Chapter Text
“Next up is Thorn, Damien. Please read your poem loud and clear, you will be graded on performance.”
The class collectively groaned, fearing this day since the project was announced. Give Damien Thorn an opportunity to be angsty and lovesick, and he will make you regret it. Their teacher has yet to learn this, but the entire grade of sophomores is way too familiar with this.
“Bet you ten bucks it's an MCR love song.” Kenny grins, whispering to Cartman.
“Why the fuck would I take you up on a bet I know i’ll lose?” Cartman glares, watching Damien gather his notecards.
“Class.” Their teacher looked at them sternly, and then motioned for the young antichrist to come to the front. He obeyed, took a deep breath, then went on to bore his classmates to death.
“Darling, I'm with memories passed and we're // scouring through bleak Park County // And if they fade then it is on my head // You follow exes in the snow to my throne // to my hell // They start as you mean to continue // innocent, uninvolved // Trying not to fall // But if you were trying at all // i would wake // I would take your indifference // in stride // but my lines swim in lies // Ventricle cauterized // It's the way of living that I can’t face // You're pouting in your grave // I'm waking from daydreams // I’m proving to your corpse // Our romance was boring // Still there are things I could do // If I was half prepared to // Realize that life without romance is boring.”
It was pretty monotone, and he didn’t take his eyes off the paper once. Half of the class was spaced out, the other confused, and their teacher was beaming. Clyde was the most confused.
“What…did any of that mean?” He whispered to Tolkien. Tolkien glanced at Damien, who was scurrying back to his seat, and shrugged.
Bebe tapped his shoulder, having spaced out. “It means he’s gay, and emo. Don’t read too much into it.”
Stan groans, head falling onto his desk. Kyle rubs his back with mocking sympathy. “God, someone has to stop this. His fucking angst is bringing my mood down. I couldn’t care less about him! How!?”
Kenny nods thoughtfully. “Shouldn’t he be in hell? Isn’t he the fucking antichrist?”
“He lives with his mom.” The ginger clicks his tongue. Stan groans even louder, causing the teacher to shush them. Another kid is reading their awful poem. Kyle throws out another idea. “Anyone know black magic? We could zombify his boytoy.”
Cartman was much too quiet for much too long, it was time for him to be batshit insane. “We could kill him.”
“How do you kill mini-satan?” For once in his life, Kyle entertains one of Eric’s ideas.
“A very sharp rosary?” Their noirette friend’s voice is slightly muffled from the desk.
“Love this energy, but then when we die and go to hell we’ll have to deal with him forever. We need to like, reunite him with the frenchie.” Kenny grumbles.
Cartman adds, “Plus, that jizzrag probably went to heav-”
Kyle interjects, slightly offended. “I’m going to heaven, not hell! Jewish, and all? Maybe not too high in the layers, but still!” The other boys all roll their eyes, but don’t say much more.
They're pretty quiet the rest of the class. Each mulling over this dilemma in their head, Craig and those guys’ awful poems being great background noise. However, near the end of class Stan’s eyes light up, and he raises his head from the desk. Once class ends he corners the other four and doesn’t let them exit, grinning wildly.
“OKAY! So, Kyle! Your idea about black magic was like, super genius. And it sorta sparked this, but I was thinking about how grateful I was none of the goth kids were in our grade because of the poems, and like, celebrating that Michael is graduating this year, but then I thought maybe they could help us and my brain practically EXPLODED because of course they can help us, THEY’RE THE FUCKING GOTH KIDS!” He takes a shallow breath and slings his backpack over his shoulder, turning away from them so quickly none of them could get a word in. “Grab your shit! We’re bringing Frenchie back!”
>><<
“Let me get this straight..” A small hiss as Michael inhales smoke from his cigarette. “You want us to help you posers bring back the ultimate ken-doll, with no consequences, while having done us ZERO favors?” Pete scoffs and Henrietta glares at them. Firkle is still in middle school, which separates them indefinitely.
“Well, we were sorta thinking like–” Stan looked to his friends for backup. When given nothing other than nervous glances, he continued. “–You do this, and we owe you big time.”
None of them answer for a moment, too disinterested to care about being timely. Eventually, Michael clicks his tongue and kicks at the ground. “Owing us doesn’t mean shit, I won’t see you guys after the end of May.”
The juniors speak up as well, offering their two-cents.
As much as Kyle hated Pete, he made a good point. “Plusss, you never even told us why you want that conformist back. Don’t you like…hate him?”
Henrietta also couldn’t be forgotten, her bitchy voice ringing far and wide. “We’re not gonna bring him back so you guys can kill him again. That’s not goth, that's just..evil.” She glances at Cartman with the last word.
“You guys are such dicks, just do us this solid! We’ll do literally anything. Mostly.” Kyle whines. “We just want to get rid of Damien!”
The Goth’s eyes slowly widen, and they look at each other. They’re obviously bewildered. Pete is the first to regain his voice. “Damien, like.. That fucking emo kid who claims to be Satan’s son? Damien, like the asshole who blasts The Offspring at Stark’s Pond every night when we’re trying to contemplate the meaningless-ness of life?! Damien, like the whiny bitchy sophomore?! Damien fucking Thorn?!!” He seethes, and Henrietta throws down her cigarette in disgust. Michael backs them up with a grim look in his eyes.
The main four nod quickly, blinking in shock. They could’ve just named him? Bullshit. The senior of the group gets to his feet and stomps over, poking a painted nail into Kyle’s chest. “When can we fucking start?”
>><<
“Soti nan dife nan lanfè, nan syèl la anwo a, pa koute konsekans yo nan touye yon pijon. Menmsi ane yo te pase, nanm nan rete, memwa etènèl, ak lavi reprann!”
It is nearly midnight in South Park, and everyone has met by the forest next to the church. Michael is waist deep in Stark’s Pond, palm cut and blood slowly dripping into the water. Pete is beside him, snipping pieces of his hair into the area. Henrietta is holding a candle in each hand, her left holding “Jesus’ forgiveness” carved into a white slender candle, and her right holding “Lucifer’s vengeance” on a slender red one. The wax drips into the water and quickly cools, making small islands.
Kyle and Stan are knee deep, working together to hold open a huge old book. The writing is in curly text and the meaning is unknown to them, so they sort of just awkwardly stare at it. Kenny and Cartman sit on the shore, merely watching. Cartman is very ready to re-murder Pip if he turns out to be a zombie. Kenny is extremely cautious, knowing the awful things the afterlife can do to people.
“Soti nan dife nan lanfè, nan syèl la anwo a, pa koute konsekans yo nan touye yon pijon. Menmsi ane yo te pase, nanm nan rete, memwa etènèl, ak lavi reprann!”
“I bet he’ll be happy to get out of hell.” Kenny whispers, mostly to himself.
Cartman looks at him like he’s crazy. “Why the fuck would that fag go to hell?”
“Only Mormons go to heaven.” The blonde sighs, like this is the most commonly known fact in the world. Cartman’s eyebrows raise even more.
“Soti nan dife nan lanfè, nan syèl la anwo a, pa koute konsekans yo nan touye yon pijon. Menmsi ane yo te pase, nanm nan rete, memwa etènèl, ak lavi reprann!”
The water starts to swirl, and the goth kids only look mildly surprised by this force that almost knocks Stan and Kyle off their feet. The blood is swallowed by the pond, the hair is dispersed through the water, and the candle wax spins. The sand below their feet grows indescribably hot, but doesn’t seem to damage them in any way. They each take three coordinated steps backwards, while the water becomes clearer and clearer.
“Soti nan dife nan lanfè, nan syèl la anwo a, pa koute konsekans yo nan touye yon pijon. Menmsi ane yo te pase, nanm nan rete, memwa etènèl, AK LAVI REPRANN!”
Sand in the now completely transparent water starts to clear as well, but only enough to make out a dark figure buried in it. It's slender, lithe, small. Barely taller than Firkle in stature. Its gentle arms are crossed over its chest, and its clothes are rather nice for everyday wear.
“Soti nan dife nan lanfè, nan syèl la anwo a, pa koute konsekans yo nan touye yon pijon. Menmsi ane yo te pase, nanm nan rete, memwa etènèl, AK LAVI REPRANN!”
The sand gives up clearing. No need, as the body is rising. Or rather, phasing through the sand. Not a single grain piles on this soul’s body. It’s much too dark to make out any distinguishing features, besides that rather unique hat, purple socks, and bob haircut. The goths take yet another step back so the body has room. It floats to the top of the water and then seems to stop.
“Soti nan dife nan lanfè, nan syèl la anwo a, pa koute konsekans yo nan touye yon pijon. Menmsi ane yo te pase, nanm nan rete, memwa etènèl, AK LAVI REPRANN!”
Its eyes open, and its arms fling out for purchase.
“HOLY SHIT!” Kyle screams, like this wasn’t the end goal. Stan barely manages to not drop the book as his friend jerks away.
“Shut up!” Michael growls. “He needs a moment to fully come back.”
Pete kneels down in the water, causing it to go up to his chin, and puts his arms around Phillip Pirrip’s barely conscious body. His eyes are open, but don’t flash with any recognition. His body is twitching, but it seems to just be a reaction to finally moving after almost six years. His chest is heaving, if Pete didn’t grab Phillip when he did he’d probably drown.
“Poor thing.” He shakes dyed red hair out of his face and whispers to Phillip, quiet enough to not let his friends hear. Shit like that is a sign that he’s a fucking poser. He curls the small body closer to his chest. Phillip’s eyes flicker over to him, showing he can hear and feel, but he doesn’t look like he knows who Pete is.
Michael grabs his phone with his non-bloody hand and dials a number, then slots it between his shoulder and ear while he walks slowly to the shore. “Hey Firkle. Nothing too exciting, the fuckin’ posers made us do some shit for them. Yeah I know, weak as fuck. Anyways, can you do something for me? Call Ike, tell him to call Karen, have him tell her to call Tricia Tucker, have her tell her to call her brother, have him call Clyde Donovan, make Clyde call that sophomore, Gregory, and then tell Gregory to text that mole kid, and have that mole kid tell Damien Thorn to get his ass down to Stark’s Pond. Yeah. Thanks. Love you too. See ya, kid.” He glances around after hanging up, then mutters. “Give it a few minutes.”
Henrietta is right behind Michael, quick to re-claim their spellbook from Stan. he gladly hands it over in favor of comforting a shivering Kyle, who just watched his childhood victim come back to life. Kenny has stood up, trying to get a good look at Phillip. Cartman is grinning wildly, mostly about the idea of getting Damien to fuck off. Crazier shit has happened in South Park than bringing a long dead classmate back to life.
They sort of lull around for a couple minutes, before Phillip finally speaks. His pupils finally grow bigger than pin-pricks and he grips onto Pete’s arm, voice hoarse. “You.. I recognize you. Are you..dead? It's so early… You’re too young..” It breaks Pete’s heart, knowing Phillip died six years earlier and was more worried about him maybe dying in his late teens.
“No, Pip.” He sighs. Phillip flinches at the nickname, and becomes tense. “You’re alive, poser.”
The small brit just stares at him for a second, then giggles. “I must’ve passed out from blood-loss again! Thanks, old friend, but its high-time I return to my eternal torture.”
Pete raises an eyebrow and then stands, bringing Phillip out of the water. “That’s..so fucking goth man.” Then he looks up to Michael, “Hey dude, can I have your knife, I gotta prove to Pip he’s not dreaming.”
Michael nods and starts to dig through his pocket, but Cartman springs up. “Can I prove it? Please?!”
“Mole says the goths need me, what the fuck do you guys want?” Damien appears out of nowhere, probably having entered from the ass-backwards path that loops around. Phillip freezes, and his eyes widen. Both from the threat of maybe being stabbed and from Damien.
“Oh, cool, perfect timing, conformist.” Henrietta deadpans, then waves her arm towards Pete. “Voila.”
“How anticlimactic.” Kenny complains, Henrietta rolls her eyes.
Damien takes a few steps closer to see what the fuss is about, and stops dead in his tracks beside Cartman and Ken. He looks like he’s lagging, but he has met the eyes of Pip and that's all that matters to everyone there.
“This is quite an odd dream..” Phillip says gently. He has regained enough control over his body to kick himself out of Pete’s arms, standing in the pond.
Damien’s voice is uncharacteristically calm and quiet. “I’m dreaming?” His voice cracks rather annoyingly.
“I thought.. I thought I was.” The blonde steps forward. Everyone’s eyes are on him, like a trance. They can’t look away from this. “Last I knew I was in your father’s house.”
Damien is much faster with his steps. “Last I knew, you were dead.”
“Why’d you leave me alone down there?” Phillip changes the subject, apparently deciding dream or no this was too amazing to risk being skeptical. Walking in the water is hard, as he’s so short it practically hinders every movement.
“I didn’t choose to move with Mom, Father made me. I would’ve spent much longer than a year with you if I could have.” The noirette is ankle deep in mucky pond.
A small sob escapes the brit’s lips, and he stumbles. “You’ve grown. So much. We were so young..”
Damien gives up on this, it's much too slow to walk, and lunges for Phillip. He hugs him tight and laughs in disbelief, almost knocking the younger male over. “You haven’t grown a bit, Pip.” Phillip doesn’t seem to care when the nickname comes from the mouth of the antichrist, just smiling happily. He wraps his lean arms around the taller and buries his face in Damien’s jacket.
“Alright fags, before you start spouting about miracles, we did this.” Cartman stares at them coldly.
“You didn’t do shit.” Pete clarifies, motioning to his friends. “It was mostly us.”
Kyle and Stan break out of their little spell, separating to look at Damien and Pip. Kyle decides to explain more. “Uhm. We uhh were tired of seeing Damien all angsty and shit. He's supposed to be angry and vengeful, not sad. So we wanted to bring back the one thing he cared about.. Which just so happened to be you, frenchie…”
Pip peeked over Damien’s shoulder, eyes a lot less soft. “So.. You’re the reason I’m alive, with Damien?”
Stan made some pathetic jazz hands. “Woo…”
Kyle nods. “And hey, maybe you’ll forgive us for being huge assholes as kids..?”
Pip smiles, tightens his grip on Damien, and giggles.
“Aww!! Not a chance in hell!”