to grow old with loved ones, to just be fucking normal. That's my wish."

Satan nods, a knowing smile on his face. "I had a feeling you might say that. Very well, Kenny. I shall reset the clock to several weeks prior. Know that you will be the only one to remember all of this - while this experience will still have happened and always be a part of your friend's souls, they will have no memory of any of the events between now and when you first entered this portal."

Kenny feels a pang of sadness for Stan and Kyle - their bond that seemed much closer than friendship did not go unnoticed by him. But they'll find each other again. Kenny will make sure of it. Kenny takes a deep breath, feeling at peace with his decision. Wendy nods at him encouragingly with a small smile. Kenny leans down to give her a kiss, then looks up at Satan, who now seems much taller.

"I'm ready," Kenny says confidently.

Satan clears his throat. "Your wish is granted."

A blinding light fills the room, and Kenny experiences a sensation of being pulled apart. He squeezes his eyes shut, ready for whatever comes next.

When he reopens his eyes, he finds himself in his car, the engine humming softly. The lingering scent of garlic and herbs from last night's family dinner at Olive Garden fills the heavy air. That night seems like it was years ago. He accidentally left the leftovers in the car overnight.

Kenny exhales slowly, the normalcy of being in his car grounding him after the whirlwind of recent events. He glances at the fancy mirror dashboard. It looks like the car is en-route to Stark's Canyon.

He engages the car's self-drive feature and leans back. Adrenaline pulses through him, his body nearly shaking from it. His phone buzzes—a text from Cartman about tonight's ritual items. Kenny frowns, his fingers hovering over the screen for a moment before he types out a quick response.

"Plan's off, Cartman. Something came up."

Almost immediately, Cartman's reply pops up. "whatever, just don't ask me for favors again u poor piece of shit"

Kenny snorts, rolling his eyes. Curiosity tugs at him as he opens his messaging app again and types in "Wendy." The old text thread pops up—their last conversation dating back to their college years, right before he'd made the difficult decision to break things off.

He opens the thread, a bittersweet smile tugging at his lips as he reads the last message she sent him.

"ken- don't you dare wear your orange parka over your suit to graduation or i stg i will make you only listen to noah kahan and taylor swift for the rest of your life. don't make me come over to dress you myself ;)"

Kenny chuckles, feeling a lump form in his throat. He was wrong to break things off with Wendy, and his heart aches as he thinks about the past several years spent alone.

But Kenny has never really been one to focus on what-ifs. He doesn't want to dwell on what could have been if he'd never let Wendy go. What's done is done, and no amount of longing for past times that never happened will ever change the reality of it all. The only thing to do now is to move forward.

With shaking hands, Kenny presses the green 'Call' button.

His heart races as the phone rings, each second like an eternity. A part of him wonders if too much time has passed or if Wendy has moved on. But then, the line clicks, and a familiar voice fills his ear.

"Kenny?" Wendy's tone is a mix of surprise and concern. "Is everything okay?"

Kenny takes a deep breath, a smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah, Wendy. Everything's... everything's great, actually. I just... I wanted to hear your voice."

There's a pause, a moment of weighted silence.

Wendy's words are tentative. "It's been a while, hasn't it? I've missed you, Ken."

Kenny feels warmth in his chest. "I've missed you too, Wendy. More than you know."

He watches the scenery outside the window as the sun sets. "Listen, Wendy...  I know I need to explain. I'll tell you everything. But for now, I just want you to know that I'm sorry. For pushing you away. I was scared, but I'm not anymore."

Wendy's voice trembles. "Kenny, no apologies needed. I understand your actions, even when I was angry and tried to move on."

A tear escapes Kenny's eye. "Could you give me another chance? I can fly you over here next week. There's a fancy restaurant here in South Park I'd love to take you to. Sonic, have you heard of it?"

He can hear the smile in Wendy's voice when she responds. "I'd like that, Kenny. I'd like that a lot."

They catch up on the lost years as the car pulls into Stark's Pond. Kenny steps out of the car, the evening air embracing him. The pond, a mirror reflecting sunset hues, invites him to its edge. He inhales deeply, unsure how to navigate this newfound freedom and relief from the constant dread of Death being behind his shoulders.

Finally, he can fucking breathe.

Chapter Text

August 30, 2035:

This week has been incredibly shitty, even for Stan's standards. His coworker, Mia, hasn't shown up to work once this week. She was the only one at work Stan saw as being on the same level, the only one who seemed to have common sense. Her absence has kept Stan seriously considering an offer from Craig of all people to apply to join the Space Force — Craig!

To top it all off, Kenny begged Stan via text to go to South Park for a game night, saying he was already on the way to pick him up. Kenny rarely begs, and Stan can't find it in himself to deny Kenny, even though they have plans already for the weekend to see the Denver Broncos in action. Kenny so rarely asks for favors, and he asked Stan to go with him. Stan was looking forward to getting wasted this weekend on some fire whiskey so he's not particularly thrilled, but he can't bring himself to say no.

Stan’s fingers pause on the car door handle as he spots Kyle already seated inside, looking as surprised as Stan feels. “Kenny, what’s going on here?” Stan asks, an edge of irritation in his voice.

Kyle looks equally as flustered as Stan, giving Kenny a glare. "This is why we took a detour? To pick up Stan?!"

Kenny pouts. "Well… I just thought that for my birthday, you guys would just suck it up and come with me to South Park, okay? It's been a hard year, and this is all I ask for for my birthday. Us three together."

"Dude, your birthday was 5 months ago," Stan says at the same time that Kyle says, "Your birthday's not for 7 more months!!"

Kenny sighs dramatically, rolling his eyes. "Fine, you got me. It's not my birthday. But come on, guys! We used to be the three musketeers, the inseparable trio! Can't we just put aside our differences for one day and hang out like old times?"

Stan and Kyle exchange a wary glance, the tension between them palpable. It's been years since they've been in the same room together, let alone had a civil conversation.

"I don't know, Kenny," Stan says warily, taking a step back away from the car, more than anything wanting to just go back into his apartment to feel the familiar burn of the fire whiskey down his throat. "It's just... it's been a long time, you know?"

Kyle nods in agreement, his arms crossed defensively over his chest. "Yeah, Stan and I didn't exactly part on the best of terms, if you remember."

Kenny throws his hands up in exasperation. "Oh, for fuck's sake! Are you guys really still holding onto that old grudge? It's been years, man. People change, people grow up. Can't you just let it go, at least for one day?"

Stan and Kyle look at each other again, a silent conversation passing between them. They both know that Kenny has a point, that holding onto their old anger and resentment isn't doing either of them any good. But then again, they both are stubborn as fuck.

Finally, Stan sighs, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "Fine. I'll do it for you, Kenny. But don't expect us to be best friends again, okay?"

Kyle nods, a slight frown on his face. "Yeah, same here. I'm doing this for Kenny, not for you, Stan." Stan rolls his eyes. He thought they made that point clear after their silent conversation; there was no need for Kyle to actually say it out loud.

Kenny grins, clapping his hands together in excitement. "Great! That's all I'm asking for, guys. Just one day of pretending like everything's cool, like we're still the same old friends we used to be. Please, you guys. I really need that from you guys."

"Can I at least sit up front?" Stan asks desperately.

Kenny grins, his eyes glinting mischievously. "Nah, silly Stanny boy. I've got my wallet up front. It's gotta be buckled in, ya know?"

Stan frowns, directing his gaze up front to a tiny wallet buckled in the passenger's side. "You can't be serious, Kenny. Your wallet gets the front seat?"

Kenny nods sagely. "It's a very special wallet, guys. It needs its own space."

Kyle rolls his eyes. "That's exactly what he told me earlier."

Stan climbs into the back seat next to Kyle, keeping as much distance between them as possible. The car feels cramped and uncomfortable, the air thick with unspoken words and old wounds.

As Kenny starts the engine and pulls out onto the road, he glances at his two friends in the rearview mirror. "So, how have you guys been?"

Stan and Kyle both mumble noncommittal responses, clearly not in the mood for small talk. Kenny sighs, realizing that getting these two to open up is going to be harder than he thought.

They drive in silence for a while, the only sound the hum of the engine and the occasional passing car. Stan stares out the window, watching the familiar landscape of the drive to South Park roll by. 'Silent Lucidity' plays on the speakers softly. Stan hasn't been back here in years, not since he left for college and never looked back. Kyle, too, seems lost in thought, his brow furrowed as he picks at a loose thread on his jeans. Kenny glances at them again in the mirror, a mischievous glint in his eye.

"So…. it's been a while! I've decided to change my research into combining dark matter into breast implants. What have you guys been up to?" Kenny says casually.

Stan and Kyle exchange a confused glance in the backseat. Combining physics theories to combine dark matter to invent better breast implants? What the fuck does that even mean? They both know better than to question Kenny further on the science behind it.

"Dark matter boob implants, huh?" Stan says, trying to keep a straight face. "Sounds... groundbreaking, Kenny. Really pushing the boundaries of science there."

"Yeah, I'm sure the Nobel Prize committee is just waiting to give you a call, Kenny. Your contributions to the field of cosmetic surgery will not go unnoticed," Kyle snorts.

Kenny grins, clearly pleased with himself. "You prudes can make fun of me all you want, but just watch. I bet I will get a Nobel Prize for it, Ky."

As Kenny drives, he keeps glancing at Stan and Kyle in the rearview mirror, a mischievous glint in his eye. "So, guys, what's new in your lives? Any juicy gossip to share?"

Stan sighs, looking out the window as they enter the familiar canyon towards South Park, a blur of aspen and pine trees passing by. "Not much, really. Just been working on some cult cases at work. It's been kind of draining. I think I'm sick of it if I'm being honest," he admits, his gaze still fixed on the passing scenery.

Kenny raises an eyebrow. "Cults, huh? I have to agree with you that I think I've had more than enough experience with those."

"What do you mean? Don't tell me you started a cult, Kenny."

Kenny barks out a laugh. "So what if I do? I think I'd make a pretty sweet cult leader, you guys."

Kyle looks up at Kenny. "Yeah, I could see that. You already kinda look like one now that you're growing out that beard."

Kenny smiles. "Exactly. So, Stan, if you're sick of it, what do you wanna do? Craig keeps asking about you at game nights. He thinks you'd be good to join him on the Space Force."

"Yeah… he's been trying to recruit me. I don't know, I'm considering it. It's starting to sound more appealing than dealing with these cult cases day in and day out," Stan shrugs.

Kyle laughs, shaking his head. "Craig, huh? I never thought I'd see the day when Stan Marsh would consider taking career advice from Craig Tucker."

"Yeah, well, desperate times call for desperate measures, I guess."

Kyle nods, a thoughtful expression on his face. "I know what you mean about feeling burned out. I'm almost done with my residency for surgery, but I'm starting to think maybe I should switch gears and go into psychiatry instead."

Kenny raises an eyebrow in surprise. "Psychiatry? I thought being a surgeon was your dream, though."

Kyle shrugs. "I just… I remember how shitty all the mental health help was in South Park, and I think I can really help out with it."

Stan turns to look at Kyle in surprise. God knows that Stan had to deal with his share of incredibly harmful mental health 'professionals' in South Park. Kyle returns Stan's gaze and they have another silent conversation, and Stan knows that he's referring to what Stan had to go through. He doesn't have to voice it aloud. Stan gives Kyle a small nod of respect, and Kyle's lips turn up into a small smile before they look away from each other again, looking out of their respective windows. Maybe the future wouldn't fucking suck so much after all if there were people like Kyle trying to make a difference in it.

"So, Kenny… where are we even going? I don't remember there being an invitation for a game night," Kyle says.

"Thought we could hang out at Stark's Pond for a bit. You know, like old times," Kenny shrugs.

As they drive, Kenny's phone buzzes with a text notification. He glances down at it, a grin spreading across his face. "Guess who just texted me, guys? Wendy!"

Stan and Kyle exchange a surprised look. "Wendy?" Stan asks, his eyebrows raised.

"The one and only," Kenny says, his eyes twinkling with excitement. "We're back together!"

"Wait, what? When did this happen?" Kyle asks, leaning forward in his seat.

"Oh…. about a week or so? She's flying into South Park today. One thing led to another, and well... here we are!" Kenny says, his grin widening.

Stan shakes his head in disbelief. "I thought you two broke up in college. Didn't you say something about wanting to be a 'free spirit' when it came to girls?"

Kenny shrugs, still smiling. "What can I say? Wendy's always had a special place in my heart. Plus, have you seen her lately? She's even hotter than she was in high school!"

Kyle rolls his eyes. "Dude, seriously? Is that all you care about?"

"Of course not!" Kenny says, feigning offense. "I also care about her personality... and her knockers."

Stan and Kyle groan in unison. "Kenny, you're hopeless," Stan says, but he can't help but chuckle.

"So, how did Wendy react when you told her about your groundbreaking dark matter implant research?" Kyle asks innocently.

Kenny's eyes widen in mock horror. "Are you kidding me? I can't tell Wendy about that! She'd probably dump me on the spot!"

Stan laughs. "Yeah, better keep that one under wraps, Kenny."

"Hey, a man's gotta have his secrets," Kenny says, grinning. "Besides, I'm pretty sure Wendy's into me for my charming personality and rugged good looks, not my scientific prowess."

"Keep telling yourself that, buddy," Kyle says, patting Kenny on the shoulder.

As they continue to drive, Kenny can't stop smiling, his good mood infectious. Stan and Kyle find themselves joking and laughing along with him, the tension between them momentarily forgotten in the face of their Kenny's happiness.

Before they know it, they are at Starks Pond, walking together towards the familiar body of water. Stan smiles, feeling nostalgic about being at Stark's pond with Kenny and Kyle. He's especially glad that Kenny is here. Even though he just saw him a couple of weeks ago, it feels like it's been much longer since he's seen him, and he's really missed him.

Just as soon as they stop by the edge of the pond, Kenny speaks up, stretching. "Wow, this sure was fun! Well, I've got to get going, dudes. I'm gonna leave you boys here. I've gotta go fuck my girl," Kenny states matter-of-factly.

Kyle and Stan give Kenny an incredulous look.

"Kenny, we've been here for like 10 seconds," Stan says.

"You are not just leaving us here, Kenny. You drove us here, you asshole!" Kyle exclaims.

Kenny's lips curve up into a devious smirk as he glances from Stan to Kyle. "Did I? Hmm.... well, sucks for you guys. Like I said, I've got to go bang my girl. Right now. Without you guys, obviously. Anyways; I'll report on my good lay if you guys promise to do the same to me!"

Kenny winks at them, hurrying away. Stan looks at him in awe, surprised that he's actually leaving, sure that he was just pranking them. Kyle tries to protest further with Kenny, but that son of a bitch is fast, in his car peeling away before Stan can even make sense of what the fuck just happened.

"What the fuck is wrong with him?!" Kyle exclaims.

Stan is still confused at what just happened. He shrugs and says the only explanation he can really come up with. "Uh... I don't know, dude. He's Kenny?" 

Kyle sighs in resignation, seemingly accepting Stan's half-assed explanation. He eyes a bench nearby and sits down on it with another sigh. Stan recognizes the bench as one he and Kyle used to sit on together fairly often, typically when they were both so fed up with the town they lived in and the stupid adults who lived in it. They used to judge the adults in their town so hard as they sat on that bench overlooking the pond.

Now that Stan thinks about it, he wonders if he is actually any different from the people they'd complain about now that he's an adult. He sure as hell hopes so, but then again, who knows? Maybe he'll fall into the exact patterns as the other adults. He already failed at his promise to avoid alcohol that he made to himself when he was six when he saw his dad drink so much. Hell, he's been thinking about the moment all week that he gets to go home to his ex-girlfriend's fire whiskey that she left at his place. The thought of being able to go home to finally be able to drink some stronger alcohol that's there by accident, outside of the strict rule he's brought upon himself to never bring home strong liquor, has been the only thing to give him excitement this week. He had decided as soon as he finally broke things off with Katie that he'd split the entire unsealed bottle she left behind between this upcoming Thursday and Friday night so he could get decently wasted on both nights. Yes, he had actually planned his getting wasted out by practically writing it into his fucking calendar. So, who's to say what else he's failed at that he promised himself he'd never do? Maybe he doesn't want to know. As far as Stan is concerned, he's a fucking hypocrite.

As Stan approaches the bench, memories of the times he and Kyle used to sit here come flooding back to Stan. Taking a deep breath, he joins Kyle on the bench, his gaze following Kyle's to the sinking sunset. The sunset casts shadows across the lake, the water mixing together in bright reds and oranges. 

Stan is not really sure where this overwhelming feeling is coming from, but he feels different about Kyle. At least, different from what he would think he'd be feeling towards him right now. Just last night, if the thought of Kyle had crossed his mind, he'd be met with intense emotions of anger, regret, and sorrow, anger being at the forefront. But right now, he just feels...

Stan gulps and shakes his head, not understanding his feelings right now. That's something he'll have to face some other time. As for right now, he closes his eyes and slides to sit a little closer to Kyle, close enough to breathe in his familiar scent as well as the scent of the lake and the fresh air, close enough to brush shoulders. A wave of calmness floods through him, a feeling that he just knows is much better than being drunk on half a bottle of fire whiskey would feel.

The sun is completely set by the time Stan opens his eyes. He and Kyle have sat here on this bench for a while now, not attempting to call for an Uber Lyft Plus or even to complain about Kenny leaving them here alone. Stan dares to glance at Kyle. His side profile is illuminated by the white glare of the moon and stars, the stars being much more prominent in this location than closer to Denver where Stan has been living.

Stan looks at Kyle closely, at the curve of his sharp nose that Kyle always hated, but Stan always secretly loved, the way his curly copper hair is frizzy now that they've been sitting in the humidity for so long. God, his hair. Another thing that Kyle always hated so passionately about himself that Stan always loved so much for as long as he can remember, the way it was the exact opposite of his own hair and so beautiful. He used to hate it when Kyle would hide it under a hat. Stan can feel his own hair sticking to his forehead right now, aware that it probably looks very greasy due to the humidity now, despite the fact that he just washed it moments before the drive to South Park. Stan fights the urge to reach out to touch Kyle's hair, to run his fingers through some of the individual curls.

Stan isn't sure how long he looks at Kyle before Kyle turns to face his gaze towards Stan. Kyle's green eyes don't flicker with the anger Stan is used to as he returns Stan's stare. They reflect something else, something Stan can't understand. They both look back at the lake, the scent of the lake mixing with the cool evening breeze. The nighttime chill seeps under Stan's clothes, and he shuffles slightly closer to Kyle, feeling his warmth. Stan watches the water ripple.

Kyle finally breaks the silence, his voice low. "Stan?"

Stan leans closer to Kyle. "Yeah?" he says softly.

"I just... Uh... I just wanted to say that I'm sorry. For... for how everything went down."

Stan bites his lip, unprepared for this. "Kyle... you really don't have anything to be sorry for. If anything, I'm the one here who should be apologizing, and even that wouldn't be enough. I'm so sorr-"

Kyle stops him mid-sentence by gripping onto Stan's left elbow with a firm hold. Stan isn't sure why, but the contact is enough to shut him up, Kyle's simple touch sending a comforting sensation from his elbow through his shoulder to the tips of his fingers.

"You know what, Stan? I feel like we're both sorry, and we both should forgive each other. Let's... let's just leave it at that. Okay? Please?" Kyle asks desperately, looking at Stan expectantly, not loosening his grip on his left elbow.

Stan looks into Kyle's eyes and swallows. He's actually not sure why he started apologizing in the first place. He knows for a fact that if he were thrown into this situation just yesterday that all he'd want to do is argue with Kyle and release all the anger and sadness he felt over their lost friendship. But right now, he feels similarly to what Kyle just vocalized. He feels... so beyond sorry for how he treated Kyle in the past. And simultaneously forgives Kyle for how he treated him as well. He's not sure why or how, but just that he does. And that he absolutely does not want to let that get in the way of them rebuilding their friendship again.

Stan nods. "Actually, dude... yeah. Let's just leave it at that."

Kyle visibly relaxes, his grip on Stan slackening a bit but not leaving entirely.

Stan's stomach growls loudly, causing Kyle to laugh.

Stan flushes, glad the dark sky and lack of streetlamps likely don't illuminate the pink in his cheeks. His anticipation of drinking the whiskey tonight meant making sure to abstain from food to maximize its effects. He didn't think it would be much of an issue since he never really feels hungry anyways.

"We've been here a while... I guess we'd better figure out a way to get home eventually. We can probably stop somewhere first to eat if we split the cost for an Uber Lyft Plus," Kyle chuckles.

"Yeah, I guess so. Dude, you know what I'm craving right now?"

"City Wok?" Kyle asks.

"...No. I lost my appetite for good for that place the time the City Wok dude took us on that shitty airplane ride to Canada. I'm craving Taco Bell so much right now."

Kyle laughs. "I should've known. That's what you used to force us to get with Kenny all the fucking time as teenagers. I don't think I've really had it since then, to be honest."

"Honestly... same."

Kyle looks surprised. "Really? You loved it for some reason. I thought for sure you were at least one of those drunk college guys who would eat it every day."

Stan shakes his head. "Nope. Uh, well.. about the Taco Bell part anyways. I'm serious dude; I think the last time I had Taco Bell was probably sometime our freshman year in high school with you and Kenny. Just haven't craved it Or anything, for that matter." His stomach growls again as he thinks about the thought of Taco Bell's shitty nacho bell supreme and chalupas. It sounds so fucking delicious right now.

Kyle grins at Stan. "You must be pretty fucking hungry then, dude. Come on, the Taco Bell's not that far. Let's just walk, like we used to do."

Kyle stands up from the bench and extends his hand down towards Stan to get off the bench. Kyle wasn't really correct that Taco Bell is nearby; Stan knows it's a couple of miles walk away. He doesn't say anything about that because he can't think of anything else he'd rather be doing right now than walking the quiet streets of South Park with Kyle.

"Remember that time Kenny ate fifty Doritos locos tacos in two minutes?" Kyle asks.

"Yeah, and it wasn't even for money! I swear, I don't understand how Kenny is still alive sometimes. There have been so many times I've thought 'oh my God, Kenny's dead' and then he just gets right back up to do the next stupid stunt or bet."

Kyle shakes his head, smiling. "That bastard. For real, dude. You'd think he'd be dead by now for sure."

Stan and Kyle walk for a while, finally eventually coming up to the Taco Bell. They talk, getting caught up with each other's lives for the past several years. The fluorescent lights and smell of cheap fast food hitting them as they enter. Despite the late hour, there are a few other patrons inside.

They approach the counter, eyes scanning the familiar menu. "I'll have a Nacho Supreme, a chalupa supreme, and a Baja blast," Stan orders without hesitation, his old high school Taco Bell regular flooding back to him.

Kyle chuckles. "Still remember your usual, huh? I'll just have a cheesy gordita crunch and a Pepsi."

Stan resists the urge to tease Kyle that really, that meant that he remembered Stan's usual and not necessarily the other way around. As they wait for their food, Stan can't help but marvel at the ease with which they've fallen back into their old friendship. The years of distance and anger seem to have melted away, and suddenly Stan feels 14 years old again, a familiar warmth enveloping him at being by Kyle's side.

They grab their trays and find a booth in the corner. They're both pretty tall, so their knees bump under the table, but Stan doesn't mind. He finds himself leaning into the touch, nearly intertwining their legs. Stan opens his nachos and takes a huge bite, the familiar mix of flavors exploding in his mouth. He can't remember the last time food tasted this good, or good at all. It takes everything in him not to cry at the fact that he is eating and the food doesn't taste like shit- even if the particular food he's eating is probably objectively shitty.

Across from him, Kyle digs into his gordita crunch, a content smile on his face. "You know, I never thought I'd say this, but I actually missed Taco Bell," he admits.

Stan nods in agreement. "Dude, I'm surprised this location hasn't combined with, like, every other fast food place imaginable. Like a fucking…. Taco Bell McDonald's Arby Wendy's Max."

Kyle laughs. "I'm pretty sure that actually exists, dude. But with KFC and Pizza Hut too. I think the South Park residents threw an actual riot with pitchforks so they just kept the original Taco Bell up."

Now that Stan looks around, it does look like one of the few places here in the future that are untouched by mega corporations combining or updates to the interior. It looks exactly the same as it did when he was a kid.

They gather their trash and head towards the exit, shoulders brushing as they walk. Outside, the night air is cool and crisp, but not unbearably so, especially as they start walking.

"So, what now?" Kyle asks, turning to face Stan.

"How about another walk?" Stan asks.

Kyle raises his eyebrow. "A walk to where?"

"To my dad's farm. He has an electric guitar I want to steal." Stan hasn't played the guitar in years - not since his dad broke his acoustic one. He suddenly has an urge to get back into playing, but more importantly - to take from his dad what is rightfully his.

Stan can't help but grin at Kyle's surprised expression. He knows it's a bit of a crazy idea, especially considering how far the farm is and how unreliable Randy is, but he's feeling reckless and alive in a way he hasn't felt in years. Besides, his dad is probably crossfaded out of his mind and passed out by now.

"Come on, dude. It'll be fun. Just like old times," Stan says, bumping his shoulder against Kyle's.

Kyle hesitates for a moment before a mischievous smile spreads across his face. "Alright, let's do it."

They set off towards the Marsh farm, the familiar route ingrained in Stan's muscle memory. As they walk, they reminisce about their childhood adventures, laughing at the ridiculous situations they used to find themselves in.

"Remember when we tried to form a boy band?" Kyle asks, chuckling.

Stan groans. "God, don't remind me. We were so bad."

"Hey, speak for yourself. I thought my rendition of 'Fingerbang' was pretty solid," Kyle teases.

Stan shoves him playfully. "Dude, shut up. You know that was all Kenny's idea."

They fall into a comfortable silence, the sound of their footsteps and the occasional rustling of leaves the only noise in the quiet night. They make their way towards the house on the farm after a while, careful to avoid any creaky floorboards that might alert his dad to their presence. Luckily the weed makes Randy paranoid, so Stan knows his dad doesn't have any cameras on site.

Stan leads Kyle to the living room. He spots the electric guitar in the corner, a thin layer of dust covering its surface. Technically, the guitar is his dad's. But he remembers when he was really young, probably around 8 years old, when his dad noticed his interest in guitar and music and started teaching him. He picked up learning the instrument pretty quickly, and his dad bought him an acoustic guitar but eventually broke it his Senior year.

Stan picks up the guitar, and he and Kyle sit quietly on the dark living room floor as Stan refamiliarizes himself with it. He runs his fingers over the strings, smiling as he remembers all the hours he spent practicing. Throughout middle school and high school, his guitar was his lifeline. When the weight of the world felt too heavy and he couldn't stand to be around all the people he had failed, he turned to music.

But it was the songs he wrote himself that truly saved him. Late at night, when the house was dark and quiet, he would put pen to paper and let the words flow out of him. He wrote about Kyle, about the bond they shared, about the way his heart raced whenever they were together, though at the time he wasn't quite sure what that all meant. Even after their friendship fell apart, he couldn't stop writing about him. Kyle was a part of him, woven into the fabric of his being, and the music was the only way he knew how to express that.

When his dad broke his guitar, Stan felt like a piece of himself had been shattered along with it. When soberness hit him the next day, he was furious that his dad had destroyed the one thing that made life somewhat bearable aside from alcohol.

He gave up on his dreams of studying music in college, convinced that without his guitar, he had nothing left to offer. Getting back into it always sounded like such a chore as well, even when money was no longer a factor for getting a new one. Stan kept sinking further and further into depression to the point where even things he used to love just seemed shitty, including music and the thought of getting back into playing guitar.

But now, standing in his dad's living room with the guitar in his hands, he feels a flicker of hope. Maybe it's something he can get back into, something that can help him again, even when everything else seems shitty.

"We should probably get out of here before my dad wakes up," Stan says reluctantly.

Kyle nods, standing up and unplugging the guitar, gathering the cord and amp and pulling Stan up with him. Stan places the guitar in the case. Before they leave, Stan quietly approaches the entertainment center, looking for something in particular. He spots it underneath a pile of junk, the bright coral and light blue controllers unmistakable. Stan grins, handing the device and extra controller to Kyle, exchanging it for the amp. They quietly make their way out of the house, the guitar slung over Stan's shoulder.

"What now?" Kyle asks.

"Well… it's getting pretty late, don't you think?" Stan laughs, glancing at his watch. By now it's past midnight, and yet they still haven't ordered an Uber Lyft Plus. They've been prolonging it, because that means going home. And Stan doesn't want to go home, not when he's feeling more at home than he has in years. He gets the feeling that Kyle feels the same way. Stan's already made the decision to call in to work the next day.

"So? That just means it's the perfect time to go prank Cartman."

Stan snorts. "What, you wanna turn him ginger again?"

Kyle shrugs, and Stan gets an idea. He turns to Kyle and grins. "I know where we can go."

Stan ignores Kyle's questions about where they're going as they make the trek back into the main part of town. They continue to laugh and catch each other up as well as laugh about the crazy things that happened when they were kids. Stan makes fun of Kyle for playing some odd Forza Horizon/Read Dead Redemption hybrid game.

As they approach Stan's old house, Kyle's eyes light up with recognition. Aside from a 'For Sale' sign and more chips in the dark green paint, it looks mostly the same. They sneak around to the backyard through the side gate, the guitar case nearly getting caught on the fence.

Stan grins when he spots the old treehouse they built, still standing sturdy against the large oak tree. They had started construction back in elementary school, but it wasn't until middle school that they finally added proper nails and expanded the space. Stan gently rests the guitar and amp against the tree trunk and starts climbing the haphazard ladder.

"Dude, you're actually going up? Will it even support our weight?" Kyle asks from below, clutching the Switch under his arm.

Stan shrugs, pulling himself into the small treehouse and peering down at Kyle through the crooked window frame. "Only one way to find out. Besides, my parents used to come up here all the time." He immediately winces, regretting bringing up that memory.

"Ew, sick, dude!"

Stan leans out the window, reaching his arm down. "Here, hand me the Switch and get your ass up here."

Kyle passes him the console, and Stan sets it down carefully inside the treehouse. He then reaches down to help pull Kyle up as he navigates the makeshift ladder. With a grunt, Stan hoists Kyle into the cramped space, their bodies pressed close together.

"Wow, this thing is a lot smaller than I remember," Kyle laughs, his breath warm against Stan's cheek.

Stan's heart races at the proximity. He swallows hard. "Yeah, well, we were a lot smaller back then too."

They settle into the treehouse, legs tangled together as they lean against the rough wooden walls. Stan reaches for the Switch, turning it on and grinning as the startup sound echoes in the small space.

"I can't believe this thing still works," he marvels, handing the extra controller to Kyle.

They boot up an old Mario Kart game, the familiar music filling the treehouse as they select their characters. Stan chooses Toad, while Kyle goes for Yoshi. They race through the colorful tracks, elbowing each other playfully and trash-talking like they're kids again. Stan vaguely remembers Kenny always telling them they needed to work on their trash talk, and he was probably right about that. But Stan wouldn't want to play old games and make shitty trash talk in a tiny, uncomfortable treehouse with anyone else.

Stan makes a mental note to throw the whiskey down the drain once he gets home. Stan smiles contentedly at Kyle's victory cheer after he wins the last round. Gathering courage, he extends his arm and gently pulls Kyle into his side. Kyle responds with a satisfied hum, nestling his head comfortably against Stan's collarbone as he switches to a solo round of Mario Party.

Stan fingers trace absentmindedly over Kyle's arm. He tucks him closer into his side. His other hand ventures into Kyle's curls. He lets his head rest gently against Kyle's, his curls tickling his cheek. Stan sighs happily, inhaling the familiar scent of Kyle. 

Stan feels his eyelids growing heavy as he watches Kyle navigate through the game, his friend's brow furrowed in concentration. The warmth of Kyle's body pressed against his side and the soothing sounds of the game lull Stan into a state of drowsiness.

His breathing slows, and his grip on Kyle's arm loosens as sleep overtakes him. The sounds of the game grow distant. His head slides down, stopping to rest on Kyle's shoulder as sleep finally takes him. The last thing he registers before falling asleep is the sound of Kyle's heartbeat and the feeling of Kyle's arm around him, pulling him closer.

He drifts into a comfortable dream, much different than the tedious and dark ones he's accustomed to. In the dream, he's small, a kid again, surrounded by two other boys - one in a green ushanka, the other bundled up in a bright orange parka. They chase each other around, hands full with snowballs, giggling. The familiar streets of South Park are bright, a pretty light glowing on the buildings and surrounding mountains.

Maybe things won't be so shitty after all.