Author Note: My huge thanks to J.E. McCormickGal, let's point out the obvious, NoteBookChen, xxSay and everyone who was reading over the latter two readers shoulders! It actually makes me no end of happy to think of FF account holders hanging out in Real Life, possibly because my friends think I'm a little strange to be writing fanfic, lol.
I've been so busy of late that I haven't had huge amounts of time to write – that this chapter was written save for about five paragraphs and didn't get updated until today says it all really. I hope you won't give up on me, the update might be a little slower coming at the moment, but the story is still alive and kicking!
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Crept in your room, woke you from your sleep to make love to you...
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The inside of Kenny's apartment does not reflect the neighbourhood it is in. It is neater than Ike would have imagined, having had visions of bachelor-esque squalor. But everything has a place and although there is a plate on the coffee table with the barely-eaten remnants of pop-tarts on it and an empty cup beside it, the room is otherwise well cared for.
Kenny follows Ike's gaze and snorts. "I used to swear every day that once I lived away from home, I was never gonna eat another pop-tart. But sometimes I get the taste for 'em. The McCormick version of home comfort." He unzips the jacket. "You want coffee? You're not exactly dressed for the weather if you're used to the warm."
"I'm not really cold, but a coffee would be good thanks." Ike doesn't sit as Kenny goes into the kitchen. Instead, he examines some of the décor. Kenny clearly doesn't really go in for possessions but there is a shelf stacked with books, another shelf far more taken up by DVDs. No statues or souvenirs – but there is a picture. Ike looks at it for long moments. Seventeen year old Kenny McCormick is in the centre, beaming. Stan Marsh is on his left, smiling at the camera, resting comfortably against the blondes side. And on his right is Kyle, looking slightly crazed and with an arm just going behind Kenny, as if he was in motion when the picture was taken.
"Kyle took it," says Kenny from behind him and Ike gives an unmasculine squeak of alarm, whipping around. Kenny has discarded the jacket and it is Ike's first good look at the man since they buried Kyle. He finds himself looking more for changes than he is for similarities. Kenny is clearly older than he looked back then, but that seems to be the only real change in his appearance. He still has the same no-style blonde hair, that same slightly underweight body, the same type of clothes. Even that crooked smile is the same – but Ike can see a sadness in it that was not so clear when he was younger, mirrored in his eyes.
Kenny extends his arm, a cup of coffee in his hand. Ike takes it, checking out Kenny's arms. Keiran did not mention where he did the tattoo and although Kenny wears a plain shirt that exposes his lower arms, the skin above the elbows is hidden. Kenny looks back at the picture. "He had this camera with a timer, we never could work the timer out. We'd always end up with the weirdest pictures. I think that was about the best of them."
He takes a seat on the couch and after a slight pause, Ike sits down beside him and takes a sip of his coffee. The furniture is IKEA but seems new enough, the couch is not the traditional second-hand mongrel he had suspected it would be and in the corner is a large workspace with an expensive computer and all the accessories are top of the line. It seems to be where Kenny spends most of his time. The TV is large and up-to-date, the gadgets in the room are just what he would have expected from a single man with a decent disposable income. Although he has been led to believe that Kenny does not work overmuch thanks to his habit of frequently dying.
"What do you do now Ken?"
"Tech support," says Kenny with a slight smirk. "I can work from home and it has flexible hours. The company thinks I'm sick and I need to be able to work around some illness. It's almost true, I put in as much time as anyone else and they get to say they don't discriminate. Everyone wins."
"You live alone?"
"Yeah." Kenny looks at Ike over the top of his cup. "You didn't come here to find out what I've been doing for the last ten years."
Ike sighs. Kenny is clearly no longer used to casual talk with other people, Ike certainly doesn't recall him being so abrupt even if he did always speak his mind back in the day. "No, I guess I didn't. Kenny... I know what was going on with you and Kyle and Stan."
Kenny nods, as if he has expected this. "You always were the smart one. Did Kyle tell you? Because he was always so careful to be careful around you and he never said."
"No. I didn't know back then." Ike rests the cup on his knee. "I found out when I got here – kinda. I went to see Tweek Tweak and he knew about Kyle and Stan and there was this other guy, Craig? He knew about you and Kyle."
"He did?" Kenny looks surprised. "I can see how Tweek couldn't mention it, but I dunno why Craig kept it to himself. Or even how he found out."
"Craig said you'd just – got back."
"Ah. We were probably a little bit less careful then." Kenny sighs. "Although just before it all hit the fan, I think we'd been lulled into a sense of security. It had been ages and no one even suspected. Not even Cartman and honestly, he spent more time with the three of us than anyone else. We started taking chances, just little things like – well, y'know, the usual. Slight touches, lingering looks, private jokes, all the usual stuff. I guess that's how they found out."
"No." Ike shakes his head. "It was just shit luck." He looks over at Kenny, hardly able to believe that he didn't know what had led up to them being found out – but who was going to tell him? From what Clyde had said, they never got to tell Stan about the picture and Kenny didn't get an explanation either. And if Kyle had ever found out about it, it hadn't been from his boyfriends. He debates telling Kenny how he was found out and decides against it, that was probably the last time the three of them were intimate and he does not want to sour the memories of it by telling Kenny it led to them being outed. If Kenny asks, he will tell the story – but he does not ask. Maybe he realises that the information will do him no good.
"Kenny." Ike puts the cup aside and bites his lip, wondering how he can best put what he has to say. "I'm sorry to ask, but – you were the last person to see Kyle alive that night. And I need to know."
Kenny nods, not looking at Ike. "What do you need to know?"
"Clyde told me about what happened in the parking lot, but they took off when they thought you were dead. Spent the rest of the night at Mitchell's house getting blind drunk and congratulating each other..." Ike stops as he realises he sounds bitter and Kenny does not need this part of the trip down memory lane. "You weren't dead though, were you? What happened?"
"The same thing as everyone does when they get the living shit kicked out of them." Kenny discards his own cup. "I picked up my teeth and went home."
Kenny does not know how he managed to get home. He came to as the last of the football teams cars were leaving the lot at breakneck speed, blinking a rivulet of blood from his eyes and moaning softly. He managed to get to his feet, get back in the car, start the engine. The journey home is mostly a blur though, getting back appropriately on autopilot.
He gets from the car and because it is Stan's, remembers to lock it. Thinking of Stan sends a wave of hurt through him that is much worse than the leaden agony in his back, the aching ribs that send sharp pains throughout his chest when he breathes, the steady throbbing in his head. He will heal, Stan may never be the same again.
Had he died, he would have come back free of injury. But there is no way of telling how long this would have taken and this is why he is grateful to be alive. Stan will need him to be there while he goes through physio, or comes to terms with his broken limb and shattered future. He will need both of them.
Kenny leans against the car and then forces himself to stand, he needs to get in the house and lie down... but more than that, he needs to speak to Kyle. He needs to put things into perspective. He needs to think about what has happened to them that day.
He stumbles into the house, leaning heavily on the door and the walls as he makes his way to his room. As expected, his brother is nowhere in sight and his parents don't seem to be home, although he imagines they will be back soon with an evenings stash of booze. That's fine. He has his own stash, thieved from his parents a couple of months before and each blaming the other for drinking it all. At the time he felt a little guilty, now he is grateful he had that much foresight.
Once in his room he collapses onto the bed, groaning loudly as the act sends more bolts of pain through him. Those bastards really fucked him up. He feels like he's been hit by a car doing five over the limit, something he has personal experience of. He breathes through the pain and without moving his body, reaches his arm out to open his underwear drawer. He paws through the boxers and socks blindly until he finds what he's looking for; a bottle of whisky. For a moment he lies, arm hanging off the bed, hand curled loosely around the bottle. Then he sits up with an effort, unscrewing the cap and taking a generous swig. Immediately, his throat heats up and the pain in his body seems to loosen its hold a little.
He looks through the drawer further and finds extra strength ibuprofen, another thing he has liberated from his parents. He takes two, pauses, takes another. Maybe not a good idea with the whisky chasers but he needs to dull the pain, especially in his ribs. He suspects one of them is cracked, perhaps two and it hurts like a bitch.
He chews the pills dry while going into his pocket for his phone. If it has been busted, he's screwed – but it's an old model and tougher than the ones his friends have, also it was protected by his body when he fell. It seems to have escaped damage. His credit is dangerously low and he curses himself for being unable to get more in the last couple of days. But what the fuck was he going to buy it with, monopoly money? Fat chance. He never could afford a monopoly board.
Kenny finds Kyle's number and calls; there is no point calling Stan's phone, which is in his car sitting in Kenny's driveway and not that he'd be able to answer right then even if he had it. His hand is slightly swollen, the knuckles torn where he hit one of his attackers with a lucky shot and even holding the phone is uncomfortable. He closes his eyes briefly and prays that Kyle will answer.
His prayers go unanswered. Kyle's phone is turned off, hospital rules. It goes straight to his voice mail and Kenny mentally counts down the time he has left before his money is through. He can't even use the house phone, it's been off for two weeks now.
"Kyle," he says as soon as the bleep sounds, slightly appalled at how hoarse his voice sounds. "It's me. Just – for fucks sake, be careful. Stan was right, they went after him on purpose and I think..." He coughs, trying to talk through it. He doesn't have the time for this. "I think they're gunning for us."
He cuts off the call, checks his credit again. He can make one text, not even enough for a call. He takes another drink of the whisky, starting to feel ten times better than he did. Which still isn't great but he'll take any improvement he can get.
Tentatively, he reaches up and touches his face. His right cheek feels puffy and that eye is rapidly puffing shut. There's a long cut on his forehead that has scabbed over, but it feels shallow. His lips are split. He probably looks like he went a round with Muhammad Ali. His clothes are grimy and there are traces of blood on them, especially the sleeve he used to rub blood from his eyes and face. Fuck. It's his only jacket.
He is supposed to go to the hospital, be right there after picking up Stan's car. He's already overdue. If he can just take a shower, clean himself up some, he can change his clothes and show up not looking too much like a horror film. Maybe he can wear his hoody, draw the hood over his head and hide his face some. Maybe no one will notice.
Kyle will notice.
He lies on the bed, eyes slipping shut. He forces them open again, starts texting. If Kyle does not immediately listen to his voicemail, he will read a text. But he should be at the hospital before Kyle leaves, most likely the redhead will stay there until he is forced from the building or until Stan is awake again. This is just a precaution.
His eyes keep trying to close and he wonders distantly if he has accidentally overdosed. But fuck it, he needed those pills and that numbing alcohol. Like his dad always says, nothing kills the pain like spirits. He fights it. He has lost consciousness, isn't there some rule that he isn't to go to sleep?
Be careful dude he texts, feeling a little spacy. It takes him a while to get the words right on the screen. Im comin 2 pik u up. xx
There might be a rule against xx as well, but he doesn't care. They know, that means everyone knows and it is too late to be cautious. Although how they know is still a mystery to him. It makes no difference anyway. Before he can press the send button, his eyes close once more and the phone falls from his grasp, landing on the bed. He sleeps, breathing heavily through his injured nose and split lips, dreaming of how it was between them when this whole thing first started. How worried they were about their motivations, about each other. And how they all came to deal with the fact that yes, it was possible for all of them to love each other equally. He could not imagine being with Stan and not Kyle, or the other way around.
The dream, which was vague and surreal to begin with, intersects to what happened in the ambulance. How Stan had been white, breathing far to quickly, clearly in pain. He had barely been talking sense and how the ambulance driver only let both Kyle and Kenny ride along because Stan went ballistic at the thought of leaving either of them behind.
"Guys." Stan's eyes were glassy and Kenny wondered then if he knew what he was saying. The pain seemed to have put him into a delirium. "They tried to do it. They planned to do it because they know everything..."
"Stanny." Kyle's voice was soothing and low and as the ambulance drives off, he took Stan's hand. "It's okay. Just relax, don't try to talk. You'll be in hospital soon and they'll give you the good stuff, okay?"
It's not a good joke, so it was as well Stan didn't seem to hear. But his hand tightened around Kyle's and he reached out to Kenny, who took his other hand. Stan grits his teeth as the ambulance goes over a bump and beads of sweat stand out on his forehead. Kenny, who has always thought of Stan as some kind of superhero, wanted to cry.
"I love you guys," said Stan clearly, eyes opening again. They seemed clear, in spite of his pinprick pupils. "Be careful. Please. They found out." Another jolt and he gripped their hands painfully. Kenny and Kyle locked eyes and Kenny can read the fear and upset in Kyle's green orbs. He was sure the same look was in his own.
And then some noise nudges Kenny from his sleep and at first he is disoriented. He cannot work out why, if he has been dreaming, he still feels like shit. He places the sound instantly, someone clicking the light switch. But the bulb blew out almost a month ago and he has been too lazy to replace it, merely using a lamp beside the bed. The room is dark and he wonders when that happened.
"Stan?" But he knows it isn't. It wasn't so much a dream as a memory.
"Not quite." Kyle's voice and he sounds pissed. Of course he does. One of his boyfriends has been put in hospital and the other has not returned when he said he would. Kenny wonders what the hell time it actually is.
Kenny sits up, wincing at the pain in his ribs and hoping that Kyle does not notice the pain. He might not, the room is dim and he is still isn't sure Kyle is even looking in his direction. But then Kyle is moving across the room and Kenny instinctively draws up the hood of his jacket, hoping to hide the worst of it. Maybe if he doesn't turn on the light... because Kenny is ashamed that he was beaten so easily. That he was face to face with the people who hurt Stan and he barely got a punch in. He is disgusted with himself.
He blames himself.
Kyle gives him an odd look as he pulls his hood up and reaches for the light, pausing as his fingers brush against the whisky bottle. Kenny winces again. It was medicinal – but with his parents, his reputation, why the hell not believe that he sat home getting shitfaced while his boyfriend is undergoing surgery?
"You weren't sitting here getting drunk instead of going to the hospital," says Kyle, not angrily but as if it is a simple fact, like he has read Kenny's thoughts. And Kenny is ashamed of himself again; he should have known Kyle knows him better than the gossips in this hick town.
Kyle turns on the light and Kenny shies away from it, tries to hide his face. He's too late though, even if Kyle has missed the bruises on his face, he can still see the state of the clothes that Kenny has yet to change.
His hand reaches to the side of Kenny's face, gently guiding it around to look at him, his other hand drawing down the hood. Kenny allows him to do this, but keeps his eyes cast down. He feels as though he doesn't deserve this gentle touch, this consideration.
"Oh Kenny..."
Kyle leans forward and kisses his split lips, feather light so as not to hurt him further. Kenny manages to look up and sees the expression on Kyle's face. The anger will come back later, he knows it will, but for the moment it has been wiped away by shock – and pain. Kyle is devastated by what has happened to him and Kenny feels horrible all over again.
"Can you take off your jacket?"
Kenny doesn't want to. He wants only to hide what has happened, he doesn't want Kyle to see just how bad it is. But he can't say no to Kyle, he never has been able to. He looks down again and unzips his jacket, removing it gingerly. He wishes Kyle would not notice how the simple act causes him to ache fiercely, but he knows that he does. Beneath is his Cows shirt and he grimaces. He had to work damn hard for that shirt and he only ever wore it to show his support for Stan. Now, he feels dirty just having it against his flesh. He suspects he will never wear it again.
Kyle takes the shirt off for him, carefully so that Kenny does not have to move too much. Kenny hears the sharp intake of breath as Kyle sees the marks on his torso, he himself has not dared to look and still does not have the courage.
His head stays down, but Kenny's gaze goes upward. What he sees makes him pause. There are tears standing in Kyle's dark eyes, not the tears of rage and frustration that appear sometimes when he is screaming at someone. These are tears of real sadness and Kenny is not sure the boy even knows they are there. If he does, he clearly doesn't care.
Kyle traces a thumb over Kenny's cheek and abruptly stands. "Stay here," he says, as if Kenny were planning to slip out of the window and go dancing the moment his back is turned. He leaves the room and Kenny leans back, wearily wondering what Kyle is doing. He hopes he is not calling anyone. He wants this to be a secret. He never wants anyone to know.
But when Kyle returns a few minutes later, he is carrying a bowl of warm water, a couple of towels, the sad, elderly first aid kit that is unlikely to contain any actual supplies. Kyle is going to take care of him and the simple gesture makes Kenny feel uncharacteristically like crying. It has been a long, hateful day and his emotions were barely under control even before this.
Kyle sits beside him and pushes the long strands of blonde hair from his eyes, damping the corner of one of the towels and going about cleaning up Kenny's face. It feels good; Kenny had not realised just how dirty and puffy his skin felt until it starts to become clean. He closes his eyes as Kyle wipes them, immediately feeling slightly more alert and opening them again as Kyle's lips press against his forehead. A flush of guilt runs through him when he sees Kyle is crying. Only a little, but there is a tear track on his cheek and his eyes are glistening. It has been a shitty day for him too.
Kenny casts his eyes away. "I'm sorry~"
"No!" Kyle's voice is sharp and angry and hurt. Kenny looks back and opens his mouth to speak, but Kyle overrides him. "Don't be sorry Ken, don't be! This isn't your fault! How was getting beat up your fault?"
Kyle takes a deep breath and lowers his voice. "Who did it? What happened?"
"It was after I went to get Stan's things," says Kenny. "I was in his car, just – y'know, taking a breather before I went back to the hospital. They dragged me out and..." He puts his hand to his forehead, wanting to explain how it was, not sure how it would sound any less pathetic than it sounds to himself. "It was the team. They know, I don't know how but they said something about getting us all and how they already got to Stan..."
Kyle takes his hand, kissing his torn knuckles. "Ken, you were outnumbered and ambushed. There was nothing you could have done different and that's not even the point. They had no right Kenny. They didn't have the right to touch either of you."
"And who's going to stop them?" Kenny met Kyle's eyes again, feeling as if everything they have is going to be dragged through the mud and made to sound dirty. It isn't. The relationship between the three of them is one of the few things in his life that has ever felt perfect and he doesn't want that to be ruined by the small minds and big mouths of a few hate-filled people.
Kyle hesitates and Kenny wishes he hasn't spoken, even if it needed to be said. The three of them have hesitantly discussed what will happen when their secret gets out, as they always knew it would in the end – although they were hoping that by then, they would be done with high school and its dramas and would be left alone. That they would be proven successes in life and able to avoid too much scrutiny. Kenny knows that although Kyle claims to be a cynic, he did not think how ugly it could get, that they would be subjected to ridicule and maybe the occasional throwdown with a couple of drunks. He did not suspect this savagery. And Stan, who always wants to see only the best in people, honestly believed things would be rough for a while and then turn out okay.
Kenny does not think of himself as a cynic, but he is a realist. In his experience, the worst one can imagine is usually only the tip of the iceberg. He only needs to look at his own life for evidence of that. And it is that life that made him hesitate to become involved with this triangle, once the initial buzz had worn off and the doubts set in. He was born into poverty, his life to date has been a series of tragedies and fuck-ups and his future has always promised more of the same. He has always known he will never leave South Park, just as he has always known that the men he loves will go far away and make successes of themselves. He has never resented them for this, he has always wished them well. Even though he has always thought that they will end up together and that he will not be a part of that, even though he has always loved them both.
And then it happened, they became a trio rather than a couple. Stan and Kyle were his best friends, his true loves, his biggest supporters. With them to cheer him on, he started to think that maybe he would not be perpetually unlucky, that he may have earned this break and their love. With them behind him, he truly believed that maybe things would be okay.
Now this. Stan in the hospital, his dreams for the future crashed down. Kenny a bloody mess, unable to be by his side. And Kyle having to comfort them both, not knowing when it will be his own turn to feel physical retribution, but aware that it is coming, that and the derision of the whole town.
They did not afford luck to Kenny. Kenny merely infected them with his own brand of hardship.
"They'll say what happened to Stan was an accident, that I'm lying to get them into more trouble." Kenny does not take his eyes from Kyle's. "They'll have witnesses to say they were nowhere near the lot when I was. They might even suggest I let myself get battered so that they would get into trouble. After all, who to believe? The bright stars of the school, or the dirt poor kid from those scumbag McCormicks who just got exposed as gay and perverted, corrupting the nice young men that you and Stan are?"
"I wish you wouldn't talk about yourself like that." Kyle continues to wash off Kenny's face, although Kenny suspects that the action is more to soothe him. It's working. "You are..." He pauses, gives Kenny a smile that reflects his depth of feeling for the blonde. "You are amazing. And if everyone knows about us, then so fucking what? I'm not losing you, either of you."
"It's my fault~"
"No. It isn't and you should know that it isn't." Kyle takes Kenny's face in his hand, forcing him to look into his eyes. "Don't give me any more of that hard-luck crap McCormick. Because of you, the three of us realised what we meant to each other and I've never felt luckier. Even now. We knew we'd come in for some crap and yeah, this is bad and don't think for a moment that they're gonna get away with it. But what's done is done and we can't change things and – this is not our fault. It's not your fault. It's theirs. And the three of us will work things out, somehow."
He kisses Kenny again and delves into the first aid box, coming up with an elderly tube of antiseptic cream, some band-aids, a bandage and for some reason, a quarter of vodka. He sighs and puts them all away again, rethinks and removes the cream.
"The three of us were meant to be together." He squeezes cream onto his finger and applies it to the cut above Kenny's eye. "I know I usually don't go with that destiny crap but – I feel it. I know you do to, and Stan. It's supposed to be us three."
He continues to apply the antiseptic to Kenny's face, while Kenny looks back at him, trying to memorise his features. The same way, he realises suddenly, as he tried to memorise Stan's back in the ambulance. Because he is afraid. He is afraid that they will realise he is no good for them. He is afraid he will never see them again.
But Kyle's calm words give him some of his confidence back. The thugs who did this to him stole that, but he is once more starting to believe that maybe, he can be a better person, for them. Because they both deserve the best.
Kyle looks down at his body and runs his hand over Kenny's chest. Although he is gentle, Kenny tenses, anticipating pain. Even breathing hurts, why would being touched be different? But it is. Kyle strokes his muscles and relaxes him, allows him to show Kyle the extent of the damage he is so desperately ashamed of. Nine-on-one nothing, he feels that in spite of that, he has failed some test of his manhood.
Kyle's hands continue to move over him, but he does nothing to try to repair the damage. Kenny knows why, outwardly at least there are only bruises and there is nothing that can be done about that.
"Oh, oh God Kenny." Kyle's voice sounds close to breaking. "You should be in the hospital too..."
"No, I can't~" Kenny sits straighter, wincing in pain but too distressed to worry that Kyle has seen it. "There's, I mean – Kyle, I can't." He swallows. "There's no money. No insurance company will touch me, not anymore. Not that we could afford it. And we don't have the money to pay for a doctor to look at me and the bills, oh fuck, we're still paying them off. I can't go to the hospital. They won't even look at me and it's not that serious anyway..."
"Kenny." Kyle puts soft pressure on his chest to push him back. "Okay. No hospital. But you have to rest."
Kenny lets Kyle push him back, allows himself the comfort of Kyle taking his hand and squeezing the antiseptic over his knuckles. The tube makes a sad farting sound that suggests it is almost empty. Kyle meets his eyes and they share small but genuine smiles over the noise.
Kyle finishes with the antiseptic and leans over to kiss Kenny's lips, still being careful of his torn skin but definitely wanting to prove his point. Kenny finds himself reciprocating, the pain fading to a murmur.
"I love you," says Kyle firmly, settling down to lie beside Kenny, leaning up on one elbow, the other arm going over Kenny's stomach. "I love both of you, but I love you, you. I love how you're so selfless, I love how you always make me laugh. I love how you make me feel important, the way you try to help the underdog, how the bullshit about cliques and dates never meant shit number one to you. The way you look at me, like you're reading my mind and sending your thoughts all at once."
He laughs, a little self-consciously. "I love watching you with Stan. That you share that look with him. The way you are when you're together like, sexually, but more the way you are when you're together not. How you laugh together, how you both stick up for each other. How you bump hands or hips or arms when you think no one can see you."
Kyle leans over, kisses the corner of Kenny's mouth. "I love you both. But that doesn't mean I love you by half. I love you so much, sometimes it scares me. And I love Stan that way too. And I know that's how you feel about me and each other. And I want you to feel like that."
He meets Kenny's eyes, reflecting his honesty. "I'm scared... but this is right. The three of us, it's right. And I won't let it go. It will all work out somehow."
And there, in the darkened room, Kyle makes Kenny believe again.
Later they shower together, Kyle removing the last traces of blood and grime from Kenny's pale body with generic shower gel, the barely-warm water washing away all traces of their encounter, the things that a coroner might have taken note of in twelve hours time. He is gentle, careful, making Kenny feel truly loved all over again. Once they are finished they return to Kenny's room, Kyle finding him sweat pants that hang low on his skinny frame, insisting he wears a long sleeved shirt. Kenny is changing into these items when Kyle's phone rings, the redhead grabs for his pants to rescue it. Both of them are hoping for news of Stan.
Kyle frowns as he checks the display and presses receive. "Hey Bebe."
If it is Bebe, then she's certainly not alone. Kenny freezes as he hears the drunken whoops coming from the phone, raucous catcalls and hollers and although he can't make out the words, he knows who it is. That much, he doesn't have to be told.
"I'm coming for you assholes," says Kyle coldly and hangs up the phone, seeming to realise that there will only be more of the same and turning it off. He looks up at Kenny and raises his eyebrows, as if to ask why he's stopped and Kenny resumes putting his clothes on. He suddenly feels cold though, what if they are coming for them, tonight?
Some of what he is thinking must be reflected in his face, because Kyle reaches out to caress his cheek, smiles. "I could hear that stupid fucking terrier of Mitchell's going ballistic," he says. "They're all the way in North Park and if they try driving in that state, they'll pile into a tree. Might be the best thing for them."
Kenny allows himself to be reassured, but there is a knot of worry in his stomach. It's the look in Kyle's eyes, the one that he gets when Cartman has pushed him too far. There is no mistaking that look, Kyle is planning on payback. And Kenny is afraid for him.
Kyle pulls on boxers and jeans, hustles Kenny into bed and pulls the covers over him. "I need you to get some rest," he says, kissing Kenny on the forehead. "We're gonna go back to see Stan tomorrow and we're gonna need to be strong for him. Tell him what happened."
Kenny smiles back, closing his eyes. He is afraid for Kyle true, but he knows the man well and he suspects that the people that fucked with them are in for a hell of a rude awakening. But that can be for tomorrow. He is genuinely tired, hurting less and he just wants this whole shitty day finished with – but as long as Kyle is there, they can weather this storm and come through on the other side.
He hears Kyle moving around the room. He had assumed that the redhead would crawl into bed with him, but it sounds like he is gathering his clothes instead. When Kenny opens his eyes, he sees Kyle heading out of the bedroom. Immediately, his fear is aroused. "Where are you going?"
"Just to clear my head a little, grab you some more supplies." Kyle's face is calm but Kenny can sense that he is turbulent. As much as he wants to calm Kenny, he is madder than hell about what has gone on. "I won't be long. I promise."
He leaves. Kenny never sees him again.
"Ike." Kenny stares down at the table. "Kyle wasn't sick or nothing. And just eff-why-eye, he thought the world of you. We teased him about it sometimes, but Stan had the big sister who resented him and I had the big brother and the little sister who meant we had even smaller portions and I was angry as hell as them for that. We envied how close you two were. I always thought Kyle hit lucky having a brother like you."
He tries to smile at Ike, but that old hurt is in his eyes. "It never really got out, not after Kyle was found dead. Maybe they were protecting themselves, but Kyle got to rest in peace. It works for me."
"You loved them." Ike's voice is soft and although he does not really understand, he empathises.
Kenny looks at him. "You have no idea. I loved both of them so much, it hurt sometimes to think of it. It's hurt ever since."
"That's one thing I don't understand." Ike looks at Kenny, trying to read him. "If what you three had was so intense, then what happened that made you and Stan never see each other again? I know he was in the hospital for a while and the Marshes moved out of town, but didn't you guys even try to stay in touch, somehow?"
"No." Kenny's face is carefully neutral. "I broke it off."
"Why?"
"Because..." Kenny looks away from Ike, toward the wall. "Because Kyle being out at all was mostly my fault. If I hadn't got beat up he wouldn't have been mad, he wouldn't have gone to get fucking bandages and antiseptic or whatever he thought he needed for me. And if he'd been outside, I would have been too, or I would have been able to make him stay. And Stan was leaving, Sharon thought it'd be better for him with all the shit going on and Randy got a transfer, they'd be closer to the hospital he was at. He could make a new start without me dragging him down. It was better for him to have a clean break with this place, get over the whole thing, be happy. Not have to deal with South Park and the story that might get out if he came back. But mostly because I knew whenever Stan looked at me, he was thinking of Kyle and I couldn't keep hurting him like that."
He stops suddenly, as if deciding his mouth has run away with him. Ike frowns as he tries to digest the story. This whole weekend has sent his emotions on a dismal roller-coaster ride and right now, he is swinging back toward anger.
"You were selfish."
Kenny's eyes flash dangerously, but he makes no comment, although his eyebrow raises as if to ask for clarification.
"You were scared. You already lost Kyle and you were scared of losing Stan too. So you cut all ties and said you were doing it for Stan's sake, you probably even told him that."
"Maybe I was," says Kenny in a quiet voice, that has an undertone of steel to suggest that Ike drops the subject immediately. "It doesn't mean he isn't better off."
"Maybe he is. Maybe he isn't." Ike pauses, but his anger spills out the words anyway. "You split with Stan to punish yourself, didn't you?"
"...What?"
"You've already said Kyle dying was your fault, more than once. Perhaps you thought Stan would be better off because if you couldn't protect Kyle, you couldn't protect him either. And that you didn't deserve him."
"I didn't deserve him," says Kenny automatically, then frowns, but tiredly. "You're too much like your brother sometimes."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"You should." Kenny shakes his head. "Look, Stan was always gonna do well and I bet he is, now that the whole thing's behind him. He's living a normal life somewhere out there and I'm here with the weirdness."
"Maybe." Ike gives Kenny a solemn look. "Or maybe you were just the last thing he lost and he's still trying to pick up the pieces. The same way he was the last thing you lost – and you still are."
"You're just like your brother," amends Kenny, smiling fondly. "Shit, I wish I could have seen what Kyle was like at twenty-two. I'd have done anything."
"Don't you see him?" asks Ike, almost timidly. It is probably not only rude to ask Kenny about death, but also dangerous. He asked Kyle about it once, and Kyle told him it was not his business and that he must never, ever ask Kenny about it. "When you die?"
Kenny shakes his head. "My deaths don't work like that. I don't see anyone I know there. It'd mess with too many variables. I'm split from my loved ones until I'm gone for good." He stares into the distance. "If I could see Kyle while I was dead, I'd ask him what the fuck happened that night. It haunts me. I mean, why was he way out there? How did he get there so fast? He didn't take Stan's car, so someone must have taken him. I'd ask him who that was."
Kenny gives a smile, but it is far from a happy one and his eyes do not refocus, still lost in his own thoughts. "If I could see Kyle whenever I died – I think I'd spend a lot more time that way."