The Kids Aren't Alright
A/N): This is my first ever fanfiction written, and it was inspired by a song by The Offspring called The Kids Aren't Alright. It reminded me a lot of the South Park kids and I came up with this in only a few minutes, although it took me months getting around to actually writing it. Criticism is expected/welcome and I apologize in advance, I'm using this shitty ass wordpad, which has no spell or grammar check, so if there are errors just point them out and I'll try and fix them.
WARNING: A lot of swearing, references to drug use, over dosing, mental illness, suicide and obviously illegal activity.
DISCLAIMERS: I do not own South Park, or the song that inspired this and have zero plans or intentions to make any money off of this.
When we were young the future was so bright
The old neighborhood was so alive
And every kid on the whole damn street
Was gonna make it big and not be beat
The snow crunched under a pair of combat boots belonging to a certain mercanery, one who hadn't been to America since he was 8 years old. It hadn't been a pleasant experience and he wasn't interested in repeating it anytime soon.
"Is zere any point to zis 'omecoming?" Mole grumbled, he cupped his hands around his lighter long enough to ignite the cigarette in his mouth.
"Of course there is, we're visiting old friends, catching up with them. What's wrong with that?" Gregory, his British companian replied. "Besides, it's only for a bit, we aren't moving here or anything."
The French man only snorts and reaches back to touch the shaft of the shovel that was more or less glued to his back for peace. 12 years. 12 years since they'd left when he was 8 and Gregory was 9 and he still didn't understand what on Earth had possessed Gregory and made him come back to the crazy fucking rathole that was South Park. He inspects the run down, white trash house in front of them, it looked even worse than when they'd lived here, which was to be expected. The lawn was fairly overgrown, and the grass sprouted around the rusted convertible lying, tireless, on the lawn. The owners of the place-if they were indeed still the owners-didn't have the money necessary to fix up the house.
Now the neighborhood's cracked and torn
The kids are grown up but their lives are worn
How can one little street
Swallow so many lives
"Let's just get zis over wiz already, oui?" He throws his cigarette to the pavement and leads his partner in crime up the walk and to the sagging porch where an ancient looking gray and white cat was curled up on a rotting wooden lawn chair. Gregory stepped ahead of him and knocked firmly on the door.
"I'm coming!" A girls voice, young and still innocent sounding, answered the knock. There were several dull footsteps on wood and the door swung open to reveal a girl with a head of bright red hair and chocolate colored eyes stood in the doorway, looking no older than 15.
"Hello," Gregory greets her, sounding as warm and polite and as...normal as usual. Christophe snorts and grinds his cigarette out on the ashtray sitting on the rotted railing.
"Kenny McCormick wouldn't happen to live here, would he?"
The girl regards them both with suspicion, eyes narrowed dangerously. "So what if he does? What do you want with him?"
"'Ow about you just fucking get "im, huh?" Christophe, in no mood for some kids games, stares her down, his scowl a thousand times worse than whatever she could muster up. She glowers for several moments, deliberating, then spins around, motioning for them to follow and calls loudly, "Kenny, ya stoner asshat, some dudes are here for you!"
The aforementioned man leaps down the stairs, taking them four at a time with his gangly legs and stops several feet short of the trio. He's grown, a lot. At least 6"7 though quite possibly taller. Wearing what was the usual for him, even as kids, old looking jeans, though the parka's been swapped for an orange hoodie. The girl-Kenny's baby sister, Karen, Cristophe assumes-stalks past him and up the stairs without another word to anyone. She disappears out of site, a door slams and a few seconds later, music trails down the stairs, engulfing the three men with the lyrics.
Chances thrown
Nothing's free
Longing for what used to be
Still it's hard
Hard to see
Fragile lives, shattered dreams
For what seemed to be the most awkward eternity Christophe had ever experienced, there was silence between the three of them, with Kenny simply staring at them, blue eyes wide with a multitude of emotions, the foremost being curiosity. After a bit, he shakes his head and says, hesitating frequently, "Well...hey, guys. What um...what brings you here? What's up?" He glances around the room, at the beer bottles strewn around haphazerdly, the porn rag tossed carelessly on the table, the full ashtray on the table.
"Shit, um...shit. Why don't you guys sit and chill, I'll get a couple beers and we can catch up."
"I don't suppose you mind me smoking?" Christophe says, stepping around a sketchy looking stain on the carpet and sinking onto the surprisingly comfortable couch. He takes a pack of Marlboros out of his jacket pocket and holds them up.
"Does it really look like it?" Kenny says, with a hint of amusement, waving to the various cigarette burns on the carpet and furniture. He ducks through a swinging door and appears a moment later, holding two bud lights in one hand and one in the other. He sets all three down on the table then takes a seat in the wicker chair beside the couch, biting his lip nervously.
"So, what have you two been up to? Still for hire?"
Gregory simply nods for the both of them, Christophe preferring not to get into their work. It was complicated and could easily get Kenny arrested if he knew even a few of things they'd done since leaving South Park. Let him think Viva La Resistance was the worst thing they've ever done, it was safer for him that way.
"Yes, ever since we left this town we've been quite busy, recieving job offers everywhere, from New York, to Tokyo and every place in between. But we-Christophe scoffs lightly at the use of "we" which Gregory ignores, lest they get into yet ano"ther arguement that devolves into them acting like five year olds-"were more interested in how you've been Kenny. You and the remants of The Resistance, how is everyone? Wendy, Tweek, Stan and Kyle, all of them."
Kenny grimaces when he mentions the other kids of South Park, particularly so at Tweek and Wendy.
"Ah well, about them. Things haven't exactly been, well great, since you guys split. Wendy, well..." Kenny scratches the back of his neck vigorously, obviously uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had taken.
Gregory leans forward, intrigued by the reaction at the mention of his former crush. "What happened to her? Out of everyone, she seemed the most likely to achieve in life. No offense to you of course, Kenny." He tacks on the last part, not wanting to offend his old friend, brief as their interaction might have been.
"No offense taken," The blonde waves it off, completely understanding what the Brit had meant. "Believe me, I agree with you, we all thought she'd get out of South Park, really make something of herself. She was always going on about going to Brown, or even Harvard, becoming some huge lawyer, and I have no doubt in my mind she could've done it. She would've too, if she hadn't gotten pregnant."
He'd scarcely gotten the words out of his mouth before Christophe choked on the beer he'd finally gotten around to drinking. Gregory pounds on his back, just as shocked but unwilling to show it.
"Pregnant?!" Gregory stares the other blonde in the eyes, willing it to not be true. Wendy, his Wendy, would not be so foolish as to become another statistic in another backwoods town. She just wasn't.
Kenny nods, somewhat understanding of their reactions.
"Yup, sophomore year. I guess she could've aborted, but c'mon, in a small town like this? She would've been a pariah. She's pro life anyway, never would've been able to do it. There's tons of rumors as to who it actually knocked her up, most of us have all pretty much agreed that it was Kyle, since that was who she settled down with. They're alright now, I guess. Kyle's working at Tom's Rhinoplasty, and Wendy got a job at the convience store that's right inside of town, you probably passed it. They have, I dunno two kids now I think, with another on the way. So they're doing ok, could've been a helluva lot better though."
"Right," Gregory murmers. He studies the floor, lost in thought. After about a minute of silence, Christophe speaks up for the first time since they'd entered house.
"You seemed unhappy zat we mentioned Tweek. 'As somezing happened to 'im as well?"
Kenny jumps, the inquiry unexpected but nods, as expected by Christophe.
"Er, yeah, actually. He commited suicide, junior year. Just couldn't cut it I guess." He shrugs painfully, then brushes over the rest of the notable events that had occured since they'd left. "Bebe, last time I checked kind of took over for Rita as the towns one, obligatory hooker. 'Do what you love and the money will come' I s'pose. Stan took off after graduation on a football scholarship, good for him. The last, really big thing is that Craig overdosed within a week of Tweek's funeral, wouldn't be surprised if there was something up with them. Oh, and Butters actually became a freaking tattoo artist, moved to some city in Washington. Who'd have thought? That's really it though, the poor, pathetic legacy of the South Park kids."
Jamie had a chance, well she really did
Instead she dropped out and had a couple of kids
Mark still lives at home cause he's got no job
Just plays guitar and smokes a lot of pot
Jay committed suicide
Brandon OD'd and died
What the hell is going on
The cruelest dream, reality
Gregory sighs and gets to his feet, looking crushed at what had become of his long ago friends.
"Thank you Kenny, it's been a real pleasure seeing you again, really it has. Christophe and I have to be going now, however, we were called out to a protection job in London and this was just a quick stop for us."
Christophe stands without a word, and Kenny follows suit, looking surprised at the abrubt goodbye. "A-Alright, will I see either of you two soon?"
Chances thrown
Nothing's free
Longing for what used to be
Still it's hard
Hard to see
Fragile lives, shattered dreams
Christophe stalks out of the house, heading out to the rental car they'd gotten from the airport to make this brief escapade. Gregory pauses in the doorway and faces him, a small frown etched into his face.
"I don't know, Kenny. I hope so, but I really don't know" He sticks out his hand.
Kenny takes it, shaking firmly and nods, understanding that in their line of work-whatever that may be-there were no guarantees. He watches Gregory traipse through the thin crust of snow over to where Christophe was waiting for him, leaning against the car. The two of them got in, Christophe at the wheel and drive down the road, out of sight the moment they turned a corner. For almost ten minutes Kenny stands there in the cold, shivering slightly, watching the place he'd last seen the car, then quietly goes inside the house, letting the door click behind him.
Chances thrown
Nothing's free
Longing for what used to be
Still it's hard
Hard to see
Fragile lives, shattered dreams
(A/N): Whew! Finished. This is awesome, I really feel proud of this ^.^ Soooo, like it, hate it, whatever the fuck you feel about it, go ahead and review. Keep in mind it IS the first thing I've ever posted for people to actually view and critique, so try not being cruel or something. Or do. Still reviews for me xD