I love writing Satan. He's a blast.

"Woah," are Kenny's first words when he wakes up in Hell again. He scratches his head, looking around in confusion. "Twice in one week. That's bad, even for me."

He's not talking to anyone in particular, mostly because he seems to have come to in some sort of waiting room. He's alone, bar from some truly terrible kitsch furniture and a very loud wall clock. He hums to himself, unsure what to do. It's not unusual for him to wake up in strange places in hell – he doesn't always transport to the same place – so while he's not exactly sure where exactly he is, he's not overly surprised.

He stands up; brushes himself off. "Hello?" he calls out, hearing only the echoing ring of his own voice coming back to him. "Anyone there?"

He doesn't get a reply, so he takes a look around him. The room he's in is perfectly pleasant, bar from the decor. There's a cheap looking leather couch to one side; a potted plant; a pile of magazines.

He suddenly recognises it as the waiting room for Satan's office, after inspecting a little closer. It was the room that you went to if it wasn't decided whether you had been bad enough for hell, or good enough for heaven. It was a medium room; a processing place.

There was no doors, either. You just had to wait until you were at the front of the queue – sometimes Satan could have a pretty packed schedule, and it could be months. Hence the magazines.

Kenny wonders why he's ended up here, of all places.

"Satan?" he calls, but for some reason, his voice is all muffled. "I'm here! What do you want from me?"

A deep rumbling voice coming from thin air replies. "Kenneth McCormick," the voice rumbles menacingly, and then seems to do a sort of vocal double take. "O-oh, Kenny. You again."

"Hey Satan," he huffs. "You mind telling me why I ended up here?" he asks the air, a little annoyed. "And quit doing the invisible act. It's me, ok? You can drop it."

There's a small 'pop' noise and Satan's massive hulking red form appears in front of the couch. "Hello," he calls.

Kenny nods his greetings and Satan holds up a finger. "Ooh, hold on."

He pops out of vision again, and then comes to with another 'pop', this time clutching a bottle of wine and two glasses. He grimaces at Kenny. "Hey, hon. We've got a lot to talk about. You're going to want to sit down for this, okay?"

Kenny parks his butt comfortably onto the leather armchair propped up against the corner wall and clasps his hands together. "This is all very dramatic," he comments blithely, sending Satan a rather scathing glance. "Even for you. What's up?" he gladly accepts a glass of wine from Satan, who pours one out for each of them. Taking a sip, he sits back in his chair. "Does Danny want to get back together or something?"

Satan shakes his head just an inch, scratching his stubble a little sheepishly. "I wish," he sighs heavily. "No, this is about you."

"I'm waiting."

"You don't remember anything from before you died?"

"I never do."

"Okay, well. Uh… it seems like you're going to be a father pretty soon. Like in eight and a half months soon," he coughs, trying to gauge Kenny's reaction. "So, uh. Thought I would let you know. And… well, we can talk about it. But after that, I'm going to send you back. Because I think you need to talk this out with the Stevens girl."

Kenny's chest hammers. "She's pregnant," he says in a hoarse whisper, grabbing his sternum. "For sure?"

Satan nods. "Uh-huh, seems that way."

Kenny runs a hand through his hair. "Well, fuck," he mutters, eyeing up his company. "Isn't there anything you can do about it?"

Satan blinks, taken aback. "Uh, no. I may be the Prince of Darkness, but I draw a line at murdering unborn babies," he shakes his head, reaching over and placing a hand on Kenny's shoulder. "This is something that you've got to deal with, hon."

Kenny bites his lip, staring at the floor. "I'd have thought you'd be more pro-choice…"

"I am pro-choice," Satan shrugs. "But it has to be the mother's choice. I'm not an interventionist – leave that schtick to the guys up there," he points upwards wryly. "Look, if you need a minute… I understand."

"I don't know how this could have happened…" Kenny rests his head in his hands. "How?"

Satan splutters. "Are you seriously asking me to explain the miracle of conception to you? Or is that rhetorical?"

"Rhetorical."

"Good. Look, I know this is hard news. I get it, I do. Nobody wants to have to deal with an unwanted pregnancy, especially not at your age. But if she wants to keep this kid… well, you've made your bed. You're stuck to this thing, and you supplied the glue."

Kenny groans. "No…"

Satan sends him a sympathetic glance. "I'm sorry. Can I get you a drink or anything?"

Kenny looks up briefly from his hands. "I wouldn't mind a shot of vodka," he mutters.

"I meant more like, green tea…" Satan mumbles, but then rolls his eyes. He snaps his fingers and a whole bottle of vodka appears in his hand. He passes it over to Kenny. "Look, I'm meant to be on a cleanse right now. But I'll look the other way if you want to take a few swigs."

Kenny accepts the bottle gratefully and proceeds to tip it up to his lips, taking a few horrid, caustic glugs. His throat burns as he gasps, placing the bottle back on the ground. "Jesus, that stuff is even worse in the afterlife."

"What do you expect? We're in hell, sweetie, not Martha's freaking Vineyard."

Kenny feels like this is a fair point, and he doesn't say anything. He just sits with his fingers clenching and unclenching in and out of his messy blonde hair.

There's a short silence, and then Kenny speaks.

"Do you… want to talk about it?" Satan asks, taking a seat next to Kenny on the couch.

He pauses for a while, then speaks. "Is it like me?" he says in a quiet voice, almost too quiet for Satan to hear.

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean," Kenny says through his teeth, his tone flat and annoyed "Is it… immortal?" he clarifies, a little sharply.

Satan sucks a gasp of air in through his teeth. "Oh, Kenny. Hon, I wish I could tell you. But we can't know until it dies for the first time," he pauses, gauging Kenny's reaction. "I still don't fully understand how is it that you can keep coming back. We knew it was something to do with that cult that your parents joined, but…" he swallows. "I have no idea whether that will affect your children, or your children's children."

"Shit," Kenny curses, and kicks the wall. "Ow."

Satan shoots him an apologetic glance, biting his lip and tilting his head to one side curiously. "Would that bother you? If the kid turned out to be an immortal?"

Kenny bites his lip. "Growing up sucked, but I've made my peace with it now," he reassures Satan, but he's not done. "But it's no way for a kid to grow up," he glances up at Stan, a lump forming in his throat which he's forced to swallow down, hard. "I don't want any kid having the life I've had. Nobody ever gave a shit about me. Nobody ever had to, did they?"

"Kenny, I-" Satan begins to interject, but Kenny cuts him off firmly.

"No, dude. No. I don't want that for anyone else. Especially not a kid. My kid," he groans, covering his mouth with his hand. "Oh my God, I really screwed the pooch here, didn't I?"

Satan's eyes crinkle with sympathy and he scoots a few inches closer to the boy. "She does look like a poodle with all that frizzy hair. Girl needs to find a pair of straighteners!" he chuckles, but Kenny doesn't crack a smile at all. He frowns, staring at the messy shag carpet. Satan scoots a little closer to Kenny and places one giant, red arm on his shoulder comforting. "Hey, at least people remember now. That's gotta be better, right?"

Kenny nods, but his mind is far away. "There's shit I can do about any of this," he admits, suddenly looking up; eyes intense and fiery. "So you have to promise me something."

"Anything."

"If you have any say in it at all… please… I don't want him to be like me. I don't want him to grow up like me. I want… I want it to be better. Normal," he pauses. "Please. If you have any choice at all, I…" he trails off, overcome with emotion.

"I understand," Satan nods. "I'll do everything I can, Kenny."

The two immortals share a look. "Thanks," Kenny mumbles, scratching his head. "Hey. How long do I have this time?"

Satan smiles wistfully and his eyes flicker to the big ugly clock hanging on the wall. He clears his throat and raises an eyebrow. "You know I've gotta send you back, Ken."

"Shit," Kenny's face turns white. "Can't I just hang out here for a little while longer? Please?"

Satan shrugs. "You have to deal with this. Trust me; you'll both be grateful one day."

He reaches a hand out towards Kenny's shoulder and gives a hard shove downwards. Something tumbles around him; the walls fall in and gravity catches up to him.

The first thing he notices, oddly enough, is that it's suddenly a lot cooler. The humidity has dropped by about 50%, and there's actually a nice cool breeze on his skin.

Then, his eyes focus and he realises that he's back on Earth – Satan had managed to send him back, somehow. Not only that, but he's in the exact same moment that he'd left. The familiar smell of fried food hits his nostrils as slowly, his senses start to wake up.

His heart stutters as he stares at the person in front of him, finding himself unable to find the words to speak.

"Kenny?" she says.

"Kenny?" she calls, concern written on her face. "Are you okay?"

He grabs his chest and inhales. "Yeah, I'm fine," he mutters. "I just died. It's cool."

Bebe stares at him, hard. "Um…"

"No, no. It's okay. I just… I think I just died of shock, I guess," he splutters out, the concept sounding a little ridiculous now that he's saying it. "Or like… terminal worldview collapse." She continues to stare at him, almost past him, like he's a ghost.

"Uh. Bebe?" he waves in front of her face. "Am I a ghost?"

She snaps out of it and glares at him, swatting his hand out of her line of vision. "No! Stop fucking around! This is really serious!" she chastises him, and then slams her hand against her forehead. "Goddamnit. I knew this was a mistake."

She angrily gathers her belongings together and shoves them into her purse, sending him a furious look as she does.

"Bebe, come on." he calls feebly. "Stop. I was just… oh, for fuck's sake. I was just disoriented. I just died, remember?" he snaps. Well, at least as much as someone as docile as Kenny actually had the capacity to snap at someone.

"You die all the time!" she snarls, standing up from the table. "All I wanted was for you just to take something seriously for once! This is just as much yours as mine!" she accuses, jabbing a finger at his face, tears springing to her eyes. She wipes away at them meekly with her forefinger.

"Please don't…" he stands up, trying to comfort her. He puts his hands on her shoulders, but she shrugs them off. "Oh, come on. It's going to be okay. Bebe…"

"It's not! It's not going to be okay!" she yells.

People from around them are starting to look over at the table, and Kenny feels mildly self-conscious. He lowers his voice drastically and tries to reason with her. "Would you quit yelling? Jesus, woman," he mutters, pinching the skin between his nose and forehead rather sharply as his head begins to throb.

Bebe stares at him, wounded. Before he can say another word, she whips round on her heel and stomps out of the restaurant, her heels click-clacking on the linoneum with each and every step.

He considers calling after her, or even chasing her, but doesn't.

He sits back down in his booth and lets his head fall into his hands, his fingers coursing through his dirty hair as he swears to himself. "Fuck, Kenny. This is some fucking deep doo-doo you're in, here."

He sits there for a couple minutes – maybe ten? Fifteen? The time flies as his mind shudders through a whole myriad of horrible scenarios of him, as a father, messing up his kid's life.

His chest pounds when his phone makes a beeping noise in his pocket.

He pulls it out a little hesitantly, wondering if it was going to be Bebe, texting him to sort things out. Would that be good or bad?

He never decides, because after checking it, it's a text from Stan.

so I'm getting blackout drunk tonight, u in?

He stares at the text for a couple of seconds, the last half an hour running rampant in his mind. He wonders, for a second, what he should do. What would a good father do?

First of all, he wouldn't get drunk with Stan tonight. He'd probably go and check on Stan to see if he was okay, and then make sure that Stan didn't get totally legless. And then he'd go and check on Bebe, and apologize. Tell her that it was going to be okay, and that he was going to take care of her. Get a proper job; quit bumming around and taking drugs and start taking responsibility.

He'd get an apartment, not that shithole that Stan and him currently called home.

He sighs, his head still resting in his hands.

He should do all those things. He should do them tonight. It would be the best thing, probably, for everyone.

He pulls out his phone and sends a cursory text to Stan.

Sure dude, I'm in.