Author Note: Again, my huge thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter: Dretastic, xxSay, Andatariel.x, Notebook Chen, angelswillfall and let's point out the obvious! I'm really glad you all liked it, I'm just glad Tweek's agoraphobia came off as realistic.
I have a feeling this is where the lynching's gonna start. All I can say in my defence is, there's still an awful lot at this point of the story that's not been revealed yet – so please put down the flaming torches and the noose? Pretty please?
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Heaven can wait, we're only watching the skies...
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By the time Ike leaves Tweek's house, he is both confused and slightly depressed. Depressed because the blonde he has just spoken to seems so alone. Even if he lives with his parents, they are just about the only people he has spoken to in over ten years, save for the faceless masses on the internet. Somebody should do something to give him more help than he has had – but Ike doesn't know who that person could be. And he feels hypocritical for caring at all; he knows he will not be the person lending Tweek that support, he will not be around long enough for that – and as Tweek might have said, he has his own shit to deal with.
Namely, Tweek's allegations about Kyle and Stan.
Ike does not find it hard to believe that Kyle might have been gay. He is slightly surprised that Kyle would not just come out and say so; his brother was never concerned about the slings and arrows that might head his way for being different. Then again, there is another person in the picture to consider and maybe Kyle did not want to damage Stan's reputation, or his future. Homophobic prejudice might be illegal but that doesn't mean it doesn't exist and Ike wonders if the hyper-masculine world of professional sports might have shunned Stan for his relationship with Kyle. Maybe, maybe not, but that fear almost certainly would have existed. And high school, as Tweek has proven, is notoriously insular and bigoted. Neither of them needed that kind of grief and although Kyle would not deny Stan or back down from bullies, it would make their lives easier if they just didn't have to contend with it.
It occurs to him that the young man he saw earlier smoking cigarettes is still there, a cancer stick between his fingers – presumably a new one, since Ike has been in the house more than an hour. The man can see Tweek's place from where he stands and Ike wonders what his purpose for being there is. The smoker is of about the same age as Tweek, but taller and clearly in better health, hair so dark as to be almost black. When he exhales smoke, the cold air clouds his breath as well in an impressive stream.
Ike knows he should probably let it go, but he feels oddly protective of Tweek, who is so obviously fragile. He draws level with the man and stops, wondering if he knows him but not recognising him. "Can I help you with something?"
The man's direct brown eyes meet Ike's, superficially bored, watchful beneath. He crushes the cigarette beneath his boot before speaking. "Just looking up some old ghosts. How's Tweek doing?"
So, the man is watching the house. "Why don't you go and ask him?" Ike challenges.
"I'm uh, waiting for him to come out." The man tries not to look self-conscious, loses the battle. "Sort of accidentally run into him."
"You'll have a long wait," says Ike with more sharpness in his voice than he intends. "He doesn't leave the house. Ever."
"Still?" The man stares back at Ike, seemingly lost. "But, it's been – it's been years..."
"Ten of them." Ike narrows his eyes at the stranger, wondering why he should care. "Who are you?"
"My name's Craig, I was at school with Tweek until he left. I'm back for the reunion." He laughs in that I don't believe I'm doing it though way that makes Ike think the reunion is the excuse and not the reason. "Are you and Tweek uh, friends?"
"Not in that way, if that's what you mean." Ike has been hit with too many revelations that day to baby around some guy he doesn't recall – although now he has a name, he thinks he might do. Although Kyle and Craig never really hung around together, they were passing acquaintances and Ike vaguely recalls Craig as a typically bored teenager with a monosyllabic method of speech. And Craig clearly does not recognise him at all.
"I thought I'd visit him while I was in town for the reunion myself," says Ike, feeling a little childish or wicked, because there is no need for him to be pushing Craig's buttons, yet he is wilfully doing so anyway.
"Yeah?" Craig gives him a thoughtful look, still coming up a blank. "Were you in our class? I don't remember you."
"My brother was," Ike replies, watching carefully. "I'm Ike Broflovski."
He should be used to the expression now, he thinks, but he isn't. It's the same on everyone, the sudden recognition, remembrance and shock, the way they become immediately guarded and careful. Craig is no exception to this, although he hides it better than some.
"Kyle's little bro," he says with a nod. "I was sorry as hell about what happened to him. He wasn't a close friend but I knew him and he was a pretty cool guy."
It's honest and Ike feels slight shame at wanting to cause Craig discomfort. "Thanks," he says, stuffing his hands in his pockets and deciding he might as well tell all of it. After all, Craig knew Kyle and might have something that will help Ike. "Kyle's the reason I'm here actually. I'm just trying to get to know him a bit better and he lived and died in this town, so..." He shrugs, feeling stupid because this man is still a stranger and explaining it to him is hard.
But if Craig finds it odd that he would explain this, he gives no sign. "Did Tweek tell you what you wanted to know then?"
"Some stuff." He hesitates, then plunges ahead. Perhaps Craig can add to what Tweek has already said. "He said Kyle might have been seeing someone when he died. A guy."
Craig looks mildly surprised. "Tweek knew about that?"
"Wait, did you?" Ike stares back at Craig, he had not expected him to know anything but perhaps Tweek has merely assumed it was a secret. It's not as if the blonde talked to many people after all, even back then.
"I knew." Craig takes out another cigarette, lights it. "I didn't think anyone else did though. I kept it to myself, I mean, I saw what happened to Tweek." He blows out smoke, almost angrily. "There should have been more I could do for him, but at least I could keep it from happening to them too. So I kept my mouth shut. It was only chance that I saw anything anyway. I was going for a smoke and there they were." Craig chuckles. "I thought he was just glad he was back until he squeezed a cheek. So I backed up and went somewhere else."
Craig leans against the car again, resting his foot against the machine. Ike hopes that it is his own vehicle, or the owner will be pissed. "Out of all the guys in school who'd turn out to be gay, that surprised me the most. I mean, he was so obsessed with tits."
Ike frowns. "Kyle was obsessed with tits? I don't remember that?"
"Like he'd tell baby brother that. But no, not Kyle."
Craig Tucker considers himself one of life's natural smokers. Some people are just predisposed to the habit and he is one of them. A part of him blames Cartman's constant jibes at his fucked-up teeth when he was younger, his adult teeth grew in crooked and by the time they had readjusted themselves, he was already self-conscious about them. He had gotten into the habit of covering his mouth a lot, when he laughed or yawned, rarely smiling wide enough to show his teeth. Smoking is a natural extension of that, a reason for his hand to be at his mouth and hiding whatever might show as he opens it. And of course, the nicotine stains along with the discolouration from the coffee he drinks all the time while he is visiting with Tweek has made him even more aware of the issue.
The situation with Tweek in the last few months has caused him to change his smoking habits. At one point, he was getting through maybe a pack a week, usually when he was hanging out with his friends and looking rebellious and cool. He'd wanted the cigarettes but not needed them. Recently, tension seems to swirl around him like the smoke from the damn things and he used the need for a cigarette to cover that he really needed a break to clear his head. He would have a cigarette at the same time though and that was how he found himself totally addicted and more often than not, smoking in the secret space behind the dumpsters, where he was unlikely to be found. Definitely not cool.
He is heading that way now, grimly aware that he has not smoked since he was on his way to school that morning and hating the way he has managed to choose them over something more profitable to do on his break. And that he is anxiously anticipating the first drag, the way it will taste upon his tongue, the way his lungs will fill with sweet, slow poison, the satisfaction as he breathes it back into the air. The cigarettes are like a lover that he knows is no good for him, but he is powerless to resist.
He rounds the corner, expecting to find no one there; there are several smokers among the students but the Goth kids have their own hangout and apart from them, most of the other students are not sufficiently addicted to need a fix between morning and lunch. He anticipates having the place to himself and that is why he is a little put out when he sees not one, but two people under the eave where he tries to protect himself from the biting wind and occasional snowfall.
He recognises them both obviously, although he is surprised to see either of them. He hesitates momentarily, wondering if he should light up and saunter over to say hello, although he could do without one of Kyle's disapproving looks. He stays where he is though when Kyle suddenly pulls the other boy into a hug, figuring that he will wait until the moment is over before he approaches. A few seconds pass and Craig frowns. This is some long hug. He has been trying not to pay them any attention but now he looks back and notices that Kyle's hand has slid down his friends back, dangerously close to his ass. Before Craig can form an opinion about this, Kyle's hands go even lower and give both cheeks a friendly squeeze. There is a squeak and both boys start laughing, clearly unaware they are not alone. Craig feels like an intruder and tries to back silently away, urge for nicotine forgotten.
But he cannot resist one last look as he reaches the corner. Kyle is reaching up slightly, being pulled into a kiss. Craig widens his eyes in surprise as the two of them embrace lovingly, noticing the way Kyle's arm raises up to push off his partners hood and run his hand through unruly blonde hair. And the way Kenny's arms go around Kyle, tightening possessively, with no care as to who else might be around.
"Kenny?" Ike's voice sounds to himself as if it is coming from a great distance. "You saw Kyle and Kenny together?"
"Well, yeah." Craig gives Ike an odd look and Ike decides he must look shell-shocked. He feels shell-shocked. Kyle's homosexuality isn't an issue for him, although he's taken aback. That he might have been dating Stan is not an issue, or that he might have been seeing Kenny. What disturbs Ike is that he might have been seeing Stan and Kenny. The implications crash into his mind and he needs to think them over – but not here, while he is still talking to Craig.
Trying to smile, Ike looks back to Tweek's house, then to Craig. "You should go knock," he says. "I think he'd be glad to see you."
Craig shrugs. "We fell out of touch years ago. He might not even recognise me."
"He will." Ike is sure of that, even though Tweek barely mentioned Craig. To wait outside the house of an agoraphobic one has not seen for ten years is an act of a friend and Tweek certainly needs one of those. "Go say hello. Thanks for talking to me, I'll see you around, yeah?"
"See you around Ike," echoes Craig and although he stays where he is, he eyes Tweek's house with a new thoughtfulness. Ike does not wait to see what he will do, he needs to get the hell away from there, take a walk for a while, clear his head, think this through. He strides to the end of the street and takes a corner, putting both Craig and Tweek behind him.
His mind is in turmoil. He cannot work out the time scale and wishes he had asked just when Tweek saw Kyle with Stan, when Craig saw Kyle with Kenny. Although both men said that Kenny had just got back and even if it might not have been from the same death, it seems likely enough to assume that it was. The three boys were incredibly close their whole lives and Ike can recall himself that even the week before Kyle died, the three of them hanging out, laughing together, no awkwardness at all. The Friday night, the night before Kyle died, they had all slept at Kyle's house. They might have been planning the same for Saturday, although he cannot remember that much. It jars with what he has been told that day.
He is left with two options, neither of them especially good ones. The first is that Kyle had some kind of a fling with one of his two best friends, it didn't work out and he got with the other. This incident failed to damage their friendship and the three were just as close as they had always been. But Ike knows a few things about human nature and he knows that it is highly unlikely that such an occurrence would happen like that. Exes could be friends, but could they play third wheel with the new love? And would the new love accept the presence of the ex?
The second is worse; that Kyle has been in a relationship with one of them, maybe kept it a secret from the third – and then become involved with the third and kept it a secret from the second. Ike loathes the thought that his adored elder brother could have been so duplicitous, so cold. That he would play his two best friends like that without remorse.
I thought you knew me better than that says Kyle reproachfully.
Ike thought he knew that too, but this information points to that conclusion. There is a chance that Tweek and Craig have misinterpreted what they saw and perhaps the kisses and gropes were wholly innocent. Yet he doesn't believe it. Something was going on, he's convinced of it. And perhaps it is that Kyle was seeing two people at once.
But there is only so long that a person can play that game and get away with it, especially between people as close as Kenny and Stan were. And maybe Kyle had finally been discovered.
Ike thinks of Kyle lying at the foot of the observation tower, Kenny's mysterious beating that no one can explain, and grows cold.
During the entire walk back to the motel, Ike is deep in thought. He cannot reconcile what Tweek and Craig have told him with the image of his big brother, the guy who would do just about anything for his friends but certainly wouldn't mislead them either – but he will have to find a way. The chance that Kyle led both Stan and Kenny on unnerves him and tarnishes what he remembers of his brother. That he had secrets is certain – he was a seventeen year old boy and certainly didn't tell either his parents or his little brother everything – but he can't believe that Kyle would be a cheat. It goes against everything he knows about his brothers personality. Kyle was always honest and forthright and if he did keep secrets, they were not the kind that would hurt people. Kyle was simply not duplicitous.
But how well do you ever really know anyone? Kyle's voice is in his head, as it always is. Ike frowns. Kyle can play Devils Advocate all he wants, but Ike knows better and he does not need his subconscious speaking in his dead brothers voice to remind him of that.
Henrietta is still behind the desk when he gets back, but there are two children in the reception area as well, sitting far more quietly than Ike would have thought. One is maybe eight, the other a year or two younger and although they sit in relative calm, they are also indulging in a kick-fight. Ike smirks, in spite of his turmoil. In spite of their black clothes and solemn looks, they are still engaged in the age-old combat that siblings always partake in. Ike notices how alike they look, both of them with black hair that would be a damn sight longer than it already is, if not for the tight curls. Henrietta never said, but he suspects he knows who their father is.
She glances up at him from her spot and gives him that slight smile that seems to pass as friendliness for her. "Hey. I was hoping you'd be back before I left. Keiran's gonna pick us up, thought you might want to say hi."
Only a couple of hours ago, Ike would very much have liked to say hi to Keiran after all this time. After Kyle died, Keiran was the only one of his friends who ever bothered to keep up with him. Filmore, who was supposed to be his best friend, had taken to avoiding him as much as possible, either not knowing what to say or how to react, or possibly thinking that dead relatives were catching. Ike had understood and not brought himself to care much – but Keiran had gone on behaving as if things were normal. There had been one occasion, not long before the Broflovski's had left town, when Ike had not even realised he was thinking about Kyle until he burst into sudden, violent tears. Keiran had said nothing, merely given Ike space. When his tears were almost dried up, Keiran's arm had gone around his shoulders in a rough hug, the message seeming to be not that everything was fine, but that it was acceptable to be broken up about it. Once the tears were gone, Keiran had handed Ike one of his cigarettes and never said a word about the incident. And somehow, it had made Ike feel okay about not being okay.
But he is so far beyond confusion that right now, he would prefer to not have any more old ghosts rattling their chains until he has a chance to examine the ones he has found. However, good manners disallow him from sloping off before Keiran shows up, so he makes small talk with Henrietta for a few minutes before a new arrival walks through the door. Both the kids leap to their feet and fling themselves at him and Ike turns, suddenly apprehensive. The last time he saw Keiran, they weren't even teenagers and time has not been kind to some of the people he has met since his return. He would hate for his memories of Keiran to be tainted by the reality of who he is now.
Keiran has not grown up the way Ike expected him to. He had thought that the skinny, pale twelve year old he had known would grow into a skinny, pale adult. Instead, somewhere along the line Keiran has taken up working out and although he is not overly-muscled, there are definitely signs of good muscle tone on his bare arms and he is trim rather than skinny. Those exposed arms are covered in tribal tattoos, from wrist to shoulder, the occasional flash of colour adorning the blue and black markings. Another peeks from the right side of the neck of his shirt. His hair is still dyed black and is possibly supposed to be emo-style with a long straight fringe, but it has not stayed that way, clearly Keiran runs his hands through his hair a lot and it sticks in peaks and spikes that make Ike want to smile. There is a single hoop through the corner of Keiran's lip, a bar through his eyebrow, an abundance of steel in both ears.
Ike contrasts himself with Keiran, takes into account his lanky body, skin that is not naturally pale but heading that way thanks to too much time working and not enough in the world, his overgrown hair that is typically brushed by raking his hands through it. He has no tattoos or exotic piercings, his only adornment are the stylish black-rimmed glasses that he typically wears.
Keiran catches the older child as he leaps, the younger one a moment later, giving them a genuine smile before setting them to their feet. "You're getting to old for that shit," he says to them, seeing Henrietta's disapproving look and smiling sheepishly.
"Warm day is it?" she asks, looking pointedly at his bare arms. The sarcasm is tangible; the snow still lies on the ground.
"Heater's broke," replies Keiran, giving Ike a casual look before his eyes go back to Henrietta. "Been on full blast since Denver. I feel like I've been in a sauna..." His eyes go back to Ike and Ike can practically see him trying to figure out the mystery before recognition lights his eyes. "Holy shit, no way! Ike Broflovski?"
"Hey Keiran," says Ike mildly, although he is more nervous than he shows. Keiran was not his brothers friend, he was Ike's friend and for the first time, Ike is concerned about what opinion the man might form about him. He can see Keiran's eyes sweeping over him and back to his face, taking in the expensive jeans and shirt, his lanky form and outgrown hair. Appearance is rarely paramount to Ike and suddenly, he wishes that it was.
"Fuck." Keiran takes Ike's hand and shakes it, his free hand resting against Ike's shoulder. The gesture is simultaneously welcoming and friendly and Ike feels absurdly grateful to have been accepted by the other yet again. "It's been forever Ike. What brings you back to this shit-hole?"
"Kyle," Ike blurts out, although he did not mean to impart this information, at least in this way. It sounds weak, clingy, as if there has been nothing between then and now but what was left behind in South Park. "I mean, I came back because I needed to know..." He sighs. "It's complicated."
Keiran nods, his tongue darting out to play with the ring through the corner of his lip. In spite of his inner turmoil, Ike cannot help but be fascinated by the gesture. Keiran is so different to what he expected, but the ghost of the child he was is still stamped on his face. Mostly in those eyes, although Ike's sudden reappearance has temporarily blown away the layer of jaded cynicism that was a staple back then.
"How's it going so far?" Keiran asks, rather than looking for explanations as to why Ike would bother after all this time. This is another thing Ike remembers about him and something that all the Goths seemed to share; not the lack of interest so much as the recognition that further details may or may not be given and in the meantime, it is not his business to ask for them.
"It's going..." Ike trails off, looking back at Henrietta and then to Keiran once more. "It's going pretty weird. It's not like I thought it'd be."
"Very little is," replies Keiran with a wry smile that seems far more at home on his face then that expression of unexpected happiness he wore earlier. Ike wonders if Keiran has realised his own thoughts about how the other has changed, or if perhaps Keiran sees a difference in Ike that Ike is too used to seeing to truly notice.
An elderly man walks into the reception area and Henrietta rises from her seat, seeming irritated but unsurprised. "Nice of you to show up Malcolm," she says, vacating the desk so that the man can slide in instead, pretending not to notice as his eyes go immediately to her breasts and stay there. "I gotta get the kids home Keiran."
"Right." But Keiran seems reluctant to leave and hesitates a moment. "Ike? You wanna catch up later on, grab a beer? I might be able to help you out finding people."
Ike is nodding before he even realises he is going to accept. Socialising was not on the agenda that evening, he had planned to seek out his brothers other classmates that might have remained in town... specifically, Kenny McCormick. But Kenny seems to not want to be found and Keiran could help – and Ike needs a friend, someone who he can talk to about what may or may not have happened back then, someone who will understand.
And he can't deny that he wants to find out more about Keiran too. What happened to him in the years between and what made him stay for so long, when so many of the towns children fled, never to return.
"There's a bar over the street," Ike says, thinking that it is close enough to the motel so he doesn't have to go far and a place he already knows, thanks to his earlier lunch with Henrietta. "Is there okay?"
"Sure. About nine?"
Ike agrees, thinking that nine is a bit later than he would have expected but clearly Keiran has just finished working and driven a long way home. He probably needs time to relax and get his affairs in order before he does anything. And Ike could also do with the break. His head is whirling with the implications of what he has learned.
Keiran leaves with Henrietta and the children and Ike goes to his room, spending a while lying on the bed and staring at the ceiling. His mind is entrenched in the past, going over the last few months of Kyle's life. The two of them were close, but they still had separate lives; Ike had his own things going on and no reason to believe that Kyle wouldn't be around forever. He had noticed that Kyle seemed more secretive, or thinks he noticed it, yet also seemed happier. He can recall that Kyle seemed less ready to get into the traditional screaming fights with their mother that had punctuated the redheads awkward teenage years. Ike had put all of this down to Kyle maturing and the looming prospect of college and freedom. But Kyle never made it to college.
He thinks back to the funeral, a memory he refuses to visit most of the time. The Rabbi giving the service at the graveside, his parents stunned and still. His mother especially seemed to be holding herself together through the sheer force of her iron will, refusing to break down in front of all these people. His father, red-eyed and bewildered. Ike had been something less than a disinterested spectator at the time, he barely heard the words of the Rabbi, acting entirely on autopilot. He had kept expecting Kyle to suddenly pop up and announce it had all been a mistake – these things happened in South Park after all, a look to the boy on his left would have reminded him that in this town, dead is not always forever. More than that though, he expected to wake up. By the time the funeral was half-over, there was a feeling expanding in his stomach, a knowledge or acceptance. This was real, this was really happening and that feeling of unreality was slowly dissolving, leaving behind dawning horror. Because it was real and it was permanent.
Hold it together a little while longer Kyle had said, the voice seeming so real that Ike turned his head to see if his brother was behind him, wearing his own suit, trying not to stuff his hands in his pockets because it drove their mother crazy. It was the first time he heard his own mind speaking in Kyle's voice and ever since then, his decisions are made only after consulting it.
Ike rubs at his eyes with the back of his hand, the memory of that day still enough to strike deep sorrow into him, even after all this time. He tries to remember more in spite of that, who else was there. A good portion of Kyle's class, friends and acquaintances alike. Ike recalls Bebe Stevens, who until today he had always assumed Kyle had rather fancied – certainly they had dated once or twice – beautiful in spite of her dark clothes and shades, the weird twisted look on her face. She was standing a little apart from the others in her class, perhaps because she ran with a different crowd than had attended the funeral. Most of the others there were the ones who had known Kyle since pre-K, the ones he had shared a class with his whole school life. And most of them were sending sharp looks at the three boys a definite distance from everyone else. Kyle's long-time best friends.
Eric Cartman was solemn, dry-eyed. His eyes remained on the coffin the entire time, almost studying it. He said very little throughout from what Ike remembers, merely watched Kyle get buried and went home. But he did spare a few minutes to speak in a hushed tone with his friends afterwards, about what Ike doesn't know.
Kenny McCormick had been standing, wearing a grey suit that didn't fit so well. Ike remembers thinking that he had to borrow it off someone, because he has never seen it before and Kenny has worn the same suit to every event for the last eighteen months, unlikely he'd buy a new one for a funeral. As he'd once said within Ike's hearing, the dead don't give a shit about the clothes the mourners wear. He was silent, head bowed, long strands of hair deliberately brushed down over his face. It made seeing his eyes almost impossible and Ike didn't look closely enough to imagine it was anything more than trying to hide evidence of his tears. He can however recall the healing lip and that he never could raise enough interest to care what might have caused it.
Stan had been seated. He was not supposed to leave the hospital for any reason Ike seems to recall, but refused point blank to not attend. He arrived in a wheelchair pushed by his father, as much a spectacle as the grave itself. Stan had worn the vacant expression of a man who has seen too much, who wants nothing more than to escape into the sanctuary of disbelief. Ike suspected at the time that he looked like that too – but he was unable to spare much pity for Stan Marsh either. He needed it for himself.
One thing he does remember is that Kenny never once left Stan's side. The entire day, Kenny was there to comfort Stan and although neither of them seemed to say much, while Ike was watching at least, they seemed to be trying to draw some kind of strength from each other. Not the behaviour of a pair of love rivals, that was certain.
The funeral was the last time that Ike saw Stan. He knows from what he heard around town and from the police that Stan was in the hospital rehabbing for a long time, transferred from Hells Pass to Denver at some point and his parents had moved house and Randy had transferred offices so that he could be closer to the physical therapy unit once he was allowed out. Ike wonders to himself how much it helped. As far as he is concerned, Stan is in the wind and he has no idea how to find him without the usual social networking pages, of which Stan doesn't appear to be a part.
And so far, no word from Kenny.
Abruptly, Ike decides he needs a break. He can't keep on doing this to himself, covering the same ground over and over when he only has scant information and no proof at all. He is just hurting himself by doing so, driving himself slowly out of his mind. Instead, he takes a quick shower, unimpressed at the weak spray and barely-hot water, then dresses quickly. Almost unconsciously, he chooses black jeans and grey top, sombre clothes for drinking with his old friend. He will be almost an hour early he realises, but he finds that he doesn't care. He will take a paperback, perhaps scope out the scene and hopefully, become distracted from his thoughts by being alone in company.