Author's Note: The writer's block bug has bit me so here's another one-shot while I procrastinate my big story.

Inspired by the songs, "O Death" by Jen Titus (as heard on "Supernatural")
And "Asleep" by The Smiths... or Emily Browning, which ever version you prefer. So if you haven't heard those I suggest listening to them whilst reading this because... feels, man. The feels.

Oh, right. A warning. This contains brief mentions of slash on several occasions, although it's not an important part of this story. The slash pairings implied/mentioned are Style, Bunny, and Creek. Don't like then... sorry! You can also look passed this and see it as a friend relationship only.

Full pairing list/either implied or established in this one-shot: Bunny, Style, Candy, Creek, Token/Nichole, Clebe, Karen/Ike. Hope I didn't miss any...

Hope you enjoy!

They were all gone.

He never visited this place.

He closed his eyes as he walked up the cobblestone. The black iron gate creaked mournfully as he opened the door and finally, finally allowed himself to face his biggest fear. What he had been forced to witness. What he had been cursed to live with.

Years had passed. First it was five years. Then ten. Twenty. Then fifty came around. One hundred. Two-hundred. And after that... well, he never lost count. It was the only thing that kept him sane. He had never allowed himself this moment. He couldn't bear it. But now... he had to.

Death was a constant in his life. He always knew the day would come when his last friend died, when his last family member would finally make their way to those pearly gates he was always pushed out of at the last second. Spiraling back down to this hell; his hell.

The first one had been his father. He was seventeen years old when their mother found Stuart McCormick dead with a syringe on the floor and PBR spilled on his shirt. He actually felt relieved his father had died so soon. Things could actually turn out for them. There was hope.

The funeral had been quick and quiet, and they buried him next to the tombstone with no words on it; yet he knew exactly who that was for. To this day it had never been filled. Kevin followed three years after; a bullet to the head after a deal went wrong.

He was the only one to stay in South Park. He had seen his friends go off to college, move on with their lives, start new beginnings, end an era, and leave him behind. Of course they always came back, some even moved back when Los Angeles or New York City or Dayton became too boring. But he was always there. Always died there. Always woke up in the same damn bed in the same shack of a home that had been abandoned when Carol McCormick moved in with Karen, who made her way to Denver and was a successful kindergarten teacher, who taught dance on the side.

When their mother was 42 years old she passed away. It had been twenty-five years since Stuart had died; Carol had been much happier, and actually successful. She worked at a nursing home and then a daycare; her purpose had been to take care of people. But all good things must come to an end; Carol was at work when she was cleaning up the daycare for the night. She tripped on a toy and fell down the stairs. Just like Stuart and Kevin's funerals, hers was quiet and quick, and she was placed in the plot between her unloving husband and firstborn son.

Except there had been death before hers. Two years before Carol found her demise Clyde Donovan was on his way home from work and was t-boned by a drunk driver. They said he didn't feel a thing. He was twenty-four years old with a new wife, Bebe, and a child on the way. He was the first one from their class to die, not counting Kenny, and it had been hard. For the first time their graduating class was faced with mortality.

It had been calm after his mother died. His friends moved up in their jobs, got married, started families, found a constant routine in their increasingly boring lives. He was left in South Park with nothing but memories and a growing realization his worst nightmare was coming to life, right before his very eyes.

The next death was the hardest to deal with. The call during the middle of the night was enough to bring everyone back to South Park. Back to that house that they all hung out at. Back to the memories none of them didn't want to face. Kyle was dead. And no one understood how.

Dying in your sleep happened when you were old. When you could choke on your vomit, or your spit, and no one would be around to make sure you were okay. Not when your best friend of forty three years, and finally-open-about-it partner was out for his usual morning jog and would come to find you, as if five minutes before he could have saved you. You didn't die in your sleep when you were forty-seven. That just didn't happen.

After a night of memories, hugs, and tears, and even some laughter, the worst thing happened. The call in the middle of the night shook them all up even more. Stan was gone too. The autopsy said it wasn't suicide but the fact he hadn't been taking the medication for his bipolar disorder was a red flag. Yet the true report had been nicknamed the infamous "broken-heart syndrome".

Within twenty-four hours two of his best friends died. Now instead of one wake, one funeral, they were now having two. Except, somewhere down the line the Marshes and Broflovskis decided to do the obvious; a joint funeral. They were buried side by side, as close as possible.

They left behind two kids, who were too young to deal with their parents' deaths. Kenny raised them as their own; he was one of their two godparents, anyway.

After that it seemed the deaths kept rolling by, faster and faster. Or maybe the years flew by; he couldn't tell anymore. Now everything was a blur, or at a standstill. Gerald Broflovski was next, then Sharon Marsh, Lianne Cartman, Mr. Garrison... soon all of their parents were gone.

Next was Cartman, who died of a heart attack, caused by stress rather than bad diet due to the fact he was a successful businessman in a high-up corporation in Denver, and Wendy wouldn't let him eat unhealthy. They never married but they had been happy in their domestic partnership. They even had a child together, a girl that had been the light of his world. Wendy remained his until she died as well, sixteen years later, never once taking off the plastic Ring Pop ring he had given her out of a sarcastic comment.

Craig was next; he had never been right after Clyde's death. He never drank alcohol, whereas he had been about as much of a partier as he had been in high school. But he devoted his life to what he loved after Clyde had passed. He left law school and opened a business that didn't seem like it would make it, but surprisingly he was very successful; he owned a guinea pig store. Next to a coffee shop that served only simple coffees, for a simpler America.

But his second best-kept secret was the death of him. As a child he had developed aplastic anemia, which he had gone through years of treatment to cure. Over the years he continued treatment but he was always tired, and continued to suffer from infections, bleeding, and finally his best friend found a lump he had been ignoring. They went to the hospital, ran some tests, and his bone marrow biopsy returned to tell Craig and Tweek that the former had leukemia. They kept the chemotherapy and radiation to themselves but when he was determined terminal and had three months to live, they told. At the age of 55, Craig Tucker passed away in the arms of his closest friend, at their apartment. All Tweek had to remember him by was the guinea pig store next to his simple coffee shop. But those guinea pigs were like his children, so Tweek took care of them as such, until excited children took them all away.

Tweek Tweak died of a heart-attack four years later.

Bebe was next, a year after Tweek. Breast cancer. When she first announced it everyone joked around about the irony, but as it progressed their jokes stopped, yet they were the only thing to keep her strong. He was there to tell her she looked beautiful after her double mastectomy and when she finally decided to shave off her beautiful curly hair. She ended up moving in with him, and he held her close and told her he loved her until her last breath. That was the hardest death since Stan and Kyle.

Token and Nichole followed; an ice storm in Wisconsin caused them to spin off the road, into a utility pole. Their bodies were nearly unrecognizable, according to authorities. But they died together, and somehow that made it a little better.

Shelly Marsh died next, followed by Heidi Turner, Jason, Timmy, Lisa Berger, Annie, Kevin Stoley, and Jimmy. Shelly had a bad respiratory infection she just couldn't fight off, and lung problems ran in their family; like Kyle she died in her sleep. Heidi fell, Jason had a stroke, he wasn't quite sure how Timmy died but the service had been beautiful, Lisa had a heart attack, Annie committed suicide, Kevin Stoley got shot protecting his granddaughter during an in-store shooting, and Jimmy developed emphysema.

One by one everyone passed on, gave up the good fight, and soon Kenny was left with one classmate. One classmate who had lost them all, just like he had, and still, at 86 and 87 years old, they were best friends and clung to each other more than ever. He never questioned what they were; they always just knew. Leopold Stotch, along with Karen and Ike were the only reasons he remained sane. Other than watching their children grow, and their grandchildren, and even great-grandchildren. That was the one other perk about this curse.

But then Leopold, his best friend of nearly seventy years, began having blackouts. There were moments he didn't remember; of the past, of what happened a day ago, and more frequently of the previous hour. These blackouts grew more and more frequent, and he would go for days without remembering who he even was. The worst was when they would be having a conversation, or eating dinner, or just sitting together reading, and he'd start to scream and cry because he didn't know where he was, or who he was, or anything. Dementia had settled in, and he knew he was losing the only person who could briefly understand his pain. Soon Leopold would be gone as well, he was growing weaker, and thinner, and more and more tired as the months dragged on of the ravaging disease. Soon he was taking care of Leopold, feeding him, bathing him, helping him use the toilet, helping him walk, and making sure he slept in the night. It was hard, and holding on to the last of his youth, of his happiest memories was getting harder and harder as Leopold slipped further and further away from reality, into the depths of his mind, and closer and closer to death.

This was the first time he allowed himself to cry for the loss of... everything. And he held Leopold close in the dark of night and cried into his shoulder. It was those moments that the younger one didn't even react, did nothing to break him, or soothe him, he just laid there. As if he knew. As if he understood the meaning behind each tear. Love, loss, grief, fear.

He eventually couldn't carry on a conversation and couldn't keep his head up. Grandchildren came to visit out of hopes for an inheritance, the children, all of their children, visited to see the last two remaining parents, who were like uncles, godfathers, and even fathers when their own parents had gone. Karen and Ike were there as well, as support for him.

One night, everything went back to normal. Leopold woke up from his sleep and spoke to him for hours, about everything. Their trip to Hawaii, the ninja star to the eye, playing superheroes, graduation, weddings, babies, all of their life as if it were a movie. They laughed, just like they used to, and the twinkle in his aqua eyes told him everything was going to be okay soon. For Leopold, at least. Soon his suffering would be over. So they fell asleep together, he held his hand and played with that gold band on his finger, and listened and waited.

Eventually, sometime after four in the morning, he heard Leopold's heart stop. Felt him breathe his last breath.

He died that night too. Only he came back, as if nothing had ever happened.

Except Leopold Stotch, his best friend, his everything, was gone. Just like everyone else he grew up with and loved unconditionally. Except two people. And he knew exactly what was going to happen next.

The moment they both feared. The moment they had both cried about as little kids, teenagers, and young adults. The day his little sister would finally understand what he went through. Only she wouldn't be ripped from his heaven.

Karen and Ike ended up moving in with Kenny after Leopold had passed. It just seemed like the right thing to do. He wasn't bitter, he wasn't angry; in fact, all of the grandchildren and great-grandchildren loved talking to him. He was still all there; all wit, pervy humor, and crooked smile. Only his eyes didn't smile. Of course they didn't notice, but his sister did. And just like he had done for her, she held him at night as he cried and prayed for an end to his pain. An end to this miserable life he was forced to live for what? For what?

Ike went first. It was probably due to the stress of being so successful at a young age. He passed on a legacy of an incredible business that had swept the nation, and world, and took everyone farther into the future than they ever thought possible. Except he didn't keep most of his money; he donated to charities, donated to the less fortunate, for Karen. For him. But he lived to be 85 years old and loved Karen until his dying breath. In fact, those were his last words. He had simply died of old age, died happy.

Karen struggled after his death. She, like Leopold, understood his pain. All of her friends, like his, had died as well. They had no other family who lived during their time; it was all the next few generations who just found it sad to visit the siblings. Now that... now that they were the only ones. But they were almost celebrities in South Park. They were the oldest, wisest people in town, and often times people wanted to ask them questions, gather historical information. Not that there was much to tell.

When she asked the question he knew. He had gone 82 years without sharing the answer with her. As she held his hand and asked the question, said those three words, he knew it was time. So he nodded. And she cried. And they held each other as they had when he was ten and she was eight, scared of the world and looking to her big brother, her guardian angel, to protect her from everything. And he would.

And he did.

But she too left him with a sigh of relief and a half smile on her face as her body went limp and her hand still held his. She exhaled for him. To let him know that she was happy, at peace. It wasn't what he wanted for her, but at the same time it was everything he could have dreamed of for her. Because she didn't have to face death in his way. She was able to enjoy that final breath and know her pain, her sorrow was finally over.

He watched the children grow as old as he had been, and die. Same as the grandchildren, and the great-grandchildren. By this point he had become nothing more than an urban legend of South Park; a story they told their friends at sleepovers, in the classroom, whispered about in the halls he cherished.

He made a place in the woods outside of South Park, too afraid to be near the new citizens of South Park. He knew every one of their names. There were McCormicks, Stotches, Broflovskis, Marshes, Cartmans, Valmers, Blacks, Donovans, Tuckers... those last names carried on in the town. With new faces, new people, but they were of the people he knew and loved so much. So he loved them all the same; although he was nothing but a spooky idea.

Over time they didn't know his name. All of his friends and family members became simple names on tombstones and ancestors and names in a family tree. Over time he was an idea rather than a person, a symbol, almost like death, but more feared. The idea was: If you misbehaved you'd end up with the Yellow Curse. The King in Yellow would visit and put his curse on a rebellious child or teenager to teach them a lesson. He was a fairy tale. He belonged in a Grimm's book. Except it wasn't yellow; he hated yellow. The orange had simply faded. Like he had. Over time.

He didn't remember the last time he looked at his reflection. He looked something like a skeleton with the skin left on, he knew that much. Hundreds of years had gone by; he wasn't quite sure of the date. But he walked down the grassy way in the middle of the night, tightened the hood over his face, and kissed every headstone. Broflovski. Marsh. Cartman. Donovan. Tucker. Tweak. Black. Valmer. Stoley. McCormick.

The names of his loved ones. His best friends, his family, his everything. All just faded letters of names and epitaphs. No flowers. No care. But at peace. In a better place. He laid flowers on each grave and spoke to everyone.

And he laid on the last grave to visit and cried. He kissed the earth and pulled the grass and let the tears fall. It had been centuries.

He remembered their voices. Their smell. Their faces. Their laughter. Their smiles. He remembered everything and everyone. He lived a sadder existence then Death, because at east someone wanted Death once in awhile. Like he did. He begged for it. Yearned for it. Cried for it.

Oh how he wanted his friends and family. He wanted to reunite with them, to see them happy, to hug them and kiss them. He wanted to die... and stay dead.

It had been two hundred and eighty-four years since Karen had died. He deserved his rest.

He cried and cried... his tears soaked the earth. There was nothing else he could do. Nothing would change his fate.

He closed his eyes and his sobs turned to gentle quivers and sniffles. Which turned into quiet, deep breathing, that turned shallower and shallower with every inhale. His heart slowed. His body slept. His mind drifted. His breath hitched. His heart stopped.

An arm shook him awake and he feared being caught. Although he was well over three hundred years old he was still pretty quick and agile, with all things considered. He was ready to be a freak show. Ready to be more than just an urban legend. Except he laid eyes on something he hadn't seen in three hundred and sixty four years. Tears filled his eyes and for the first time in centuries he laughed. Truly laughed.

He was enveloped in arms and hugs and kisses and heard their voices, smelled them, saw their smiles, and felt their warmth. They were as he remembered them best.

"Kenny!" He heard Kyle Broflovski-Marsh cry. He sobbed heavily and kissed his forehead.

"Dude!" Stan Marsh yelled, then clapped him on the back and rubbed his hair, "fina-fuckin'-lly!"

Karen squeezed him tight and kissed his cheek and danced with him. Craig Tucker flipped him off. Tweek Tweak twitched. Token Black waved and smiled and asked him how he was. Eric Cartman called him a "poor piece of shit" and Wendy Testaburger hit him whilst rolling her eyes. His brother hit him upside the head. Shelly Marsh punched his arm. Ike Broflovski hugged him close. His mother cried and wrapped her arms around him tight and sang her lullaby to him. His father remained silent. Sheila and Gerald Broflovski opened their arms to him, as Sharon and Randy Marsh did. Jimmy Valmer told him one of his jokes. Timmy Burtch yelled excitedly at him; yet he knew exactly what he meant. Kevin Stoley waved and smiled. Clyde Donovan hugged him tight. Bebe Donovan, also known as Bebe Stevens, wouldn't let go of him for five minutes and even kissed him full on the lips. Leopold Stotch offered him a hand and smiled softly.

"Are you ready?" He asked, grinning brightly. Kenny just looked at him, and looked at his own hand, his own arm. He was wearing orange. His hands weren't bone. There was pink in his skin, and he had fat on him, actual fat. He wasn't...

"What?" He whispered; this was the first time he had spoken to anyone since Karen passed. He looked to his friends and family who all grinned at him. His children, their children, his nieces and nephews and everyone he considered to be of relation. His grandchildren... his great-grandchildren.

All of them were there.

"Why are they here?" he asked Leopold, who just laughed a laugh that chilled him to the bone, that raised the hairs on the back of his neck and brought tears to his eyes once again. That was a laugh he hadn't heard in forever. He thought he'd never hear it again.

"We've been waitin' for you, Ken. Now, are ya ready?"

"For what?"

"Are you ready for the after-life?"

It wasn't death, he said. It was so much more than that. It was everything he had ever dreamed of and more. He wasn't going to die. He wasn't dead... he was alive. Fully alive. As if the smoke cleared and centuries shattered into a wasteful sentence, he let a few more tears fall but quickly wiped them away. He nodded.

He had been ready for three hundred and sixty four years.

Kenneth McCormick died that day. And of course, he came back to life. But this time he would never die again as he was surrounded by the ones who loved him. Death wasn't what he wanted. It was the after-life.

And He waved goodbye like an old friend, and carried on, waiting, hoping. Wishing.

He lifted his yellow hood and looked back at Kenneth McCormick, and walked out of the cemetery. Passed those iron gates.

Everyone was gone except him. Even Kenneth McCormick finally, finally found his so deserved peace. After all He had put him through he deserved this happiness. He walked away, into the forest, listening to the the wind carrying the legends of The King in Yellow, the Yellow Curse... all he wanted was to break away from his hell. His torture. His curse.

But with tears in his eyes as centuries passed in a blur, he realized he did not have a curse.

He was the curse. And his companion had broken free of Him.

And he was completely alone. Wasting, waiting, wishing for his chance...

Of finally, finally being free.