Disclaimer: South Park and its characters are copyright Matt Stone and Trey Parker, NOT ME.

A/N: HA. My attempt at a painful oneshot. MAYBE MORE?! I don't know.

Its slightly vague, its slightly strange. I'm reading Mr. Murder by Dean Koontz right now, and it shows. The vagueness, slight detachedness is Dean Koontz inspired. All the similes and metaphors are the kind that I like to throw in.

The trip is from Chicago to Denver/South Park, and was researched, and the flat state he drives through at the beginning is Nebraska. The motorcycle is a Ducati Multistrada 1100. IT IS HOT. Go to the Ducati web page (ducati . com without the spaces) and check it out, it is amazingly yummy.

UHHH. YES.
ENJOY THE ANGST.

PS: If you can take the time to review, let me know if you enjoyed it, then I would be very, very grateful. MAYBE you can tell me if maybe you'd like to see this continued, or not? THANK YOU!

Title: Angina

Author: Zoshi the Confused
Rating: PG- 13

Category: South Park

Genre: Angst

Contains: Swearing, SLIGHT SHOUNEN-AI - BOYLOVE

If I smile outside and I roll back my eyes

In my head and shake hands, you know what?

I can't even tell that I'm no longer welcome

In the town where I grew up.

"Falling Apart" Screeching Weasel

The ride was taking too long. In his mind, he'd been driving below those dark clouds for days, weeks. The landscape around him was too flat, he could see too far ahead and behind. The grasses billowed like ocean waves, and occasionally he was hit by the distinct nausea of sea sickness that shouldn't have been possible on land. He wished he'd taken a plane instead, a quick ride through the sky to get him to his destination. No hassles.

The air was quiet, the landscape empty. Far ahead he saw a series of low hills, jagged shapes of black against a lightening gray, but they were off to the side, it seemed. He didn't like this state. It was too hard to judge distances in it. He spared a glance at the clock set into the motorcycle's dash, calculating how long he'd been on the road; only four more hours of hard riding left.

He wondered again why he hadn't just bought a plane ticket. Quicker, easier.

But by doing that he wouldn't have had a back way out.

He wouldn't have been able to escape.

Escape, escape… He didn't realize he was breathing hard by that point. Thoughts ricocheted around his head, twisting into the dark monsters of his dreams. Only the sharp pain in his heart brought him back, the sole sign of agitation that he recognized. He gritted his teeth, the bike's engine roaring along, and strained to control his breathing. The roar of the bike reminded him of some lost animal, crying out in the unforgiving wilderness, searching, searching…

The thought made him choke.

The choking made him cough.

The cough served only to make the pain worse.

Muttering curses, he pulled over to the side of the interstate. Interstate, yes, but emptier than any road he'd ever traveled. The coughing was getting worse, the pain digging into his chest with each breath, and he fumbled in his pockets for a long time before pulling out what he sought. Eyes tearing, the crinkle of plastic the only sound that he heard, he sat back on the bike and dropped the tablet of nitroglycerin under his tongue.

Somewhere behind a bird called. The sudden sound jerked him in his seat, and his heart beat ragged as he glanced around. The song was a bird song, as regular and ordinary as any, but his mind put words where they didn't belong.

Turn back, turn back…

He shuddered, the pain in his chest subsiding slowly, the melting nitro burning under his tongue and leaving him slightly light-headed, dizzy.

Escape seemed so easy at that moment, but he was closer than farther to his destination.

And somewhere, in the shattered shell that was his mind, a small pin prick of light shined fitfully.

And somewhere ahead, the mountains called to him.

One summer he'd worked as an attendant at this gas station. He felt slightly bitter about the fact that it was self-serve now. No more high school kids would suffer the misery of running through frigid air to pump gas into waiting cars, breath frosting, sweat freezing on their foreheads as they strained to keep up, to not keep anyone waiting too long. Inside the station-house it was warm enough, but he didn't remember spending much time in it.

The red monster he leaned on gleamed in the midday sun. Even at a standstill, gas pump attached, it looked ready to take off. He stroked a leather-gloved hand over its curves gently; the one and only joy he'd allowed himself to have after he left. Pricey, but everyone needed to feel alive sometimes.

"A Ducati MS 1100..." A low whistle accompanied the voice, but even though he heard a friendly familiarity in the voice, he stiffened. "Who would've thought?"

He turned slowly, not entirely sure who he would see, regretting the fact that he'd taken his bike helmet off, no matter how much he needed the air. He had to raise his eyes to meet those of the person standing a few feet away, at the next pump, but his pounding heart quieted.

"Token?" He ventured, feeling the urge to smile, if only a little. The urge vanished somewhere on its way to reaching his face, unfortunately.

"Kenny." The man responded, his voice deep, his smile splitting across his face. He was taller than Kenny remembered, and broader, but other than that he hadn't changed. He still had shoulder-length dreads, still wore what looked to be pricey, but casual, clothes. Still drove a sporty little Merc, although this one was newer than the one he had in high school.

"Tell me, what bank did you rob to get that?" Token joked, walking up to inspect the bike closer. Kenny allowed himself a short laugh, but it sounded hollow to his ears.

"Hard work, it pays off sometimes…" He responded, watching as the other man circled around, finally stopping and patting the handlebars. Still holding the handlebars, Token looked up at the blond, the smile in his eyes being replaced by a sad sort of questioning.

"You going?" He asked, his voice light, but Kenny knew better. He wondered, briefly, if the reason Token was still holding the handlebars was because he was worried that Kenny would take off, suddenly, disappear. Disappear, like before.

The blond shrugged an answer; Did he have a choice?

A moment of silence passed between them, the gurgle of gas, hum of the pump, magnifying in the cold mountain air. Kenny was fidgeting, and he knew it, but couldn't stop.

"Follow me," Token said suddenly, and Kenny turned to see him grinning again. The man walked over to his car, unhooking the pump from his car as he continued to talk. "You can rest up at my place a bit before tonight."

Kenny froze for a second, turning to him finally with every thought to reject the offer.

"Better than a motel," Token shrugged as he hooked the pump back in its holster, turning to look at Kenny again. The glint in his eye reminded him that yes, indeed, it would be better than a motel.

For more reasons than just the obvious.

"All right…" Kenny sighed more than said. The pump rattled as it emptied the last of the gas into the bike's chamber, and Kenny got it back in its place.

Token rolled up alongside him, window down.

"The house is where its always been, you remember?" He asked, and Kenny nodded. "Good, lets see just how fast that toy of yours can go."

The way he smirked, the way he revved the Merc's engine, made Kenny want to smile again.

"You're on."

The sounds outside the window were unnervingly mountain. Mountain birds singing, mountain trees whooshing in the mountain wind. Sounds he'd never thought he'd hear again. The last five hours, he'd spent drinking them in. He knew he should've slept, having driven all through the night before, but found he couldn't. The altitude was getting to him, the blood in his veins pounding in his ears.

Everything outside that window was too familiar.

He pulled himself up to sit on the bed. His one bag was on the floor by the chair. He'd wanted to look over the things in the room, see how expensive they might be, but the urge had passed soon after he'd opened the window. The smell of evergreens and snow was too much.

"You want to ride with me?" Token spoke from the doorway.

"I'll go alone." He responded after a moment, looking at the man. His mouth opened to speak, but Kenny cut him off, "Its bad enough I stayed at your place today."

The blond moved off the bed to get to his bag, heard Token sigh after a moment.

"Fine… but if you need anything, let me know." Token was still looking at him, but when he turned he saw that it was worry, and not pity, that filled the man's eyes.

"I'll be fine." He said simply. The man smiled, but his eyes didn't change.

"Right." He turned from the doorway, waving a hand. "I'll see you there."

The closer to the school he got, the lower his speed fell. Starting off with a roar, he'd flown down Token's long driveway and into the street beyond. Now, his motor was a low growl, and he imagined he could hear a whine mixed in with it. The lost animal was crying, pushed ahead to where it did not want to go. His heart was beginning to beat rapidly, raggedly, again, but he forced himself to calm down. Control, control…

He had an invitation.

Someone wanted him there.

There had to be someone there.

He parked far away from the double doors that led into the schools gymnasium/auditorium. Of all the things in the town, the school seemed to have changed the least. He walked forward hesitantly, unsure, uncertain. There were many shadows around, for which he was grateful, and he kept to them as much as he could. Pairs were getting out of cars, laughing, walking briskly towards the open doors. Towards the sign that hung, lights focused on it in the darkness.

Welcome Back South Park High Alumni!

He had to stop, a wave of dizziness washing across him as his heart skipped a few beats. Calm, calm, he was calm. He could do this. Just go inside. Keep to the sides. Don't draw attention.

He was inside before he realized it, keeping to the wall as soon as he entered. Having the cold brick wall behind his back helped somewhat, and he relaxed slightly. Not many people seemed to notice him, and the eyes of those who did didn't shine with recognition. So far it was going all right.

Token hadn't been sure whether he should come tonight, Kenny realized. He wasn't sure himself. He didn't know why he came, why that slip of paper in the mail called to him this much.

He just wanted to come home, he thought. Just to see how things were, how much things changed.

He wanted to be among the people he used to know again.

He wanted it to feel like everything was all right again.

But even if he did start to feel like that, it would be a lie.

His heart started pounding again as more and more people began walking by. Laughter was quickly filling the large room, shrieks and cries of recognition resounding, music blasting from the speakers set on the large stage. Balloons filled the ceiling, some taped to tables and chairs. With the multicolored flashing lights, and the gusts of air from the open doors and windows that buffeted them around, they looked like wraiths, ghosts in his mind. Pastel colored demons in a world that was becoming stifling, stifling. His palms were sweaty on the wall behind him, his breath was coming fast and ragged as his heart beat a halting staccato behind his ribs.

All of them were looking at him, he felt their eyes on him, staring at him, into him. Everyone knew him, everyone was staring, staring. The pain was starting in his chest again, he could feel the muscles of his heart constricting irregularly, and he pushed off of the wall, staggering as straightly as he could towards the doors. He hadn't been far in, but the distance seemed miles, and miles, and he held back a cry, a cough, straining towards that openness. The doors were before him, the darkness beyond them welcoming, empty, and somewhere in it waited his red monster and home, home, home.

And just before them stepped the demon from his dreams, blonde hair piled up, dark blue eyes narrowed in a contempt he hadn't seen in so long.

He jerked to a halt, watching those painted lips curl into a sneer that sent daggers through him, into his soul. People close by were stopping now, turning, looking, looking. He could feel their eyes on him, he could hear their whispers, cold wind on fall leaves, rustling around him. He was shaking, he knew, shoulders twitching, fingers twitching. He couldn't control his breathing anymore, and it wheezed in and out of him, the pain in his chest flaring and subsiding with each breath.

"Kenny McCormick," The words were poison on her lips, spoken with a cold certainty of one who knew just how far she had to go to destroy a person, and that it was a very small distance indeed. "You have the gall to show up here? After what you did?"

"… I didn't do anything…" His voice rasped from behind his lips, thin as the wind, but she heard it anyway. Her laughter echoed above the harshness of the overloud music, drawing more to the crowd that had already gathered around them. He could see familiar faces around him, twisted in disgust, twisted in hate.

"Didn't do anything?!" Her voice pitched with faux incredulity, she glared at him. "Do you think I've forgotten? Do you think five years is enough to forget what you did?"

His head was starting to pound in tandem with his heart. Panic was making him jerk at every sound.

"I didn't do anything…" He repeated, his voice sounding desperate in his mind. The crowd, the mob, murmured angrily around them, and the woman stepped closer, her voice lowering in tone with the intensity of her words.

"Its your fault, all your fault, and you come back here, like it was nothing? Like nothing ever happened?" Her voice was trembling towards the end, with some sort of emotion. He wondered if that emotion was humor, or something of the sort. He wondered if in the past five years she'd managed to convince herself that her words were true.

"I didn't-" He began again, but was cut off by her furious shriek.

"BULLSHIT!" She screamed at him, her face contorted in rage, and he shrank away. Walled on all sides, walled by a mob with cold eyes, hard eyes, he cowered. "IT'S YOUR FAULT! It's all your fault I had to lose the baby! OUR BABY!"

Silence descended, wings of a deathly sort of still. The pain stabbed in his chest, his heart clenching spasmodically with each beat. His breath was more than just irregular, ragged, it was untimed, choking and wheezing out and in of him, barely enough to keep him standing.

"I…I couldn't…" He wheezed out, hand clenching unconsciously in the fabric of his shirt. "Don't… you don't… understand…"

"UNDERSTAND WHAT?! That you're-"

She wasn't listening, no one was listening, their murmurs were growing into mumbles, into loud whispers of hate, hate, hate. The pain, the pain, he couldn't take it any longer. Her words didn't mean anything, nothing meant anything, if only they'd listen, listen.

"I'M GAY."

Her voice caught in her throat, twisting away with a sound like a wounded animal, surprised at its own demise, and the silence that followed was punctuated only by his coughs, spasmodic, unbidden, tearing out of him as much as the pain tore into him.

"No you're not…" Her voice was a tremor, a high pitched shakiness of disbelief, her face smiling hesitatingly, unbidden. "And… so what? Back then, back then-"

"Back then he was too." The low voice spoke from behind him, but he still shook, even as the coughing subsided slightly. When he could see again, his eyes finally opening when he willed them, he saw her glaring, red-faced at the man standing tall and silent next to him.

"What do you know?" She hissed, like a wounded serpent, determined to strike out with the last of its strength.

"The same thing you do." Token spoke again, the calm in his voice strong, true. His hand gripped Kenny's shoulder, lending him his strength. "Fabricating a story out of revenge is bad enough, but dragging it out for five years, ruining a person just because he wouldn't sleep with you? That's wrong, and its sick. You're a sick girl, Bebe, and you need serious help."

The woman whimpered, a wounded animal, dying in its cave. Her eyes were watery, her mouth working like a fish out of water, but all that came out was that thin, high whimper. Maybe she had convinced herself her words were true. Her eyes shone with the sort of desperation that comes just before descent into breakdown.

Token's presence was enough to break apart the crowd. Pushing, pulling the blond along, people falling back before them, he led the way to the doors, leaving the words, the hate, the pain behind. By the time they reached the outer steps Kenny was breathing half-way normally again, his lungs burning only slightly. He dug into his pockets desperately, pulling out the plastic that encased his salvation.

Token's eyes were on him when he put the tablet under his tongue. He stood there, shaking in the chilly evening, feeling the sweat on his forehead cooling rapidly. His throat felt raw, bloody, his mouth tasted metallic even with the burning nitro under his tongue, but the pain in his chest was receding.

"I need to go." He croaked, his throat unwilling to let out precious air again, his vocal cords hesitant in forming words.

"Kenny, you're in no shape to go anywhere." Token said, and though his voice was low, it sounded angry.

"No," The blond breathed, opening his eyes and looking out into the darkness. The dizziness was there, but he'd handled it before. "I need to go, Token. I can't… I can't stay here, its stifling… I can't handle it…"

"Wait until tomorrow…" Token tried, desperately, his hand gripping Kenny's shoulder tightly, but the blond pulled loose with a strength he didn't know he had.

"No, no," He shook his head, stumbling off in the direction of his bike. It was far, so far, across the parking lot, but he'd get to it eventually. "I'll call you, Token… I'll let you know I got back all right…"

He could hear Token begin to call him back, but then the man's voice changed, dropping to a low hiss. Kenny vaguely registered his words, an angrily spat "What do you want?" but got too far away to hear the rest of the exchange.

Token had helped him, Token had protected him, as promised. Token knew everything. Kenny regretted leaving like this, again. Maybe he'd invite him over, someday. Show him his new city, his new home. Show him that he really did appreciate the help.

Escape, escape… The bird from the interstate was back, but that didn't make sense. This was a different state, but it was there, calling in the night.

Come back, come back….

It called him home, and he heeded its song, racing towards his motorcycle as the dizziness in his head faded. The pain in his chest was gone, replaced by the dull feeling of homesickness, something he thought could only hit him far away from South Park, far away in that other city of his, the city with the lake and the buildings that reached towards the sky. He missed the smog, at the moment, he missed the sound of city life.

He imagined that it had a bigger pull on him than this place, and it seemed to come true.

He stopped at his bike, breath puffing in white clouds, and realized he'd been half-jogging rather than walking towards the end of his trek. His bike waited, managing to glisten in the half-light of the moon. It was ready, lines curved for movement, wheels poised for action.

The silence was large, all encompassing, deafening, so it was a shock when a voice spoke up behind him.

"Kenny…"

His back stiffened as recognition ran through him.

The other demon had appeared.

He didn't turn around, knowing who he'd see. He forced himself to open the storage chamber beneath the motor's seat, pull out the jacket and gloves he'd stuffed in there before. The presence behind him stepped closer, he could feel it, and his breath began to rush out of him again. Calm, calm, but his hands shook as he tossed the jacket onto him, pulled his arms through the sleeves.

"Kenny…" The voice was barely above a whisper, but a weeping sort of desperation stained it heavily. Kenny couldn't understand, but then he could, but it didn't mean much. He wouldn't let it mean much, because the pain it sent streaking through him was too much to bear as it was, and if he accepted it, if he understood what it could mean, he didn't think he'd be able to stand it.

"What do you want…" He said finally, his voice a hiss in the air, the hiss of air escaping from a pierced tire, quick and harsh. He heard the echo of Token's voice, the same words. Yes. Token knew everything.

"…I'm sorry…" The voice was husky with emotion, and Kenny paused in pulling on one glove. He half-turned, half-believe, but remembered, remembered. He scowled, jerking the glove on the rest of the way and pulling the second one on just as harshly. A bit too harshly, as his wrists began to ache a little, but he ignored them.

"You never believed me either…" His voice sounded cold even in his ears, cold enough to make him shudder a little. "Even after we-"

He cut his words off there, closing his eyes. No, it was better not to return to that. Better to never return to that.

"I didn't know!" The voice got desperate now, it sounded like blood, like bleeding, like gushing out of a wound. "You never talked to me afterwards!"
He turned finally, the tone eating into him. Bleeding, bleeding, they were both like wounded beasts, weren't they? Gray eyes stared at him from behind wire-framed glasses. Curly hair had been cropped short, and the face he saw looked older than he remembered, a man instead of a boy, but it was the same person.

He shuddered with an emotion he thought he'd forgotten long ago, but shoved it away.

"You wouldn't even look at me…" Kenny heard his voice, heard it still sound cold, too cold for what he was feeling. His heart was beginning to pound again, he could feel it straining in his chest, shoving against his lung with each beat. He was calm, calm. He couldn't lose control now.

"How… I… I thought…" The voice shook, but Kenny could only feel his anger towards the other man rising.

"Thought what? Thought it was just a quick fuck, something to do on a boring evening?" Kenny spat. "How do you think I felt? Once, just once, I felt like I was worth something, like I meant something to someone, like I was more than some useless piece of garbage… and then…and then…"

His voice choked away, and he could feel that emotion rising in him again. Inside he felt himself falling apart, felt himself tearing at the carefully placed seams that had held him together all these past years. He took shaky breaths, struggling to regain control, struggling to regain himself, all of him, to keep him together, keep him from becoming nothing again.

The gray eyes before him were breaking too, he saw. The man was gripping the edges of his jackets tightly, his breath coming out in rapid puffs of air. No, it wasn't a man anymore, it was a 17 year old boy, a boy who'd fascinated him, magicked him, tore into him and turned him inside out. A boy who still haunted his dreams at night, enticingly cruel, mockingly tender.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…" The voice was a whisper, the words a half-silent litany, a prayer, pleading, hoping.

"Fuck you Kyle." He twisted inside, instead of feeling relief he felt the daggers he threw as painfully as if he were aiming at himself. "Fuck you, where were you when I needed you? Where were you when everyone was turning against me?"

The man, the boy was whimpering now, Kenny imagined it being the sound of the last blood dripping from a wound. Drip, drip, whimper, the sound of the wounded dying.

"Even after you'd ignored me for months, even after you started looking at me like I was some sort of disgusting animal, I still thought… I still thought…" Kenny's voice faded into strangled silence. He couldn't go on, he realized. Any more, and his voice would sound like Kyle's, wracked with emotion, whimpering, dying, on the verge of overflowing with the pain and the loss.

He turned away, focusing on leaving, leaving. The helmet went on his head. The seat went down, the kickstand went up. He sat on the motorcycle, reaching for the ignition. The engine roared, the monster was alive. The headlight flashed to life, and he looked up.

Kyle stood in the light, staring at him, eyes as desperate as those of a cornered animal. And maybe he was one, depending on how the situation was looked at. Kenny could see it now, could see the reason the redhead had come here as clearly as if it were written on his shirt, tattooed onto his forehead.

He felt a pang in his chest, and, for a moment, fear gripped him. Too soon after the nitro, he thought, this was wrong.

Then he realized that this was different. It wasn't a new pain, he realized, just one he'd gotten used to ignoring after all these years. He relaxed into it for a little while, allowed it to wash over him. He longed for the comfort, the warmth, the acceptance it offered. Kyle was willing, he saw. The pain in his eyes was a promise that this would never happen again.

Kenny didn't believe it. Fear was a constant companion, and one that ruled over his mind no matter what other emotions decided to invade. It was easier to live without emotion, without comfort and warmth, then to live with it and constantly fear its loss.

He revved the motor's engine, knowing full well that his chance was fleeting, passing.

He saw Kyle jerk, eyes closing, his face alive with the emotions he was trying to control.

Kenny revved the engine again, the pain of years rising in him. The fear, the pain; he was breathing hard now, much harder than he'd like to be, but he couldn't stop it.

Kyle opened his eyes again, one last desperate look, but his shoulder slumped in defeat. His steps to the side were slow, but Kenny stared straight ahead. In his view, it looked as if the man had been absorbed into the shadows, faded into nothingness.

The path before him was clear. No obstacles stood in his way.

The farther away he got, the more the pain was suppressed. Regret was shoved into its own hole, hidden away. Nothing to bother him. Nothing to pain him but his dying heart.

The path was clear.

The road ahead and behind was empty once more.