Death, be not proud, though some have called thee

Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;

For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow

Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.

From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,

Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,

And soonest our best men with thee do go,

Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.

Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,

And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,

And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well

And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?

One short sleep past, we wake eternally

And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die. - John Donne "Death, be not proud"

Sleep well little child the lord holds thee now.

C'bthnk ch'ebumna. N'gha.

N'gha. N'gha.

N'GHA. N'GHA. N'GHA.

DEATH. PASS INTO ME. DEATH.

BLOOD MUST HAVE BLOOD.

BLOOD. MUST. HAVE. BLOOD.

BLOOD.

MUST-

Butters turned onto his side and vomited into the precariously placed trash can beside his bed. The bitter vomit and bile taste permeated the back of his throat as he heaved and spit out chunky saliva. His body was drenched in a tepid sweat yet his shoulders wracked with tremors. He sighed and wiped his mouth on his arm, then lay back on the bed, face down.

The sheets didn't smell like Kenny anymore. All familiarity had been washed out with time and distance. Nothing felt normal.

Months had gone by and nothing had changed. Kyle was still waiting for a transplant, Karen was making do with living at her father's house, Stan was coping with his mental health diagnosis and healing with therapy and treatment… graduation was fast approaching. And Kenny wasn't home.

Loneliness came and went like waves. Sometimes it would creep up on him in the shower, or when he was doing homework. Living in this home that was once so alive now made him cold. But he had to keep it up, he had to stay there… because Kenny would be back.

But sometimes loneliness came crashing down on him in a hurricane of anger and grief that wracked his shoulders with the most painful sobs that could possibly tear through a human. Not seeing him across the room in class, not hearing his voice, or feeling his skin. Knowing he was gone, not here… not knowing when he'd come back, if he'd come back.

It was harder and harder to not think like that. But what could he think? What could he say? Everyone was worried about him and tried their best to reassure him but it fell on deaf ears; no, he couldn't stop worrying about Kenny, about what was to come.

His loneliness and need for answers had turned to obsession. His grades were good enough that he'd often skip class or focus on helping Kenny instead of paying attention. He'd skate by. He didn't care; as long as he could bring Kenny home, and bring him to justice. He was still being framed, people still hated him, and the crimes were getting worse and worse; murder, shootings, helping prisoners escape.

There was no way that was Kenny.

So the question was… where had Kenny McCormick gone?

Butters squeezed his eyes shut as a cold itch crept over him. It infiltrated his veins, to the point of burning. He had never felt anything quite like it; the only comparable pain was when he had gotten poison ivy on his butt. But in his veins and ten-fold.

He gasped as he let the familiar sting wash through his system. He wasn't ill; he had gone to the doctor and he was perfectly healthy. There was something else though; a part of him felt like he was dying. Each and every day. And if this is how Kenny felt, if this is what death felt like, and the love of his life had experienced this thousands of times over… the thought was unbearable.

Because Butters couldn't stand it. But he had to. When the burning itch poured on him like a pregnant cloudburst in the middle of class, he had to sit there and act like nothing was wrong. The only relief was vomiting. Screaming. Scratching at his skin until be bled.

His behavior hadn't gone unnoticed, either. Butters could feel Stan's eyes calculating his appearance, but the observation switched back to excitement as the black-haired boy dashed up to Butters' locker.

Last day of classes.

"Butters!" Stan exclaimed, practically shaking with excitement, "you're the first person I wanted to see. I have news!"

The blond spun around on the spot, forget cleaning out his locker and trying to get the four year old tape out of the corner. This could be about Kenny. He hadn't seen Stan this happy; and of course Stan would know. Stan was Kyle's fiancé, and Kyle's dad was Kenny's lawyer. They would know.

"Kyle is getting a transplant tomorrow!" Butters let the dejection settle for a brief second, but shook his head. He grinned at Stan. He knew how difficult this had been for him. Dialysis and watching Kyle get worse over time had been unbearable for everyone. Cartman couldn't donate again, and there was no one else in town that matched his blood type or Rh factor.

"There was this one time years ago that Cartman had glasses but he did an eye transplant with my eyes. Not just the cornea but the whole thing." Butters heard Kenny's voice echo in his head. And he knew from anatomy that cornea transplants didn't matter on blood type. But the eye? That would be just like a kidney… probably. If Cartman didn't reject the eyes then he had to have the same blood type as them. Or, seeing as how Kenny was Kenny, his blood type did not matter.

It had to be Kenny.

"It was him," Butters murmured, grabbing Stan's hand, "Kenny, he did it!" Stan's grin faded slightly and he shifted his gaze.

"There's no way, dude. I know what he told me but… if that's not him doing all that shit then he's gone. Somewhere." Stan couldn't say he was dead. Butters shook his head.

"Cartman has Kenny's eyes." His friend took a step away from him and shook his head.

"Dude, seriously, just… I wanted you to know Kyle is going to get better. I just… I didn't mean this to start anything about Kenny." Butters groaned.

"I'm not kidding, just… Eric!" He called the chubby brunette over from his locker, where he was eating a toaster pastry before class. He earned a grunt in response, and he shuffled over. He looked like he hadn't gotten any sleep last night. "You had glasses when you were younger, right?"

"Uh…" Cartman gave Butters a look that read murder. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You were basically Piggy from Lord of the Flies," Stan snorted at that. The outcry from Cartman was worth it. "Did you or did you not decapitate Kenny and use his eyes for a transplant so you wouldn't have to wear glasses?"

Stan stared in horror at Butters, who maintained a hard stare at Cartman. The boy in question fumbled for his words and simply shook his head.

"You're crazy."

"We all know he's immortal, dumbass," Butters growled, pulling out his phone. He had to have a picture somewhere. Stan and Cartman stared in disbelief at their friend, who sounded more like Kyle.

Eric narrowed his eyes at Stan, who blinked at Cartman.

"How long have you known?" the tallest boy bawked.

"I swear you guys are crazy."

"He's still in denial, and there's no telling Kyle." Butters mumbled as he flipped through a photo album on his phone. He had scanned old pictures to one day upload on to Facebook to embarrass his friends but had never gotten around to it for… reasons.

"So he actually dies and comes back to life?" Stan asked, Cartman nodded.

"Kyle goes, "oh my God! They killed Kenny!" and you go, "you bastards!" and I usually laugh because usually it's pretty funny how he dies." Butters turned a threatening glare to the chubby boy, who faltered. "Calm down, loverboy. I know your vagina is sensitive."

"So… he could be dead now?" Butters nodded. "And when will he come back?" Cartman and Butters shrugged.

"I'll show you his headstone after school," Butters murmured, then turned his phone to Stan. "See? There. Eric has brown eyes. You can't go from brown eyes to blue eyes. The only way is surgery. But they wouldn't be that blue."

"What? Are you like stalking me?!" Cartman cried. Stan sighed heavily.

"I'm going to go to the library, calm down, and think about all of this. I can't… I have Kyle to be happy about right now. We'll talk later, okay?" Stan murmured, then disappeared.

It was too much to take. Especially when someone finds out just how despicable Eric Cartman can be. Butters would spare him from knowing about the Shakey's pizza.

"He's too unstable," Cartman grumbled, "you can't throw all this supernatural shit on him."

"Shut up," Butters growled back, "he's fine. I'm showing him Kenny's headstone. Maybe it will help him come back." The older boy scoffed as the bell rang.

Butters felt the itch crawl over his skin. He closed his eyes and breathed slow to try and subside the internal agony. If he breathed it out he would be fine. Today was a half day for the seniors. Just four hours. He could do it.

Blood must have blood a quiet earworm burrowed into his brain. Butters slammed his head against his locker.

"Dude," Cartman had apparently stuck around. Butters looked up at him slowly, which earned a wince and a look to see if there was a teacher nearby. "Your eyes were completely white for a minute there."

Butters ignored him and walked slowly to class, the buzzing still in his brain and the swarm of this morning's burning poison digging deeper. He felt like his body had been through a centrifuge.

No, he didn't pay attention. None of the seniors did. They didn't even obey the teachers when they were told to be quiet. There was no point. Detention, suspension, no matter what today was the last day and they were graduating.

Butters couldn't celebrate with the rest of his class. He was completely alone in rooms full of the people he had grown closest to over the past thirteen years of his life. And in one week he would never see majority of them again.

He may never see Kenny again either.

Tears fell from his eyes and onto his hands. He quickly wiped at his eyes.

"Bu-B-B-Buh-B-Butters?" Jimmy Valmer called his name. He looked up and saw his old friend with a brownie outstretched, just for him. "I m-muh-m-made these last n-n-ni-night. You w-w-won't regret it!" He said with a wink.

Butters stared down at the brownie, then back up at Jimmy, who was rather proud of himself. Butters shook his head and laughed quietly, thanking his dear friend for the generous offer. That was exactly what he needed right now.

And definitely a very Kenny thing to do. It was almost as if he knew. Butters shook his head at that thought and bit into the very special brownie.

"Ohhhh we're halfway there.

Oh-oh living on a prayer!

Take my hand, we'll make it I swear

Oh…oh! Living on a prayer!"

Butters and Stan sang happily together as they ambled slowly to the cemetery. Cartman followed behind staring at a leaf in his hands, with a caterpillar on it.

"What if we're like those little hoos from hooville, living on a dandelion poof?" Cartman asked.

"That's a Kyle question. I can phone a friend." Butters snorted and leaned against Stan.

"No, I got this. We are living on a hoo speck. Earth is kind of like it's own speck of dandelion poof. In the great big galaxy we are only one tiny little dimension, one small fragment of a universe. A great big patch of dandelions."

"That's deep," Stan murmured. "Not as deep as your mom, though, Cartman."

"Fuck you!"

Butters laughed and silently thanked Jimmy. Yes, he really needed that brownie. He wondered just what kind of weed was in it because this was a very potent high.

"I'll write you a song about your dandelion poof, Cartman," Stan said, "it'll be all metaphysical like Kyle likes." Cartman mumbled something under his breath that neither of them quite heard.

It had been a long time since he had let himself just do this. Be with his friends. Do something other than obsess over finding Kenny. Although in a sense they were walking to Kenny's grave, and he secretly hoped it would stir some kind of otherworldly influence to push Kenny into coming back.

Butters furrowed his eyebrows as he saw a tall, lanky figure up at Kenny's headstone. It was the neglected one near the oak that stood far beyond the cemetery.

"Is that-"

"Kenny!" Butters cried and raced for the hill. Stan and Cartman glanced at each other nervously.

He knew it. Hastur heard him. The itching and burning was their connection. He had been trying to make contact; of course. And now they had finally achieved enough to get Kenny to come back to life.

Except… Butters' run faltered to a halt as he stared at Craig Tucker.

Fear clenched his heart, as well as anger. Of course he knew.

"What are you doing here?" He asked.

"God dammit!" Cartman cried, "people need to stop finding out!" Craig stared blankly at Eric momentarily, then turned back to Butters, who was on the verge of collapsing.

Panic had stricken. Cold and violent bolts surged through him. He no longer burned with intense itchiness, but the douse of coldness that chilled him to the spine was enough to kill instantly.

He had to calm his heart down, and stop the thoughts running through his head. They weren't his thoughts… they weren't normal. Why did he want to strangle Craig?

Blood must have blood, the voices whispered.

"Butters?" Stan asked, placing a hand on his arm. He jolted away from the touch and turned blind eyes to his friend.

"Don't touch me," he didn't recognize the voice that came from his throat.

"I think he's seizing or something," Stan murmured.

"No, for fuck's sake. Raven, get your goth friends. And laser eyes, you need to explain now."

Butters felt like he was floating. Did he die? He swore he was looking down at his friends, watching them over his seething body. Foam rippled from his mouth and his eyes were completely white.

He looked at his hands; they were solid.

"Even death may die," a familiar voice whispered in the back of his head.

He screamed; violent red tore through his temples.

"Hold him down, Jesus fuck!" Cartman cried, grabbing one of Butters' arms as his body seized, back arched and rigid as quiet trembles coursed through his arms. Stan grabbed his other arm.

"Don't let him bite or swallow his tongue," Craig murmured, his face ashen. "What the fuck did you guys do to him?"

"Nothing," the two boys hissed. "It's fucking Cthulhu," Cartman further explained. Craig and Stan's eyes snapped forward. "I just… you gotta believe me."

"Is he back?" Craig asked, much to Stan's surprise.

The shock hadn't quite hit the former football player, who was holding down one of his best friend's as he seized on top of his other best friend's grave. And now Cartman was saying it had to do with some fictional 20th century horror beast they all thought was real when they were ten years old.

Or… according to Craig and Cartman, it had been real. Or were they just that fucked up? In reality, they all probably were.

"No, he's dead. This is just part of Lovecraft's prophecy. It's Cthylla we've got to worry about."

"Cthylla?" Stan scoffed, "Cartman, dude-"

"This isn't a joke, this is why I told him not to tell you." He was surprised at the retort he received. "She's out to kill Hastur. Their half brother. Butters knows more about him because Kenny's his vessel."

Stan shook his head and grabbed the bridge of his nose. No, no, they were too old for this. They had given up imaginary games long ago. Why were they doing this? This was a joke. A ploy to get him to forget about Kyle, or to embarrass him.

But how could Butters do that to him?

Looking down at Butters though, he didn't look like he was joking.

Stan just wanted to go back to Kyle's hospital room and finish out the rest of his high. Paranoia was hitting him hard now. And then they would talk about their future and the apartment they were going to get together.

They were adults, not children playing superhero.

"So you two know all this stuff about Kenny?" Stan interrupted Cartman and Craig's murmurs. They looked to him.

"You wouldn't understand," Craig said simply, "you shouldn't be here."

"I'm Kenny's best friend."

"All you care about is you and Kyle," Cartman snapped, "we've tried to tell you. You don't fucking get it, dude? I know this shit because I have his eyes. I see it. I remember. Each and every one of his deaths, and I have seen you mourn and cry and get angry and then you turn to Kyle and everything is fine. Now Kenny and fucking Butters are in some serious fucked up shit trouble that your sheltered ass can't even comprehend."

"This isn't a who is Kenny's better friend competition," Stan snapped, "I just don't understand! Help me or… or something… you're saying that all that make believe we did when we were little wasn't make believe?"

"You don't even remember Imaginationl-"

"Guys!" Craig hissed, "Butters isn't breathing."

The two arguing teens hushed instantly and bowed over Butters. Stan put his ear over his nose; no breath.

"Shit," he breathed, then pressed the palms of his hands to his chest, pumping in a pattern.

"Stayin' alive, stayin' alive…" he murmured with each compression, "oh, oh, oh, oh, stayin' alive…"

He counted 100 compressions to the beat, and immediately tilted Butters' head back to clear his airway. He lowered his head to Butters nose again; no breath.

"Come on, dude," he whispered frantically, "you can't die on me too…" he pinched Butters' nose closed, then sealed their mouths together, before blowing into his mouth.

He repeated the compressions and mouth to mouth resuscitation, hoping for some air in his chest.

And finally he felt the tiniest breath against his cheek and watched Butters' haggard body tremble into a relaxed state as he breathed shakily.

Stan ran his hands through the blond tuft of hair on his head a couple of times before turning his attention to Cartman and Craig, who had been watching in awe.

"You're an idiot," a female voice drawled. Four teens dressed in all black approached; the cemetery seemed quite fitting for them. Henrietta stared down at Butters and shook her head slowly. "You're all idiots."

"I just saved his life," Stan barked, "and… and I want explanations. Now."

"You didn't just save his life, you completely ruined it!" Michael replied, then leaned against the oak tree. Henrietta sat next to him, and Pete rested his head on her lap. Firkle curled up close to Butters.

The goth girl opened up her bag and procured a small wine bottle.

"This had been what we were killing death with." Stan hung his head.

"That doesn't seem like your style," Craig joked. He earned four glares. "How did you fail?"

"Your friend here decided to give him CPR."

Stan blanched.

Kenny was supposedly the vessel of a Lovecraftian elder god and now Butters was Death?

"We were going to do something that has never been done before. Steal death… and merge life and death together. That was the one thing we thought could kill Cthylla."

"Kenny would have been unbeatable…" Cartman trailed off, "you're brilliant." Henrietta bowed her head at his compliment.

"But Butters is death?" Stan asked in confusion.

Firkle nodded.

"The vessel of. Each of us… we're an entity of something. Life, death, chaos, kismet, fate, destiny, love, hate… even you, Stanley. We all have endless lives, chasing the one that would match us, to bring us to the next, in hopes that one day we could end our suffering on this god forsaken earth and finally die. But there isn't truly death… just another life. Not until Life dies, anyway. And we can't let that happen. And you fucked that up."

"Wait… you're telling me that Kenny and Butters are like… Life and Death? What?" Craig sighed softly.

"Have you ever heard of the red string of fate theory? One soul is bonded through time and all dimension with this one other soul. No matter what they are tied together by a red string. Kenny and Butters are like that, like… soul mates. Life and Death soul mates."

"Butters just doesn't know he's Death," Cartman grumbled.

"And Kenny wanted to keep it that way." Stan's eyes were slits as he faced one of his oldest friends.

"Do you know where Kenny is?" the chubby boy remained silent. He turned to Craig, who also remained silent.

"R'lyeh," Firkle whispered as he leaned over Butters. "I can smell it on him. They had contact. He's in R'lyeh. Ri, he made it!"

"But it doesn't do any good," Henrietta whispered, "we failed him. We can't take Death from Butters."

Cartman shook his head and pointed at her.

"No, oh no, no, you bitch. You said you would do it and you're going to do it. Make that potion spell thingy again and do it. He's a fucking rock he can do it." She shook her head.

"This would kill him, and no one would be able to bring him back. He specified not to do that."

Craig folded his arms over his chest and stared at the grass. He picked at a blade curiously, splitting it in half, then tossed it.

"But… Kenny, that means he's going to die?" Craig asked finally. Pete nodded.

"If he's immortal he'll just come back… right?" Stan asked. All eyes fell on him and suddenly he regretted speaking.

"Kenny is not immortal, the god cursed to live within him is and that's what keeps allowing him to come back. Once Hastur is free and faces Cthylla, no matter what happens… Kenny will not come back. Ever."

"I told you, you ruined it," Henrietta hissed. "We have no other choice but to prepare for Her coming."

Stan threw his head back; he should have left. He should have gone to visit Kyle. All he would be worrying about is Kyle's surgery and packing up his room for their apartment. The apartment that he and Kyle were supposed to share with Butters and Kenny.

They were his best friends too. And he may have let them down just now but he wasn't going to allow that again.

"No, there has to be another way. We'll find it."

"You do that," Michael said sarcastically as they left the gravesite.

"I have an idea…" Stan murmured, "but I need your help, both of you," he said to Cartman and Craig, who looked uneasy. "We need to tell Kyle. He's the only one who would be able to find a-"

"Boo," Cartman interrupted. Stan punched his leg, "that Jew is just gonna-"

"If I can find a way to believe this then… he can too. Especially if I do. Butters and Kenny need us right now and I'm not going to let another tentacle monster take over Earth because of stupid shit, Cartman."

Stan stood up and lifted Butters into his arms. He was heavier than he thought he'd be. He started walking down the hill, away from Kenny's headstone, where his body could by laying, had lied… he couldn't think about it.

Cartman followed behind, huffing and grumbling about Jews and plots. Craig looked ill as he eased himself down the hill with unsteady legs.

They would find a way.

Kyle's cold, calculating eyes as they explained everything to him felt like being hung up to die, Stan noted. The disbelief and almost amusement, but most of all concern, in his eyes for his friends as they exposed Kenny's darkest secret to him and just what detrimental effects it could have for the rest of the world caused Stan to keep his own eyes lowered.

"I'm going into a transplant surgery tomorrow. We're graduating in a week. We don't have time for this."

"Kyle, I've seen it," Cartman fought, "I've seen him shoot himself to save us all. And that kidney you're getting is most likely his. Who else has your blood type except me that would be able to donate so quickly?" Kyle guffawed.

"I highly doubt-"

"He has died to save your life so many times Kyle," Craig spoke in a low voice, "and I have never seen you cry once at his funerals." Stan felt that was a low blow but said nothing.

"Butters has proof, Cartman's eyes. They used to be brown. But… but he used Kenny's eyes for a transplant because he didn't want to wear glasses." Kyle's jaw dropped in utmost disgust; that was oddly specific. And something that Cartman would do.

But it didn't explain why Kenny wore reading glasses and Cartman didn't.

"I'm better than him," Cartman offered to the redhead's rebuttal; he received an elbow to the stomach for his comment.

"How do you two remember and we don't?" Kyle asked, "this could be a joke."

"Butters does too," Cartman snapped. "And because we're not self absorbed like you too twats. Just… there's gaps in time where Kenny is just not there. But he's graduating with us. You know he gets clingy and huggy sometimes, or he forgets things that we all know he shouldn't forget because he was totally there because everyone was there. Yeah, well, he wasn't because he was dead."

Stan grimaced; he hadn't realized there were so many things that Kenny had missed out on. Gaps in his life that he could have had with them that he spent in… death. Limbo, heaven, hell, wherever. Void? Months of inside jokes, parties, classes, months of things they all took for granted but Kenny would probably wish for more than anything.

"No wonder he has such bad grades," Stan mumbled. "He just wasn't in class when we learned about stuff." Cartman nodded.

"And you said he needed to study more," Cartman said to Kyle.

"But… how does it work? Does his body age with us? Will he be a sack of bones by the age of 1000?" Kyle asked.

"Oh, he won't live that long."

"But he's immortal."

"The god not Kenny, were you listening at all?"

"He probably won't live another year…" Craig mumbled, with a faraway look on his face. Stan shook him gently. He blinked lazily and curled the corner of his lip slightly. Kyle tilted his head at Craig's comment.

"As we have discussed a bajillion times," Cartman began in an exasperated tone, "Cthulhu has a sister lover and a half brother. Half brother is in Kenny. Sister lover wants half brother dead because someone killed Cthulhu and it may or may not have been half brother. Kenny's going to die if this happens."

"Why?"

"Why what?" Cartman asked.

"Why does Kenny have to die?"

"He doesn't," Stan answered, "this is why I came to you. Because you can find a way for him not to. You're the best researcher I know. When you get out… I need you to look up all you can about this… Lovecraft stuff. Talk to Butters. He has to know a ton. Find out what he knows and… go from there. There has to be a way we can save Kenny from dying."

"But if we can't… why does Kenny have to die?" Kyle asked. "I just don't get it." Cartman blinked momentarily.

"I… don't know."

Kyle gave a smug hum in response and lay back on his pillow. Stan took his hand and squeezed gently. The redhead's thumb caressed the back of his hand. Kyle understood; he believed them.

And Stan knew that for Butters and Kenny having friends on their side, having everyone who mattered believe what was going on, was probably one of the biggest difficulties they dealt with. No wonder they were soul mates… they went through hell together.

Hopefully Kyle and Stan could help bring them a little bit of heaven. He'd do anything for that.