AN: I am currently working on a big project (it even has a beta!) so everything is on a hiatus, save Välähdyksiä Life. Sorry about that, but I have five chapters to pre-write! Lol. Pulled this out of my dusty files, so enjoy some Crenny: because everyone needs a little angst.
Word Count: 633
Rating: A high T
Warnings: Blatant implications of slash and drug use. Character death.
When the pain is your only sustenance in this dull and drab world, you start to wish you'd chosen another path for your life. One not pockmarked with suicides and ODing on God-knows-what. One not filled with watching your friends drop off like flies.
That's just how it was.
Tweek shot up something he was allergic to. That was the worst one; you were right there with him when he went into cardiac arrest. You were the last thing he saw as his body went cold.
The ambulance didn't leave with the sirens on.
Then Token, the asshole, got himself shot on the streets of Denver. The black idiot was the source of your weekly fix, but after almost getting killed he converted to severe Christianity. He wasn't too bad to lose, but it sure was a fucking pain in the ass to get a new dealer. What, with all the crack downs lately, most smart fix-givers only give to loyal patrons: and even they get caught.
That's just how it is.
You change your mind: no, Tweek wasn't the worst one.
Clyde's was.
The poor motherfucker got hooked on meth. Not even Kenny messes with that shit, and he's the hardcore guy of the group. Clyde's screams could be heard day in and day out, but no one paid it any mind.
Now, when Kyle and Stan come out together everyone gives a big shit, but they can't even be bothered to worry about Clyde? Sure, he wasn't a real popular guy, but he was human. Just 'cause he got his thing from crystal, they judge him?
You guess that's just how it is.
One day, however, Clyde's screams stopped. And that was the end. It was down to you and Kenny now, and you were going to lose in the end. It didn't matter if Kenny OD'd once or one hundred times, you were gonna lose. The prick could get on oxycontin and alcohol, fuck his liver up, die, and be back the next day.
You can't, though, so you stick to just your honey-dipped blunts and sapphire blue bong.
That's just how it is.
To be quite honest, you have no idea when Kenny joined your group. If it wasn't when Cartman got into shape it was when Kyle started almost-fucking Stan. It doesn't matter, he was just there.
That was the good thing about Kenny: he was always there with racy comments and a joint. With everyone else gone, you began to feed off of each other. Before, you could get high with one person and screw another and that was just how it was. No one in your secluded group really cared if you didn't call them back the next day or pay them back for the hit.
Because they used you and you used them. You were and had an addiction to all of them.
That's just how it was.
Now, Kenny's a nice piece of ass and smarter than four thirds of the class. He's got that laid-back-but-I-can-stand-my-own look, and you value him for it. He can keep a cool head in a fight and keep you held down when you're drunk or soaring and can keep yourself away from that serious shit.
Without him, you'd be dead.
That's just how it is.
In return, you help him out as well. You cockblock him from those skanky ass hoes that always seem to be hovering near him and shit. You threaten Kyle and Stan when they try to get too buddy-buddy with him again. You handle Cartman and what he wants, deflecting him from the blond. Perhaps your help doesn't go noticed, but it gives you this warm feeling inside and that shit's better than anything you can smoke or snort.
That's just how it is.
