Chapter Text
The world begins to fall apart when Kyle Broflovski receives a knock on the door from his lifelong best friend, Stan Marsh.
“Dude, do you hear sirens?”
“I thought I was going crazy,” Kyle responds. “Did you see anything on your way over here?”
Stan lives down the street; fairly pretty close. He nods as he dumps his overnight bag and flops himself down on the Broflovski couch. “Just some police car lights by Stark’s Pond.”
Kyle shrugs, taking a seat next to Stan. “It’s probably something dumb; like a cat getting stuck in a tree.”
Stan frowned. “Who says that’s dumb?”
Stan Marsh is big on animals. Kyle holds back a laugh as he pretends to remain serious. “You’re right, dude. That’s totally not ridiculous, boring, or stupid at all.”
“Jerk.” He laughs, nudging his best friend’s side.
Before Kyle can respond with his own not-so-nice comment, a pound on the door halts his thought process.
“Quit making out in there and let me in!” Eric Cartman says, continuing to impatiently knock from behind the wood.
“For fuck’s sake.” Kyle let out an irritable groan and grumpily made his way over to the door. He opened it a crack to greet the fatass, raising an eyebrow as Cartman’s fat face stared back at him. “Who said you were invited?”
“I overheard you talking about a sleepover with you, hippie, and poor boy tonight. Obviously I’m invited.”
“Me, Stan, and Kenny don’t want anything to do with you, fatass! It’s my house, so get the fuck away.”
Kyle looks back to Stan for support, only to have him respond with a shrug from his position on the couch. Kyle rolls his eyes before turning back to Cartman.
“You’re not a very welcoming host, Jew.” He spoke. “I brought my overnight bag and everything. We’re like... like... the four musketeers!”
“There were only three musketeers, dumbass!” Kyle’s temper was nearing his snapping point. Eric fatass Cartman always knew how to get the best of him. “Leave, okay? Kenny will be here soon and I don’t need you calling him names when he’s already had a rough week.”
“Glad to see you care so fondly about your friends, Kyle.” Then, in one swift movement, Cartman shoves the smaller boy aside and enters the Broflovski residence with ease.
“Seriously, dude?” Stan grumbles from the couch. “Fuck off.”
But Cartman never does. In fact, somehow, he sticks around.
At sleepovers, at school, and during Kyle’s whole life.
“I wonder where Kenny is,” Stan remarks, checking his fancy watch that his girlfriend Wendy bought for him a while back.
Cartman puts his stuff down and wanders into Kyle’s kitchen. “Probably finding a new prostitute to make an entire dollar off of.”
Kyle, still glaring at him from the door, practically explodes. “This is exactly why I didn’t want you loitering around my house like some kind of white supremacist judge! You constantly—“
“Kyle, dude.” Stan interrupts, walking over and patting his shoulder to ease any physical violence Kyle was ready to cause. “It’s Cartman. He’ll never leave. Let’s just tolerate him until Kenny comes.”
“I know, I know. I just— tonight was supposed to be relaxing for Kenny. He’s had a rough week from all this paranoia.”
“It’ll be fine. All Kenny needs is a good night's sleep tonight. Then maybe his... thoughts... will leave him alone, right?”
Kyle frowned; sympathy for the blonde remaining. All week Kenny had been uneasy. When he finally opened up to Kyle and Stan, he explained that he was positive something odd was going on around South Park. Of course, he had no proof or evidence, but Kenny had been fighting with the sinking feeling in his gut for the last several days.
“It’ll be fine,” Stan repeated with a reassuring smile. “I know you worry, but Kenny was just being paranoid.”
Kyle looked away. “I guess.”
Another siren rang throughout South Park.
“What the hell is going on over there?” Cartman’s voice questioned loudly from the kitchen.
“The police have been around Stark’s Pond for like, half an hour.” Stan answers.
“It’s probably a cat stuck in a tree,” Kyle adds once again.
“Maybe it’s a murder.”
“Shut up, fatass.” Stan mutters.
“No, really! Imagine the entertainment!”
Just as Kyle’s fists begin to clench, the doorbell rang. Instead, he grinned. “Kenny!”
“Finally,” Stan added, walking over to open the door. “Now we can— holy shit...”
“Hey,” Kenny replies.
But this couldn’t be Kenny. Not Kyle’s Kenny.
No, this Kenny was splattered in blood; a painted symbol of violence. This Kenny had mud on his face and a ripped orange jacket. This Kenny was standing with tussled hair; his lips moving with words that Kyle was too distracted to listen to because what the fuck?
“Please tell me that’s not your blood,” Stan says after a moment of Kenny’s nonsense rambling; rambling that Kyle couldn’t process quickly enough.
“No... no. It’s not.” Kenny is out of breath.
“Then who’s is it?” Cartman asks with wide eyes.
As if on cue, another siren rings by, and Kenny flinches.
Kyle steps closer with an alarmed expression. “What happened?”
“Things are bad, Ky. And things are gonna get a whole lot worse.” He replies, breathing heavily. “It’s bad. Fuck. He... he didn’t leave me a choice and I... I... fuck!”
Kenny didn’t continue, and Stan locked the door, looking out the window as another siren rang out. “Listen, Kenny. You need to tell us what’s happening. You can’t shut down on us, coming in here covered in blood.”
When Kenny doesn’t answer, Kyle is quick to jump in the conversation. “Are you hurt?”
He shook his head. “Not... not me.”
Stan lightly pushes Kyle behind him and shuffles closer with some sort of determined gaze; one that the others can’t understand. “Did you hurt someone, Kenny?”
“Stan!” Kyle exclaims with frustration. “Don’t assume—“
"Yeah, I did.”
All falls silent at Kenny’s words, and not even Cartman can respond with a remark.
Another siren runs down the street, and Kenny takes action.
“You guys need to listen to me very carefully.” He looks around at his friend’s fearful faces, but guilt is overpowered by the protection he feels for them. “We’re in danger. We’re not safe here... we’re... we’re...”
“Who did you hurt?” Stan demands, firmly planting his feet. “Goddammit, Kenny. Who’s blood is that?”
Kyle’s heart feels torn apart. “Kenny, answer the question.”
“You murdered someone, didn’t you? I told you assholes!” Cartman distractedly cheers. “In your faces!”
“You didn’t kill someone, did you?” Kyle.
“All those police cars are for you, aren’t they?” Stan.
“You don’t even have the money to testify in court!” Cartman.
Kenny can’t handle it anymore.
Adrenaline pounding, ears ringing; all he wants to do is sleep.
So he answers their goddamn questions.
“Butters.”
And everything seems to freeze.
“It killed Butters.”