Sorry, this took a little longer than I wanted. It was a stressful one to write, as you'll see. Not so many laughs going on at the moment but you were all anticipating that as an eventuality it seems.

He should have seen it coming after his eruption in the hall. A few well-meaning whispers from his fellow students had seen to it that he was spending his hour before lunch in the counsellor's office. Cartman had the impudence to lean against the wall yawning loudly from boredom. Kyle barked at him, "We're here because of you, you know."

"We're here because you got your Jew-panties in a twist," Cartman chuckled.

"Whatever," he huffed.

The counsellor looked from Kyle to the blank space on the wall neutrally.

"I'm not crazy," he quickly defended himself, eyeing Cartman's self-satisfied smirk. "I know he's not really there."

Cartman folded his hands behind his head and was clearly pleased with the trouble he was causing. "I am though. She's never going to believe this is a coping mechanism, Kahl. You're not that good an actor. In fact I'd say you're about as good at acting as you are dancing."

"Shut up. How are you going to get into Heaven when you're being such an asshole?"

The counsellor scrawled eagerly on her notepad. "You believe Eric isn't in Heaven?"

Shit, thought Kyle. That makes me sound like a total douche. "It's not like that. It's complicated. I'd rather not get into it."

"Alright, what would you like to talk about?"

"Nothing. I don't want to be here. I've got an assembly to get to."

"Ah yes, about the funeral tomorrow. Eric is finally going to be put at rest." She adjusted her glasses and regarded him carefully. "Is that something you'd like to discuss?"

Kyle knew enough about psychology to know what she was trying to get out of him. "I'm not relapsing because of any issues with death or the finality of his burial or whatever."

"What the fuck does she mean 'finally'?" Cartman started. He hadn't been paying much attention to the conversation and that word had only just sunk in and triggered his curiosity.

"Well, they had to do an autopsy," Kyle said slowly. "Find out what happened to you. The results aren't back yet but it delayed everything by two weeks."

Two weeks? Two whole fucking weeks I've been stuffed in a cold chamber at the local morgue?

The counsellor struggled with the change in topic having missed half the conversation. "They think it was kidney failure, correct?"

Cartman's hands fell to his side. "What."

"Yeah, his kidney failed." Kyle brought his legs up onto the chair and wrapped his arms around them.

"Kidney? He only had one?"

"Yeah I…"

Cartman's lips thinned into a straight line. "Tell her why. Tell her why I only have one kidney, Kyle."

"I'm sorry…" Kyle pressed his forehead against his knees. "I'm so sorry, Cartman."

"You're sorry?" Cartman sneered. "That makes me feel sooo much better. Oh wait, no it doesn't because I'm still dead and it's your fault." The accusatory finger pointed at Kyle stung more than the punch he wished Cartman would just give him already.

His head fell back onto his knee. "I know," he cringed. "I know it's my fault."

"Kyle, it's okay," the counsellor soothed. "No-one thinks that." When he looked up her compassionate gaze, Cartman was gone.

Damien wasn't often summoned to his father's realm, the first layer of hell, where he resided in a large castle as far away from the plebeian mortals as possible. As fond as he was of the human race, he could only cope with people in small doses and preferred to interact via parties. He wasn't the kind of creature that 'hung out with pals'. So it was a surprise to his son when he saw a moustachioed man leaving his father's castle. He knew his father had a preference for facial hair but he had been shy of it since Saddam. Had he finally moved on, he wondered. The man bowed respectfully to the Prince of Darkness' son as he walked past.

"Father, you summoned me?" Damien drawled when he arrived at his father's throne room.

"It has come to my attention that your plaything has been watching the living."

Straight to business, thought Damien. "Rest assured, Father, he was severely punished."

"Why do I have the feeling he may have enjoyed this punishment to some degree?"

Damien gave him a shrewd smile but didn't elaborate.

"See to it that such behaviour ceases, and from now on keep a more vigilant eye upon his activities," Satan growled.

"Of course, Father. Is that all?"

"For now."

The son clasped his hands behind his back. "If I might put forward a few questions of my own?"

Satan, who had up until then been busy crocheting a mug warmer, looked up from his project. "Very well."

"That man just now. A new beau?"

His father tensed noticeably. "Hardly. He was here on business." From the tone of his voice, Damien knew not to press further on the matter. "Your other questions?" Satan asked.

"Just the one, Father. It is about Eric Cartman."

Satan's sigh was dreadfully weary as he realised he'd been miscounting the stitches on his craft again, and from having to discuss Eric Cartman in the same day. "Continue," he growled and threw the pile of wool into a nearby hellfire.

"There was something unusual about him when I saw him on Earth. He has wings."

"So he does."

"No other mortal I have met has them, in this realm or any other. What is their purpose? And why have you not done such a thing before?"

Satan's voice began to rumble through the seven layers, as it always did when he disliked a subject. "It does not occur to you that you might be too young to remember any other such incarnations. In any case, I have my reasons. I would prefer you not to question my actions."

"My apologies, Father. I shall leave you to your work." He knew better than to probe when his father was in a bad mood. As Damien left, Satan started up a cute little poncho pattern, muttering discontentedly.

That previous night, Kyle had turned to hold the tips of his fingers against Cartman's mouth; the rise and fall of his side indicated breathing but feeling nothing on the back of his neck had made Kyle inquisitive. There were no sleep-filled puffs of air coming from him but when Kyle moved them closer, his fingers almost tingled from the heat of his lips. Had Cartman always been so warm or was it a side-effect of his new form? Kyle wished he'd noticed before.

Kyle walked up to Cartman's home, now just Mrs. Cartman's home he supposed, and knocked sharply on the door. Mrs. Cartman was (not unsurprisingly) shocked to see him. "Hello, sweetie."

Kyle's mouth clamped shut as he realised he'd been about to ask if Cartman was home. "Is Butters here yet? Or Kenny?"

"Butters is in Eric's room but Kenny hasn't turned up yet." He asked if he could wait with Butters, detecting sadly how she struggled on her son's name. She let him in and he was immediately bombarded with offers of various treats. He politely took some with no intention of eating any, and made his way up the stairs, hesitating outside the bedroom door. If Cartman was here, he'd have to knock, but that would look odd from an outsider's perspective. Ah but Butters was in there, wasn't he? What was left of Kyle's reputation of sanity was saved.

Kyle rapped on the door gently and went in at the lack of reply. Butters was sleeping and emitting faint snores; Cartman draped alongside him snoring with far more sonorous tones. He crept around the bed, taking a seat on the chair by the desk and abandoned his snacks on it. The temptation to touch Cartman's wings was almost overwhelming but Kyle settled for placing the tips of two fingers between his shoulder blades, pressing more and more urgently until the force made Cartman stir. The wings flailed independently but Butter's presence made them ineffectively pass through all nearby obstructions. It was a shame really because Cartman thought Kyle deserved a wing to the face.

"I'm not going back with you," he said so suddenly that Kyle jumped in his seat. Kyle nodded, though he couldn't see. "You're not welcome at the funeral tomorrow either." Kyle couldn't gather up the courage to respond, nodded again. Cartman sat up, holding him with an eerie stare. It had been a few years since he'd looked at him like that, since their volatile relationship had mellowed out into affectionate teasing. "So that's it? No rebuttal? Not going to fight your corner?"

Kyle opened his mouth, a faint creak that tried to be a word escaping. He swallowed down his guilt and tried again. "I've been going over all this for almost two months, Cartman. There is no more fight. I could never argue my case, even with myself. I killed you, I know that, and God Cartman if I could swap pla-"

"Don't you fucking dare say that to my face," he spat back. "Don't pull that 'survivor's guilt' bullshit on me. You take my kidney and now you're not even grateful to still be kicking? Besides," he muttered as he toyed with the slider of his tracksuit top, "you're the only person in South Park that would ever wish that."

"You really believe that?"

"I know that."

The desk chair creaked when Kyle hunched forward, "You forget your mom so easily?"

"She doesn't count; she's my mom. Of course she'll pick me over you. They're hard-wired for that kind of thing. Hormones or something."

"Butters probably would too," Kyle smiled.

"Yeah well, he's practically a chick."

"She's part of why I couldn't go to the funeral, you know," Kyle turned solemn. The way Mrs. Cartman had looked at him at the door. Despairingly. "I wondered how she'd feel, me being there. Walking around with her son's kidney."

Cartman frowned. His mother had been part of the whole set-up to give Kyle his kidney, so he would hope she'd feel pretty damn shitty about it. Then he felt shitty that he wanted her to feel shitty. Dying was a lot easier when you weren't involved in the aftermath. How blissful in ignorance would he be in Hell right now, tied to a rock having his remaining organs pecked out by an eagle. Or whatever they did for fun down there. "Well lucky for you, day-walker, you're no longer invited."

"I understand." He got up with a deep reverberating sigh.

"Kyle!" Both boys were equally startled when Butters jumped up from his sleep and threw his sobbing self into Kyle's arms, sending him flying back onto the chair. "Kyle, it's okay! Eric never ever regretted giving you his kidney. Don't blame yourself!"

"Shut up, Butters!" yelped Cartman.

Kyle held the shuddering boy tightly, burying his nose into the small tuft of blond hair, as Cartman looked on equally embarrassed and betrayed.

Next Chapter:

Kyle pretended to rummage around for a bit. Cartman watched on, mutely. His wings fluttered when Kyle bent over to look through his closet.