Chapter Text
November 2012
“I’m telling you, it was bigger than any other bear we’ve seen around here!”
“Yeah, you’ve told us. Stan doesn’t believe you.”
Their breathing broke out in frozen clouds, their boots clomped over solid mud and scattered twigs behind Kenny McCormick’s house.
“Do you believe me?” Kenny asked, tightening his hood around his small, freckled face. As far as he knew, he was the only one who had seen the gigantic bear. Even the adults thought Kenny was being theatrical.
“I believe that you think you saw a ‘roided up black bear,” Kyle Broflovski answered, the beam of his flashlight swaying from tree to tree, “But until I see it myself, I’m going to keep being skeptical.”
“You brought your camera, right?”
Kyle patted his front pocket, “Yup.”
“Well, she shouldn’t be long now. I’ve been watching her. She usually comes here to scratch her back on the trees,” he pointed to an upcoming clearing, a couple of miles deep into the woods. They lost the comfort of a dim back porch light awhile ago.
“She?”
“Yeah. I named her Big Bertha.”
“How do you know it’s a she?”
“I didn’t see a dick.”
“So? Just because you didn’t see it, doesn’t mean it’s not there.”
“Oh, yeah? Did I hit too close to him, Kyle?”
“Shut up.”
Kenny grinned. They continued on in silence, hyper-aware of every leaf crunched, every sharp inhale. They often hung out in comfortable silence like this. They would sit in front of the Broflovski’s couch, entangled in wires, the floor littered with random parts. They picked apart and reassembled anything they could get their hands on: computers, telephones, blenders, remote-controlled cars, a Sega Genesis, a boat motor. Their combined curiosity of wanting to know how things worked would sometimes cause trouble. Most recently, Kyle’s mother came home to find the boys examining their brand new, freshly dissected toaster at the kitchen table. Her shrieking forced them to quickly put it back together.
Kenny loved working with his hands so much that he started making new things from old things. Kyle decided they would use leftover money from his 12th birthday and buy cruddy electronics from the thrift shop. Things they could manipulate all they wanted.
Over the years, Kyle had found that he had more in common with Kenny than anyone else in South Park. He always thought Stan best fit that role, but Stan was, and Kyle hated admitting this, just like everyone else. Kyle had more in common with Cartman than he did with Stan nowadays.
Kyle and Kenny were outsiders. Kenny and his family were the poorest in town and often talked about with pity. Kyle’s family were the only Jews in a town of all Catholics and were often made to feel excluded. They always invited Kenny to their holidays and found that he meshed well, becoming an honorary Jew.
“You know bears go down on each other?” Kyle asked with a sly smile.
“No way.”
“Way. Scientists did a 10-year study on two captive bears.”
“Mama and Papa bears?”
“More like Papa and Papa.”
“Oh. That’s… cool.”
“Got a problem with gay bears, Ken?”
“Nah. No. Of course not,” Kenny started walking faster. “We’re almost there.”
“What are we going to do if it attacks us?”
“We’ll be in the tree, so she won’t see us. But if something happens...” his voice lowered, as cold as the November air. “Play dead.”
“Does that actually work?”
Kenny shrugged. “Guess we’ll find out.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t let anything happen to you. I brought pepper spray too. Just in case.”
They continued walking until they reached the clearing. Kyle panned the flashlight across the snowy ground, then up into a barren maple.
“Let’s go into that one,” he grabbed Kenny’s shoulder.
Moments later, sitting in the branches, they stared together at the ground. Kyle glanced behind them now and then with the flashlight.
“What time is it?”
Kenny checked his tiny, gray flip phone, “6:37.”
“It got dark fast.”
“It always does.” Kenny fidgeted with the strings of his jacket, “So, um. Can I talk to you about something?”
“Did you get your period?” Kyle asked without even looking up.
“I’m being serious, dude.”
Kyle straightened up, looked around the tree trunk that separated him and Kenny, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing is really wrong, I just… I don’t know. Let me ask you a hypothetical question.”
“Okay.”
“Totally hypothetical.”
“Sure.”
“Would you hate me if I told you I was moving?”
“...no,” Kyle noticed that Kenny had been quieter than usual the past couple of weeks. He figured something was up but didn’t want to pry. “You’re moving?”
“...yeah.”
“Where? Like another city by here?” he hoped Kenny would say yes. Yes, we’re just moving to the next town over. I’m not leaving you. I just won’t be down the street anymore. But if he wasn’t moving far, Kyle knew, he wouldn’t be approaching this so delicately, wouldn’t have held it off for so long.
“We’re moving to Detroit.”
“Michigan!?”
“Yeah.”
“But isn’t Detroit supposed to be, like, awful?”
“It’s supposedly getting better,” Kenny shrugged. “My dad got a job at Ford.”
“When are you moving?”
“Next month. My dad leaves Tuesday and the rest of us will follow,” Kenny scratched at the frozen bark. “You know, it’s kind of funny. My great-great-great-great grandparents came here to mine gold. To build a better life. They never had any luck though. At least for us, it’s a sure thing. Everything is going to change for us.”
Kyle nodded. Kenny couldn’t see it, but his eyes were wet. “You’ll keep in touch though, right?”
“I will,” Kenny said with a slight scoff. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because. You know how these things go. People say they’ll stay in touch but it’s all lies. They forget about each other.”
“That won’t be us.”
“Just watch.”
“Kyle-”
“-Don’t.”
“No, Kyle,” Kenny pointed, “Look!”
About 300 feet in front of them, a vast black mass meandered through the trees, her heavy paws clomping with every step.
“Holy shit,” Kyle gasped, “She’s fucking huge.”
“I told you!”
Bertha crept toward them, sniffing the ground. Kyle handed Kenny the flashlight so he could snatch his camera.
“How long do you think she’ll stick around here?” Kyle whispered.
“I don’t know… just don’t move too much and hopefully, she won’t notice us.”
Kyle snapped a photo, the flash briefly illuminating the woods. Bertha didn’t seem to care. She pawed at the bottom of their tree.
“Aw,” Kyle said as if he were watching a puppy.
“She has to be at least 700 pounds,” Kenny looked down at the top of her head. More aggressively now, she pushed into the tree, digging her claws in. “Oh, fuck-”
Locking stares with the boys, Bertha climbed the tree, her snout just inches away from their dangling feet.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Kyle’s swears harmonized with Kenny’s.
“Fuck, dude, we have to get off!”
“How?!”
“How do you think?” Kenny reached behind and gripped Kyle’s jacket, forcing them both off the tree, landing backward in a snowbank.
Kyle groaned and turned to his side. Kenny was stronger than Kyle had ever thought, or maybe it was the adrenaline of the moment that helped Kenny pull them both back and cover him with his own body.
“Don’t move,” he whispered and Kyle felt it ripple through his whole chest. Bertha approached them. Kyle felt Kenny shaking.
She ran her nose along the boys’ faces with the investigative manner of a bloodhound, her heated breath grazing their red cheeks, then placed her heavy paw on the center of Kenny’s back and pushed down, forcing a narrow, frightened grunt out of him. Bertha backed off. The boys slowly turned their heads to see if she had gone.
Kyle pissed himself. Her position switched to standing up, her height towering above Kyle’s expectations.
Skepticism was flattened and thrown out, an acceptance of death by bear-mauling took its place. The roaring was unlike anything Kenny had ever heard - a deep breathy bass that drew air around them, a statement of the hunt, a warm battle cry.
Before she could lace her claws into their flesh, Kenny whipped out and sprayed the mace as hard as he could, rolled over with Kyle until they were at a safe distance. Bertha backed away, stumbling, pawing at her face.
“Holy shit,” Kyle breathed.
“I told you I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”
Kenny lied on his mattress, arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling, listening to his CD player. His family was letting Kyle stay the night. Usually, it was the other way around, with Kenny in the Broflovski shower instead.
Kyle was awkward, quiet, and prickling with anxiety. Most of all, he was lonely. Others seemed to like him fine, but he was never the one that idle thoughts drifted to. When Kyle wasn’t with Kenny, he was alone. If someone did talk to Kyle, he’d often overshare, turning the conversation into a soliloquy.
His face had taken on the expression of his mother, permanently worried, mouth always turned at a tight angle (Cartman teased him for having “resting Sheila face”). A sort of nervous tick surfaced: Kyle often rubbed his wrists and hands together like a fly or a cricket. He was told not to think about it too much and eventually it would go away. He liked the skin on skin contact. The friction reminded him that he was alive.
The water down the hall shut off, and soon Kyle was in Kenny’s doorway, wearing flannel pajamas. Kenny had an earbud out.
“I didn’t pack extra jeans for tomorrow,” he mumbled.
“I have sweatpants you can borrow. They’re a little holey, but it’s not noticeable.”
“Thanks,” Kyle mumbled, sliding into his sleeping bag on the floor. Kenny shut off the nightstand lamp, then curled up with the beach towel he used as a blanket. “So are you going to tell everyone at school I fucking pissed my pants?”
Kenny chuckled, “Nah. I almost did myself.”
“That was so stupid of us to do,” Kyle said, playing with a loose string on the Terence and Phillip sleeping bag. “We almost died. Our parents would have found chicken-shredded bodies.”
“I know. I shouldn’t have asked you to come with me… I just wanted someone to believe me. No one ever believes me about anything.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t believe you, Kenny.”
“You wanted to.”
Kyle smiled to himself. A small warmth rose in his belly. “Thank you for protecting me. Even if you kind of molested me in the process.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“So can I ask you something? Something hypothetical.”
“Hm?”
“Are you happy that you’re moving?”
An exhale from the mattress. “No. I’m happy for my family. But I don’t want to leave here. Everyone I know is here - Stan, Cartman, Butters… you, most of all.”
“I guess we don’t have a lot of time…”
“I guess.”
Kyle rolled onto his back. “What are you listening to?”
“The Beatles.”
Kyle closed his eyes. The reality of Kenny leaving was peeking in now that the excitement was over. His body, which had been betraying him whenever he looked at Kenny, sunk. A concave chest.
Just play dead. Don’t move. Don’t think about it.
In his dreams, he felt her hot breath again, felt the heavy paw on their backs again, but this time she dragged Kyle over and the last thing he sees is her small, amber eyes before the jaw encloses his face.
He wakes up shaking. Above him, he can hear faint music.
“Ken, are you awake?”
“Hm.”
Kyle rolled onto his back. “What are you listening to?”
“The Beatles.”
“Can I listen with you? I can’t sleep.”
“Uh, sure.”
Kyle climbed onto the mattress with him and buried his face into Kenny’s arm. Kenny gave him an earbud, his body tense from the sudden affection and a weak arm around his torso. After a few minutes, he faded into it, drifting off to sleep, the lyrics of “Good Day, Sunshine,” stringing through both of them.