Disposable

by Blank Personality

Nobody was going to keep the New Kid.

Heavily inspired by PenHolmes' fanfiction, 'New Kid, Old Gods', which is an incredibly awesome story and I command you to check it out immediately.

Warning: Swear words, a bit of gore.

This was done in... what, three days? And I am now posting this while at school.

Hope you guys like it. I'm going to get in trouble in just a minute.

XXX

So I guess I should start by introducing myself.

My name, age, where I lived before coming to South Park, likes, dislikes, et cetera et cetera. But no. In my books, introducing yourself meant telling everyone who you are, not what you're called.

So I guess I'm the New Kid here.

You can call me whatever you want. I don't mind nor do I actually care. Never had. How do you think every kid in town all dubbed me 'Douchebag' out of all things? I admit, it could've been worse. But still, it's kinda unfair. I mean, I haven't even said a single thing to them until yesterday, when the day was through and I was just tired of being silent all the time.

Maybe that was the problem? I should've told them my name already. Made it clear that I wasn't the type of guy that would take insults lying down. But then again, that would be a lie.

Anyways, so I guess I should start by introducing myself.

Like normal people.

'Normal'. I'd use the term lightly if I were you.

I guess I'm the New Kid here.

XXX

We all packed around the cramped waiting room, Butters, Stan, Kyle and I. We had all been here, worrying, brooding, pacing and waiting, for our turn to finally be able to see our… friend, I guess. Our newest friend who we had all only just met not even four days ago yet all feel responsible about. Even Cartman was here… somewhere… by the vending machines. He only came under the excuse of wanting to make sure his 'finest warrior was going to be fit enough for future battles' since probably the next LARP-ing game we were going to be playing is still going to have a lot of violence and fighting in it. I mean, who wants to play without the constant threat of being beat up and then pushed off a tree house? Bo-ring.

My thoughts were interrupted as the door in front of us opened with a slight clack of the automatic lock, and Douchebag's mother emerged, a sobbing mess right in front of all of us boys. I looked away. There was something understandably personal about seeing another man's mother in such a state. I didn't feel right listening to her gradually quietened sniffles and hiccups.

"The doctor said only one visitor at a time, yeah?" Kyle said under his breath, having stopped his pacing and was now awkwardly avoiding eye contact by looking at the white-washed tiled floors.

He nodded to the rest of us minus Cartman since he was still vanishing off somewhere, stuffing his face probably, and walked past Mrs Douch… The New Kid's mom, with pursed lips, murmuring a few words of condolences to her before continuing on in.

The door closed behind him with a kcalc, and another round of waiting occurred for me.

How these cells in the psychiatric ward were designed is just stupid to me. First of all, each ward in the Hells Pass Hospital were just hallways lined with rooms, all crammed together to three floors, the top one being space for the 'offices' they apparently needed. The mental section of the building was located on the second floor, at the very end of the floor wing. Out of sight, out of mind.

Second, this particular hallway was set apart from the others because it was built differently, I guess you could say. The main hallway was like any others, with doors with numbers lined up on either side, leading off to patient rooms. But instead of straight inside, through the door was a small rectangular room with couches or chairs, in the less luxurious ones, pushed up to one wall, and the other wall was occupied by a giant one-sided mirror like they show in movies and stuff, from which you could basically see everything the patient does inside their room. With a couple of blind spots, of course. And it's all mute, so if they sat in a blind spot and start screaming their lungs out, nobody would know until somebody actually unlock the lock and go in there.

And after that room was another door, which finally leads inside to where the patient was kept. Get the picture? Me neither. But I was in it right now, so…

I had got to have better things to do with my time than to try and describe my surroundings all the time, like I'm a character in a book or something.

Actually, that might be better. At least then some things would have an explanation.

Some time during my blank-out Cartman came back, with a bunch of chips and sodas and candy bars stuffed under his armpit to keep from falling while he kept his arms busy feeding things for his mouth to chew on. He sat down heavily next to me with a sneer. I elbowed him sharply between the ribs when I saw him opening his vacuum mouth for something other than eating after no less eyeing the New Kid's mom, who still had her makeup smudged, nose and cheeks reddened, eyes swollen and other features that would tell you immediately that she had been crying. Cartman made a defiant noise of pain, anger, and surprise, which I ignored, and sent a glare my way, of which I returned with a pair of my own eyes, mockingly wide and innocent.

He was about to retaliate but before he could, the clack-ing sound rang out again, and Kyle's time was over. I mentally cursed at the fact that I've completely missed the rather amusing show of him gesticulating wildly in front of Douchebag, who would probably not react at all, as per usual.

Unlike me, Cartman cursed out loud without much care if someone heard him, and stood up, crumpling the now-empty bags of chips in his big, meaty hands and throwing them in a small trashcan in the corner. "Well, I guess it's my turn now," he said nonchalantly, his usual I-don't-care-but-I'm-going-to-pretend-I-do face plastered on like always. He waved a hand over his shoulder as he walked past a wide-eyed Kyle, who didn't even react to the whispered taunt muttered to him cockily with a smirk.

Kyle plopped down heavily in the seat between mine and Stan's, where Cartman was sitting seconds ago. The redhead didn't seem to mind.

"Dude the fuck happened in there?" Stan beat me to it first, rounding up on Kyle.

"Yeah man, why do you look like a turtle has just butt raped you and stole all your bananas?"

Kyle didn't reply for a very long time, during which I went back to watching Cartman slowly lose more and more of the patience he usually reserves just to get what he wants.

"…He said he'll miss me."

"What was that?" Butters jumped in then, having been mostly wallowing in his own very uncharacteristic silence for a while now.

"Douchebag. He said one thing to me, just when I was about to leave. He said, 'I'll miss you, Kyle.'"

"…Dude, that's kind of gay."

"I know, it's just… what does that mean? Is he going to try again soon?"

Stan shuddered and rubbed his forearms, lowering his head to look at the ground. He looked like he was tearing up. "Geez, I-I hope not!" Butters muttered, more to himself that to us.

"God damn, fuck you, you fucking Douchebag," we all turned to see Cartman close the door quietly behind him, a small smile different from the ones we have ever seen present tugging on his lips. It immediately vanished though as soon as he looked back up at us. "What're you fags looking at eh?"

"He said something to you too fat ass?" I spoke in place of Kyle, who was still sitting there quietly with his eyebrows furrowed and mouth slightly open.

"Shut up Kenneh!" Cartman waltzed over and waved Butters away from his seat. He lounged on it as if he had just did a huge tribute to society. "I'm special. Wanna know why?"

"Not really, no," Stan leaned over in his seat, getting as far away from Cartman as he could.

"I got him to talk!" Cartman sing-sang. That made Kyle snap out of it some.

"Oh yeah fat ass? I did too! There's nothing fucking special about him talking! Douchebag's not fucking mute, alright?"

"I think I'm gonna go ahead and see Douchebag already, yeah?" Stan looked at me and Butters. "Good luck with these two. Who knows? Maybe I'll get a few words out of him as well." I nodded at him and, smiling nervously, Stan walked inside

I watched them through the glass. They weren't talking. Or at least, Douchbeag wasn't, though that really wasn't a surprise. Stan's mouth was moving every so often, very slightly, murmuring a couple of words slowly with pauses in between. I imagined what he was saying to pass the time, and also because I was partially tired of listening to Kyle and Cartman bicker like an old married couple.

'I…Hey. You know, you never did tell us your real name. 'Douchebag'… doesn't really count…

'You know… I'm not very good at this… talking, thing. I don't know what to say… if you don't say anything back…

'Let's start over. My name's Stan. Stanley Marsh, but you can call me Stan.'

I blinked and almost fell out of my chair when I saw Douchebag swallow thickly, and open his mouth. My mind supplied possible words for him.

'Stan…' My eyebrows furrowed in confusion and concentration as my mind blanked out and refused to read his lips properly right from there. I closed my eyes hard and tried to refocus them.

I wasn't sure, but I thought I saw Douchebag smile softly as Stan turn his head away from the mirror-slash-window, and I couldn't see his face as he replied. Douchebag's eyes followed Stan as the latter turn to the door.

From outside, I heard the lock kclac open, but the door stayed closed. I flicked my eyes to Douchebag's still form sitting up on the bed. Sure enough, the creepy fucker was saying something. I squinted and focused, but all I could read from his lips was:

'…goodbye.'

Two more heartbeats, and the door opened. Stan came out, lips pursed and eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He closed the door behind him and looked up at us. The old married couple beside me had fallen silent.

"…Douchebag says bye."

XXX

Kenny came next. Princess Kenny, maybe. I liked him, though he was always a bit weird during the entire game. Perverted too. And a bit of a whore. But that's alright, because he is not actually a real girl.

There was something else that I liked about him too. Something that I'm surprised I, out of all people, managed to notice. Only me. And it's also something that I'm maybe jealous about. Just a little.

The gods are douches. Like, real dickbags. Alright, they weren't all always like that. They use to be good once. Caring, and actually had morals. But then they went bonkers because of all their powers, and now they just like to play. Specifically, with us mortals as their personal playthings. Not playmates. Just things for them to poke fun at.

Kenny is a toy.

Like me.

Not exactly like me, but like me.

I envy him.

Oh look, here he is now.

XXX

I remembered to lock the door behind me when I stepped inside the prison room.

Immediately I felt claustrophobic. Oh god. No wonder the patients admitted here never got any better. Completely sane people would go crazy staying in here for most of the day, every day. No joke.

"So…" I blabbered, tugging at my lowered hood with a finger nervously. This room is warm too. Jeez. I looked back at the giant mirror at my side and had to remember that there were people on the other side of it. Then I remembered why there was a giant one-sided mirror in the room in the first place.

"What the fuck man?" I deadpanned at him. I gestured at the off-white bandages wrapped tightly around both of his wrists, going up to his elbows, and raised an eyebrow in boredom. "And attempt? Really? Fucking weak man. It's not that hard to kill yourself without people barging in on you. I could've done better when I was fucking five." I tch-ed at him and shook my head. "Was it just to gain sympathy? To get more people to friend you on Facebook or something? Goddamnit man I thought you were more than just a fucking attention whore! I thought you were cool!"

I allowed the bit of silence to settle after my short rant. I sighed. I already was prepared to possibly be the only guy who doesn't get to hear Douchebag here's amazing voice that apparently he keeps on mute because of his parents. I look again at the mirror, at the corner of the room outside that this guy's mother was approximately sitting at, and grimaced slightly. Then again, it might be okay for Cartman to swear in front of that one woman after all.

"…you died?"

I snapped my head back forwards, flinging myself back to reality. "What?"

Douchbag sniffed and swallowed down a lump in his throat. "I said," he said quietly, eyes on the ground. "How many times have you done it already? Suicide."

I had a feeling that was not what he said, but I let it slide for the sake of his actual question. "…Three times," I said hesitantly. "Drowning, shooting, overdosing. The last one I didn't dislike so much as the first."

"…And yet you're still here."

"And yet I'm still here," I repeated, nodding. "You won't come back the same way though. Once you're gone… you're gone. Do you really want to die?"

We both stayed silent for a while. I listened to an invisible clock tick the time by in my head.

Wait… is he muttering to himself?

"Hey, if you got something to say, then you better spit it out."

Douchebag looked mildly startled, as if he didn't even realize his mouth's been moving, and a multitude of reactions lined up quickly in a matter of seconds that I probably would've missed if I hadn't been used to (sometimes) helping the cops interrogate particularly nasty fuckers when playing superhero. First he bit his lower lip. His eyes fluttered across the room as if searching for a way out or checking for invisible ears imbedded in the walls (which there probably was, given that a few FBI agents remained after the events yesterday). Finding none, he took a deep breath and let his head hang low and swing around like he was shaking his head no.

"Well, I'm waiting," I folded my arms and tapped my foot like a condescending woman. There was a reason why I became a chick in the game, after all.

Douchebag looked up and smiled crookedly, looking at me like I was the crazy one here. "I don't. But you do."

I blinked and frowned, already knowing the answer before I asked the question. "What?"

"Dying, and whether you want it or not."

I opened my mouth to reply, but before I could, a little bell rang out through the room, signaling the end of my turn for a visit.

"Wait," I blurted out. Time was running and I was suddenly reminded that there was still one more person who wanted to visit this guy after me, and that visiting hours were over at four. But I needed to ask this. "If you didn't want to die then…?" I trailed off, looking around at the bare discolored wallpapers and minimal furniture.

Douchebag smiled at me, and from my spot by the door, he looked somehow a lot older, and a lot more tired. Exhausted, small, and scared.

"Goodbye Kenny."

XXX

His voice wasn't too muffled, for once, since the damned hospital room was of course too warm and didn't have enough ventilation to warrant a jacket, never mind a snow parka.

His hair was a bright blonde, but it was very vibrant, more yellow than anything, unlike Butter's hair, which is a more platinum, mousy shade. Both of their eyes are blue, but again, Kenny's are more vivid while Butter's are more of a softer color. Overall, all of their appearances are in contrast with each other. Kenny's features are more distinct, while Butter's are more subtle. Their personalities mirror that perfectly as well.

Stan Marsh has dark hair and eyes and usually wears a blue and red poofball hat. He's best friends with Kyle Broflovski, who has green eyes and a lot of curly red hair mostly covered with a green ushanka. Kyle Broflovski and Eric Cartman always fight. Eric Cartman is a rude, racist, sarcastic, diabolically evil fat-asshole.

Butters, Kenny, Stan, Kyle, Eric, Craig, Tweak, Clyde, Token, Bebe, Wendy… Even Mr Marsh and the other adults…

I… don't want to forget any of them.

XXX

I opened the lock and a blur of blue and yellow scampered past before I was even fully out the door. I didn't think much of it at the time, just shrugged and continued on. I had my own questions to think about.

"Hey guys, where are you going?"

Surprisingly, it was Cartman who stopped to answer me. "Home. We're done here. Visiting times're almost over anyways."

I glanced at the corner where Douchebag's mother should've been, but found the chair empty. She must've gone out to get a drink or something while I was in there. I felt sorry for the woman, I did. But then again, not really. "But what about Butters? And Douchebag? Are you just going to leave them here?"

Cartman sneered. "If those two faggets wanna kiss and then fuck all night in there then let them. If you wanna stay here and jack off then take Butters home and give him a kiss then go ahead. I'm still going home Kenneh."

And I was suddenly alone in the waiting room.

I sighed and collapsed back on my seat. It wasn't that I was worried about those two or anything… Or maybe I was. Maybe playing princess had given me what every girl has – motherly instincts.

…Nah.

I resisted the urge to chuckle to myself. Seriously though… I don't care about them like that. It's just… morals. Leaving two children on their own in an unfamiliar building they probably will get lost in…

I sighed and sunk back in my seat, watching the two usually quiet boys interact. Observing them… their actions, reactions, reading their lips and their faces and mentally jotting down what they coud've been saying… I felt like I should be carrying a clipboard and pen. Wear glasses and a lab coat maybe, or something along those lines.

I don't know how long I stayed there in my seat, constantly talking to myself in my head, but I definitely knew that when I finally left, it was already way after five, and Douchebag's mom hasn't even came back to give the guy any sort of dinner or whatever. Goddamnit, I was hoping I could filch some… maybe.

What finally made me leave was two things: the innate, inevitable boredom of watching two not very expressive people interact, and something that I really felt like I shouldn't have seen.

It was too personal. Too secret. Too sacred. And I shouldn't have stayed.

All I know was, when I walked out of that room, I was confused as to why I felt jealous that the New Kid chose Butter's shoulder to cry on.

Motherly instincts hurt.

XXX

I broke down. I don't know what it was. Butters and I have just been having a discussion about whether or not Paladins were the witch-doctors of their time when suddenly a thought struck me, and struck me hard.

I'll miss this.

Being able to have off-handed talks about absolutely nothing at all, being able to forget, being able to not care for once, being able to feel normal. Like any other kid out there.

So I leaned forwards, and he opened his arms for me. I collapsed against his weak chest and laid my head on his shoulder, and he never protested or commented on anything. My shoulders shook uncontrollably as I let the overly-warm liquid overflow from behind my eyelids and slide down my cheeks. There was no sobbing, no hiccupping, no wailing, no sounds. There was no empty reassurances or sweet nothings or 'there, there's or 'let it all out fella' from Butters either, which vaguely surprised the part of my mind that still cared enough to be surprised.

"I'm scared Butters," I admitted thickly, chewing on my bottom lip so hard I almost bled. "I don't want to Fade."

Contrary to what people would usually expect from him, Butters stayed silent. It was like he knew this was going to happen.

I suddenly became angry. I wasn't sure if it was anger. Maybe it was just pure panicky fear, though of course I wouldn't know it at the time.

"Butters," I said stiffly, withdrawing my arms. I wiped the tear tracks away with the back of my hands, keeping my eyes closed to avoid shedding any more. "Please get out."

"Wh-what?" Butters looked mildly surprised, but mostly it was concern. "D-Douchebag? Are you okay there?"

'Are you okay?' The innocent-sounding question rang in my ears as I stood up and pointed a finger sharply at the only exit from this room. "Get out. Now."

He still hadn't moved.

I kicked the bed and tugged at his soft, light-colored hair, pulling him into a standing position, off the hospital bed. "Out."

Butters still tried protesting all the way to the door, even as I pushed and pulled and hit and kicked and yelled at him to get out, go away. I wanted to tell him to disappear, but that would only make me a hypocrite.

It hurt. Oh god it hurt. The wounds on my wrists and arms had reopened some time during my little fit and the bandages were now soaked in my blood, though that was just the least of my worries.

It hurt.

I was screaming.

XXX

Butters called me not two hours after I had walked straight out of the Hells Pass building, not looking back.

He told me, 'Mysterion', how the new kid Douchebag didn't look too good when he left him some time during six thirty, and he wanted me to 'go check on the fella to make sure he isn't doing anything stupid to himself again, please?' And then he spazzed out and started fussing about how he really shouldn't be on the phone this late at night or his parents are going to ground him. Again.

I agreed, but only because: One, Kevin was out in one of his 'friend's' houses smoking crack or something, and Karen was out in one of her friend's houses as well, so I was going to be alone with my parents in the house if I stayed there for the night, and well, you know. Two, I could practically hear Butter's puppy dog eyes through the bad signal and slight static of my old phone. Three, I wanted to see him again myself anyways, with or without Mysterion. Something was wrong with our friend, and I wanted to know what.

So when the night was most busy and cars were everywhere (when did South Park get so populated by cars?) I was jumping from rooftop to rooftop, fully decked in my superhero costume. I was just praying and hoping that I wouldn't die again tonight, not before I did what I needed to do. Or if I did, that I would re-spawn ridiculously quickly like I did when we were playing.

But again, dying is not an option this evening.

I let my legs carry me to a part of town I was very accustomed with. I had to be, in regards to the considerable number of times I had been there, whether to lie on its rock-hard beds in the rooms upstairs, or on the steel tables in the morgue down below.

Douchebag's room is on the second floor, in the loony section, I reminded myself, just seconds before I hit a running start and jumped, calculating the fall perfectly so that I landed on one of the big window sills that every room had. Only when I was there did I realize that this was technically an insane asylum. Insane asylum windows have bars on them.

Shit.

I sighed, already thinking about the uselessness of coming all that way in the safety of darkness before having to come on into the light anyways, before brightening up.

Beside the psychiatry ward… were the respiratory clinics. Maybe there was an empty one I could slip through? Smash their windows if I had to.

I had to.

After jumping across thin ledge to thin ledge, I finally came to a window that was not barred exactly like a prison cell's. It was lit on the other side but by then I was dead tired of being outside with bitter winds hitting my side and threatening to push me off two stories down. Two stories wouldn't kill me but it would definitely make for a broken bone or two.

But Mysterion can't break civilian property. So he must knock.

To say that the doctor looked surprised would be an understatement. It took her pretty much an entire minute to stand up from her chair and come forward to unlock and open the window from the inside, and even after that, there was a period of awkward silence wherein she looked torn between asking for my autograph (I hope) and calling the cops. I stood there stupidly for a bit before politely saying thank you and quickly walking out the door.

Well, that was weird.

I knew the hospital building like the back of my palm by now, and finding my way back to Douchebag's room only took minimal wandering and hiding from passer-bys. The numbers I took note of just this afternoon was the same too, and his last name was there, so this must be his, right?

The entrance room lights were off and so were Douchebag's room, the darkness a complete contrast to the white lights shining brightly on the deserted corridors. I shivered as a chill went down my back. Jesus, this place was creepy as hell.

"Douchebag?" I opened the door that can only be unlocked from the outside, and closed it after me. There was a lump underneath the sheets, completely still and silent. I approached it with my hands up in front of me in a peaceful manner, and tried lightening my voice to what I usually reserve for talking to Karen. "I know visiting hours are way over but I just wanted to see if –"

I nudged the lump where I thought his shoulder was and squinted in the darkness. Grabbing the sheets, I roughly threw them away, off the bed, before cursing under my breath. It was just a pillow.

I looked frantically around the room, blindly groping around the walls for the light switch. I found it, flicked it on, then quickly flicked it back off.

Calm down Kenny, I told myself, rubbing my eyes. It's your eyes adjusting back to the light. They're not real.

But they're there.

I remember when Stan use to invite me and Kyle over to play video games or watch movies, usually we would play or watch some horror. In some of those, usually, it would happen in a hospital. Or the loony bin. Like this one.

And sometimes, when the character flicks on a light switch in one of the rooms which was previously pitch black, there would be something there waiting for them.

Like a room with all of their walls covered in red ink.

At least I hope it was ink. I didn't want to think about what it could've been had it not. There were doodles and words, messages smeared on the rough wallpaper. One specific picture caught my attention. They were all crudely drawn, with stick figures and wobbly lines and uneven curves, but this one was an exception. It was a face.

To be specific, it was what looked like children's faces, not much younger than us ourselves. And they were laughing. It wasn't a nice sort of laugh. They looked cold, cruel, and unforgiving. All of their eyes were open wide and their constricted pupils dripped, somehow looking even a more vivid red than all that surrounded them.

At the bottom was another one of those stick figures, only this one showed the stickman on the edge of the top of a rectangle...

Oh shit.

"Shit!" I shouted, willing my legs to move again.

When my eyes flickered over it on the way to the stairwells, I could've sworn I saw the numbertag outside again, and it was blank. Clean slate, no numbers, no names.

I didn't think much of it at the time.

XXX

It was ridiculous how easy I arrived here. The hospital building was like one of those office buildings back home, though much more boring, with flat concrete rooftops and no fences on the edges. There were just these small raised boundaries that people could trip over and fall from.

The cold South Park winds bit at my wet cheeks and made the loose material of the hospital gown flap behind me. Maybe I should've written a note before I came here – say sorry to the janitors for making such a mess in my room. Then again, all the stains and splatters would've been gone by this morning, and so would've been the note.

My one remaining hand clutching at the stump that once used to be my left arm, I limped towards the edge of the rooftop. I couldn't really tell how long each drop of blood made it away from my shoulder before fading out of existence because of the loss of my depth-perception, but I didn't suppose that mattered. It did, when I was there wondering about it, but it didn't really.

My insides felt like they were melting. My blood was boiling and freezing and evaporating. My skin was peeling like the paint on this very hospital. But that wouldn't kill me. Not until a few hours more, maybe. Or thirty minutes. Ten. Full of pure. Unadulterated. Unimaginable. Pain.

Every inch that I moved meant more damage to me and my vessel, but I didn't care. Maybe I just wanted some form of control over my 'life'. Which is why I was even still moving forwards. My destruction was predetermined. I didn't care. The old gods are laughing. I didn't care. I am breaking. I didn't care.

I don't.

I made it to the edge. I turned around and looked down. There should be dark tracks behind me – my blood, but there isn't any. The dark gravel under my feet are as clean as ever. Just stained by dirt and soiled snow, but not a trace of me.

The entrance to here opened.

Hello Kenny.

XXX

I stopped and resisted the urge to vomit out what little I had during my last meal, which just happened to be lunch that day. My stomach wasn't as weak as Stan's, but it churned as I forced myself to keep the eye contact I had a feeling I really shouldn't break. Eye contact. Vaguely, absurdly, I thought about how the 'eye' in 'eye contact' is technically singular. Well, now that was more obvious than ever.

"New Kid," I nodded in his direction, trying for a small smile but probably coming out as grimacing instead. "You look… worse for wear."

He laughed and ran his hand through his now-colorless hair, smearing red all over the soft, feathery strands. As I watched, the color only lasted a few seconds before it faded back to a static-like white-grey that… glitches? I couldn't be sure in the dim lighting of moonlight, but I thought I could see him twitching and flashing impossibly bright colors every so often… like a glitch in a computer screen or something. But that was impossible… right?

The new kid laughed so softly I was surprised I could hear it despite the howling wind – a slight, unique chuckle that sounded too deep to be in the body of a nine year old. I allowed it to calm myself a bit, but then shook my head and set my eyes in a more serious manner.

"What are you doing here?" I called, hoping my usual baritone could be heard above the ambience-like city noises up here. "It's kinda dangerous standing up there you know. Might get… might lose your balance and… fall."

He shrugged, and winced, then shrugged again with only one shoulder.

I lowered my arms, which I hadn't realized had shot up in a not quite non-offensive as a defensive gesture, and relaxed. I tried stepping forwards slowly, approaching him with as much gentleness as I could muster, but immediately stopped when he copied me by lifting a foot and threatening to take a step back – onto nothing.

"Okay, okay," I straightened up, but held my ground.

We stared at each other, each submerged in their own thoughts. At least, I thought so. I told myself that it was a trick of the light, but I swear the more I looked at him, the more his featured became enshrouded in the night, and anything that I could've recognized became undistinguishable.

"What's," I said, very slowly, "happening?"

I thought I could see New Kid shaking his head, slowly at first, but then faster, his face quickly becoming that of a frustrated one.

"St-stop!" I mentally cursed at myself for stuttering, but disregarded the automatic thought immediately, grasping for resonable things to say, and failing. "That's bad for you! The severed blood vessels in your head!"

Instead of stopping or slowing down however, he just seemed to shake his head harder. His bare shoulders were incredibly tense and – when I looked back up to his face – he was in pain.

"Stop!" I shot forwards and wrapped my arms around his small cold frame, which was not as thin or lanky as mine, but still relatively quite small, especially with some parts already missing. "Stop it already," I muttered, in a gentler fashion. Inwardly, I gagged. So much blood… how is he still losing so much? Even I would've died by now!

From here I could see a lot more a lot clearer. His right eye was gone… And so was his left arm from the shoulder down, with a little bit of forearm still left. The crimson liquid dripped down from the corners of his mouth, and I had a feeling that there was a lot more damage to him than from what I could see. This was not something you could inflict on yourself.

"Tell me what's wrong. Please."

I swallowed the cry of surprise when I felt a surprisingly strong hand push me away, and for a moment I was worried that New Kid could've tipped himself over with the force. Thankfully he didn't, though I realize after that the fall had knocked the hood off, fully exposing my face. I scrambled to get it back on before he noticed, but stopped dead when he started speaking. I guess the 'secret identities' thing is futile after all.

"You know exactly what's going on Kenny," he choked out, with a lot more emotion then I previously thought he was capable of.

"No," I replied slowly, standing back up. "I don't, which is why –"

"'I die all the time and you assholes never remember!'" he tilted his head, and a loud cracking noise rang through the air, making me wince. He himself didn't seem to notice even though now his head was permanently crooked. "You know exactly what's wrong with us Kenny."

He continued on, his heavy, grown-up, out-of-place voice sending daggers to my head with every word. "You and I are the same, though our situations can't be more different. You can't stay dead. I can't stay alive. You know exactly what we are."

I winced, swallowing thickly, but stayed silent. Somewhere in a douchebaggy (no, not Douchebag) part of my brain, I vaguely thought about how these last seconds have been more words than any of us have ever heard from him in the last three days.

"I don't want to be just me anymore Kenny. I don't want to be just a toy to their whims."

By the time I realized what was going to happen, I was too late.

It was clichéd, but it was true.

My limbs couldn't move fast enough. I remember falling after him, but not seeing him at all during the fall, which lasted for-freaking-ever.

I watched as his shoulders squared up and he stood up from his defeated slouch. He lifted his one remaining arm to his side in a half spread-eagle position, and evened his feet to face me completely. He was crying. He was smiling.

"Bye-bye."

He fell back.

And disappeared.

XXX

In the end, I didn't really get control over my own death either. I didn't manage to make it mine before they took it back as theirs.

I got to visit Hell before I went to Mu, which is what I heard some Japanese guy there call my next state of consciousness. Apparently it was worse than Purgatory, they said. 'Nothingness'. Limbo was another name for it I guess, but I liked Mu better. Mu. My soon-to-be new home. The recycling bin that never really gets recycled. Just emptied.

Maybe I was hoping to find a very special friend of mine there too. No, not Damien. I've had enough of that gloom-and-doom perfect goth demon the first time I saw him. Kenny. I was hoping to meet Kenny there.

And I found him.

In a bar. No less, at a strip club. I saw him there on the other side of the counter and said nothing, did nothing. Like I was supposed to.

Eventually I stopped seeing him, as he went and got himself reborn into the world for… I don't know how many-th time. And eventually, I was called, and was told that my time in the conscious worlds was over.

Time for the recycling bin.

I'll fit right in there.

XXX

The next morning I woke up, back in my house. My head pounded but I just assumed that it was from the annoying but ever-present sound of my parents bickering in the hall again, and Kevin yelling at them to shut the hell up.

I opened my phone and looked at the time. Oh, I'm going to be late for school.

When I arrived at our usual bus stop, Kyle, Stan and even Cartman were already there. What surprised me though was the fact that Butters was there as well, and he was… yelling?

"I'm being serious here you guys! None of you have seen or heard of Douchebag anywhere? What about his parents?"

"For the last time Butters," Kyle said exasperatedly, rolling his eyes. "There hasn't been a new kid here in South Park for the last year*! There's nobody named Douchebag here either!"

I stepped into line, in my place beside Stan, and promptly ignored everything around me. I whipped out the phone I had stolen and kept from my big brother for about a week now and decided to try and go back to that hot porn site I found last night.

Wait, there's something on the History tab.

I looked at the URL and narrowed my eyes in confusion. Facebook. When the fuck have I ever opened up Facebook?

Apparently, a lot of times. I scrolled down a list of facebook links and got to the first one. Might jog up some memory?

The link took me to an error page.

It… doesn't exist anymore? I tabbed out and checked my internet connection out here. Yup, it's still working. I didn't even know you can delete an account.

"Mysteri – I mean, Kenny!" Butters' voice brought me back to the present. "You remember right? I asked you to check up on the guy last night! You know Douchebag right?"

I ignored the "Fuck you Butters," from Cartman somewhere in front of me and focused on him, completely serious.

"Who's Douchebag?"

XXX

Wowee this took a lot of time.

The ending was meh. I might have to do a 'deleted scenes' on this just to explain some more if I… want to? Yeah.

But, if any of you out there are still reading this, it was a lot of fun to write! As I am still a struggling amateur at writing this is bound to have awkwardly written parts in it, but I like imagining up the story overall. Happy fun times.

Once again, this was inspired by PenHolmes' New Kid, Old Gods which can be found here at:

https:(slash)(slash) (slash)s(slash)10259670(slash)1(slash)New-Kid-Old-Gods

(openbrackets)(leftarrow)(hyphen)(hyphen)seriously, is this even necessary(questionmark)(closebrackets)

Or you can just search for it yourself. It's rated extremely high in my books and well, I like it. And I definitely recommend it to all the people out there who enjoyed a story such as this, and that. That one over there though is much more fast-paced and highly intriguing but this is not the place for gushing on about another person's writing!

The review section is.

So thank you very much for reading! Leave a review if you liked the result of five days' or so worth of my work.

Flames will be used to bring a little bit of temperature to Mu, if that is even possible.