People dwelled too much on final moments, really, that was how Eric Cartman felt. If he thought about his final moments alive, he couldn't recall much. Fading in and out of consciousness in a hospital bed with the constant cacophony of machines not very melodically serenading him to death. His final moment, the one he officially observed, the one he secretly held close to his chest like a newborn, was getting off the bus with Kyle. The last words he heard was the concerned lilt of, "Careful now," when he staggered off the step and he remembered that he'd said nothing back, too confused and sick to tell Kyle where to stick it and that he wasn't a goddamn invalid. Then suddenly there was bitter snow on one cheek and the loving warmth of a hand on the other.

A gossamer memory of crying Kyle's name in his fever dreams as he lay helpless and weak in a limp gown under starched sheets. Kyle's hand, definitely Kyle's hand was around his. He knew that feeling well and it should have been his first hint that they weren't exactly bros anymore. They hadn't held hands since they were kids, and even then only under the buddy system on field trips when they had been forced to pair up.

The other boys would let go of their partner, regardless of gender, once the teacher stopped looking, because of cooties or whatever. Kyle was a stickler for rules and would never drop Cartman's hand. Cartman, for whatever reason, never argued.

Probably the same reason he was seeking Kyle out now, hiding not so artfully on the hill.

A rocket flew up signalling the start of the show. Kyle instinctively reached up to pull his ushanka over his ears, finding only his curls and kippah.

"Since when are you scared of fireworks?"

"I'm not," answered Kyle without turning, "I just don't want to catch on fire."

"Why? You're already flaming."

"How long have you been waiting to use that one, Cartman?" he tutted.

He snorted. "Look, you'll be fine. I'd be more worried about catching sunburn from the fireworks, ginger-boy."

"More likely to catch cold." Kyle hugged his arms. "Left my jacket down with the others like an idiot."

"You're gonna freeze," he agreed.

"Yeah and whose fault is that?"

"I told you before, it was these bastards." Cartman had given his wings a good telling off already for all the trouble they'd caused him, but he wasn't sure if they understood.

"Fine. I believe you." Another rocket lit his face orange as he looked down at him. "By the way that was really cute, what you did after. You're finding this good deed thing a lot easier than you thought."

"Don't know what you're talking about."

"Marshmallows," he teased. "How'd you know anyway?"

He shrugged. "Bebe's been desperate for vag since forever. And Heidi's gullible enough to be turned." With an eye-roll Kyle turned back to the spectacle above as another firework shot up through the atmosphere with a piercing squeal.

There was no sound of scrunching snow to warn him that Cartman was behind him but he would still have gasped at the swoop of air as his wings wrapped around him. Cartman seemed just as surprised by the action judging by his own gasp. "What are you doing?" Kyle shivered.

"You're cold aren't you?" he bluffed. What the hell were his wings up to now?

That wasn't why Kyle had shivered. He nodded and wondered if he was now trapped or cocooned by him. Cartman's hands moved under the warm layers. "Why'd you turn up to my funeral like a hobo?" Cartman mumbled in his ear, thumbing his nipple through the hole in his shirt.

Kyle assumed the contact was an accident and stoically ignored his body's response. "Oh, that's just…"

"Relax. I know what it is, what it means."

"You do? Since when are you so up on Jewish customs?"

"I'm a big subscriber to the idiom 'Know Thine Enemy'," he smirked.

"I'd hoped you grown out of that shit."

"I did. It's just gingers I have a problem with these days," he teased. Then Kyle felt him give a sigh of resignation against his neck. "You're wrong you know. I don't find it easy. This good deed shit is killing me all over again."

"It'll be worth it in the end. You don't want to get erased do you?"

"That's not why I'm doing it. All everyone's done is go on about what a shame I died and that they'll miss me. But none of them can say why, because it's just what you say when someone dies. It's all bullshit. I don't deserve mourning."

Kyle pressed his hand harder against his chest. "That may be true. But you're trying now, that's the important thing. And so long as you're trying, really trying, I'm going to help you."

"Even if it takes years?"

"Sure. And I need your help too. Can't raise all those cats by myself, right?"

Cartman's laugh pleasantly rippled through his back and the last of the fireworks cascaded above them. Darkness once again flooded their senses and they stood braced against one another feeling like snug members of a two-piece jigsaw.

Stan remembered the day Cartman died very well; Kyle slack and grieving in his arms as he hauled him up and out of the room. In the cold hall, he and Kenny just stared at Kyle and each other and the strangers passing by like they were stuck in a dream and the key to getting out had to lie somewhere they just needed to find it.

To their horror they saw that one of the people in the hall was Mrs. Cartman and she only had to look at them for a second to realise what had happened. Seeing her too, Kyle ripped himself out of Stan's hold and flew away. He found him later outside of the empty school (Cartman having had the politeness to die on the weekend so they could be by his side) still too raw with emotion to cry. Kneeling beside him and pulling him into their most heartfelt of hugs to date, Kyle told him something that even now he hadn't fully processed. "That's impossible."

"I know, but it's true."

"Oh Kyle," he had groaned, squeezing his best friend tighter.

On the surface, talking to the ghost of Cartman was adorable, but Stan worried immensely, especially knowing how Kyle had felt about him. He might end up like one of those guys that marry their 'waifu' pillow. Or worse, what if Kyle tried to join him in the afterlife?

He sent Wendy on ahead to the others at their campsite and tramped through the snow up the hill to where Kyle stood with his arms around him looking dreamily half-asleep. "Dude, aren't you cold like that?" Stan began to take his coat off.

Kyle smiled serenely, "Believe it or not I'm quite toasty, thanks." He laughed through his nose, nudging the air behind him, a "Shut up!" falling from the corner of his mouth. It was a bit ridiculous, nonchalantly talking to Stan whilst the winged ghost of their dead friend was wrapped around his body.

Not that Stan knew that.

"Listen, sorry about Heidi. Wendy got it into her head that you two would be cute and I didn't want to tell her that… you know."

Kyle shook his head. "Not like me being gay's a secret. I'm just not the kind of guy that wants to broadcast that kind of thing."

"Still, it's not for me to say. And I love Wendy but I know she'll tell 'just one friend' and they'll tell 'just one friend' and so on."

"Seriously dude, it's cool. Like I said – not a secret."

"It was at the time you told me. My mind's fuzzy after two years but if I remember right you made me do a spit handshake first."

Kyle blushed and angrily growled, "Cartman…" under his breath.

Stan's eyebrows knitted together. "What?"

"Nothing he just said something about spitting."

"Kyle, you have to cut this out. You're starting to scare me. Just because you were in love with the guy…"

"Oh Jesus," he let out a dismal moan.

"What Kyle? Oh let me guess, he didn't know and I just blabbed in front of him."

"Exactly right," Kyle muttered still beetroot red.

He couldn't stand it any longer. "For fuck's sake Kyle, he's not fucking here!" Stan reached out and grabbed at Kyle's arm to shake some sense into him and yelped at the strange sensation that shot through his hand.

"Are you all right?" said Kyle when Stan sprang back.

Stan stared at him, shaking out his hand. "Yeah uh…" That had been odd to say the least. It was almost like putting his hand through a spider web; that was really the only way he could ever describe it if he were ever to tell anyone. For now he buried the moment. "Forget it, sorry dude. The last couple months have been pretty rough, especially on you. And I've not exactly been living up to Bestie standards, have I?"

"C'mere," Kyle said, pulling him into a hug, and Stan could hear him say something about 'no bitching' to his imaginary friend. Of course Cartman would bitch, if he really was there. Stan chuckled at the thought. Kyle drew back with a happy little sigh. "Why don't we all go back to mine? My parents are at Cartman's house with his mom and they won't be back 'til late. Kenny's bound to have weed."

That sounded good, and Kyle's dad was cool enough to have a secret "For the love of Moses don't tell your mother" stash of beer for them to have whenever they were out, so long as Kyle was responsible.

Stan didn't hear Cartman complaining the entire time they walked down the hill and it was probably just as well. Kyle just shot him an embarrassed smile and with it the silent promise that they would be alone soon.

Next Chapter:

The bedroom door clicked open and Kyle slipped inside wearing just his bathrobe. Cartman made a noise like a slowly deflating balloon.