Happy Birthday Eric, you are finally going to have a proper speaking part in this fanfic to celebrate. Unfortunately you're dead and stuck in Kyle's room. sux2bu

Unclothed, unashamed and unimpressed, Eric Cartman floated around the great expanse of white. A large figure materialised in front of him. "Hi, Santa."

His brow quirked. "My name is Satan, actually."

"You're big and red and adults use you to scare kids into behaving, what's the difference?"

Satan's brow furrowed further but he didn't answer.

"So, is it pitch-fork time? Any chance of some threads first – I'm not into the whole naturism thing."

"I am afraid that your ticket to the afterlife has been misplaced. You cannot enter the underworld just yet."

Cartman twisted his neck. Trying to float in one place was difficult when you had no points of reference. He swam impotently towards Satan. "The fuck are you talking about? How can you misplace me?"

"You, of course, cannot enter Heaven, but we have decided that you are too corruptive for placement amongst my minions."

By this time Cartman was floating upside-down, or at least relative to Satan he was. He cocked his head curiously. "Are you seriously telling me I'm too evil for Hell?"

"That is about the gist of it, young man."

"Sweet."

Satan smiled with vague amusement. "You do have some options available to you."

"Sock it to me."

"First option, stay here."

Cartman folded his arms behind his head, already bored, and yawned melodramatically, "I love what you've done with the place, but pass."

"Second, exist as a ghost."

That sounded more like it. "Like a decent ghost that can actually do shit? Because I'm not doing that roaming Scottish castles and wailing shit."

"The energy required would eventually be accessible to you but not for a long while."

"Meh. What else?"

"Return to Earth as an angel to perform good deeds until you earn your place."

He rolled over. "Gross."

"You could of course be destroyed entirely."

"Soul and all?"

"Exactly."

"Maybe, maybe. I mean, I wouldn't care would I? Once it was done. I wouldn't exist anymore." He groaned at Satan's alarmed expression. "Ugh, fine. I'll try to do some shitty good deeds. Do I have to enjoy it?"

"Not at all."

He sat up and clapped his hands together, "How we doing this then?"

"You shall be sent back to the living plane and only return when you have created enough positive Karma to balance out the bad you have caused."

"Fuck, imma be there forever."

"There will be some rules to follow, that I shall explain momentarily. And you shall be assisted by a living person."

"Makes sense, I guess. Who?"

"The one closest to you during life."

Cartman threaded his fingers through his hair from frustration. "Aw, no way, my mom'll be fucking useless."

"It is… not your mother," Satan explained, with a slow cautiousness.

He crossed his arms in confusion. "I don't live with anyone else."

"Not close as in proximity, Eric. Intimately."

He blushed. "I haven't had a girlfriend for ages."

Satan rolled his eyes. "Mortals. So single-minded."

He would have asked what he had done to deserve this; having Kyle Broflovski be the only person he could interact with whilst he performed his Earthly duties, but it only drove the point home that he had done a LOT of bad shit and that's why he was here in the first place. He walked over to the bed, a little disturbed to discover Kyle was sleeping with his beanie. He tentatively reached out and pushed his hand under Kyle's own hat. He was limited to what he could touch. He could touch Kyle, and anything in his vicinity, so long as it would not bring attention to him from other living people. Satan hadn't been exactly clear on what that meant, but Cartman supposed the rules would reveal themselves on the job, so to speak.

Kyle moved at the contact murmuring in his half-woken state. Cartman retrieved his hand and stuck it under his armpit. Had he really just been stroking Kyle's stupid hair? He'd been dead for too long. He poked at Kyle's arm impatiently. "Wake up, Gingeylocks. I got work to do."

Kyle's eyes slid sleepily open, slowly focusing on his face. Then Cartman found himself being attacked by 120 pounds of pure Jewish fury. "You fucking asshole! I knew you were faking it, how did you do it? I can't believe you did that to me! Do you have any ide-"

"What the fuck, Kahl, get off me you fucking psycho!" He managed to get a grip on Kyle's wrists when his pounding fists stalled as he took in Cartman's new form. He was wearing a black tracksuit with a red trim and sneakers in a similar style. Stepping back in horror, he saw the full extent of the bat-like wings protruding from his back.

"You're…" he breathed, unable to form a word to describe what was in front of him.

"A demon-angel thing. Yeah." Cartman rubbed his chest. "Good thing I'm dead and can't bruise."

Kyle pressed his fingers to his mouth, tears piling up on his lashes. "So you're really…"

"Ugh," Cartman huffed, raising his eyes to the ceiling, "don't cry, you pussy. Anyway I'm the one who's dead. What about MY feelings, huh?" He fell forward on the bed. "For one thing I'm exhausted. Dying really takes it out of you." He felt the mattress yield beside him and turned to Kyle's distraught, confused face. "You've probably got questions, that's understandable. Think you can sit on them until morning?"

Kyle searched his face for a moment before picking up his beanie and placing it back on his head where it belonged. It shimmered for a moment, before turning black with a red border, the bobble on top melting and reconfiguring as two small horns lower down. "How cliché," Cartman scoffed, touching the red rubber protrusions. But Kyle smiled at him, wrapping his arms around his neck with a tired sob. "Um, kay?" Cartman swallowed nervously as he returned the hug. He'd have to die more often if it got Kyle to be nice and less bitchy towards him.

Kyle drew back and settled down into his bed again. "I have to say," he whispered into his pillow, "this is the realest one yet."

"Realest? Wait this isn't a dream, asshole. Ay! Wake up!" But Kyle had already dozed off. Cartman growled for a moment, before curling up next to him, his wings awkwardly hanging off the edge of the bed. He traced his fingers over the brim of his hat again and then over the one tear that had escaped Kyle's eyelash. "Huh," he said as he shuffled closer and fell asleep.

Kyle rubbed the heel of his hand into his eye as he sat up in bed. His other hand fell back onto the bed to steady himself and it landed on something warm. "Careful Jew!"

Kyle screamed.

"Bubby, what's wrong?" Mrs. Broflovski burst into his room. Kyle sat spaced out on the floor and stared back and forth from the dead winged boy on his bed to his concerned doting mother.

Cartman shifted up onto his knees holding up his hands in pacification. This had been the reaction he'd been expecting since last night and was prepared for it. "Listen to me very carefully, Kahl, no-one can see me but you. You start mouthing off about me to your mom and she's gonna think you're a mental case. Capisce?"

"Kyle, bubby?" She raised her eyebrows at the way he was shaking in fear. "Are you okay?"

Kyle seemed to calm down, but he didn't look away from the space above his bed. "I'm fine ma, I just… I had a bad dream."

"Again? About your little friend?"

Kyle blushed fiercely at Cartman's smug grin. "You've been dreaming about me, Kahl?"

"It's okay, bubby, I know boys don't like to talk about love but-"

"Mom!" Kyle shrieked as Cartman cackled wildly. "I'm fine, really. I'll be down for breakfast in a minute."

"Oh," said Mrs. Broflovski, confused by his outburst but happy. Kyle hadn't eaten breakfast with the family for days. She left him (almost) alone.

Cartman sniggered, jumping off the bed. Kyle was still red-cheeked when he knelt beside him. "So," Cartman smirked, tapping his hat. "You really missed me, huh Jew?"

"I can't believe I did," Kyle pouted. "You're such a dick."

"I'm flattered, honestly." Cartman stretched his arms and his wings followed suit, knocking over Kyle's desk lamp. "These fucking things," Cartman snapped. "They were bugging me all night."

"Can't you just, like, fold them away?"

"Are you asking me if I have retractable wings? That's so fucking dumb."

"Well I don't know how it all works!"

"Me neither. Satan wasn't exactly forthcoming with info on all this."

"Satan?!" Kyle cried out. "Did you make a deal with the devil?!"

"No," refuted Cartman, defensively crossing his arms. "I'm not stupid. It's more of a… quest."

Kyle slumped down on his bed, mumbling robotically, "This is really real," over and over.

Cartman plonked down next to him. He wasn't sure how to go about explaining everything. "Look, why don't you get ready for school and I'll tell you what's up afterwards."

Kyle twiddled his thumbs, "I've not gone to school the past few days. They sent me home to deal with things."

Cartman elbowed him with a snort. "Am I 'things'?"

"Yes. Is it so hard to believe people would miss you?"

"People, no. You, yes."

"That's kind of hurtful." Kyle looked away. "You were one of my best friends, Cartman. Are," Kyle quickly corrected himself but it was too late. He hunched over. Were, as in was, as in no longer. Because he was dead and all that.

Cartman merely frowned.

Next Chapter:

"Morning, Sheila," Cartman purred into Mrs. Broflovski's ear as she went about serving breakfast. "I slept with Kahl last night, hope that doesn't bother you."