Kyle: It's done.
Stan: Completely?
Kyle: I just got through signing the papers. I convinced my dad to sign as my legal guardian for one more year until I'm 18. Can you believe how cool he was about this whole coming-out thing?
Stan: I can't believe you left your phone there for your dad to see my nudes! What if your mom had seen it?
Kyle: It doesn't matter; we're telling her tonight anyway and I'm already moved in. It's finally happening, Stan!
Stan: Yeah, I'm letting my family know tonight, too. I'm all packed!
Kyle: When are you going to be here? I'll make sure you feel very welcome.
Stan: Suggestive, huh? I'm getting the Greyhound tomorrow. I should be there the day after.
Kyle:I can't wait!
Stan: I love you!
Like always, this is where the conversation took a slight pause. Before Stan could get a response, he heard the nasally voice of his 11th grade homeroom teacher demanding, "Mr. Marsh, are you on your phone again? I said put it away or you get detention!"
Stan did so as the teacher asked and picked up his book, pretending to read The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde. He couldn't contain his smile behind the cover or the excitement in his heart. It was all set into motion so perfectly. Just one more class period to get through.
Kyle had his own apartment, both boys would be publicly coming out tonight to their families, and Stan was taking the bus to live with his boyfriend. Not that Kyle would admit to making it official or anything yet. He was still hesitant about using the word "love" or "boyfriend". He kept dodging the subject, saying they'd see when the moment arrived.
The bell rang shrill and the room filled with the sound of kids gathering their stuff and walking out. As Stan slowly and dreamily put the book back in his backpack, Butters approached him from behind. "Hey, Stanley! Sorry the teacher hollered at you today. What're you up to? That's an awful wide smile you got."
"Yeah, Butters. I'm leaving for New York tomorrow."
"New York! Why are you going to such a faraway place?" Butters childlike shock and enthusiasm, like always, made Stan want to hug the little boy and tell him it was okay. He knew since Kenny had vanished out of everyone's life, his little sister was staying at the Stotch household; how Kenny had convinced Butters to do this was one matter, how Butters convinced his parents was an even more pressing matter.
But now, the important question! Proudly, Stan pulled out his phone and scrolled to his pictures. "Look, dude!" He said, shoving the phone in Butters face, "It's our own place, me and Kyle! It's a nice little rental 2-room out by Brooklyn. 1221 Evergreen Terrace! I even got the address memorized." He wanted to show off this fact that he was going away from this suffocating redneck town to be with Kyle.
Butters was indeed impressed. He was nodding as he thoughtfully looked on at the pictures. He handed Stan the phone back and Stan headed off toward the high school exit. "Well, good luck for the both of you, best of friends forever!" Butters called his congratulations.
"Yeah, thanks Butters!" Stan flashed him a thumbs up as he jogged outside in the crisp cold. Hopefully soon, more than just best of friends. Maybe something much more.
Stan was in a good mood all the way home. He was trying to focus on all the amazing things waiting for him on the other end of the bus ride instead of all the terrible things that had recently been happening in South Park. Terrible things like his last best friend remaining had disappeared very suddenly, skipping out on Karen. Things like Bebe's dead body being found in a ditch. Like Cartman turning into an even bigger and more tense asshole. Like Butters becoming even more introverted, to the point where the only people he associated with anymore was Stan and Karen.
As soon as he got home to his room, he took a deep breath and practiced under his breath what he wanted to say. This was the perfect time to do it. Shelly, attending community college, was at home today. His mom was already back from work and his dad had yet to leave. His grandpa was always in front of the TV.
Going back down the steps, he yelled, "Mom! Dad! Can we have a family meeting?" It was a slightly ridiculous notion; no one in this family used the term "meeting" or even got too civil with each other.
Sharon and Randy were in the kitchen, discussing the office place politics and cooking dinner together. Since a few years ago when the two nearly got divorced, they had decided they would always do some work together, whether it was clean up, working out, or cooking. They both exchanged a look and shrugged.
"Shelly, get in the dining room!" Sharon demanded to her daughter.
"Mom, I'm working on an essay! Do I really need to listen to the little turd talk about some stupid little pet peeve of his?" Her voice returned.
"Don't call your little brother that, Shelly! You get in the dining room now, young lady!"
And so the entire Marsh family was gathered around the dining table, Randy and Sharon next to each other, Shelly typing away on her laptop, Stan's grandpa looking grumpy and tired. Stan was seated at the head seat.
"I have an announcement, but before I say it, I just wanted to let you guys know that I would really appreciate all of your support." Stan took a deep breath. "I'm moving out. I'm going to New York to live with-"
"Moving out?" Randy interrupted. "You're moving out? Jesus, Stan, do you know what you're saying?" His voice rose a few octaves.
"Yeah, dad, but that's actually not all." Stan started again but once again Randy missed the hint and spoke up.
"You can't just leave! And go all the way to New York!" He stood in his seat, the dining chair going flying back, "I can't let my son go to New York when he hasn't even graduated yet!"
"Randy, let him finish." Sharon said, tugging on his hand. Even Shelly was looking up with complete interest, essay forgotten.
Randy was not to be calmed. "I'm not going to let my son just leave, Sharon! And that to New York! Would we let Shelly leave?"
"But dad, there's more! I'm living with-"
"I don't care who you're living with young man, YOU'RE NOT GOING!" Randy screamed, his face turning red. He stopped abruptly; his right hand went to clutch the left side of his chest. Randy toppled back onto the chair.
"Dad? D-D-AD!" Stan stuttered and rushed forward to grab Randy before he fell to the floor, grunting with the sudden effort.
Sharon flew forward, "Randy, what's wrong? Randy? Shelly, call the ambulance!"
Shelly was already up out of her chair, cell phone in one hand, the other outstretched to her fainted father.
The streetlamps cast a sickly yellow pall over the streets. Kenny was hobbling down them, limping and dragging one of his feet behind him. Blood flowed from a gash on his foot, covered up by his old ripped up pair of black jeans. The torn and dirty orange parka was hardly any help toward the cold. Kenny could see his breath as he looked up to squint at the street name.
He headed down it and had to stop when the world started spinning and turning black around him. When the fuzziness faded and Kenny had some of his vision again, he panted and leapt forward, knocking over a trashcan. As the loud metal screeched to the concrete, a dog yelped in the distance.
He glanced up the road of tawdry, small houses, studying the numbers before finally finding the right one. There was a small bell that echoed through Kenny's head when his finger weakly pressed the buzzer.
"Coming!" A voice called on the other end, then the door opened. Kenny nearly didn't recognize him and stared forward with a blank look, wondering if he'd accidentally come to the wrong house.
Kyle's wild red locks were gone, shorn down into a short little faux-hawk that hardly reached his ears. There were a pair of black-rimmed glasses on his face; his freckles had nearly completely blended into that creamy pale skin instead of standing out as they used to, save for the goatee on his face. The usual overconfident humor on the Jew's face was gone, replaced by surprise and a bit of fear.
"I'm sorry, may I help you…? Oh my god, Kenny?" Kyle's face lit up as he recognized the blonde. Confused, he said, "What are you doing here?"
"I needed a place." Kenny panted.
"Of course, man. Well, come inside!" Kyle took his armsleeve to pull him out of the cold. Kenny stumbled over the doorstep and let Kyle guide him into the warmth of the little house. "Here, sit on the couch. You don't look good, Kenny. I'll just get something for you to drink; it's freezing out there."
"Kyle… wait." Kenny said, collapsing on the sofa. His voice was so faint that Kyle couldn't make it out and was already gone into the little kitchen. Kenny wearily glanced around the place; it was shabby with mismatched furniture, but no one could deny that it was cozy. The last thing Kenny could make out was a bucket with lukewarm champagne on the side table before his eyes closed automatically.
Returning a moment later with a mug of steaming cappuccino, Kyle realized Kenny wasn't moving. Had he fallen asleep or passed out? He put down the mug and noticed Kenny's ankle. His eyes widened as he realized blood was seeping slowly out of the wound.
"Jesus, Kenny!" Kyle cried, leaning forward instantly and peeling of the grimy jeans to better see. Kenny stirred but otherwise didn't react. Kyle studied the blonde before him, now noticing dark bags under his eyes, the dirt caked on his face, the absolutely filthy orange coat, his hollow cheekbones and shallow breathing.
Kyle wasn't a workout fiend, but he did still get some exercise in. Hoping that was enough to handle the weight, he picked up Kenny and was surprised to find the boy was even lighter than he had imagined. His head lolled weakly around like an infant but the boys eyes still didn't open.
Perhaps he finally knew he was in safe company. It was either that, or his body had completely given up.
As Kyle marveled at his weight, there was a clatter as something fell from Kenny to the floor, falling under the sofa. The Jew shrugged it off momentarily and carried Kenny into the bathroom, which still reeked of fresh paint and bleach from Kyle scrubbing and refurnishing it that morning. He set Kenny down against the tiles, balancing him carefully, and turned on warm water in the tub.
He returned his attention back to Kenny. First, that parka needed to go. It needed to be washed and sewed, if not burned and trashed. Kyle pulled it over his head and saw he wore no shirt underneath. Kyle had to hold back a gasp when he saw the malnourished Kenny's body, ribs and sternum sticking out of his pale skin. He unbuttoned Kenny's jeans and slid them down as well, amazed that he was still even alive with such little flesh on his body.
Taking the naked boy back into his arms, Kyle went to the edge of the tub and lowered Kenny in. For a moment, he expected the light blonde to float. But Kenny sank gracefully down into the warmth. Kyle took one of the soft sponges he had and ran it over Kenny's body, watching the dirt soften and melt, leaving the water swirling with muddy bits and gray matter. Kyle drained the muck and refilled fresh warm water twice.
Kenny muttered suddenly, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Can you forgive me?" He restlessly splashed in the water, causing some to slosh over the sides. Not sure how to calm him, the redhead took his hand and Kenny gripped it with surprising subconscious strength.
When Kenny was clean, Kyle wiped him down with the only other clean towel he had, the one he had saved for Stan, and dressed him in a pair of his long warm fleece PJs. Kyle carried him into his bedroom and buried him under the covers of the full bed; the rose petals he had spread over the comforters to welcome Stan fell to the floor.
Trying to keep as busy as he could to avoid thinking of the fact that last night Stan's dad had a heart attack, he made chicken soup for Kenny and fed it to the boy who hardly seemed aware of anything.
His dreams were frightening. He saw Karen, crying, clutching to her doll, and asking where her guardian angel was. Then Craig showed up and assured the little girl he would protect her but then he turned into Cartman and started strangling her, until Butters came and asked him to stop.
In the dream, Cartman demanded to know why he should spare Karen McCormick, and Butters promptly pointed to Kenny and said, "Get him instead."
Kenny awoke with a start. He had woken up in strange places before, girls' beds whose names he didn't remember, alleys behind bars, shelters and community centers, benches at parks and bus stations. This was nicer than any of those. He was warm, felt clean, not hungry, and comfortable.
He opened his eyes to find himself in a decent room. The doorway, directly in front of him, showed him Kyle asleep on the couch. Kenny remembered now, he remembered calling Butters from a payphone in Chicago and learning Kyle's address. He remembered hitch hiking most of the way, starving and on the run from a couple of thugs.
After that, everything was a blur.
Kenny blinked several times before slowly sliding out of the warm bed, flinching as the cold air hit his skin, and wrapping the top comforter around himself. He noticed the bandage on his foot from where a shard of beer glass had cut him. As he made his way to the living room of the little house, Kyle (always a light sleeper) looked up.
"Kenny! You're awake!" Kyle said, sitting up, his voice rough and heavy with sleep.
"How long have I been here?" Kenny asked, his own voice gruff with disuse. He sat down beside Kyle on the couch.
"You've been passed out for two days, man. Where the heck did you come from? How did you find me?" Kyle asked. "I mean, I'm incredibly glad you're here, Stan told me you've been missing since last year, but you have to understand how unexpected it is to have you turn up out of the blue."
"It's a long story." Kenny said, looking down. "I should probably leave, wouldn't want to impose and all that. I know Stan's supposed to show up soon."
"Oh- what? No, Kenny. He's not coming." Now it was Kyle's turn to turn red and avoid meeting eyes. "Besides which, you could never impose. You're one of our best friends."
Kenny rubbed his stubble with a hand. "Why isn't he coming?"
"His dad... I guess he had a heart attack or something."
"That's awfully convenient." Kenny replied. "Mr. Marsh always seemed pretty healthy to me."
Kyle narrowed his eyes, "What do you mean? Mr. Marsh had a heart attack because Stan said he was leaving."
"Oh. I'm sorry, Kyle." Kenny suddenly stood from the sofa. "See what I mean? I'm a cynical menace everywhere I go, everyone I talk to. I should just fucking go. Now."
Kyle wondered what had happened to turn his charismatic, cheeky friend into the defensive rough guy that had knocked on his door. "You're not going anywhere, Kenny. You're gonna stay right here with me, okay?"
"I don't think-"
"Shut the fuck up, Kenneth. This house wasn't brought exclusively for me. It was for my friends and me, and that includes you. Besides, you're not in any condition to go anywhere. You showed up on my porch, bleeding like a bitch and starving, freezing your ass off in that stupid orange parka. You had a gun tucked in your jeans that fell under my couch that I'm still too scared to touch and no one has heard from you in the last year. You're not going anywhere, fucktard, but back to bed."
Kenny was taken aback by Kyle's speech and couldn't help but smile. It was almost like old times, long righteous speeches and profanity included. "Well then I guess I'd better tell you the whole story, huh?"
"Damn right you better. But first, you need to tell me who you were apologizing to in your dream." Kyle said, leaning forward on the couch. And in that face, Kenny finally caught a glimpse of the childhood Kyle, concerned and eager, positive and charming.
Kenny sighed and sank farther back in the sofa. "I don't know, Kyle. There's so many people I owe apologies to: Karen, Butters, Craig, Ms. Cartman..."
"Cartman's mom?" Kyle asked, frowning.
"Well. Yeah."
"Okay, maybe you should just tell me the whole story."