Leftovers

Summary: Kyle's a little less than amused when Kenny's not dead after all. If the rules of the universe don't apply, then what else has Kyle been wrong about all these years? K2, M for language.

Disclaimer: I just make awkward plotlines out of Matt and Trey's stuff. I own nothing.


Let me explain— this mess totally wasn't my fault.

I was holding a .45 up to the side of my head when it happened— usually, it would've been nothing out of the ordinary, or at the very least, it would've been a little better than my average Tuesday night— but no, having a witness to my death react like that wasn't natural at all. And for once, it kind of scared me.

I'm just kidding. I'm not scared of anything.

But this. God, what a fuckin' kicker it was to see Kyle's face screwed up like that when I blew out my temple. Don't get me wrong; I'm not suicidal. Don't even make me laugh. I was just bored, and a little overwhelmed with Garrison's math assignment. I just wanted to speed things up a bit and get the goddamn night over with.

I usually don't resort to offing myself, really.

But it was one of those weird moments in life when you wake up in the morning after the usual overnight resurrection and stop to think about the leftover brain gunk on the wall next to your bed. (What, you don't have one of those moments? My fuckin' bad. Guess it's just me.) When you hesitate to throw off your shoddy bedspread and get to your non-existent breakfast of champions because you realize that for once, Kyle was shocked to see you die.

That for once, anyone was shocked to see you die.

That right there is what caused this whole shitty mess in the first place.

I'm Kenny McCormick, current high schooler and currently high as fuck, and it wasn't my fault.


I was kind of amused by what had happened the night before. Come morning, I really only felt touched by my friend's brevity of concern until I reminded myself that he wouldn't even remember any of it today. It's great. I can pop my head right off with a gun, or take a nap on the train tracks, or have ammonia on my frozen waffles and nobody would give a crap about it twenty-four hours later. It's great. I hate it.

So, instead of getting my hopes up that today would be any different, I swallowed my guts and prepared for another morning of happy greetings and nonchalant jokes, none of which held any regard to my regularly scheduled deaths. Besides, it was better that way. If enough people started remembering what I looked like with my entrails coming out of my side, I'd feel uncomfortable. It's like having your balls hang out, only worse.

Not that I'm complaining about public nudity.

So I put on my boots and had what was probably an expired glass of milk before taking off to the bus stop. There were enough of us who still took it to school every morning, since only Wendy, Token, and Cartman had licenses by now, but the rest of us have been driving illegally since we were twelve. It was just a matter of getting a car, so naturally, I probably wouldn't have one until I was twenty-three. Or until I hot-wired my dad's truck.

As usual, Stan must've gotten a ride with Wendy, since he wasn't waiting with the rest of us. Sure, every once in a blue moon he'd be stuck without his girlfriend's generosity, and he'd have to take the bus with the masses, but that was only when they were fighting. And thank fuckin' god they're not, because a sad Stan is a pussy Stan.

They must've picked up Kyle too, because he wasn't at the bus stop either. It was cool. They could be Super Best Friends in Wendy's car. Though I would've appreciated the ride, I was used to it. Stan and Kyle were better friends to me than anyone else at school, so I wasn't about to curse them for forgetting me at the bus stop. I'm a pretty gracious guy, at the very least.

I'd like to think my parents raised me well. Okay, yeah, I know they didn't raise me at all. It's still the thought that counts, right?

But anyway, when I got to school, Stan and Wendy were in the parking lot, but Kyle wasn't. Granted, Stan and Wendy were in the parking lot together more often than not (lunch in the car, breaks in the car, sex in the car, who knows), but the first bell was about to ring and ten years of knowing Kyle had shown me he'd rather die than be late for chem class.

Of course, with him in advanced placement and me in general science, I wouldn't even find out until fifth period that he was out on a sick leave.

Really, if it wasn't for what happened when I killed myself, I wouldn't have even cared. But fate had made Kyle a shitty Rock-Paper -Scissors player, and so of course he ended up having to bring me my schoolwork after I'd skipped for a day or two. Which meant that he got to witness the GREATEST SHOW ON EARTH! or, as I should truthfully refer to it, me being a jackass. I'm pretty sure I remember him holding back a gag reflex right before I blacked out and died. It was pretty gnarly.

But, for me, I felt kind of bad waking up this morning. Not the usual kind of bad, either. It wasn't the normal my-life-sucks kind of bad. That's when I feel pretty screwed over in life, and get a little down in the dumps over my "condition". No, this time, it was almost as if I felt like a jerk for dying. I don't know why, but it almost felt like Kyle was the victim this time around, not me. And fuck, as much as I hate feeling like the victim, sometimes it's all I have.

So now that Kyle was missing from class AND had stolen my sense of self-pity, I decided he was a douche.

And I didn't feel too great having to visit the douche with Stan after school let out. Especially when he punched me.

"Woah, Kyle— Kyle!" Stan tried, pulling his friend off my side.

"What the fuck is he doing here?"

"Kenny? We're just bringing you your— damn, Kyle, relax, will you?" Stan said, looking at me like I should know why Kyle was going fucking nuts.

"Dude, Kyle, what the hell?" I yelled, still ducking the shorter kid's swings.

"What the hell? What the hell? You tell me what the hell!" Kyle said, his eyes wide. His face was red- what, did he have pink-eye or something?

"What the fuck did I do? Ow!"

"Stan! What's the matter with you? Aren't you seeing this?"

"Me?" Stan asked, his voice higher than usual.

"Kyle, dude— calm the fuck down—" I managed to say, inbetween his occasional spot-on hits to the abdomen. In all honesty, I had no clue what I did to invoke the wrath of the Jew.

"You're supposed to be dead!"

Oh. That's what I did.

My bad.

I straightened myself, and made a point to talk, but then I had to stop myself. Wait.

"Say that again?" I asked blankly, staring at Kyle, who seemed to have one hell of a head cold. His eyes were puffy and his nose was very obviously running, at least. Wasn't he fine last night?

"You! You're not supposed to be here. Stan? Stan!" Kyle demanded, looking to his friend for help, but it was pretty clear that Stan had no idea what he was supposed to say.

"You feeling alright dude?" Stan eventually offered, but Kyle wasn't paying attention.

"No. No fucking way," he almost said with a smile. "Kenny— I mean, I was fucking there! Stan, I called you!"

At this point, I suggested Stan go get Mrs. Broflovski, because "obviously", Kyle was having a feverish sort of delusion. As for me, I was starting to feel like I really had to shit, because I was in awe of the situation. Did Kyle just say what I thought he said?

And so, the two of us still at the door, I covered Kyle's goddamn douche mouth with my gloved hand to shut him up. I think he tried to bite me.

"Mrfrmmrss! Knny!" Kyle said angrily through the fabric, sounding like what I'd imagine I sound like on a daily basis.

"Look," I whispered, glancing down into his hallway to make sure Stan was already gone into the depths of the house. "I don't know what the hell is wrong with you, but I—"

Kyle managed to rip my hand off his face. "Me? ME? Last I heard your funeral was going to be on Friday! So you tell me what the hell is wrong with me," he shouted, before I frantically attempted to get him to shut up. Which was weird for me to do. It wasn't like it was a secret that I died. It was just that nobody really knew. It was kind of like Cartman's blog; it isn't private, it's just unknown. And god does he hate that.

I took a breath. "Okay. So, I died?"

"I was up all night! I missed school!" Kyle said, like it was a big deal for him. "I can't get the image out of my mind and you show up the next day?" he said, throwing another punch, which missed.

So Kyle wasn't sick. He'd been upset? Like, seriously?

"You saw me die?"

"How many fucking times do I have to say it?"

"You saw me die. As in, you remember me dying." I looked at him. I scanned every last region of his face to make sure he wasn't making all this shit up. Or to make sure he wasn't crazy. It could happen, you know. It'd be an odd coincidence if he really was crazy, and just happened to have a crazy schizoid dream in which I died last night.

That'd be pretty funny.

I looked at his cloudy, soul-torn eyes, that were watered down with what I presumed were tears and tiredness, and felt as though I could feel his goddamn ripped up heart next to my own.

I laughed.

I really shouldn't have, I know. But I took one look at Kyle and I grinned harder than I had in months. And I cracked up.

"What— what the fuck is wrong with you?" Kyle stammered, suddenly dropping his guard.

"You remember me dying!"

"Yeah, I—"

"You remember!"

I think I was dancing. I don't dance, so I wouldn't know.

"Yeah . . . "

I realized that Kyle had no idea why I was laughing in his face, and was now starting to tear up again. Hell, I had no idea why I was smiling this hard. But for me, for the first time, something had gone terribly, terribly wrong, and I was loving it. Someone had remembered. Someone knew about it, for more than a day. Was I dreaming?

Kyle might've been crying, because he was rooted in place. But he was glaring at me. I was really, really happy he was glaring at me.

"You're not supposed to remember," I laughed. I hugged him. I did everything.

He stared at me, now reduced to pieces, utterly confused and terrified and angry and sad all at once, and I clung to him. "This was never supposed to happen!" I said choking on my words.

And he pushed me, both hands at once, so hard that I fell off his paved doorstep and fell into the snow on the lawn. Kyle pushed me and slammed the door on his way in.

I was never so grateful in my life.


A/N: I'm taking a chance and going with a pairing that will be a challenge for me to write. Yay! This is more of a prologue of sorts, so up and away we go from here, I s'pose.