Boyue's Note: Sorry for the wait. Here's the new chapter! With some cameos from some of my favorite characters~
MATERNAL HEART
"THE THIRD TRIMESTER…
The Last Resort…"
Damien doesn't go to Kenny's funeral. He doesn't bring flowers to Kenny's grave. He doesn't say nice things about Kenny like Kyle and Stan do. He doesn't cry like Butters does. He doesn't call Kenny a "fuckass white trash piece of shit" like Cartman does. He doesn't say he is not okay when Pip asks him about Kenny. He's done a great job suppressing the guilt he felt about getting Kenny killed. What he holds in his heart is hope – hope that Kenny will come back soon. Most people don't know that Kenny can come back from the dead. Most people don't even remember that Kenny actually died. Every time he comes back, it's like a glitch in the Matrix and everything resets and no one remembers the pain of losing Kenny. It used to piss Damien off that no one remembers losing Kenny. Right now though, that weird glitch is the only thing keeping his head up.
But the problem is – of fucking course – Kenny hasn't come back.
Damien breaks into Kenny's trailer with a rock. The door handle is worn enough that it only takes a few knocks before the whole thing comes flying off. It would've been easier if he'd bother to ask Kenny for a key prior but it's just one of those many things that slip his mind. The trailer is freezing and smells like expired milk and rotten garbage. He guesses the McCormicks haven't had the chance to gather Kenny's belongings. That, or maybe they just don't care enough to actually do it. Damien is thankful for that at the moment since he can look around Kenny's things without any disturbance. If he's being completely honest with himself, the reason he's here is because he misses Kenny so fucking much and is afraid that this is really it. He's afraid that the glitch has been fixed, and Kenny is never coming back again. He wouldn't feel so bad if he can just go to Hell, but seeing as how he's still powerless, he feels so utterly lost.
The bed is unmade, and Damien can almost still see the indent from the curve of Kenny's body. He wonders if the sheets are still choked with Kenny's scent but decides that he isn't going to be that guy from Brokeback Mountain who goes smelling his boyfriend's jacket. Kenny's parka probably smells like crap and sweat and blood anyway. It's from pure impulse to do something for Kenny that Damien starts to make the bed. He can't remember the last time he's made a bed since he has Pip to do that for him. He pulls the sheets off the bed and frowns at the speckled bloodstain on them. He knows instantly the blood is from when he punched Kenny in the face. That feels like such a long time ago. He bunches up the sheets and wonders if Kenny has a washer so he can wash them and what else he can do to clean up the place for when Kenny comes back from the dead. With the sheets gone, he spots a notebook on the bed, half buried beneath the pillow. He puts the sheets on the table and picks up the notebook. A part of him wonders if it's Kenny's diary – even though Kenny doesn't strike him as the type that writes diary. A part of him says to represent Kenny's privacy and not look through the notebook, but a larger part of him is saying fuck it.
His eyes go wide as he flips through the pages of the notebook. His chest tightens. A feeling he has no word for coils up his spine from the pit of his stomach. The notebook contains all of Kenny's research on demonology and demonic possession. He has no idea that Kenny's been doing so much research on his behalf, writing so many insightful notes that stuns Damien's mind. It's not so much the information Kenny has collected that amazes Damien, but the mere fact that Kenny has been so devoted with helping him out and he's never gotten the chance to thank him for it. What has he ever fucking done to deserve a friend like Kenny? He blows through the pages quickly, skimming over what Kenny has found out, until he reaches the latest page. The date marked on the page is the day that Kenny died. On the header, Kenny has written the words "the last resort" and underlined it. Beneath that, taking up the whole pages, two things are written: a location and a person's name.
Damien rips the page out of the notebook and tucks it into his pocket. He has a phone call to make.
The campus coffee house is surprisingly sparse with students. It's usually packed to the brim with people leeching the campus's free wifi. Today, there are only a few lingering by the bar tables with headphones glued to their ears and a very disgruntle look on all of their faces. Damien breaks into a little grin when he figures out the reason why the place is empty. He walks toward the source near the back of the coffee house. Along the way, he passes a stoic Craig Tucker sitting alone with a mug of untouched coffee, staring directly in front of him. He doesn't need to look to know that Craig's watching a very twitching Tweek who's having some sort of panic attack and is pretty much smothering himself with his apron.
Damien pulls out a chair and takes a seat at the last table. He leans back into it and feels oddly intimidated by his current position. A rare occasion, of course. Damien doesn't like to think that he can get intimidated by anything or anyone.
"You know it's illegal to smoke indoor, right?" Damien asks, lifting a hand to wave away the cloud of smoke hanging around him.
"Are you here to talk business or waste my time?"
Damien scoffs. He meets Christophe's eyes and feels the intimation radiating from those hard, world-weary eyes. Christophe's accent isn't as prominent as it used to be, but there is still a faint trace of foreign danger on his tongue. Cigarette smoke escapes between the chapped lips as Christophe's stare continues to remain unwavering. Once again, if Damien's heart doesn't completely belong to Pip, he's sure he would've liked to take a stab at Christophe.
"Just trying to be a good citizen," Damien says. He reaches into his pocket and takes out the torn page from Kenny's notebook. He passes it over to Christophe. "Here's the address. Bring me back what's there."
Christophe picks up the slip of paper and studies it briefly. He takes out his matchbook and strikes a match. Damien leans back as the piece of paper burns, and Christophe leaves the ashes scattered on the table. Clouds of different smokes dance and blend together. Somewhere behind them, Tweek screams in panic and tries to find the fire extinguisher.
"I hope that means you'll take the job," Damien says, dusting away some ashes that are flowing toward his direction.
"Give me a week."
"I don't have a week," Damien says. "You have three days."
Christophe doesn't make eye contact as he snuffs out his dying cigarette and lights up a new one. "One week. Take it or leave it."
"You have three fucking days to get me what I want," Damien hisses. Oh, if only he has his powers right now. He'd wipe that smug smirk off Christophe's face so fast.
"Listen, my friend," Christophe says as he leans dangerously close that Damien can't smell anything but cigarette smoke, "I'm here as a favor to Kenny. I do not owe you anything. You do not get to tell me what to do because if you try, I will disembowel you with my bare hands and feed you your intestines. Do we have a fucking understanding?"
If Christophe wants to go, Damien will fucking go. Until otherwise announced, he's still the fucking anti-Christ, and he'll be fucked in the ass by Mitt Romney before he lets a French piece of shit threatens him. He leans forward as well, eyes growing hard and bearing his teeth like a feral dog as he speaks.
"And you listen, my friend, I don't have to tell you who I am but I will tell you that if you don't do what I say, I'll make the rest of your life a living hell for all of eternity and it's nothing like you can ever imagine. Eating your own intestines will feel like a fucking picnic compared to what I'll have in store for you. Do we have a fucking understanding?"
Christophe just grins and says, "You have no idea what I've been through."
"And you have no idea what I'm capable of," Damien replies. "Three days, Christophe."
Damien leans back into his chair and watches the flickers in Christophe's eyes, highlighted by bags that stem from the blood on his hands. He doesn't deny for a second that Christophe has been through a ton of shit that most people his age doesn't go through, but it doesn't mean he gets to go around acting like he's some sort of hardcore Rambo badass. Christophe snuffs out the newly lit cigarette on the table, and Tweek makes a noise that sounds like a dying whale.
"Meet me at Stark's Pond in three days," Christophe says. "Seven o'clock. Do not be late."
Damien relaxes and feels a weight off his shoulders. He almost smiles but he does have to keep up the appearance that he's the most hardcore fucker in South Park. He presses his lips together in a resemblance of gratitude and watches Christophe get out of the chair. As Christophe makes his leave, Damien turns around and calls out after him.
"What did Kenny do for you?" Damien asks, never knowing what Christophe meant when he said that he's here as a favor to Kenny.
"He cleaned up a mess I made," Christophe answers.
"Yeah, he has a habit of doing that," Damien says and lets the faintest of smile touch his lips.
He watches Christophe walk by a very terrified Tweek and leaves the coffee house. He lingers in his chair a while longer and stares at the ashen note on the table and the mark left by the cigarette burn. He has faith that Christophe will finish the mission with no problem and he has faith that whatever it is in that place that Kenny marked down, that thing will be able to help him save Pip. Kenny has never let him astray before and now even though he's gone, he's still helping him along. Damien puts his head down for a moment and listens to the mouse-like steps coming toward his direction. He looks up and gives Tweek the friendliest smile he can conjure up as he watches the nervous blond tries to scrub out the cigarette burn on the table.
"GAH, THE TABLE. MY BOSS IS GOING TO, GAH, I'M GOING TO GET FIRED AND I'LL END UP ON THE STREET GIVING HANDJOBS FOR CRACK."
Damien sighs and once again finds himself giving into blonds. Seriously, what is it about blonds that make his heart melt? If he had his powers, he could've helped erase the damage Christophe did. But since he's without powers, he does the next best thing. He picks up the condiment caddy and moves it over until it covers up the cigarette burn mark. So it isn't a genius plan or a permanent solution, but he does feel better knowing that he's trying to do something to make Tweek feel better.
"There. Now, no one will know," Damien says.
"GAH, BUT, THERE ARE CAMERAS WATCHING." Tweek says, biting his fingers so hard that the skin turns white.
He can see the panic rushing back to take over Tweek. As Tweek begins to sputter like a backfired engine, Damien tries to come up with something that will help calm him down again. He looks around until he sees Craig giving him the deadliest glare he has ever seen in his life. He looks back at Tweek. Maybe he really thinks he's helping or maybe he's just falling back into mischievous ways, but he smiles at Tweek and says something that he has no idea will have such effect on Tweek.
"Hey, by the way, Craig's totally in love with you. I just thought you should know."
He winces as Tweek faints and hits his head against the table. Well… that definitely could've gone better.
Damien finally knows what a heart attack feels like. He takes unsteady steps toward the living room. His lungs refuse to draw in air. All he can feel is a rage and a numbness that spread to every inch of his body. If he can drop dead right now, he just might. Pip and Pocket are sitting sit by sit on the couch, each with a cup of tea in their hand. Pocket is the one who notices Damien first and offers up one of those fake polite smiles that makes Damien wants to punch his bucked tooth off. Pip puts down his own cup of tea and tries to stand when he sees Damien.
"Oh, hello, dear, welcome home," Pip greets. He gives up his attempt to stand up when Damien waves him down with a flick of his wrist. "I'm sure you remember Pocket, my friend from back home?"
"Oh, yeah, I remember," Damien says bitterly.
"Hullo, Damien, ol' chap. Awful nice to see you again," Pocket says.
Damien doesn't greet Pocket with anything other than a hostile glance. He alternates his eyes between Pip, Pocket, and Pip's very pregnant belly. He swallows the scream in his throat and tries to remain as calm as possible.
"Damien," Pip jumps in first, "I know what you're thinking and I'm terribly sorry for not consulting you first but-"
"But you just thought it'd be okay to let someone know that you're demonically pregnant?"
"Please, Damien, I have no ill-will toward you or Pip and I'm ever so happy for you two! A child is such a blessing!"
"Shut up," Damien says, pointing a threatening finger at Pocket, "no one's talking to you. Don't think I forgot that you called the cops on us and got my friend's head bashed in."
"Pocket was only trying to help!" Pip says. He dips his head low and mutters, "And Kenny wouldn't have gotten injured if he hadn't been where he didn't belong."
"Kenny was the only thing that stopped the cops from busting into your room and finding out about you," Damien raises his voice. "But I guess it doesn't fucking matter anymore what Kenny did because he's dead and now this little shit is going to tell the whole world that you're fucking pregnant."
"Damien, please!" Pip says. He puts his hand over his belly and says, "I don't want the baby hearing you use that kind of language."
"I understand your upset," Pocket says, setting down his cup of tea. "But I assure you-"
"Which fucking part of 'no one's talking to you' you don't fucking understand?" Damien shouts. "Get the fuck out of my house."
"That's awful," Pip says. He makes an effort to stand and finally does with Pocket's help. He narrows his eyes at Damien and says, "You're being unreasonably rude. Pocket's a friend of mine and I won't let you treat him with such manner."
"Kenny was a fucking friend of mine and you didn't even let me talk to him. You're always saying shit about how we need to respect each other's feelings, right? Well, my feeling is that I want this fucker out of my house."
"Oh my," Pocket mumbles. He takes a few steps away from Pip. "Perhaps I should go."
"Yeah, you really should," Damien says.
"No! Pocket, stay!" Pip shouts. The cup of tea on the table moves a little. "Damien, I want you to apologize to Pocket for your behavior."
"Oh, that's not necessary," Pocket says.
"Apologize for what?" Damien narrows his eyes and fists his hands. "He should be happy that I haven't bashed his tooth in."
"I'm ever so sorry for intruding." Pocket side-steps around the coffee table and stands behind the couch. "I'll just gather my things and…"
"What things?" Damien asks.
"No, Pocket, please. Damien is just being unreasonable. Please don't go."
"Pip, did you ask him to stay with us? Without asking me first?"
"I asked him to keep me company because you're never here," Pip says. He lowers his head for a moment before he gives Damien a determined stare. "If you're going to spend your time with someone else, I ought to have the same privilege."
"What. The. Fuck." Damien feels like his head is going to explode.
"You were always out with Kenny," Pip says. "Don't think I don't know because I don't leave the house. I know, Damien. I thought after Kenny's gone, you'd be different but you're still never home. Sometimes… I wonder if you still love me anymore."
"You're fucking crazy, do you know that?" Damien throws his hands up in the air. "If I don't love you, I wouldn't even be here right now! All of this shit happens because I love you. I love you, you stupid fuck. I love you!"
Pip dips his head low and Damien doesn't need to see it to know that he's crying. Pocket shuffles uncomfortably in place, adjusting his red vest that doesn't need adjusting. Damien steps backward, feeling a weakness in his knees and in his heart. He's tired, he's been through too much, he's lost too many, and he can't deal with it anymore. He just can't. He backs away until he's at the door, his hand reaching out to turn the knob. It'll be so easy to walk away, and he's going to do just that.
"Damien!" Pip calls out, his voice quivering and his cheeks moist with tears. "I'm awfully sorry. I-I haven't meant to…"
"It's fine," Damien just mumbles, waving a nonchalant hand. "It's fine."
Damien turns the knob and steps out into the street. He ignores Pip's voice calling after him and pretends he doesn't see Pip waddling over to him.
"Damien, please, wait!" Pocket jogs up next to him and grabs him by the shoulder. He withdraws quickly when he has Damien's attention. "I'm ever so sorry. I assure you this is not at all what I intended."
Damien brings his hand up and Pocket flinches. Instead of a punch, Damien pats Pocket on the shoulder and looks back to the apartment door, where Pip stands watching. He can go back inside and make up with Pip. He can tolerate Pocket because Pip needs him. He can pretend. He can be a good fiancé. He can be everything Pip wants him to be. But he isn't going to do any of those things.
"Are you really leaving?" Pocket asks.
"Take care of him," Damien says.
Pocket sighs out of his nose and nods. "I most definitely will."
Damien takes his hand off Pocket's shoulder and lets it dangle by his side. He can hear the gasp out of Pip's mouth as he turns around and starts to walk away.
Three days feel like a fucking eternity for Damien. Crashing at Kenny's trailer is out of the question because Pip knows where it is and quite frankly, Damien really doesn't want to be found. He's lucky enough to charm his way into crashing with Butters though he really can't stand the Stotches, who are convinced that he's a Mormon for some reason. He doesn't even bother trying to correct them and just let them be. Of course he is super worried about Pip and if he and the baby are okay. But there is a sick bliss in the ignorance of not knowing. Maybe he's just lying to himself after all. Maybe Pip's right. Maybe he really doesn't love Pip anymore. After all if he does, how could it have been so easy for him to walk away and not look back? Not only is he a shitty friend, he's also a shitty fiancé and shitty person in general. Maybe he's only fooling himself thinking that he belongs on earth with human and can try to live a human life. Maybe he's made of nothing but evil and vice.
The heavy footsteps on snow snap him out of his thoughts. He looks up and the first thing he sees is the puff of cigarette smoke dangling in the winter air over the canvas of early morning. He stands up and walks toward Christophe, who somehow can survive in this temperature with only an olive turtleneck. Christophe drops his cigarette on the ground and its heat melt a little hole in the snow.
"Did you find it?" Damien asks.
Christophe doesn't give a verbal reply, which doesn't surprise Damien. He takes off his travel bag and unzips it. Damien waits with baited breath and wide eyes as he watches Christophe take out something slender wrapped in a dirty cloth. Christophe lets his bag drop on the ground to free his hand to remove the cloth.
"Holy fuck," Damien mumbles so quietly he's not sure he even hears himself speak. "Is that what I think it is…?"
"You don't even know what you're looking for?" Christophe asks with a cocked eyebrow.
Damien draws in a huge breath of air and stares at the dagger in Christophe's hand. The dagger looks like a prop out of a movie. Its blade is shining silver with speckle of dirt still on it. It looks simultaneously ageless and old as fuck. Christophe uses the cloth to clean the dirt off while Damien keeps staring at it like a kid at a candy store. Christophe turns it over a few times and examines the blade before he drops the cloth and holds the dagger by its handle instead.
"What is it?" Christophe asks, tracing a finger over the hilt.
"A weapon," Damien answers, his hands trembling a bit.
Christophe scoffs and gives a tired glare. "No fucking shit. What does it do?"
"If it's the real thing…" Damien says with a nervous smile. He doesn't finish the sentence. Christophe doesn't need to know that if it's the real thing, it's the only thing on earth that can kill the anti-Christ. Like actually kill. Like K.O., Fatality, Finish Him kill the anti-Christ. He'd thought it was only a legend, some cheap trick that his dad used to tell him to scare him into behaving. But seeing it in front of him and knowing that Kenny has found the damn thing, holy fuck. No wonder Kenny says this is the last resort. He can use it to get rid of his damn kid once and for all.
"If it's the real thing?" Christophe asks.
"Well, you know, it can be a counterfeit. We can't be sure it's real."
Christophe turns the blade in his hand and looks it over. "I guess we'll find out if it is."
Christophe puts his hand on Damien's shoulder and pulls him closer. Damien should've seen it coming but he doesn't. Maybe he's still too stunned by everything that he doesn't know what's happening until the dagger is tearing through his abdominal flesh and a pain he has never felt before rocks through his every nerve. He hisses in air, eyes staring in Christophe's cold ones. Christophe twists the blade. Damien tastes blood.
"Shit, dude," Damien mumbles. He stares down at where the blade entered his body. "Who?"
Christophe slides the blade over. Damien screams and finally reacts by pushing Christophe back. Christophe stumbles backward even though they both know that Damien's push hasn't been strong enough to do that. Damien presses his hand over his gaping wound and winces at the pain. Christophe walks forward, the blade dripping in Damien's blood.
"Tell me who," Damien says.
"I can't," Christophe answers. "That's confidential."
Damien folds over a little and keeps his hand pressed to his wound, wincing and hissing all the while. He drops to the ground and breathes hard out of his mouth. He has never felt physical pain of this magnitude before. The worst pain he'd ever suffered prior to this is a paper cut and that had hurt like a bitch. He bites his lip, somehow thinking that that will help ease the pain. Christophe stands next to him, his hand gripping the blade. Damien looks up and takes in a deep breath. Well, this is going to hurt a fucking lot.
"Bon voyage, my friend," Christophe says. "See you in Hell."
Damien screams at the blade go through his heart. He falls back as Christophe pulls the blade out. He hits the snow with a soft thud and feels it giving in beneath his weight and body heat. He flutters his eyelids a few times and swears he can hear Pip's voice in his head. There is the heavy taste of copper on his tongue. He can see the sun creeping out from behind the horizon and in the distance, birds are starting to sing.
Then a calming darkness takes over and everything goes black.
TO BE CONTINUED…
Boyue's Note: I really rushed through this chapter! I'm sorry! I hope you lovely readers are enjoying where this is going!
11.18.12
6:16 PM