A/N: Hey, so, this used to be part of my Random Word Oneshots, but I got sick of that, so I'm splitting up the stuff that was in it. =)
There it was. The gravestone. The moon was bright tonight. It gave the words a kind of otherworldly glow.
Kenny McCormick.
That was all. Just the name, the letters carved smoothly in the stone. It was new; it had only been there since that afternoon. The grave itself was already two weeks old. Kenny—Kenny's body—had been underground for two weeks.
Stan felt like he was going to be sick. He had been coming here every night since Kenny died. Seeing the tombstone made the death seem too real, too final. Slowly, jerkily, he moved forward, until he could reach out and touch it. His shaking fingers traced over Kenny's name.
Two weeks.
Kenny had never been gone this long. It had become so normal for Kenny to die, only to be sitting in class the next morning like nothing happened. The longest it had ever taken for him to return was a day and a half, and that was after falling into a wood chipper. He'd only gotten hit by a truck this time. He should have been back already.
Unless... Stan swayed on the spot slightly. Unless he used up all his lives. Like in a video game. Maybe this was Game Over...
A wave of nausea hit Stan, and he staggered back a few steps before falling to his knees. Eyes closed, he touched his forehead to the cool grass and tried to breathe. No. Kenny couldn't be gone forever. He just couldn't. When Stan looked up again, Kenny would be there, in front of him, laughing at his own grave. He'd look at Stan and say, voice muffled by his trademark parka, "How the fuck long was I gone for this time?" And Stan would say, "Two weeks," and Kenny would laugh again, and then the two boys would go back home and go to sleep, and tomorrow everything would be back the way it was supposed to be.
But when Stan raised his head from the ground and opened his eyes, all he saw was the tombstone. There was a rustle of movement from behind him and he turned sharply. "Kenny?"
"Just me." Kyle stood a short distance away from Stan. "I thought you might be here."
"It's been two weeks." Stan looked away, back at the gravestone. Hot tears forced their way out of his eyes, trickling down his cheeks. It was stupid, given the situation, but he felt ashamed for crying in front of another male, even though Kyle was his best friend. "What if he's really gone?"
Kyle didn't have an answer. He came forward and kneeled beside Stan, in front of Kenny's grave.
"I need him, Kyle." Stan's voice cracked with grief. "I keep thinking that if I just close my eyes, he'll be there when I open them."
"I know," said Kyle softly.
Stan looked at Kyle pleadingly, his eyes red. "I don't know what to do."
"I know," Kyle repeated, in the same gentle tone as before. There were really no words for this kind of thing. All he could do was stay with his grieving best friend, there, in the cemetery, while they both tried to come to terms with what seemed like an impossible truth.
Kenny McCormick wasn't coming back this time.