The funeral was depressing and terrible, as most are, with everyone in black and saying mostly trite things about the teenager whom they all knew of, but most of them didn't really know. Those who did know him, who truly cared, sat by idly, numb from the pain of his death, unable to speak about him to the congregation. Stan Marsh sat near the front with his mother and father and sister, tears streaming silently down his cheeks with Sharon's arm resting around his shoulders.
Eric Cartman sat two rows behind them with his mother, looking wholly unaffected by the entire affair, his black suit popping a little at the waist, straining the buttons, his chin resting in his palm as he stared out the window, waiting for the funeral to be over. Tweek Tweak, Craig Tucker, Token Black, and Clyde Donovan were all in the same row, their parents scattered elsewhere throughout the church, occasionally murmuring amongst themselves and shooting glances at the classmates they had known since they were babies. Butters Stotch sat right beside him with his own parents, and Kyle Broflovski's aching heart couldn't be consoled by the constant, small smiles from the blond boy, his chest feeling like someone had punched an enormous, gaping hole in it and cut out his heart.
Ike held Kyle's hand, the thirteen year old incredibly observant of the condition his brother was in, completely aware of the pain that was ceaselessly shocking his system. Sheila and Gerald said nothing to their son, only murmuring to each other about the parents of the deceased, who were both passed out in the front rows, their flasks of liquor pouring out slowly onto the floor beneath them. Kyle wanted nothing more than to move up the three rows it would take to sit next to Karen McCormick, whose sniffles and soft whimpers were impossible to drown out, despite the ceremony. He wanted hold her tight and tell her everything was going to be all right.
But Kyle knew he would never be able to convince her of such a thing when he didn't believe it himself. Kenny was dead, smashed and broken from being struck by a wrecking ball at a construction site that he had no business being at, and no one could remember him going there or even knew why he was there at all. He couldn't help but morbidly think that the morticians did a pretty damn good job making him look decent for his wake, his blond hair fluffy and not soaked in blood like he was found, looking whole and as if he was asleep. Kenny was even wearing his favorite orange hoodie, a remnant of the orange snowsuit he wore for most of their childhood.
Kyle couldn't think about that though. He felt his throat choking up and squeezed Ike's had so tightly he thought he might break it, but his brother didn't let go, not for a moment. If the service didn't end soon, Kyle might break, might start flipping over pews and screaming profanities at Kenny's parents, smashing windows and trying to breathe life into Kenny's body. He remained silent though, suffering through it, and he knew he was suffering more than anyone here except perhaps Karen, who counted on Kenny for her survival, who loved him more than she loved anything or anyone else in the world, who had known him all of her life and was now robbed of him.
Honestly, he felt badly for her. He truly did. But at that moment, all he could think about was his own sorrow at the fact that the young man was dead and gone and Kyle would never see him again.
-.-.-
It took Kyle and full week to recover enough to return to high school, ignoring the daily phone calls and texts from Stan, wondering where he was. He felt like a wreck, and looked like it too, which is probably why his mother allowed him to stay home for so long. Not that she needed to worry; Kyle's grades were superb enough to not go for the rest of the final quarter and still graduate at the top of his class, even if Wendy Testaburger got all A's.
Though his grades were the last thing he was worried about as he stood by his locker, staring into the abyss of books and pencils and folders. "Kyle!" He tilted his head to the side and saw the dark blue eyes of his super best friend staring at him, looking stunned at his condition. For his part, Kyle was stunned by how completely normal Stan seemed. "The hell, dude, what happened to you? You look like shit. You been sick?"
A moment passed as Kyle's jaw dropped slightly, not sure of what to say. Was Stan so easily able to just let Kenny go? His blasé attitude threatened to make Kyle sick, and it probably would have occurred if he didn't see a flash of orange and yellow out of the corner of his eye, right behind Stan. Kyle pushed Stan aside and walked in an almost dreamlike stupor towards the person, his head aching and knew he must be losing his mind. "Kenny?" he croaked, not having used his voice in so long.
Kenny turned around and smiled at Kyle, though it faltered when he saw the appearance and expression on his face. "You doing okay Kyle?" Kenny asked worriedly, putting his backpack in the locker to free his hands up as he went to place them on Kyle's face. He paused, and instead placed them on his shoulders, rubbing his thumbs against his skin to soothe him. "Where've you been the past week, man?" Baffled, Kyle stared, dumbfounded, at Kenny, trying to make sense of what was going on. Kenny had died... didn't he? Wasn't there a funeral, a wake, his body all made up in the coffin?
The worry that struck Kenny's features was almost painful, but Kyle didn't know what to do, what to say. What do you say when someone you love has come back from the dead? So Kyle did the only reasonable thing he could think of to do; he ran away. Down the hall, through the front doors and out into the street, his heart racing at a thousand miles an hour, unable to make sense of what was going on around him. He didn't stop running, his feet taking him who knows where, until he found himself outside of Park County Cemetery.
He didn't know what possessed him, but he rushed along through the tombstones, searching until he found where he knew Kenny had been buried, where he watched the coffin get lowered under the dirt and grass, where he tossed a red rose in after. But it wasn't there. Nothing. Like it had never happened.
Kyle sat in a daze against the nearest tree, feeling nauseous and dizzy and tired and frightened all at once. Was it a dream? Did he dream a terrible death had befallen his friend and thought it had been real? Did the cries of Karen and the squeeze of Ike's hand come from his imagination? He didn't know what to do. He sat against that tree until the sun had almost set, and knew he had to go home. There would be no excuse to miss school tomorrow, if Kenny was not dead, he told himself lamely, and stumbled home, his limbs as heavy as lead.
Ignoring the calls of his mother, Kyle stumbled upstairs to his room, and logged onto his laptop, checking on Google for any stories of a death in South Park, Colorado. Not a single article came to light, and in frustration he switched over to Facebook, trying to read the meaningless statuses of his friends to dull the panic that was threatening to take over. A box popped up in the corner and he saw that Kenny was messaging him.
What happened to you today? You looked like you saw a ghost.
Kyle let out a hysteric cackle that would have terrified anyone if they heard it. Kenny must be fucking with him, there was no other option. The fuck are you doing man? He sat back and waiting for his friend to reply, a tingling sensation erupting at the tips of his fingers and through his arms. There was nothing for a moment, and Kyle wondered if Kenny was even still at the computer.
What are you talking about dude?
He couldn't have this conversation. It was driving him batshit insane already and he didn't want to know if Kenny pulled the biggest prank on the entire town or if Kyle was really losing his mind. Like a man ready to accept his fate, Kyle answered, I thought you were dead, you bastard. What the hell was all that about?
Though he waited, Kyle never received an answer and finally shut down his Macbook and began to pace frantically in his room, pulling out handfuls of red curls. He heard a loud noise from behind him and saw that Cartman was calling him. Figuring his day couldn't get any worse, he answered it with an apathetic, "What do you want, fatass?"
"Has anyone told you what happened yet, Jew?" Cartman asked, his voice almost gleeful. Kyle couldn't stand another surprise, but he knew Eric was going to tell him regardless of his wishes, so he waited for his classmate to spill his guts. "Kenny's dead!" Kyle dropped his phone and choked back a scream, his heart breaking in half and watching the device fall to the floor. Cartman didn't seem to notice he wasn't being listened to, and continued to talk in that half excited, half hushed voice. "He got shot by his own fucked up dad, man, he was so fucking drugged up he didn't realize Kenny was his own goddamn son!"
He sat in his black suit at the funeral again, his chest aching so badly he thought he would never feel human again. It was a familiar scene, set exactly the same way, except the coffin was closed because Mr. McCormick had blown the entire back of Kenny's head off and there wasn't much of a face left to show. The thought of it made Kyle stomach turn in knots, and he had to fight off the urge to vomit. The only difference between this funeral and one from his dream was that Kenny's dad was no where to be seen.
Standing by his family, he watched once more as Kenny's coffin was lowered into the ground at Park County cemetery, the déjà vu making absolutely no sense to him. He whispered to Stan, who was beside him, "Doesn't this feel familiar?"
Stan thought about it for a moment and shrugged. "The last funeral we attended was Clyde's mom's. That was years ago, so not really."
Kyle was the first the leave, walking on the sidewalk alone towards Stark's Pond. He started throwing stones into the water, trying to convince himself that this was the only funeral that had ever been held for Kenny, that there was no possible way that his friend could have more than one. Vague memories of Kenny being maimed and gnawed on by rodents flickered through his mind, but he just shook his head in irritation at himself. Why was he imagining horrible things happening to Kenny? If he were to choose, Kenny would be one of the last people he would want to be hurt or die.
There was just something about his longtime friend that gave him butterflies, the sea blue eyes, the straw blond hair, the muscular build and the perfect smile. Kyle felt a tingle between his legs and blushed, trying to banish the memories of Kenny from his mind. It didn't matter.
Kenny was dead.
-.-.-
When Kyle returned to school the following Monday, he looked strictly at his feet. He didn't want to know if he was crazy or not, if his life was one big loop of inconsistency and continuity issues, and quickly entered into his first class of the day. He buried his face in his book, dreading the moment he would hear the roll called, to hear the silence after McCormick, Kenneth was called. The names were called, all the same people they had known all their lives. Black, Broflovski, Cartman, Donovan, Marsh...
"McCormick, Kenneth?" the substitute teacher asked, peering over her glasses. There was silence, and Kyle heard an obnoxious groan sound as Cartman rolled his eyes. Kyle wanted to snap at him, but his voice didn't quite work at correctly, so he remained silent. The teacher began to mark him absent, but the door swung open and Kenny himself strut in, his face smug.
"Here!" he said, knocking the cigarette ash from his jacket onto the floor. Kyle stared at him again, feel any color that might have been in his face draining from it. No. This wasn't happening again. It couldn't be. Kyle was absolutely and truly losing it. As Kenny finally met his eyes, everything turned black.
The nurse's office smelled like baby powder and feet, Kyle realized as he opened his eyes from the darkness, staring up at the ceiling of the room in disgust at himself. He had seriously fainted, right in the middle of class, in front of Cartman. He was never going to live this down. Maybe he was seriously ill enough to go home. His mom would throw a fit and blow it out of proportion, so it wouldn't surprise him if he did.
"Kyle?" He rolled over and saw Kenny watching him from across the room. He struggled against the impending screaming that was soon to win over whatever reason he may have had left, surely looking like a bug eyed maniac to Kenny. "What the fuck, dude?" He didn't know what to say as his friend sat on the edge of the cot by his hip, staring at Kyle like he was crazy. Which, Kyle would be the first to admit that he was. "What's been getting into you the past couple weeks?"
There was a certain amount of hesitation that filtered through his brain, trying to prevent him from sounding like a psychopath. Oh, nothing, just wondering why I've been to your funeral twice now and you're still alive. It sounded retarded in his head, and it would probably sound even more retarded to Kenny, so Kyle kept his mouth shut, trying to wish away the psychosis. "Nothing," he managed to say, his voice scratchy and hoarse. Kenny reached out and pushed the red curls away from Kyle's sweaty forehead.
"Don't lie," he chastised, crossing his arms over his chest. "Every time you see me, you freak the fuck out and either run away or pass out. It's starting to get a little weird, Kyle."
Before he could stop himself, Kyle whispered desperately, "You died." Kenny was silent as the grave, staring at Kyle with something that was almost... relief. What a strange thing to feel when someone was convinced that you were dead. He reached over and pulled Kyle into a tight hug, his cheek pressed against the top of his head. "Kenny?"
"You're right," he replied simply, that relief flooding his voice again. "I died. My son of a bitch father shot me, blew my brains out. Before that, I was crushed by a wrecking ball that broke free from it's chain. Before that, I was struck my lightning, and before that, I was stabbed straight in the heart by a metal pole when I crashed my motorcycle." Kyle's jaw was dropped, staring in shock at Kenny. Was he joking? Why was he playing along to Kyle's obvious hallucinations? He ran his fingers down Kyle's cheek before pulling his hand back. "I don't understand why you suddenly remember that, Kyle. No one ever does, no one ever remembers that I die."
Stan, Cartman. They acted like nothing changed, scoffing when Kenny was late to class and wondering why Kyle had been missing for a whole week, rather than their friend who had, just a couple days prior, been six feet under ground. "Don't fuck with me, man," Kyle grumbled, clutching the sheets so tightly that his knuckles began to turn white and his hands ached with the effort.
"I wouldn't fuck with you Kyle. Cartman, yes. Stan, maybe. But never you." There was a stretch of silence before Kenny shrugged. "I've been dying since we were eight, Kyle, and coming back afterward, sometimes a day later, sometimes a week later, and once, almost 6 months later. It's never taken that long since then, but who knows." Kyle suddenly remembered that, wondering where Kenny had been for so long. They all figured he ran off to join the circus or something. "Being Mysterion sometimes gets me killed too," he said with an offhanded tone. "Like the wrecking ball."
"That makes no sense. You're fucking crazy. I'm fucking crazy!" Kyle said with anger, pulling at his hair again. Kenny didn't know what to say to that, keeping silent and moving only to keep Kyle from physically destroying himself. Before too long, his parents arrived and took him home, and Kyle didn't even bother to watch Kenny as he was carted away. They both needed a nice padded cell to be locked in until they realized that it is impossible to die and come back to life the way Kenny claims he does.
Kyle couldn't sleep that night. He wind was howling outside of his window, giving him the creeps and he was terrified of having nightmares. He scrolled aimlessly through his iTouch, trying to find something to listen to that wouldn't remind him somehow of Kenny. A flash of lightning struck and his window was thrown open, startling him until he saw who was standing there. Gray spandex and a navy blue cape, a mask covering his face, and a bright green 'M' on his chest. "What are you doing, Kenny?" Kyle demanded, closing the window behind the masked crusader to keep the cold out.
"I needed to see you," he admitted, pulling his mask off his face and lowering his hood.
"Why?" Kyle asked suspiciously, taking a step away from Kenny.
Letting his cloak fall to the ground, Kenny replied, "Because I love you, and I don't want you to think that you're crazy when you're the only sane person in this entire ass-backwards town." Kyle felt a number of things flit through his chest, and as Kenny kissed him square on the mouth, his gloves rough against his skin, love was the first one he recognized. It was strange to feel that way, especially towards Kenny, but he allowed his hands to reach forward and grip Kenny's waist, their bodies as close as possible, hands and lips ravishing the other feverishly.
Kyle didn't remember when exactly he started to believe Kenny's explanation, or when their clothes came off, or when Kenny was assuring him it wasn't going to hurt, or when they fell asleep in each other's arms, naked and covered in sweat and completely content. All Kyle remembered distinctly were the only intelligible words that came out of his mouth that evening and Kenny's response. "Will you always come back for me?"
"Always." It was the sweetest word he'd ever heard.