"Remember, if the time should come, when you have to make a choice between what is right and what is easy, remember what happened to a boy who was good, and kind, and brave..."
Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire
"Let's go and say a prayer for a boy who couldn't run as fast as I could."
Angels With Dirty Faces
Every once in a while, he would find himself walking through the South Park cemetery, his feet taking him to an otherwise forgotten grave. It would always be on nights that he had fought crime, his Mysterion persona coming out. Perhaps that's why he did it—a hero could appreciate someone else who had died in the lines of fire, after all. If he didn't remember the boy who had died for their miserable town, who else would? He didn't know enough about the kid to know whether or not his foster parents visited him, but the grave always looked unkempt when he came, so he doubted it; it even felt lonely, much like its owner had when he was still alive.
He wasn't alone though. Kenny didn't know if someone had done it on purpose as a joke, sticking the two foreign children together, even though it would surely bother the British occupant if he could be bothered since he attested the French, or if someone had done it as a way of gratitude; Pip didn't have any family in the cemetery to be buried next to, so why not put him next to the other little boy who had lost his life trying to help the town? It could have also been pure chance, he knew, but he didn't believe in coincidences much anymore; he had seen too much during his lifetime.
Maybe Christophe's mother would bring flowers for Pip the next time she came to visit her son.
It was a nice thought, though he knew it was unlikely. He was pretty sure the woman didn't leave her house these days.
Just like every other night he had visited, he ran his gloved fingers over the engraving in the tombstone. The sense of loneliness was still there; he wondered if there was an angel above watching him as he touched the marker, but he knew that that was also just a nice thought. As many times as he had been to Heaven, he hadn't seen the boy once. It was probably because Pip had been Catholic, he knew, but he still prayed on these nights that Pip was somewhere nice; he hadn't, after all, seen him on his trips to Hell either. Maybe the boy had come back and was in England this very moment. He didn't know. He didn't think he ever would.
He was older than Pip now. He had experienced things the other boy would never go through. Maybe he was lucky for that though, considering where they lived. Maybe Pip was better off dead. Maybe it was himself he should feel bad for, since he would never die, never get to rest.
"Kenny?"
He didn't need to turn to know that it was Kyle a few feet behind him. Maybe their whole team was there, Cartman aside; they had been on a mission half an hour earlier.
Christophe had been a mercenary, so he knew that the boy would have had skills, but he had to wonder—would Pip have made a good hero? He was brave and kind, but would he have survived life on the team?
He doubted it.
"Kenny, what're you doing? Whose grave is that?"
He wasn't surprised that Kyle didn't realize what he was doing, but he still froze; he let his hand drop to his side. It felt like a private moment his friend had interrupted, though he didn't know why; it wasn't like he was face-to-face with the dead children under his feet, thanking them. Maybe he would later though; it wouldn't hurt him to pray.
"Nothing, Kyle. Go hang out with Chef for a while. I'll be over there in a minute."
Of course Kyle would know where Chef's grave was; they all knew. He hadn't been unpopular, not like the two boys he had come to visit.
"Well... Okay."
He could hear his friend hesitating; Kyle was probably worried about him, thinking he was acting strangely. He'd deal with it later though. He could hear the boy's footsteps as he retreated, doing what Kenny had asked of him.
When he knew that Kyle was a safe distance away, he dropped to his knees. He wasn't praying; he wouldn't with his friend still so near, possibly watching him. Instead, he was digging the snow away from Christophe's grave; it was high enough to cover up the years that the boy had lived and died. When he hit the bottom, scraping it all away until his fingers met the earth, he found something there—Christophe's dog tags.
Gregory had visited the boy before moving back to whatever part of England he had come from. He wondered if the kid felt guilty for recommending his friend for the mission that got him killed.
He wondered if Gregory would have liked Pip.
He put the dog tags back where he had found them then moved his focus back to Pip's grave. The snow wasn't high enough to cover any of the engravings; he had cleared it away the last time he had visited.
He stood back up slowly.
"Goodbye, Mole. Phillip."
Just like that, he was gone, meeting up with the rest of his team and looking for more trouble in the neighborhood.
He wasn't going to let their deaths mean nothing.