FIVE MINUTES TO MIDNIGHT

Author's note: This was done as a one-shot during my Alphabet Challenge fanfic (letter F). I think it's okay as it is; however, if I get enough feedback from readers indicating they would like me to continue it then I probably will, as I had a ton of fun writing this much. Also, if you like this one, please feel free to check out the Alphabet Challenge as it contains a lot of the same-style and portrayals of the characters.

"So uh, where are we going?"

Kenny turned to face me, lowered his sunglasses to the tip of his nose and looked at me over top of them. "Dude, have you never been on a road trip before?"

"Well… no," I admitted, fiddling with the curls around my ears. Cartman, from the driver's seat, laughed heartily but surprisingly didn't make any backhanded remarks. He had been in a good mood since we started driving at nine o'clock this morning, and I guessed it had carried him into the afternoon.

I glanced over at Stan, who was doing his best to smoke his cigarette out the open window. It bothered me a little bit that he had taken up the habit, and the thought of him getting cancer made me uncomfortable, but nothing could affect my friendship with the one and only Stan Marsh.

"I know we've only been on the road for four hours, and we haven't hit any towns yet, but you're going to have a fucking blast," Kenny put his feet up on the dash in front of him and slumped in his seat. "You just have no idea."

"Hey asshole! Get your feet off mah dashboard!" Cartman swatted at Kenny, who narrowly avoided catching a plump hand in the side of his head.

"Cartman, watch where you're driving!" I grabbed onto the door with my right hand and reached for Stan with my other, feeling uncomfortable as every muscle in my body tightened in panic. Stan looked at me under crooked eyebrows and flicked his cigarette butt out the window.

"Calm down," He smirked after a moment and shook my hand away from where it was clenched onto his electric blue t-shirt. "For all the things that Cartman is terrible at – and he is terrible at a lot of things…"

"Hey!" Cartman yelled from the front seat.

"…he is not going to kill us on the road. Believe it or not."

I considered for a moment. "Fine, I believe it."

Kenny leaned his seat back to the point where it touched my knees. I thought about arguing, but there was never much sense in arguing with Kenny, since it was impossible to stay mad at him. Even when he had ditched school for days at a time to huff cat urine or play PSP we still greeted him with smiles every morning and nothing but support through the hard times. I mean yeah, we had done some bad stuff but… didn't everyone do bad stuff when they were kids?

"Kyle. Kyle," Stan snapped his fingers an inch from my nose and I started, banging my elbow against the door handle. "You still with us, dude?"

"Yeah, sorry, just… thinking."

"About what?" Stan's genuine tone surprised me, as much as I was embarrassed to be able to detect the sincerity level in his voice. For some reason we had been drifting apart recently, which I imagined was part of the reason why Kenny had organized this whole road trip thing in the first place.

"About when we were kids," I sighed a little, and felt a pit in my stomach that could only be likened to homesickness. "It's actually incredible how much time we spent together."

"Maybe that's why we're so fucked up now," Kenny chimed in. "Always being around the same people makes you bat-shit insane. That's why relationships never work… that's why marriages don't last." His last few words were quiet and heavy. He didn't have to say any more – we all knew that he was still feeling pain from his parent's separation a few years earlier. I couldn't even imagine my parents getting divorced; I would be a blubbering, sobbing wreck if something like that ever happened to me. And then there was Kenny, still smiling, still laughing, like nothing was wrong. Only ever so often did we get these rare glimpses into his true self, and to be honest, it was hard to handle. The blonde young man was the most emotionally consistent "member" of our group, and it was terrifying to imagine him weakening… even for a second.

"Wow, that was a pathetic thought," I muttered to myself out loud without meaning to.

"What was a what now?" Stan was looking at me again. "We lost you there." I tilted my head in Kenny's direction and widened my eyes to signal that this is not something we should be discussing in our friend's presence. He nodded in acknowledgement. These were the times I loved being so close with someone, so much so that we could practically read each other's thoughts. Then again, I had always been that way with Stan.

"Okay, we're taking a piss break," Cartman announced, and merged into the furthest right lane. A green sign whizzed by us reading 'Next exit: 2 miles'.

"Aw, Cartman, we just stopped like an hour ago!" Stan protested, but the car was already veering off the main highway onto the on-ramp. Cartman reached down for the seat-adjustment lever and pulled it sharply so the back of the seat smashed into Stan's legs, then returned it to its upright position.

"Ow! Fuck dude, that really hurt!"

"You assholes can all just shut up!" He pulled the car up beside the small gas-station-diner-combination and poorly pulled into one of the parking spots. "Ah'm driving; it's mah car, so go to hell!"

"Sheesh, you don't have to go off the deep end," Kenny picked up an empty can from the cup-holder and shook it around for effect. "But maybe if you didn't drink so much soda, we wouldn't have to stop so often." Cartman mumbled something incoherent and left the car. Our golden-haired friend followed, leaving Stan and I alone. He unbuckled and turned to face me.

"So what was all that about?"

"What?"

"You drifted off, and when I asked you what was going on you said we couldn't talk about it in front of Kenny."

I smiled. "I didn't actually say that."

"You know what I mean."

"Okay, okay. Well… Here's the thing. You know you're my best friend, Stan, but you can be… emotional, at times."

"So?"

"Well, it's like, when your emotions change so rapidly it makes you unpredictable, you know?"

"Kyle, I thought this was supposed to be about Kenny."

"I'm getting there. The point is, your emotions are easily swayed by the normal things: girlfriends, family, social situations, etcetera. Don't get me wrong, mine are too. Then you have Cartman, who…"

"Is a sociopath?"

"Yes, which makes him equally unpredictable. But Kenny… Kenny has always been different. With the odd exception in overwhelming circumstances, he's been the rock of our group. Stable, predictable."

"Okay, but why couldn't you say that in front of him?"

"God Stan, let me finish!" I snapped impatiently, and then snorted when I realized what my words sounded like. "That's what she said!"

He grinned for a moment. "Seriously though."

"Sorry. It's just… it's been two years since Stuart and Carol separated, but Kenny is obviously still upset. You heard what he said, about marriages never lasting."

"Dude, wouldn't you still be upset?"

"Yeah, but that's me. I almost died when Cartman got his own theme park, and he means way less to me than my parents. Kenny's different though, he's tough. Seeing him get emotional like that, and so dark, I won't lie… it scared me."

Stan put a hand through his black hair. "Jesus."

"I know, I'm pathetic," I moaned, leaning my head against the window. "Despite the whole poverty thing I always thought Kenny's family was one of the closest in South Park. Now his mom and brother live… where do they live again?"

"I don't remember."

"Hey losers! Stop making out and come get some food!" Kenny's face suddenly appeared in the window behind Stan and we both nearly jumped out of our skin. I tried to push the worries out of my head as we exited the car and made our way to the door of the small, greasy-looking restaurant. Stan stopped outside the door, reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. After he shook one out and stuck it between his lips he extended the offer to Kenny, who – after a moment of silent contemplation – pulled another one out and gestured for Stan's lighter.

I wasn't sure if it was force of habit or out of politeness, but Stan next turned to me, holding the open pack in his outstretched hand.

"No thanks," I declined, as always. Part of me knew that my best friends wouldn't want me to be cursed with the same life-shortening addiction as they had to deal with, but I always felt a little pressured every time Stan offered me a smoke.

After five hours of what felt like endless highway, darkness was settling over the landscape and we had an important decision to make.

"Ah'm not sleeping in a god damn moving car, McCormack!" Cartman whined from the passenger seat. Kenny had taken over driving from our last pit stop to give the fatass a break, but it didn't seem to stave off his annoying complaints at all.

"Come ON, you're missing the entire point of a road trip! We can't sleep in a hotel! That's so lame!" Kenny rapped his fingers against the steering wheel. "This is an adventure, not a honeymoon. Man up, boys!"

"Actually, I'd rather not sleep in a car either," Stan winced as he spoke, like he was expecting a backlash. "And come on. We can all either be over-tired, sore and cranky for the rest of this trip, or you can let us stay in hotels and have a good time."

"But… but…" Kenny whimpered. "Kyle? What do you think?"

I swallowed and glanced over at Stan. "I don't really care, either way…"

"Kahl abstains!" Cartman declared triumphantly. "Hotel it is!"

"No fair," Kenny sighed. "Okay, it's 8:00 now. How soon do you want to stop, and where?"

Cartman waved his hand dismissively. "Don't look at me."

"But you're the one who wants to stop!"

I chose to stay out of the argument. Eventually Stan got involved as well, when it came to what grade of hotel we were going to stay in.

"Look, I know it's fucked but I do agree with Cartman," Stan sighed. "I'd rather be confident that the sheets I'm sleeping in are clean, that there aren't rats in the walls… you know, basic creature comforts."

"What are you, the fucking queen of France?" Kenny yelled.

"Kinny, just because your family lives knee-deep in dirt doesn't mean the rest of us have to," Cartman prodded. I watched in shocked horror as Kenny's face went blank, then drained of all its color, then contorted in rage. Suddenly, the car screeched to a halt, and since none of us were expecting it, we all careened forwards. I hit my head against the passenger seat in front of me; Stan nearly got decapitated by his seatbelt, and though I couldn't see what had happened to Cartman, I knew something must have happened because he was making noises.

"Nyahhh… Nyyyyahhhh… What the fuck, Kinny?"

Kenny didn't respond. I kept my eyes locked on him; he had his fingers wrapped around the steering wheel so tight his knuckles were turning white and bulging from beneath his pasty skin.

Stan pinched the bridge of his nose. "Cartman, you are such a dumbass."

"What?" The largest of our group shuffled around in his seat so he could look at Stan on an angle. "Wah aren't we moving? Kinny, wah did you slam on the brakes? I wanna get to the hotel, let's go!"

"Ken…?" I ventured quietly, ignoring Cartman's pleas. "Kenny, are you okay?" His gaze was set straightforward, and he didn't even stir at my words. I leaned forward a little to see if I could get a better look at his face. I wasn't sure, but his sapphire eyes seemed glassy, like he was about to cry. I couldn't remember if I had even seen Kenny cry, except when he was faking it, and I felt my throat tighten at the thought.

"Fuck this shit," Before any of us could react, Kenny had opened his door and left the car. A harmony of blaring horns from other drivers signified that his exiting a vehicle on the middle of the highway was not welcome.

"I'll go get him," Stan rubbed his temples.

"No…" I unbuckled the seatbelt and opened my door. "I will."

When I got out, I did a brief scan of the landscape to find my friend – it didn't take much – Kenny was easy to spot with his golden hair and bright orange t-shirt. He had crossed four lanes of highway to sit atop the concrete median separating the two sides, power smoking what looked like one of Stan's cigarettes. After waiting for an appropriately large gap in the traffic (something I guessed Kenny had not done, hence all the horns), I reached the median and looked up at him.

"I'm sorry about Cartman."

"Don't be sorry, I should have known better," He tried to put laughter into his tone, like it was all a big joke, but underneath his voice was shaking. "I really should have known better than to invite Eric Cartman to join us in a small enclosed space for hours at a time. What was I thinking…?" He forced out a very fake chuckle. I shoved my hands into my jeans' pockets and averted my eyes.

"You know… you don't have to keep pretending you're okay with this."

His fake smile dropped. "What do you mean?"

"Well… the whole… your parents splitting up thing…" There was a long, longer than I cared for, moment of silence between us as Kenny pulled on his cigarette for the last time and flicked the butt into the middle of the road. Then, quietly,

"What if pretending is the only way I know how, Kyle?"

I was taken aback. "Um… well…"

"People have pitied me since day one, and I hate it. I just hate it. All day long in that tiny town, where everyone knows everyone else like family, people coming up to me saying, 'Oh, I'm so sorry to hear about what happened', like someone fucking died. I don't need it. I know what happened, I know it's not pleasant, I don't need to be reminded every god damn second of every god damn day for the rest of my life. If I don't act like I'm okay, if I look discouraged or downtrodden for even a minute, all I can hear is the buzzing of neighbors whispers, about how the 'poor McCormack kid' lost his mother and brother at nineteen, how he 'never saw it coming'. And they're right, but fuck, it's been two years, I'm twenty-one, Kyle. I'm an adult and I can deal with my shit by myself. Stop feeling sorry for me!" On his last word he slammed his hands down on the concrete, and two rebel tears escaped his eyes to roll down his gaunt cheeks. He brushed them away so quickly it looked like he was scratching an itch.

I was astounded at my own arrogance. Here I had thought that Kenny was trying to bring all of us closer together… when really, he was trying to get farther away from what was haunting him.

"I…" I didn't know what to say, but the silence between us was killing me.

"If you say you're sorry, I'm gonna punch you in the teeth." I noticed the corner of his mouth turn up a little and relief washed over me. Maybe all he needed was to explain it to someone.

"Hey, if you're going to punch anyone, punch Cartman."

"No way. My hand would get sucked into his fat and I'd never be able to get it out again!"

"Okay assholes, Ah'm gonna take this bed, and you three can share that bed," Our chubby friend sat on the end of one of the two double beds in our hotel room and folded his arms.

"Cartman, you can't just decide that," Stan argued. "There are two beds and four of us, so you have to share. Besides, there's no way three of us can fit into one bed."

"Are you kidding?" Cartman pointed at me. "Kahl is a scrawny little Jew, and Kinny is really underfed. Between the two of them they make up MAYBE one person." I opened my mouth to give him shit about being anti-Semitic (as usual), but Kenny intervened first.

"Tell you what. Why don't Kyle and Marsh share the bed, and I'll sleep on the floor."

"Dude!" Stan yelped. "Don't encourage him!"

The blond gave him a long, purposeful stare. "Do you REALLY want to share a bed with Eric Cartman?"

"Of course not! It's the principle of the thing."

"Too late! Kinny already made the deal!" Cartman let himself fall backwards onto the bed with a soft thud. Kenny made his way over to the closet to retrieve the extra blankets and pillows provided, and Stan started rummaging through his duffel bag. He came up with his toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste.

"Stan," I began hesitantly. "…Can I borrow your toothpaste?"

He smiled warmly. "Ever since we were six years old, you have not once remembered to bring your toothpaste when we go on trips."

"I know, I know," I snatched it out of his hand and fished my own toothbrush out of my backpack. "I really need to start making a list. I think I might have forgotten my deodorant too."

"Oh my god, could you two be any more like two sixteen-year-old girls having a sleepover?" Kenny flicked my ear as he walked past. "Anyway, since you all insisted that we stay in a hotel, can we at least go to bed soon so we can get an early start in the morning?"

"Screw you Kinny," Cartman huffed. "Ah'm on vacation, Ah don't know if Ah want to git up early and start driving right away."

"Oh come on, fatass," Stan called from the bathroom. "Kenny or I could drive and you could nap in the car. Deal?" I watched Cartman's face as he carefully considered Stan's words.

"No way," Was his conclusion. "The whole point of staying in a hotel was so Ah didn't have to sleep in the car." There was a communal groan from both Stan and Kenny, and I just kept my mouth shut. I knew that we would figure out some way or another to get him out of bed in the morning, and I was too drained to try and figure that plan out right away.

I awoke to Stan's elbow digging into my ribs, and when I tried to shift away from him I nearly tumbled right off the bed. His athletic build and muscle made him heavy, and difficult to move, so I decided that I would need to stand up to do so. Out of reflex I glanced over at the floor where Kenny should have been sleeping – the blankets and pillows were there, but my blond-haired friend was not.

Panic spread through my whole body as I tried to imagine where he could have gone. I checked my digital watch, which I hadn't bothered to take off to sleep, for some sense of reality. It read 11:55 pm.

"Kyle?" I had to stifle a scream at the unexpected noise from the far corner of the room. From just behind the curtains, perched on the windowsill, I could make out Kenny's thin figure. I took a few deep breaths to calm down.

"What are you doing?" I carefully made my way over to him in the dark, but when I pulled back the curtains, my heart dropped into my stomach. He had his knees drawn up to his chest, his face was salt-stained and wet, and his fingers were caked with fresh and dried blood. "I mean… what did you do?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," He muttered. "I've done it ever since I was a kid… whenever I get really depressed I start chewing on my fingers… I guess I overdid it this time. I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing," I tried to speak as softly as possible, and took a seat on the windowsill beside him. "Why are you so depressed?"

His gaze shot upwards to meet mine. "Because, Kyle, everything reminds me that I'm totally alone in this world. No one cares about me. And don't start with your lesson-of-the-day bullshit, about how we all have this and that. Fuck off if you're going to say something like that." I bit down on my lower lip. He was right; I had nothing helpful to say. I had no idea how to reassure him that there were people who loved him.

"My own mother didn't even want me," He started again, his whole body trembling as he spoke and cried. "She said, 'Kinny, yer a grown man now and your father's a stupid alcoholic piece o' shit. Ah need tuh pertect yer brother from him, so you gotta stay here, oh-k-eh?' Why couldn't she have taken us both? I asked – I begged – to go with her, but she said there 'weren't no room' where they're going."

"Oh god…" The words escaped my lips before I could stop them. I had long lived with the looming feeling that my parents preferred Ike, but for a parent to actually confirm their child's suspicions of favoritism so blatantly? I suddenly felt like I had been punched in the stomach.

"Look… I know I brought you guys out here to have a good time. I thought it would take my mind off it."

"Kenny…" I inched closer to him, close enough that I was able to give him an awkward sideways hug. "We're your best friends. You don't have to keep suffering alone in a corner on a windowsill."

"It's true, as a group we're best friends… But…"

"But what?"

"But I don't have anyone special. Ugh, that sounds awful… I don't have a 'Stan', you know?"

"Hey, just because Stan and I are close, doesn't mean…"

"No Kyle, it DOES mean that. It means that I might be a close second, hell, I might be a check-the-photo second, I might measure up to Stan in every other way, but I can't have what you guys have. I want that."

For lack of something to say, I absent-mindedly glanced at my watch again. It read 11:59.

"Go back to bed, Kyle," The only way I could describe his tone was defeated. "Go back to your super best friend and just… just leave me alone." I was out of ideas, but I wanted him to feel better. In a moment of rare and incredible boldness, reached forward, tilted Kenny's face upward, and placed a gentle kiss on his lips. I kept my eyes closed; I was terrified of his reaction and expected him to pull away at any moment. Instead, he did nothing for a second, and then kissed me back.

When we broke apart, he was smiling so broadly that a huge weight lifted from my chest. The weirdest part about it; however… was that it didn't feel weird at all.

"Err… Ken…" I mumbled as he brushed a few stray curls away from my forehead. "Can we just… I mean… can you not…"

"Don't worry," He leaned in and kissed me, harder this time. As he broke away, I felt his tongue dart across my lips. "I don't kiss and tell. I never will. Now go back to bed before your wife notices you're gone." Inside my head, and as much as I didn't like to admit it, I knew that if Stan and I were actually a couple, there was no chance in hell that he would be my wife.

"Kenny?" I stopped after a few steps.

"Yeah?"

"If no one else… I love you."

I caught the glint of his white teeth in the moonlight. "I love you too, buddy."

Author's note: I do not own any part of Boys Like Girls or their songs/material