South Park © Trey Parker & Matt Stone.

I suppose I need to address a few things. I got a really funny anon review last week. This person was going on about how much they hate Wendy and the fact that I spent time on her plot. But hey, maybe I like her and this is my fanfiction after all. I write this for my own enjoyment, and if you guys enjoy it too then that makes me happy, but if not don't bother letting me know. I'd never go around telling someone how they should write their fanfictions/etc, so I'm asking the same from you guys. But anyway, sorry for the rant, you guys have been great and I'm appreciative!

Another thing, yes Kyle does remember Kenny's death. If that part confused you, go back and read the end of chapter 17, thanks. It didn't occur to me that it might've been unclear to anyone, so my bad (:

There are answers we're not wise enough to see

Five for Fighting

Kyle Broflovski – Conversation with a genius

"I'm so disappointed in myself I can actually physically feel it," I grumble, taking a seat across from Cartman at the school lunch table.

"Does it feel like double penetration?" he asks, the words mumbled because of all the food in his mouth.

"That is not what I mean!" I give him an annoyed look.

He just laughs, spitting food all over the table.

"You were right," I whisper.

"Huh? Can you speak up?"

"You were right," I say a little louder.

"What was that, Kahl?"

"Don't push your fucking luck, fat-ass."

Cartman grins, looking mildly Satanic. "And dear Kahl, what exactly is it that I am right about?"

"Kenny, he's back. He's… He's fine. I saw him last night."

"Just like I told you," Cartman says, taking another bite of his burger.

"Why the fuck haven't you ever said anything?" I growl, "Why haven't you ever backed him up when he started shouting about it to us?"

"I told you already," Cartman shrugs, "To piss him off, mostly."

"You're such an asshole," I say, and then, "Thank you."

He looks taken aback by this. "Yeah, whatever, dumb Jew," he says after putting on a neutral expression.

I can't help but smile. It's funny. I guess I don't give Cartman enough credit. I still remember him as someone who would fantasize about brutality, oppression, and other sick things… someone who found the most devious pleasure in the most violent pornographies. Yeah, he had an unhealthy obsession with various types of sexual and social deviance. He loved victimization. I was one of his favorite people to fuck around with when we were young. I can still recall, with perfectly vivid clarity, the bet where I had to suck his… Ugh, anyway.

"Weird, isn't it?" he asks.

"What is?"

"Kenny's whole… situation."

"Yeah," I say, "But like you said, a lot of weird stuff happens here."

He just nods.

"What're you guys talking about?" Stan asks as he approaches the table with Kenny, who is biting into an apple.

I shrug, "Nothing really."

"Well you aren't arguing, so that's good enough for me," Stan says, sitting down next to Cartman and leaving the empty spot beside me for Kenny to occupy.

Kenny grins at me, wiggling his eyebrows, before taking another bite into his apple. I'm not sure exactly what I'm supposed to classify my relationship with Kenny as… I want to say we're "dating" but we've never gone out in an actual date. I don't want to believe that I'm just another body for Kenny. I hope I mean more to him than just that… Do people even still date these days?

"Kyle, we can practically hear the gears in your brain whirring," Stan laughs, "What's got you thinking so hard?"

"Oh," I laugh. "Nothing, just the usual, school and so on…"

Stan nods in an understanding manner. "Do you know where you're applying for university yet?"

I shake my head, "I have a few choices, but we'll see."

"That's good," Stan says, "I'm sure universities will be lining up to have you."

"Heh. What about you?" I ask, "Do you think you'll start working full time at the construction site?"

"Yeah," he says, "That looks like my best option. It's easy work, plus I guess I don't hate it."

"It's a decent job," I agree.

After school a bunch of us played basketball. It was Kenny, Token and I against Stan, Cartman and Clyde. My team won. Cartman was pretty sour about it and now I'm walking home with Kenny. I have a lot I want to ask him, but I can't bring myself to open my mouth.

When we reach the main road, we hear a car. "Oi, McCormick."

"Fuck," I hear Kenny hiss under his breath as we both turn around.

There's a middle aged man sitting in a truck with the window rolled down. I feel my eyebrows draw together. I think I have an idea of what might be happening. Kenny takes a step forward, but I grab his hand.

"Huh?" he says, looking at me. I just shake my head.

Kenny takes the hint and stays standing beside me. "The fuck do you want?" he asks in an angry mumble.

"Who's your friend?" the man asks and I feel my inside start to flop around unpleasantly.

"Don't even look at him," Kenny grinds out.

"Where've you been lately, McCormick?" the man looks Kenny up and down, "There ain't nobody else who can take it quite like you can."

I hear Kenny take a deep breath, but he doesn't reply. The look on his face says enough. "Hey," I pipe in, "Roll up your window and fuck off."

"You can't escape a reputation you created!" the man says to Kenny before driving off.

"You really had to deal with people like that?" I frown, seeing why he might've given in so many times in the past.

"I'm really sorry, Kyle," he says, not turning to face me.

I swallow harshly, my throat feeling dry. "It's fine, Kenny. Don't listen to what he said, it isn't your fault."

He shakes his head, "No, it isn't. it's not fine, it's not okay. It's horrible."

"Kenny, no…"

"I am so fucked up," he whispers, balling his fists and shoving into the pockets of his sweatshirt.

"You're not alone there," I say, putting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing. "Become a writer."

"Why?" he asks, finally turning around to look at me.

"Because the best writers were all fucked up at some point in their lives, right?" I say, and he laughs.

"Aye, aye."

"But in all seriousness, you don't want to do that kind of thing anymore, do you?" I ask as we begin to walk again.

He shakes his head.

I shrug, "Then that's it."

"It's more difficult than just admitting it, Kyle."

"I know, but admitting it out loud is a start," I say. "Don't reply when those people call your name on the street. Don't give it any thought. Just leave. Nothing that happened to you is your fault, okay?"

"Okay," he whispers.

"Can this mean that you're finished punishing yourself?" I ask.

"I don't know if I can say that's what it truly was," he admits.

"What do you mean?"

"After all that happened, I began to read books," he starts, "I mean, I didn't want to admit what happened, but at the same time I found myself looking desperately for a way to fix the way I felt… I found something called 'sexual therapy' and sure, it doesn't work for everyone… But… I guess I assumed it would be my best option because it would also provide me with some sort of income. I could kill two birds with one stone."

"Oh," I say, "Did it help?"

"I don't really know," he shrugs, "Sometimes I feel like it did, but sometimes I feel like I just dug myself into an even deeper hole."

We soon approach my house, but before I turn into the driveway Kenny grabs my hand gives me a peck on the lips.

"Thank you, Kyle."

"What for?"

He shrugs, "Just for being here. Listening to me whine."

I watch him walk away for a minute before going inside. Ike is in the living room watching old reruns of Terrence and Phillip. I sit down beside him. This show makes me feel so nostalgic. "How was your day?" Ike asks me, turning away from the television.

"It was good," I say, "How was yours?"

"Also good."

I nod, even though he can't see it.

"Are you with Kenny?" he suddenly asks.

"I don't know," I admit, because honestly I don't.

"Do you want to be?"

"I guess…" I say, not bothering to deny it.

He looks over at me, "I knew it."

I roll my eyes at him.

"I like Kenny," Ike says, "He'll be good for you, and you'll be good for him. Hopefully our parents will see it that way too."

"Ugh," I groan, "Don't tell them about any of this just yet. I still need to figure out exactly what 'this' is."

Ike nods his head, returning his attention back to the television.