A/N: Hey, I promise I'm working on the next chapter of Worlds Apart, but this jumped into my brain last night and, well, Kenny wanted his story told.
Twenty-two year old Kenny McCormick walks slowly down the empty street, barely noticing as the sharp, uneven road cuts his bare feet. He feels the stinging pain, feels a trace of regret at not stopping to slip on his old ripped sneakers, but pushes the emotion aside with a quick shake of his head. His blond hair, which has grown almost to his shoulders, swings limply at the motion; he hasn't washed his hair in days, and it shows. There hadn't been time for shoes; there had barely been time for him to rescue the four things he was carrying, one of them being his old green backpack which is currently housing the other three. The strap slips and Kenny comes to an abrupt halt, hoisting the backpack further up onto his shoulder and looking around, registering his surroundings for the first time.
It's dark, almost midnight, or past; Kenny doesn't know for sure, and he's never been able to afford a watch. The darkness doesn't stop him from recognizing instantly where he is – on the outskirts of the town, minutes away from his old childhood hangout of Stark's Pond. With this recognition comes an instant overload of emotions, twisting and tangling together inside Kenny until he can't tell one from another, he just knows, in his heart, that the old pond is where he needs to be. He takes a step forward, wincing slightly as his right foot finds a piece of broken glass. He shakes his foot, sending the glass flying back to the ground, and limps forward. When his bare feet hit the soft, cool grass, he exhales a small sigh of relief. He hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath.
He finds an old well-worn trail, and picks his way through the grass, carefully now; his right foot sticks to a few blades of grass and he knows he is bleeding, but he doesn't stop. He remembers a time long ago, four small children, one laughing, two arguing, and one contentedly silent, making their ways down this very same path at a time in the middle of the night where their mothers would surely have their heads for being out, and his heart wrenches with pain. A few hot tears force their ways out of his blue eyes and he sniffles, just once. He can still faintly smell smoke, but he finds it impossible to tell if the scent is in the air, or coming off of his clothes – an old gray T-shirt and ripped, black jeans. He follows the twists and turns of the path as if on autopilot; his mind is far away from his current location.
He stumbles into the familiar clearing. The grass here is tall, almost to Kenny's waist, and it looks like no one has been here in years. For all he knows, no one has; he certainly hasn't. Still with a slight limp, he moves almost silently through the grass, stopping inches away from the pond's sparkling water, which is reflecting the moonlight. The illumination, combined with the memories that flood Kenny's mind at the sight, have a timeless effect on the blond. For a few seconds, when he closes his eyes, he is transported back through time and space, when things were simpler and they were all so much more innocent. Timeless, right now, is what Kenny needs.
He leans down, stretching out his arm as if to touch the calm water, but backs up slowly before his fingers make contact. He sits, cross-legged on the grass, shrugging off his backpack as he does so and setting it in front of him. He blinks, faint outlines of the flames flaring up on the back of his eyelids, disappearing in an instant. With trembling hands, he unzips the bag and begins removing its contents.
The first item he pulls out is a blanket. His only blanket, to be more specific, the only blanket he has ever had since he was born. It is thin, fraying, and it's a wonder it is still held together by anything at all. It was once blue, but time has not been kind to it, and it is now a dingy blue gray. Kenny hugs the blanket close to his chest for a minute or two, tears filling his eyes, but he blinks them away. Folding the blanket up carefully, he sets it beside him on the grass.
Second out of the backpack is his PSP. He looks down at the electronic device, turning it slowly in his hands. The screen is scratched, the rest of it chipped, and he remembers all the times he would get frustrated at whatever game he was playing at the time and hurl the thing at his bedroom wall. It seems like a lifetime ago, and for Kenny, it is. More than one lifetime, in fact, but he has long ago stopped counting. The PSP is useless now; it broke a long time ago, and Kenny can think of no clear reason why, in the short space of time he had, he chose to shove the handheld game system into his backpack.
He places it on top of the blanket beside him on the grass, and pulls out the final item he rescued, setting it gently on his lap. He moves his backpack to the empty spot on his left, and, closing his eyes, takes a deep breath. When he opens his eyes again, he is looking down, at the book resting in his lap. The cover is plain, black, with silvery script spelling out 'South Park High School'. Underneath those words, in the same type of writing, just in smaller print, are the words, 'Class of 2008'. Kenny holds on to the yearbook, his yearbook, tightly for a just a second, long enough for his knuckles to whiten, and then in one sudden movement he flips it open.
Each year, at South Park High School, two yearbook committees are formed, for two different yearbooks. One is made up of the freshmen, sophomores, and juniors; the other consists entirely of seniors. Kenny was never too clear on why, and still isn't; it was something about giving the seniors their last moments of glory, or something equally as superficial. Whatever the reason, each page in the senior yearbook is dedicated to one member of the graduating class: his or her school picture in the center, name above it, and any superlatives acquired listed underneath. Like every yearbook, the seniors are listed in alphabetical order, which is why, when Kenny opens the book, he is staring down into the angry eyes of Kyle Broflovski.
The redhead isn't facing the camera; instead, his whole body is turned to the left, and his fists are clenched at his sides. His unruly, curly red hair is flying in all directions without his green ushanka to cover it up, and he looks as if he is on a spring, and the instant the camera clicks he is going to be off and running. Kyle's eyes are blazing; he is glaring off camera and Kenny clearly remembers the whole scene as if it had been yesterday.
It had been Cartman, of course, who had snatched Kyle's hat right off the Jewish boy's head, after Kyle had made some comment about the other boy's weight. Cartman had chosen his moment well; he'd grabbed the ushanka just after Kyle's name had been called by the photographer. Rather than end up with no picture in his senior yearbook – something about which Sheila Broflovski would no doubt have had something to say – Kyle had chosen to get his photo taken before chasing after Cartman. The resulting image, immortalized in the yearbook forever, was concrete evidence that Kyle Broflovski had indeed inherited his mother's temper.
Kenny's eyes drop to the superlatives listed beneath Kyle's photo. As he reads the words, his eyes fill with tears. 'Most Likely To Succeed', and, the one that breaks Kenny's heart, 'Best Friends Forever – With Stan Marsh'. The Kyle in this yearbook is barely recognizable from the Kyle Broflovski walking around South Park these days. Gone is the bright red hair, the ushanka, everything that made him Kyle. The rage on his face in the picture is now his permanent expression, his dark eyes made even darker by his dyed dark brown hair, which is now cut so short there is not even a trace of curls.
Nobody had seen it coming when Kyle dropped out of a school a month before graduation – and when the former redhead was seen spending all his time with one Christophe DeLorne, the rumors started flying.
Kenny had heard them all, at the time – Kyle'd gotten expelled, kicked out of his house, he was dating Christophe, he was an assassin, a mercenary, Christophe was training him to be a killer. The only one he knew for sure to be fact was that Kyle had been training to be – and is now – a mercenary, just like Christophe. And that he only knows by sheer luck, because of once accidentally overhearing a conversation with the two brunets as he lay dying on the sidewalk in front of them. The look on Kyle`s face that day, the hardness in his flat, green eyes, had unnerved Kenny like nothing else ever had.
But what bothers him the most, what really twists like a knife in his heart, is that he will never know what prompted the sudden change in Kyle's personality. One day he was Kyle Broflovski, studious, Jewish redhead; the next, he was someone completely different, cold, indifferent, and addicted to tobacco, just like his mentor.
Kyle is, Kenny thinks now with a sharp pang, nothing more than a shorter version of Christophe DeLorne. Tears drip from his eyes onto his old friend's page of the yearbook, and he moves his gaze to the page on the right.
Smiling beatifically up at him is the angelic face of Eric Theodore Cartman. If Kenny didn't know Cartman, he would almost think, judging by this picture, that the other boy was actually as sweet and innocent as he looked. Almost. Because Kenny does – did, he tells himself with a shake of his dirty, blond hair – know Cartman. And he knows everything this picture doesn't say. He remembers, for example, the seconds before the photo had been taken, Kyle had been chasing Cartman around the room, murder in the redhead's eyes, while the other boy had been holding Kyle's ushanka high above his head, gleefully cackling as he, somehow, evaded Kyle's capture. When his name had been called, Cartman had ducked in front of the camera, shoving Kyle's hat underneath him as he sat down. The photographer had counted down from three, and Cartman had tilted his head and smiled the smile that fooled every adult who saw it. A split second after the flash of the camera, Kyle had successfully tackled him, throwing punches as quickly as he could in a desperate attempt to retrieve his hat.
And he had, in the end, Kenny remembers, the tiniest trace of sad smile on his lips as he reads the superlative under Cartman's picture. Craig, who had left his place near the back of the line to come up and talk to Clyde, had looked over at the commotion, and, never one to miss an opportunity to piss him off, had reached down and plucked Kyle's hat out of Cartman's hand. Cartman had howled and screeched and flung furious obscenities at Craig's retreating back, but all he got for his troubles were two middle fingers, and, possibly the second best superlative Kenny has ever seen: 'Biggest Asshole'.
He knows it's because of Craig, Clyde, and Token – the latter two were on the senior yearbook committee, but it was Craig who came up with the idea. Kenny remembers Cartman's reaction, upon receiving his yearbook, and, not for the first time, considers how lucky Craig is to be alive. Liane, however...
Kenny sighs, softly. It's been four years, but he still can't believe she's gone. Liane Cartman had been such a constant in his life, in everyone's lives, really. She was as compassionate as Cartman was hostile; no matter what she chose to do with her life, how the town of South Park viewed her, Kenny had loved her like she was his own mother. She had always treated him with kindness and respect, and in return, he treated her with the same. When he'd been younger, yes, his actions had been fuelled by lust – there was no arguing the fact that Liane was pretty, prettier than most would consider a single mother to have the right to be. But as Kenny had gotten older, the feelings of lust had changed, grown just as Kenny had. When Liane had died, two weeks after graduation, of an undiagnosed, unknown heart condition, Kenny had been heartbroken.
But there was no way he felt worse than Cartman. One look at the other boy revealed that, no matter what he may have said, he loved his mother above all else. Liane's death had left Cartman a shadow of the person he had once been; he was no longer overbearing and obnoxious. He kept to himself, sinking, Kenny had thought at the time, deeper inside his own mind every day.
After his mother's funeral, and will reading – where it had been discovered that she had left everything, all her money, and the house, to her son – Cartman had disappeared. There had been no 'For Sale' sign on the lawn, no moving van, no indication at all that he was leaving. He was just gone, overnight, and to this day, the Cartman house sits empty, dark, and abandoned.
A breeze rustles the leaves on the trees surrounding Kenny, and he looks up briefly. It's getting colder now. With a shiver, he picks up the blanket beside him, sliding the PSP onto the grass, and wraps it around his shoulders – he finds himself missing his old parka, but that orange garment is long gone. He turns the page in the yearbook, his hand shaking, making a conscious effort not to look at the picture on the left – he does not need to see the face of the one who stole one of his best friends, corrupted him and made him just as heartless. Instead, he focuses on the picture on the right.
Clyde Donovan is smiling widely, in his photograph, but his eyes are troubled; no doubt he is worried about what could possibly befall him for being a friend of Craig's that day. Clyde was always a worrier – that, at least, hasn't changed. Underneath the picture, 'Class Crybaby' is crossed out with a single line, and under that it says, 'Most Likely To Spout Off Random Useless Trivia'. An inside reference, no doubt, shared by the brunet and his best friends, Token, Craig, and Tweek. Kenny rereads the words again, and wonders if Clyde has explained the reference to Thomas.
He'd started dating the Tourette's Syndrome-afflicted boy about a year ago. They had always stayed close, after Thomas left their school back in elementary, and Kenny hadn't been at all surprised at the news that they were together. Just recently, they've started living together, renting out one side of a duplex near South Park Community College, where Clyde is going to school. It had taken him years to work enough hours at the video store to come up with the money, but he is finally in his first year of a professional writing program, and seeming to love it. Thomas has never pursued higher education; he says it's because he isn't sure what he wants to do in life yet, but Clyde tells Kenny, whenever the conversation comes up, and it's just the two of them, that he's pretty sure Thomas still feels uncomfortable being around unfamiliar people, because of his Tourette's. Kenny, though not a sufferer of the disease himself, understands what it's like to be considered abnormal and 'freakish', and so he empathizes with Thomas, and makes a point of being exceptionally friendly to him when they're all together.
Kenny has been, without realizing it, mentally going through the alphabetical list of his former best friends in his mind. He pulls his blanket tighter around him with one hand, flipping ahead in the yearbook painfully slowly with the other. His throat constricts, and he has trouble swallowing; he feels like he is going to be sick, yet he cannot stop himself from turning the pages – it is as if he is not in control of his body anymore. He watches as, almost in slow motion, a good portion of the South Park High School graduating class of 2008 passes by until, finally, he is looking down into the laughing face of Stan Marsh.
The blond boy makes a sound, something between a whimper and a moan. More tears splash down onto the page and he shakes his head violently. "God, Stan," he whispers, his words lost in the wind, which has picked up and is now strong enough to blow a few dried leaves into Kenny's open, forgotten backpack. "You..." Kenny can't finish his sentence; he can only continue staring at the photograph. His entire body trembles, but it is not because of the wind; it's a deep, inner cold. It feels like someone has encased his soul in ice.
The Stan in the yearbook photo is grinning at the camera; the photographer caught him in mid-laugh, his eyes – which are looking not at the camera, but past it – bright and sparkling with joy. He's wearing his old blue and red hat, the tips of his black hair just visible from underneath the fabric. He has one hand raised halfway, as if he is about to wave at someone, and everything about him just screams pure happiness – and why shouldn't he be happy? He is in his last year of school, so close to the freedom of the real world, with his girlfriend and his best friends. He has everything a nearly-eighteen year old boy could possibly want.
"Had..." Kenny mumbles, a sob rising up in his throat as he, reluctantly, tears his gaze away from Stan's face. Listed below the photo are two superlatives: 'Best Friends Forever – With Kyle Broflovski' and 'Couple Most Likely To Last Forever – With Wendy Testaburger'. Kenny's eyes linger on the word 'forever', which fades in and out of focus as tears blur his vision. He knows now, that forever, that kind of forever, doesn't exist.
He remembers the day Stan lost Kyle, remembers the look on the dark-haired boy's face as his former self-proclaimed Super Best Friend disappeared from his life, into the shadows with Christophe. Stan had cried, Kenny remembers, his own crying intensifying as the memory floods his mind. Kenny had been right there beside him, on the front step of the Marsh house, but Stan had cried as if he had been completely alone; there had been no inhibitions, his pain was raw, and open for all to see. After a while, Kenny remembers, Stan had turned to him and managed to choke out one, single word: "Why?" And Kenny had had no answers for him.
The blond boy lifts one of his shaking arms, to push away a lock of hair that has swung down in front of his face. He grasps the lock of hair tightly as he silently sobs; four years has done nothing to dull the pain.
The August after graduation, Wendy had broken up with Stan, shattering him even more. Her reasoning had been that she was going all the way to Northwestern University, in Illinois, and that she didn't want a long-distance relationship. Kenny remembers Stan coming to him, the two of them all that was left of the group that had once been so close, and telling him what had happened. Kenny remembers thinking it was strange that, after everything they had been through growing up in South Park, it was distance that Wendy couldn't handle. But, if he is honest with himself now, he has to admit that ever since the death of Liane, ever since Cartman had disappeared from the town, Wendy had slowly been changing. Since leaving for university, she has not been home once, and as far as Kenny knows, she has not contacted anybody since leaving. Wendy, it seems, just like Cartman, has disappeared without a trace.
And Stan... Part of Kenny wishes he had it in him to blame the two of them, Kyle and Wendy, for what happened, but he knows he doesn't. Even as he cries, there, at Stark's pond, huddled in his thin blanket, mourning the loss of his friend, he knows that if he were to see Wendy again... If Kyle were to walk up to him, a redhead once more... If either one of the two ever entered his life again, he would hold no grudge against them; and for that, he feels guilty, as if by thinking those thoughts he is tarnishing Stan's memory.
With a barely controlled urgency, Kenny turns the page so quickly he almost tears it out of the yearbook. He can't keep looking at Stan's face, so innocent and happy and completely oblivious to what would happen in less than a year. Kenny can feel his heart pounding wildly in his chest as he flips page after page, burying Stan in the yearbook, but not in his mind.
He comes across the photo of Butters Stotch, and stops turning pages to smile faintly down at the blond boy in the picture. The photograph is so typically Butters – he is wearing his best clothes, a sunny smile on face, hands folded neatly on his lap; but of course, something always has to go wrong. In this case, it is the fact that there is a big, painfully obvious, hole in his shirt. His superlative is no surprise: 'Nicest'. It, Kenny thinks, tracing the word with his finger, is probably the truest superlative out of all the ones in the yearbook. Butters never had an unkind word to say about anybody, not even Cartman.
But even he is gone, now, too. Four months ago, after finding out he was adopted, Butters had left South Park in search of his birth parents. Before leaving, he had come to find Kenny, and the two blonds had sat in Kenny's dark basement bedroom, talking. Butters had said that Chris and Linda had told him his birth parents were living somewhere in Canada now, so that was where he was going to go. Kenny remembers how confident Butters had looked, how firm and determined his voice sounded; he was so different from the naive, stuttering boy he once was. He remembers asking Butters if he knew which part of Canada, and Butters shaking his head no. When Kenny had tried to question him further about what exactly he was going to do, the other blond had only smiled sadly. He was gone by morning.
The widely accepted rumor that had sprouted was that Butters' choice to leave then to find his birth parents was spurred by the fight that had occurred between him, and Chris and Linda, when the latter two had confessed to the teenager that he had been adopted. Kenny isn't sure what to think, but he knows there had been something Butters hadn't told him that night, and he regrets now not trying harder to find out what it was.
Kenny sniffles, and wipes his dripping eyes with the back of his hand. He takes one last look at Butters' picture, and then shifts his gaze to the page on the right; a small, but genuine, smile appears on his lips at what he sees.
Tweek Tweak is sitting with his head leaning on Craig Tucker's shoulder. He is wearing the the other boy's trademark blue hat. Craig's arm is around Tweek, his hand resting lightly on the blond's, which is clutching a shiny silver thermos. They're both smiling – Tweek's green eyes are calm and happy, Craig's gray ones free of even a hint of anger. Somehow they had managed to get their pictures taken together. Kenny hadn't seen it happen – he'd been just coming back to life after getting in the way of a pair of scissors thrown by Cartman and meant for Kyle – but he'd heard all about it later from Stan. Tweek, Stan had told Kenny, had been freaking out because, in all the commotion caused by their resident Jew and his mortal enemy, he had spilled his thermos of coffee. He hadn't had time to go get more, because two seconds after it happened, the photographer had called his name. Stan said that Tweek picked up his thermos, and stumbled over to the camera, looking like he was about to cry. He couldn't sit still, and he kept dropping the thermos on the ground, and finally the photographer had gotten so frustrated, he'd snapped at Tweek. Craig, whose name came right before Tweek's in their senior alphabet and who therefore had been right there, had snarled a curse at the photographer while flipping him off, and then had come to sit beside Tweek. He'd said something to the blond, talking too quietly for Stan to hear, and in a matter of seconds Tweek had relaxed, Craig had set his hat on Tweek's head and slipped his arm around the blond's shoulders, and the most amazing yearbook photo in the history of ever – in Kenny's opinion – had been taken.
It paid, Kenny thinks as his eyes travel down the page, to have friends on the yearbook committee. Underneath the picture is both Tweek's name and Craig's; underneath that, their superlatives – 'Class Addict' and 'Class Troublemaker' – both crossed out, replaced by 'Most Likely To Be In A Folgers Commercial' and 'Class Badass'. He looks at the photograph again. His favourite part, the reason he thinks this picture is so special, is that it had been taken before Craig and Tweek had ever started dating.
That had happened later, about halfway through senior year, and they are still together – the one thing, Kenny thinks, that hasn't changed. A year ago, Mr. and Mrs. Tweak had moved to Denver to manage the Harbucks coffee shop there, leaving the South Park one to Tweek. To Craig, really – he is the one who does everything on the business end, having actually gone to college and gotten a business degree. He handles everything behind the scenes, while Tweek works shifts at the shop, trains new workers, everything he's comfortable doing. He's owner of the South Park Harbucks in name only. He and Craig live on the other side of the duplex that Clyde and Thomas live in. Kenny hangs out with the four of them more often than not, these days...
He turns to the next page, the second-last page in the yearbook. Token Williams smiles up at him, and Kenny is confused until he remembers that, though Token goes by the last name Black now, at school he was always registered by Williams. Under Token's picture are the words, 'Most Sarcastic', a sentiment Kenny is not inclined to disagree with.
Out of all of them, Token has been the most successful in his life. Shortly after graduation, he moved to Los Angeles with his parents, to pursue his singing career. It had been something he'd been talking about doing since the tenth grade musical production of Hamlet – which ended up being better than Kenny had thought it would be, probably because Token was playing Hamlet and he could actually hit all the notes correctly.
So his leaving hadn't been unexpected, not like everything else that has happened between these yearbook photos and now. He even still kept in contact with his friends from South Park, Clyde especially. It was Clyde who always knew all the latest news about Token's adventures in LA, whether or not he was getting work or waiting tables. It was Clyde, who, a few weeks ago, had informed Kenny, Craig, Tweek, and Thomas of the fact that Token was currently on his way to New York City, to audition for a leading role in another Broadway run of RENT. "He says he'll send us all tickets if he gets it," the brunet had said excitedly. "Airfare, hotel, everything. God, he's going to be so fucking famous!"
Kenny looks down at Token's smiling face and wonders if that's true, if Token got the part. He's been checking with Clyde every day, but there has been no news yet, so if their friend is about to be catapulted into stardom, he hasn't let them know. He would, though. Kenny knows he would. Token is one of the few people Kenny knows who would never turn into the typical Hollywood douchebag.
The last page of the yearbook is reserved for those who had been absent on picture day, or who had just not desired to have their photo taken. All of these people are listed, names only, again in alphabetical order. Kenny scans the list, searching for one particular name, sighing softly when he locates it: Kenny McCormick.
This is what he will be remembered as, if he is remembered at all. Just a name. There is no picture to capture his emotions at the beginning of his final year of school, no superlative to give a clue as to what he had been like. Nothing. Tears of frustration, of sadness, of grief, of a thousand other emotions well up in his eyes and he slams the yearbook shut, the sound echoing across the pond. He tosses it aside, barely hearing as it collides with the PSP sitting on the grass, and pulls his legs up, wrapping his arms around them. He leans his forehead on his arms, his breathing shallow, and feels his whole body shake.
Nobody could ever imagine how much it hurts Kenny to see the darkness that is the Cartman house, every time he passes it on his way to the duplex. Nobody could ever understand the sharpness of the pain he feels when he stops outside Stan's house and looks up at the window on the right, knowing Stan isn't there. Nobody could ever feel what Kenny feels every time he catches a glimpse of the person Kyle is now, slinking in the shadows with Christophe, each one of them a dark, smoky silhouette. They're gone, all of his childhood best friends, and he knows, deep in his heart, that they will never come back. He thinks of Stan. They can't. Just like Kenny's old house, filled with flames and smoke he – and only he – had narrowly escaped not two hours earlier, his old friends no longer exist.
He sits at Stark's Pond for a long time, in the same position. When at last he hears the chirping of carefree birds, and the brilliant light of the sun starts peeking over the horizon, he packs the yearbook, the PSP, and his blanket into his backpack, and stands. There are a few ducks swimming lazily in the pond, making little ripples in the water. Kenny watches them for a moment, and then he slings his backpack onto his shoulders and begins the walk back into town. When he reaches the main street of South Park, he pauses on the street corner, looking from left to right, trying to decide which way to turn. Left would take him down to the duplex, where, though it is early, he would be welcomed – at least by Tweek, who is sure to be awake at this hour. Turning right would lead him back to the ruins of his house, and he is strangely drawn there.
In the end, the duplex sounds like a much better place to be right now, and Kenny shuffles forward, into the street, watching his feet, still lost in memories. The faces of his friends in their yearbook photos are swirling around in his head, and he wonders, miserably, why things ever have to change.
He doesn't see nor hear the semi truck speeding towards him, its driver too distracted by the latest edition of Playboy to notice the skinny twenty two year old blond in the middle of the road. It's all over in a matter of seconds: Kenny feels the impact, feels a burning sensation, and then, as his spirit rises up from his body, broken and twisted on the ground, he feels nothing at all.