Disclaimers: I don't own the South Park characters, despite my constant prayers. I do own Adam, Square Jaw, Vivian, Arrow, Marcus, Square Jaw, Snakebites and the drug Valexium.
Notes: Yay, another chapter! I have exams in four days, so I should really be studying. Bu-ut laziness kicked in and I decided this was more fun. Thanks to everyone for reviewing, they were really great! I think this has become my ultimate favorite story to write ever! And I'm almost at the double digits! I'm not exactly sure, but I think this is the most I've ever written for a single story. I'm so in love with this pairing right now…though that doesn't guarantee them a happy ending. I guess we'll just have to wait and see!
Chapter Nine
Three Month Anniversary
Kenny acted like nothing had happened. There was no change in his manner, no wavering tone in his voice, no strain in his actions. In other words, according to him nothing had occurred between them. He absolutely refused to make any changes, especially if they caused complications. He preferred to ignore everything that had transpired.
He didn't understand why he was reacting so badly. He had never had trouble with relationships before he had died, and nothing seemed to change after his death. All that was different was the fact that when Damien looked at him, he felt something completely unfamiliar inside. He felt a desperate need for Damien to be around him, to touch him, to just freaking look at him! And it terrified him.
It terrified him how a simple smile could make him tingle uncontrollably, or the tiniest amount of contact made him giddy with pleasure. He hated feeling like this, because he knew what it was. Stan had described it before in great detail. This was love. A few hours after the incident he left the mansion without saying anything and walked down to one of the nicer bars he knew.
"Jack Daniels," he ordered roughly, grimacing as the bartender – a handsome human/demon hybrid with a dark complexion, sharp green eyes and the occasionally hard fish scale over his skin– took out a glass and began to pour the foul liquid. Kenny raised a hand to stop him, eliciting a confused glance. "No glass. Bottle. I want it straight." He hadn't even begun drinking and he was already unable to string together a good sentence. How pathetic. He wanted to curl up in a bath of self-loathing and just die there. This thought made him even more depressed. The bartender handing him the Jack Daniels was rock bottom and he nearly snatched it out of his grasp.
He swung his bottle up, drank heavily and then slammed the bottle onto the counter. The hideous burning in his throat woke him up and before the alcohol could even take effect he began to feel giddy.
Swing, drink, slam.
Swing, drink, slam.
Swing, drink, slam.
Unlike the last hundred times he and Damien had been out, he found that this time was much less enjoyable. The giddy feeling was only making him more depressed and he found himself missing the dark and warm presence of the other boy. Going out was no fun when it was by himself. He wanted someone to high-five him when he downed a shot, to introduce him to all the bartenders and interesting people around the bar, to play drunken Connect Four until they couldn't even remember whose color was whose and run wildly down the streets singing Hell's Anthem.
The bar was slightly less crowded than usual, or maybe it was simply because nobody was interacting. Everyone seemed to be subdued today, a few people scattered on the counter while others sat in groups, drinking or shooting up Valexium, a drug similar to heroin except a hundred times more addictive and, according to Damien, sent massive explosions of drugged up pleasure through the body, caused vivid hallucinations and made the user temporarily feel like they were experiencing every possible physical and mental pleasure that existed.
But Damien, who knew from a short period of his life, had told him that the come down was more excruciating than anything he'd ever been exposed to and once his father had forced him through withdrawal he refused to allow himself or Kenny to try. The poor boy had often been tempted but Damien was always there to stop him.
Speaking of that…Damien wasn't here right now to stop him. He was probably too busy packing up Kenny's things and throwing them outside the house. He was probably thinking about what fucking homo Kenny was and how he never wanted to see him again. Kenny buried his head in his hands. He'd never felt this way before, never cared about people other than his friends hating him.
Damien would probably hate him, or kick him out of the house, disgusted by the fact that his first best friend had practically sexually assaulted him. Then again, he hadn't pushed him away, screamed at him or god forbid punched him. Kenny suddenly realized that Damien hadn't in fact reacted much at all. He had been lost in his own world, but now he wondered why he hadn't been pushed away. Damien had not hurt him. Maybe he had even…responded to it?
"No!" Kenny yelled suddenly, startling the bartender. The man shot him a wary look and eyed the half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels. Kenny shrunk with humiliation and cleared his throat apologetically. The bartender sighed, pulled up a chair and sat in front of Kenny, taking out a packet of cigarettes. Kenny recognized the half-demon from about a week ago, when he and Damien had spent a few nights in this bar. This was one of the nicer bartenders who didn't allow any torture in his bar and kept out the living corpses.
"Okay, tell me what's wrong," he said firmly, patting the counter. "Is it about Damien? What am I saying, of course it's about Damien." He chuckled, shaking his head. Kenny stared at him in disbelief, eyes wide and confused. Already the alcohol was taking effect – his eyes had become glassy and his lips were parted slightly. He moved sluggishly to grasp the bottle but he was stopped. "Take it easy, kid. Just tell me what happened. And no more drinking until you've finished."
Kenny nodded blearily, crossing his arms in front of him and feeling a slight chill. "What's your name?"
"It's Adam. And you're Kenny right?" A nod was his response. "So tell me, Kenny, why so frustrated? Is it because of something Damien did?" Kenny blushed a tinge of pink on his cheeks.
"It's because of something I did. And now…I don't know what Damien's going to do because of that," he said, trying to make sense of what happened. "I kissed him. I kissed him. I just walked right up to him and assaulted his mouth, and he probably thinks I was trying to get with him. But I wasn't! I swear I didn't know what I was doing. And I stopped the moment I realized and the look he gave me – God, I've never seen anyone so surprised – and now I think he probably hates me. Or he's burning everything I've ever come in contact with and packing up my bags and-"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa slow down, kid!" Adam cried, putting his hands up to motion for Kenny to stop. A loud clatter was heard as one of the druggies fell off his chair, bringing down his friends with him. They shrieked, eyes bulging and hands waving frantically before giving way to laughter. The others were too busy basking in the effects to take notice. Adam shot them a glare but said nothing, turning back to Kenny who was rubbing his cheeks and eyeing the bottle of alcohol. "Look, you have to take it slow. Don't panic; Damien's a good kid. He's not going to throw you out because you made a move on him. I don't think he's mad about it at all."
"You…don't?"
"Have you seen the way Damien looks at you? Or the way he lights up when you pay attention to him, or how he never sees any of the pretty girls flirting with him, or how he got insanely jealous the time you ended up talking to that redhead all night long?" Kenny was frowning as Adam spoke, listening intently to everything he was saying. Blurred memories were brought forth slowly and he attempted to process what he was being told.
"What, Meredith? That was nothing between us. I talked to her about my friends, and she told me about her family. What's wrong with that?" he mumbled.
"Nothing. There's absolutely nothing wrong with that," Adam said. He began to clean the shot glasses, setting two directly in front of the already tipsy boy. He poured Smirnoff vodka into the glasses and offered one to Kenny. "But he was glaring at her the whole night and didn't even cheer up when she left. Why do you think that is?" He took the shot and downed it.
Kenny shook his head, grumbling under his breath. "Oh I dunno, maybe he doesn't like her?"
"Wrong!"
Kenny jumped, yelping softly as Adam slammed the glass onto the counter so hard the wood vibrated. He stared in shock, then grabbed his shot and drank it, needing something to stop the shaking. The shock subsided and he narrowed his eyes as Adam chuckled to himself.
"Oh, Kenny, you're so blind," he said. "I'm not going to dance around the subject, make you guess what I'm implying. I'm just going to give it to you straight. Damien likes you, okay?" He was met by a short silence. Kenny was focused on his shot glass, tipping it over and turning it around.
"Yeah, right."
"Damien likes you. He fucking loves you, and you're too much in denial to see that. He's not going to kick you out, because you kissing him was probably the best thing that's ever happened to him," he spoke, his voice slow and clear as Kenny looked like he was beyond listening now. He glanced at the half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels and grimaced. "You're not listening to me are you?"
"I am, I am. But I just can't…I'm gonna think about this tomorrow. I'm too tired and the brain's all fuzzy right now," Kenny moaned, rubbing his eyes. Adam rolled his eyes in amusement and annoyance.
One of the alcoholics jumped onto the table and began to dance, ripping his shirt off as the others cheered. As he twirled around Kenny caught a glimpse of his back which was splattered with numerous scars, some which looked freshly healed while other were so old they were nothing more than angry white lines. He recognized them as whip marks, some traveling to below his back, disappearing at the line of his pants and interrupted by burns on his skin. Kenny's eyes widened in horror and his breath caught in his throat. Adam glanced at him, taking note of his horrified expression.
"That one got off pretty easy. He must have been a small-time sinner," he observed. Kenny's head snapped around so quickly Adam was surprised his neck didn't break from the sudden movement.
"That's 'getting of easy'? Are you serious? What happens to the ones who committed really bad crimes? Huh?" he asked, his voice wavering. Adam stared at him, eyes trained on his uncontrolled expression.
"Believe me, kid, you don't want to know."
"No I…I really do," he pushed. Suddenly his head was filled with images of himself being tortured, screaming and writhing in pain as the shadowy demons stood over him, taunting him, shrieking with terrifying laughter. His grip tightened around the bottle and he downed a little bit more, preparing himself for what he was about to be told.
"Have you ever seen those…ancient torture devices that they used in the Middle Ages? Have you ever seen those pictures of the old, really sick machines that they used to torture the people such as witches or slaves?" Adam said slowly. Kenny nodded, fear trickling down his spine. He'd seen pictures of those devices on the internet, usually just being grossed out with his friends when they scrolled down the page and feeling immense pity for the people who had to experience such agony. And now…and now...he didn't even want to think about it. "If you think you've experienced pain, you're in for a shock. Humans aren't cruel, humans aren't barbaric. They only seem that way until you face your first Torturer. Then all the evil in the world seems like the games that children play."
And after this ominous statement Kenny felt himself plummet into an alcohol induced haze. Suddenly this seemed too much for him to handle and he allowed himself to slip away gently. Everything Adam said no longer carried any weight and the bartender seemed to sense this. He changed the subject, keeping his eye on the other groups.
"So you like it here in Hell?" he asked, preparing a mojito for the man at the other end of the bar. Kenny tilted his head, narrowing his eyes in an attempt to focus on the object in front of him. He pouted when the bottle duplicated and suddenly there were two Jack Daniels on the counter.
"Uhhhh, 's fun I guess. I like being with Damien 'n yeah, doin' fun shtuff but…miss muh frendshh n' family," he slurred tiredly. "Bu' if he weren't here I'd be totally bummed out, bummed out. But now I dunno whuuurt I'd do without him."
"How'd you react when you first died? Damien mentioned something about you being in total isolation for a few months."
"Mmm. I was pretty fucked uhhh…played games n' shtuff…got some high scooores and read shome o' the books…kept busy yeah?" Kenny mumbled, almost to himself. He rubbed his temples, no longer in the mood to talk. Adam's words were stringing together to make no sense. The bartender sighed in amusement, taking bottle of Jack Daniels and placing it on the shelf.
The shelf was stocked with rows and rows of alcohol, some of them Earthly brands and others that Kenny had never even seen before. As he examined them his eyes lighted up with interest and the unfamiliar brands. He told himself that next time he was here he would experiment with some different types of alcohols.
"I remember when I died. I left behind a wife and four kids as well as friends I had known for fifteen years. I sank into a depression for the longest time, walking around like a zombie and after about a year I was being harassed by these asswipes and I exploded," he said, gesturing emphatically. Kenny stared up at him, curiosity peaked. "I beat the shit out of them. I was merciless, crazy and I pummeled them until their faces were unrecognizable and they couldn't even stand up. Nothing mattered except for hurting them,"
"Then what?"
"Then I was offered a job. When I left the park I was completely high on my victory and once I finally settled down I was approached by a young man in a suit. He gave me a card and offered me a job. He told me that he wasn't forcing this upon me, he just wanted me to know that if I was interested in the job I should contact him. I turned over the card and read the title."
"Whoaaaa…whuzzit say?"
"Torturer. The job was a Torturer. The man who approached me was a scout who searched for men willing to torture souls. The job was attractive, I must admit, because of the high pay and the benefits. So I took it. I spent twelve years inflicting hideous torture upon unwilling victims and fell asleep at night hearing their screams in my mind." He poured himself another shot and downed it.
"Wow…"
"I quit, of course, once I had enough to buy my own bar. But the demon skin, a side effect of the job, has never faded. I was just lucky enough to notice it before I fully turned. Most people don't even realize that they're turning. But I quit and opened Gate. It's fun; it's what I did when I was alive and it's great pay," he admitted, chucking to himself as if hearing an inside joke.
"Pay? You guys use money?" Kenny interrupted, frowning at this sudden revelation, interested peaked. He was burning with questions about the Torturer job, but that could wait. At the moment, he suddenly realized that he had never paid for his drinks. Damien had always paid for them, insistent when Kenny whined that he felt bad for letting him spend so much on him. When he had wanted to pay for himself he had come to the realization that he didn't have any money. Damien had laughed and secretively implied that they didn't use cash to pay. He refused to say anymore and told Kenny to just put it on his tab any time he wanted a drink. "Oh yeah, I havta pay fo' this. Umm, I don't have any cash buuu' I can…pay you later?" He blushed slightly. He didn't feel comfortable making Damien pay when the boy wasn't even here drinking with him.
"Money's useless here, and anyway, everything you buy automatically goes onto Damien's tab 'cause you're his friend."
Kenny winced. It was that association with Damien that was going to get him in a shit load of pain. Perhaps if he cut off all ties now he could save himself in the future…
He shook his eyes, feeling disgusted with himself. He gripped his arms so tight pain shot through his body, hating himself for thinking such a thing. If he had never asked to see The List, Damien would never have wiped Craig's name off just for him and he wouldn't have been denied the right to ascend the throne. In other words, Kenny was being a selfish little bastard for even considering letting Damien take all the heat.
Speaking of that, he wished Damien were sitting with him. The presence of the older boy made him feel safe and content, like his best friends used to. I wonder where he is, he thought vaguely. He had walked out a few hours after the kiss without saying anything or looking back.
"How do peeps pay fer shtu-things w'out money?" Kenny mumbled. His speech was deteriorating yet his concentration remained focused as he mentally forced himself to remember this.
"People pay with souls. When you land in Hell, the only thing you really have is your soul and it's the only valuable currency around here. The richest people are the ones who own the highest number of souls. Satan owns billions of them, whereas the people in his army are paid 300,000 souls a year."
Kenny stared at his dumbly, his intoxicated mind unable to comprehend what he was being told. "Souls…as in…uhh…souls?"
"Yes, people's souls. Whenever you buy a beer you are, in essence, selling me a percentage of someone's soul that you own, whether it's your own or someone else who belongs to you. For example, whenever Damien buys a beer he pays me three percent of one of his souls until I own the person. Then I own them and I make them work for me or begin using them as currency to buy other things. Everyone who arrives at Hell's Gates is, in effect, nothing but the equivalent of money," Adam explained. Somehow Kenny managed to process what he was saying.
"But…how do you…ye' know….get free?"
"You work for someone. You get a salary, and when you have ten thousand souls you can exchange them for your own freedom. You have to go to one of Satan's Slave Traders and pay them the souls. Then you can no longer be used as currency or sold unwillingly. You see that gorgeous barmaid over there?" he asked, pointing at her. Kenny glanced around to see Jillian, the beautiful brunette that had attracted him to this counter when he'd first arrived here, intent on catching her attention. "She has the ten thousand souls but if she paid for her freedom she'd have nothing to pay for rent, food, thirst and I've promised her that I won't sell her anyway."
He winked at Jillian, who rolled her eyes, but her mouth twitched slightly and her cheeks reddened. Kenny noticed that Adam seemed to have that effect on people, despite the fish scales on his arms. He remembered vaguely flirting with Jillian a few nights ago. He also remembered Damien shooting Jillian warning glances whenever she approached.
Adam was still talking and Kenny quickly snapped himself back into reality as much as he possibly could. He tried to force himself to remember this. It was almost painful to try to process all of this information. His fingers tapped mercilessly against the wood of the counter and he shook his head once again. He didn't like how certain things were different in Hell. It was too confusing for him to understand and instead he simply mumbled: "Never mind, just…put…yeah…on Damien's tab."
A fight broke out in one of the groups. The druggies turned to stare at the fight and the clients began to catcall and whistle. The two fighters were undeniably wasted, one man brandishing a broken bottle and the other lifting a chair, a grotesque sneer on his half-burned face. Kenny shuddered as he took note of the number of injuries on their faces and their arms. One man had a massive cluster of cigarette burns on the back of his neck, still infected and festering horrifically. Kenny whined, unable to tear his eyes away from the sight of the horrific burns. He waved the bottle madly, holding it firmly between the remaining thumb and two fingers he possessed. The blond began to feel insanely nauseous as he suddenly came to the realization that in Hell, you weren't immune to pain and hurt. Just because you couldn't die didn't mean that you were above mutilation and torture or suffering.
Adam left Kenny sitting on the stool, watching dumbly as the bartender hopped over the counter and moved to break up the fight, rolling up his sleeves smoothly to reveal muscular arms covered in numerous green fish scales – the evidence of his previous occupation. He slid off the stool clumsily, suddenly firm in his decision. He knew what he had to do in order to forget his upcoming fate, forget either Damien's apparent love for him or his current disgust for him and forget that he was in Hell at the moment. He sought the only release that would temporarily free him from any suffering he felt.
He wanted the drugs.
His feet led him automatically towards the small group of drugged up men in the corner, all hesitation lost in the swirl of determination. His eyes locked onto the group and he approached the only two men who seemed to still be grounded in reality. The one closest to him was muscular and tanned with a distinctively square shaped jaw. The other one had snakebites on his lip and he was the one who noticed Kenny first. His lips pulled up in a grin and he stood up, approaching the drunken boy.
"Hey kid, you want to shoot up?" he offered. Kenny nodded blearily, collapsing onto one of the seats. As he sat down he glanced up and happened to catch sight of Adam, who looked like he wanted to go stop him. He shook his head subtly and the kindly bartender backed away, looking disapproving and slightly anxious. It was obvious he didn't want to allow this, but he didn't want to stop Kenny if he was determined.
Damien had threatened all the bartenders, implying that if any of them did anything to displease Kenny he would find out about it and take care of the problem. Kenny had seen even the most hardened men pale at the threat and at this moment he was grateful that Adam had stepped down. He needed this, needed some sort of release from the immense pressure of being recently dead, of having fucked up the only true friendship he really had here in this desolate, flaming, corpse-ridden place.
"So…this is…Valexium?" he asked. Square Jaw turned to face him, quickly examining his slim body, covered by the dirty orange hoodie that he had refused to discard upon arriving. "Got anything less uh…addictive?"
"Nope, sorry kid. This drug is all you need for the best experience of your un-life. Once you have this, nothing will ever be as good again," Snakebites chuckled, his voice rough from decades of smoking. He looked at the other men, sprawled on the couches and mumbling to themselves. The looks on their faces were ones of pure pleasure and completely shut off from reality. Ashamedly, Kenny realized that this was what he was searching for.
The table was littered with syringes, most of them empty but some of them were still full of the precious liquid. It glinted green under the lights of the bar and he felt slightly mesmerized, gesturing towards the men. Square Jaw picked up one of the syringes, the silver liquid shimmering inside and placed it in Kenny's hand. He smirked encouragingly. "You know how to use it, kid?" Kenny shook his head numbly. He didn't want to do this by himself the first time.
His hand was feeling warm and tense where the syringe was sitting and he felt a slight tinge of regret as he closed his eyes and imagined Damien's furious expression. He could almost hear Damien's voice telling him to stop what he was doing and for a second his grip on the syringe loosened. "Tell you what. Because you're a newbie, I'll give you this one free. But you have to remember, I'm your dealer, okay? Next time you want some, you come to me. We got a deal?"
Kenny lifted his finger up to prick the edge of the needle. He made a motion, crossing his heart in a childish manner that seemed to be good enough for the older man.
"All you've got to do is inject it into this vein here," Snakebites said, pulling back Kenny's sleeve. Kenny stared down at the needle blearily, watching as Snakebites pushed the thin metal into his skin, his calloused thumb ready to inject the poisonously addictive liquid into his bloodstream.
He felt strangely relaxed as he accepted what was about to happen. His mind was floating beyond his consciousness and he felt distant from what was happening, disconnected almost. Even before he took the drug he felt himself preparing for the immense pleasure that it was going to bring him.
"All right, I'm ready. Do it," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. He watched as Square Jaw leered at him, then nodded towards Snakebites. The man held his wrist down onto the table firmly, giving him no chance to struggle against his grip. Kenny felt slightly uncomfortable and within a millisecond his mind cleared, the influence of alcohol disappeared and he realized what was about to happen. But it was too late, he was trapped and all he could do was watch as he made the stupidest decision of his un-life.
"NO!"
A scream tore out from the darkness, a pale white hand batting away the syringe desperately and a figure throwing itself against Snake Bites. All Kenny could see was a flurry of color before he was dragged roughly away from the others, pulled unwillingly towards the back door where his assailant threw him into the alley. He tripped and whirled in mind-air, falling back against the wall and feeling his breath escape him for a few, dizzying seconds.
"What the fuck! You just cost me a client!" The screech of Square Jaw's voice grated on his ears and he closed his eyes, wishing that he could just fall asleep. The two men had obviously followed him outside, outraged by the interruption. Kenny looked down at the tiny dot where the syringe had been inserted. He had come so close to attaching himself to a sick drug and was only saved by some random outburst of anger from someone he didn't even recognize. The voice of the man sounded familiar once he spoke:
"Don't you fucking come near him again, Desmond. You know what I can do to you if you piss me off. You and your bitches ever even look at him funny, I swear to God I will fucking-"
There was a yelp and a scuffle and as Kenny looked up he saw the two burly men clamber over each other in order to get back into the bar. The figure standing in front of him was his assailant/savior and he opened his mouth to say something. He wasn't sure if he should scream at him, thank him or simply ignored him. Then the figure turned around to face him.
The effects of the Jack Daniels faded in one vicious second and he was left feeling cold inside, blank from the shock. He tried to speak but only a few strangled gasps escaped his throat.
He found himself face to face with the last person he'd ever expected to see, someone that had almost completely escaped his mind during his time on Earth and Hell. He placed a trembling hand on the dumpster next to him, tears building in the corners of his eyes. The figure, slightly taller than him but lankier and deathly pale from the years on Earth and Hell of nothing but drugs and alcohol. He was someone who had abused his body to the point of no repair and even now Kenny could see that he had spiraled into a pit of darkness.
What was the worst, though, was that he was here. He was in Hell, which meant that he had died along the way without Kenny ever having known about it. He felt nauseous.
"Oh God, oh God no," Kenny mumbled, feeling his head begin to throb. He had drunk too much alcohol, that was for sure.
"Hey, little brother. How are you?"
00000
If there was anything that Vivian enjoyed, it was ripping people apart from the inside out. She found that emotional trauma was one of the most delightful things to witness on a depressing day and so far nothing had managed to counter the suicidal breakdown of her mother after realizing that her own child had manipulated her father's depression and convinced him to kill himself. The methods she had used were so simplistic – a vicious whisper here, and gentle nudge there – and a month later she had found her mother standing over the bloody bathtub, eyes wide with horror.
She had laughed. Perhaps it was an unreasonable reaction, to laugh at the suicide of your own father, but it had been worth it when her mother had followed in his footsteps a week later, devastated by the loss of her husband and the newfound cruelty of her seven-year-old mentally psychotic, genius daughter.
She missed her brother.
"What are you going do? Does it involve blood and guts? GUTS? GUUUUUTS?" Marcus spluttered, his hands trembling. He was holding a laptop in his hands, but as Vivian turned to shoot him a glare he shrieked and threw it down, watching as it broke and skidded across the floor. "It's okay it's okay! It's replaceable. But my love for you isn't, I can't love anyone else!" He whirled around, then turned back to her. She stared at him as if he had transformed somehow and took a slight step back.
His tics had progressively transformed into full-blown spastic attacks and now he had begun to tell her how much he loved her and wanted her since yesterday. She was now more worried by his behavior than before, more for her own benefit than his. She didn't want to have to deal with a besotted, blood-hungry Marcus. She was pretty sure that he was the type to kill after mating, or have one of those strange fetishes that she didn't have the time to deal with, considering the task at hand.
"Are you all right? You've been acted like someone slipped you an extra dose of crazy these past few weeks. And could you stop declaring your love for me? I told you, I'm not interested," she said carefully, watching as he shook his head in response to her question.
"I can't stop loving you. I CAN'T, CAN'T, CAN'T…feel my heart beat," he gasped, clutching his chest. He gripped his dark hair, tugging it roughly until Vivian snapped at him to stop. He whined, dropping his arms to his sides. She looked at him with a raised eyebrow. Perhaps he could be handsome, if he fixed his glasses and stopped scratching his face until it bled. Unlike him, she didn't really find the concept of bleeding a turn on, but she thought he had nice hair and eyes. "Why are y-you - staring! – staring at me?"
She sighed, shaking her head in exasperation.
"I need a way to ruin their relationship. And that's easy enough, considering what Damien did, but the only problem is exposing the secret. Kenny knows who I am, no doubt. He's met me before, in that downtown Chinese restaurant and Damien warned him against me, so that means I lose all my credibility. And I can't use one of my team because they're going to want to know why; they've known me for too long to know that I don't do things without reason and I know that any of them will talk if it means getting a promotion. The best would be for me to find someone that he can trust who I can manipulate as well."
She thought this over for a few minutes, then sighed and began to walk down the street, followed by a twitching Marcus. As she passed the back alley of Gate she did a double take, then grabbed Marcus and hauled him behind the corner. He squeaked as she flattened him against the wall, silencing him with a death grip on his collar.
The two boys were standing in the alley, one of them with his voice raised and the other in a calm yet quivering voice. Vivian immediately recognized the blond one. Marcus tried to say something but she waved for him to shut up.
She pressed her back against the wall, eyes focused intensely upon the two of them. Her lips curved into a vicious smile as she watched Kenny speaking to a boy she vaguely recognized as one of the most notorious of all the drug lords, someone who had only died a few years ago and already knew all the workings of this miserable shit hole. She knew him by reputation, but not personally.
She watched as Kenny began to gesture, raising his voice and she distinctly heard the words "…walked out on your own family! Do you know how devastated Mom and Dad were? And Katie, she wouldn't stop fucking crying! Some example you set for her; she got knocked up and ran out instead of telling us! We had to find out from her boyfriend's parents! You son of a…"
"Well, that is just divine," she whispered. Her face was illuminated by the streetlight and the dark fires, giving her skin a reddish glow that somehow twisted her lovely features. Her gaze was fixed on Kevin, who had slumped down in exhaustion, lips pulled down in a grimace. She felt a thrilling shudder run down her spine and realized just how much of an advantage this gave her. This was someone who would help her without questioning her motives, just because he cared for his brother. This is what she'd been looking for.
"STAB! STAB! BANG!" Marcus shrieked suddenly, jolting her out of her reverie and slamming her back down into reality. She shot him a sickeningly terrifying glare and he cowered in fear. She was relieved to see that the two boys hadn't even noticed the interruption.
"Let's go," she ordered, walking away and listening to Marcus' hesitant footsteps behind her. She crossed the road, kicking aside the sleeping drunkards and the 'living' corpses as she walked. The voices of the two boys faded eventually and once they were out of earshot she sighed, scratching her chin. "This is good. This is wonderful."
Marcus stopped behind her. "I-It is-"
CRACK!
The force behind the blow sent the man reeling, falling back onto his rear and gasping for breath. His eyes were wide with shock and his cheek was already turning a deep red. The force behind the backhand was incredible for a young girl. He felt like his face had been smashed by a baseball bat and for a second his vision went completely black at the edges.
Stunned, he simply stared at the young girl until the echo of the slap died down and the only thing that could be heard was his harsh, edgy breathing. Vivian's face was dark with disgust as she looked down at him, the way a man would look down at a cockroach.
"Don't you ever…ever give me reason to do that again. I hate being violent," she snarled. "But only an idiot would give away our position like that, and if I must I'll destroy you."
His eyes were shining with pure admiration, one of them closing slightly as his cheek began to swell. He scrambled after her, trying to be as close to her as possible but she snapped at him to stay away.
In her mind, Vivian felt satisfied. This new revelation meant that she had to take very little part in what was about to happen. Then once she set the motion in her plan, everything else would fall into place and Arrow would be free to concentrate on what really mattered.
00000
Kenny watched as the man who had been his brother refused to look him in the eye. He had screamed for a bit, then once his voice had faded he found that he was too exhausted to continue. Kevin had said little to defend himself against the tirade, watching as Kenny listed the reasons why he was a selfish bastard and blamed everything going wrong on him. His accusations weren't completely unfounded; Kevin's departure had begun a pattern of bad happenings in their family, the main one being Katie's pregnancy and departure.
At the moment, though, he had run out of steam and realized that he didn't have much more to say. He was too curious about when Kevin had died, and why. And he was angry about it too, because he guessed that Kevin had deliberately caused his own death, whether indirectly or directly he wasn't sure.
"So that's it, isn't it?" he said bitterly. "You're not going to defend yourself? Explain why you just left and never came back, never wrote a letter, never contacted us. You're not going to tell me why you stole Dad's money and took off in the middle of the night?"
Kevin sighed, running a hand through his hair. His eyes were dark, with bags under them and his face had grown even paler than it used to be. His sleeves were rolled up and Kenny could see the telltale bruises on his arms. It didn't take a genius to know that even in Hell his brother was still immersed in a world of sex, drugs, alcohol and fighting. It was the kind of person he didn't want to end up – coming home at three in the morning drugged up to the eyeballs and carrying empty bottles of vodka, or returning with blood on his hands from some guy he'd had a knife fight with over a street whore. Kenny drank, yes, but he refused to do any more than just that.
"I see you're still doing drugs."
"Look who's talking," Kevin retorted calmly. Kenny blushed as he remembered what Kevin had just saved him from. Now he felt ashamed that he'd almost succumbed to such an idiotic temptation, especially since Damien had always been there to tell him not to allow himself to get addicted. "You don't know what you almost got yourself into. I just saved your sorry ass. You've always been one for getting into idiotic situations."
"Fuck you. You don't know me. You left me years ago, and you never bothered to stay in contact, so don't you dare talk to me with that fucking voice," he snarled. "How did you die? Was it a knife fight? Drunk driving?"
"I OD'd on heroin about a week after I left," was his reply. Kenny felt his legs almost collapse under him.
A week? His brother had been dead for years and he hadn't even known about it until now. Of course the bastard hasn't kept in contact, he's been dead for Christ's sake, he thought to himself. He shook with sadness and found himself torn between crying and screaming. He wanted to beat the shit out of him for dying in such a stupid way, but at the same time he felt completely grateful that Kevin hadn't been distant because he had wanted to be but only because he'd had no choice.
As this realization dawned on him, a great sense of relief accompanied it. Somehow being abandoned by choice was so much more painful than this.
"What about Katie? Do you know if…if she's okay?" he asked softly.
Kevin shrugged, looking strained at the mention of their 'baby' sister. "I just know that she's not here and that's good enough for me. If she had died one of my contacts would have told me."
Kenny felt intensely relieved. His sister's sudden departure had distressed him as much as his brother's and although Kevin's death was a hard blow, at least his sister was okay. He wanted to know what was happening in her life, even wanted to meet his niece or nephew, but she, like Kevin, had disappeared without a word.
"So you came straight here, obviously," he said. It wasn't a question. "How's it been? I haven't heard from you in years. In my head I always envision you just as you were, except sicker, drunker and closer to death." He laughed harshly at his own image. "But I never imagined that you'd have actually gone so far as to OD. Thought you had at least some brain cells."
Kevin ignored the taunt. "I waited in the Line for three weeks; there was a hold-up at the Terminal. Then once I came in I did what I always do – I went for the drugs. I established numerous contacts and before even a year had passed I became the most notorious and dangerous drug lord in the area. I have thirteen hundred men working for me, each with their own contacts and favors to call in and we circulate the most drugs in and out of the city. Valexium, so far, has been our most popular drug because it's so addictive, but we have a few smaller ones available. I'm the only supplier of the drug, so everyone who wants it answers to me."
Kenny gaped at him as he tried to process the information. His brother was a drug lord who supplied a drug a hundred times more addictive than heroin to people in Hell. He had never seen Kevin show any interest in drugs except to use them.
"Fuck, that's creepy," he mumbled. "Why were you in the bar? Did you know I was there?"
"Yes. One of my men told me that they had seen you with Damien and you introduced yourself to someone as Kenny McCormick. Once I was informed I decided to check it out and sure enough, there you were. I've been keeping an eye on you for the past few days, but I only arrived in the bar a few seconds before you were about to shoot up." He stopped, scowling at him with disapproval. "You fucking idiot. Don't you ever think about doing that liquid shit again, you hear me? That's not something you want to get involved in, and I'm alerting all my suppliers to never sell anything to you or anyone you're associated with."
"Don't bother, I'm never trying it again. I was only doing it because I needed to forget," he mumbled, humiliated. He couldn't believe he was getting a lecture about drugs from the one person he'd always used as the bar. Kevin had been the bar that he'd promised himself he would never reach, a level that just went too far. And now his example of the worst role model in the world was scolding him like a child.
"Forget about what?"
"I…I kissed Damien. Today – that's why I walked out," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. He and Kevin had, at some point during the conversation, moved away from the alley and he was unconsciously walking back to Damien's house. His brother stared at him, then chuckled at his embarrassment.
Kevin had never been with guys that much; preferring the company of a 'lady' much more than his younger brother. But that didn't mean Kenny had never seen him come home with a man after a long night of drinking. It just meant that he wouldn't be hearing about the experience afterwards, unlike Kevin's female conquests that he bragged about constantly.
Kenny was the one who was more prone to bringing men home and once in a while the occasional female. But Kevin never knew about that; he had left before Kenny had begun his sexual escapades. But he was still aware of his brother's blatant bisexuality; any fool wouldn't have to look twice to see it.
"Ah, so that's why you were alone. I figured that something had happened, but a kiss…well, I must say I'm just surprised it didn't happen sooner, knowing your track record," he joked. Kenny whacked his shoulder playfully and for a moment it was like when they had been alive, teasing each other about their conquests. "But what's so bad about that? I don't see why this caused you to go out and get all depressed, you fucking emo."
Kenny stared at the ground mournfully as he reached the gate to Damien's house. They stopped and he sensed that Kevin wasn't going to go any further. "Damien's probably going to kick me out now. You should have seen the look on his face after I did that. He was completely shocked, and I don't blame him. I don't have anywhere to go."
"You idiot. Damien's not going to kick you out; the guy fucking adores you. Anyone with half a brain could see that." Kevin pulled out a cigarette and lit it. "Then again, you don't fit into that category. Go home. And tell him how you feel." It was a command, not a question, and he turned and began to walk away. Kenny felt a strange sense of terror at the thought of being abandoned again, the thought of his brother walking out once more even if this was a different place, a different time.
"Are you…ever going to come see me again?"
He watched as his brother paused, his body tensed and hesitant. He shrugged lightly. "Maybe. Doubt it. I don't like being reminded of the old life; makes me feel ashamed that I wasted a good thing when I had it. But it was good seeing you, bro. I'm glad you're okay." And then he walked off, disappearing behind the corner and Kenny was left all alone.
But somehow he wasn't bothered. After all, even if Kevin didn't want to see him, Kenny knew how to contact him. Being the number one supplier of drugs in the city didn't make you invisible, just difficult to find. But he knew that if Kevin heard that his little brother was looking for him, he wouldn't just ignore him.
He wondered if Kevin knew that his death was permanent.
Probably. His contacts had most likely informed him that he hadn't returned to Earth recently, and he would assume that Kenny's power of resurrection was no longer active.
He slipped his hood over his head and began to walk up the gentle hill, mind focused on what he would say to Damien when he saw him again.
00000
Yay, that was fun! I hope you liked Adam, he's my sexy little creation.
