Title: A Lifetime of Style
Disclaimer: I do not "own" South Park or any of its characters. The lucky bastards Trey Parker and Matt Stone do, however. I only own this plot idea.
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Chapter 37: Forever
Stan's funeral was packed to the brim full of friends, neighbors, associates, and endless fans. In attendance from the South Park gang are Token, Jimmy, Cartman, and Tweek. Tweek looks frail and ready to fall over any minute. Kyle barely contains himself as he delivers his eulogy.
Despite his family begging him to stay at Rob and Rachel's for an extra day or two the night after the funeral, Kyle insists that he's ready to go home. His family, along with Cartman, Token, Jimmy, Andrew, and Connor, each offer to spend at least the night with him in his home. Once again, he turns them down.
Matt and Trey drive Kyle back to Alexandria, unsuccessfully trying to convince him to let them stay over. Kyle thanks them for the ride and accepts his grandsons' (he counts Trey as a grandson) offer to walk him inside. They stay for about five minutes to make sure Kyle doesn't need anything else and then leave.
With everyone gone, Kyle pulls one- just one- mug out of the cabinet and makes himself a cup of hot tea. He takes it up to the bedroom and sets it on the nightstand to let it cool. He gets a glass of water and then takes his arthritis medicine. There's something that catches his eye. A black leather-bound journal sits behind the cup of tea. He chugs his tea in a few sips, puts the mug down, and opens the notebook.
The small print is hard to read without his reading glasses, and he doesn't remember the pages being this hard to turn. The words are still there, crisp and clean, hardly faded, however. He stumbles upon a poem about friendship, and he feels the tears coming back. Apparently, he was wrong, and hadn't cried himself dry yet. He sets the journal on the pillow next to him and buries his face in his hands, sobbing uncontrollably.
"Kye?" a deep, baritone voice echoes throughout the room. Kyle looks up.
Stan is sitting at the edge of the bed, looking no older than 18-21, wearing his trademark Denver Broncos jersey, jeans, and Doc Martens that he got for his seventeenth birthday.
Kyle opens his mouth and is barely able to reply "S-Stan!" because his sobs are still too strong. The 84-year-old fears that he may be in the beginning stages of dementia if this is any indication.
"It's me," Stan tells him. It's definitely his voice and not any ghost voice. The only special feature added is the youthful, yet masculine, twinge added in.
"Stan, you're-" Kyle chokes out before Stan cuts in again.
"I'm fine, Kye."
Kyle brushes the tears from his eyes, suddenly aware of the bags and wrinkles on his face for the first time in years.
"I'm okay. Everything's going to be okay," Stan says, brushing his shaggy raven hair.
"The doctors. They said…they said it was all painless, that you didn't feel a thing."
"I didn't," Stan tells him, "I just fell asleep."
"It took me such a long time to contact anyone," Kyle whispers, his voice still hoarse, "It was actually Rob that had to call me."
"The boys are really worried about you."
"I know," Kyle replies, stiffly getting out of bed so he can get closer to Stan. Stan moves easily, thanks to the youthful bodies that God gives the deceased in heaven, and sits close to Kyle.
"S-Stan?"
"Yeah, Kye?"
"Is it my time? Are you here to tell me I'm going with you?"
"No, I'm just here to say everything's okay. But when it is your time, I'll be the first one you see," Stan says with his trademark smile and radiant blue eyes.
Kyle wants so badly to grab his hand but is scared that it won't be here. "So, what's it like?"
"Heaven?"
"Yeah."
"It's great. Everything's blissful and everyone gets along. Our families are there. Kenny and Butters are there. Chef is there, and let's just say his food is truly defines the word heavenly."
Kyle clenches his jaw and nods.
"I want to go with you, Stan," Kyle says desperately.
"I know. It'll be soon, Kye, I promise."
"You know, this week has been the longest that we've truly been apart. I don't know how to go on living life without you."
"Kye, remember when I saved you from that cult and we vowed to be super best friends?"
"How could I forget?"
"We agreed that not even death could sever the everlasting bond of friendship that we had. Do you really think it could sever something as strong as our love?" he asks, brushing some of his raven hair from his eyes.
"Are you going to visit the boys?" Kyle asks. A Stan that he remembers from their early college years gently places his hands on Kyle's frail, arthritic shoulders. Kyle questions whether he can feel them or not. Stan turns his face to Kyle's.
"We'll go visit them together, okay?" Stan whispers.
"I love you, Stan," Kyle says weakly.
"I love you too, Kyle. Remember, what you and I have is forever," Stan says before kissing Kyle. It's just a three-second gentle kiss, but Kyle is absolutely positive that he feels it.
When he opens his eyes, Stan is gone. The notebook is in his hand.
Kyle wipes his eyes dry, puts the notebook away, and turns out the light.
"Forever," Kyle repeats to himself as he falls asleep, dreaming of ten-year-old versions of himself and Stan cuddling at Stark's Pond and watching the sunset.
THE END
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Author's Note: I hope you all enjoyed this story as much as I did writing it! See you in another Style fanfic!