Chapter Text
After saving his friends, his family, the citizens of South Park, Terrence, Phillip, the entire nation of Canada, and the world at large by extension, Kenny McCormick ascends to Heaven on a free ride at the tender age of eight years old. What should have been his final, one way trip. The first of many, he’ll soon find out.
Just a short stint after being granted his sweet, sweet admission ticket into the coveted Kingdom of Heaven, Kenny asks to talk to God. If there is one, that is. And if He’s, you know, around and available to chat. Like, if He’s not too busy? And if He exists, of course. But, if there is and He does, can he please speak to Whoever is in charge here? Because Kenny’s got questions.
Really just one question: when can I go home?
It all still feels wrong. Unreal. Unnatural.
Not so much the dying part. He's done that plenty. More the part where he actually stayed dead. And all the little details and extenuating circumstances that had led up to it. To his eternity, apparently.
Hell (never been there before). Befriending Satan (actually a pretty nice guy). Ending the world, then saving it again. Finally getting into Heaven. Resting in peace… Or at least, he should be.
Now he’s just waiting. Kenny has decided Heaven’s all pretty much just a great, big waiting game. He can wait a little longer.
In all honesty, he’s surprised he’d been granted a presence with God at all. He used to regularly skip Sunday school to catch R-rated movies. He liked sneaking peeks in porno mags, artfully immortalizing all the crude body parts on classroom desks and bathroom stalls with pens and permanent markers. Kenny’s got a foul mouth. He loves dirty jokes. He knows you can't say most of his favorite words in church. He’s only up here for good behavior. One little wish. A selfless act. His get out of jail free card.
Kenny strokes the soft white feathers on the tips of his wings in nervous anticipation. He's still adjusting to the wings. He won't have them for much longer, he hopes.
The Big Man Upstairs is not at all how Kenny had imagined. He’s not big, or even a man really.
God is much shorter than Kenny thought He would be. And uglier. Like one of Dr. Mephesto’s creations. There's a beauty to His monstrosity, too. Though they are roughly the same size, God's presence feels infinitely larger than his own. Which makes sense, in an impossible sort of way. There is a certain contradictory mystery and majesty to the chimeric creature in front of him who is steadily matching his gaze with beady, yet gentle, all-knowing eyes.
It’s difficult to look right at Him for too long, Kenny realizes, squinting. (And God might say the same thing about Kenny.)
"You want to go back?" God asks him, more intrigued than surprised.
Kenny didn’t think he would get this far, not really. He just barely dared to hope they could entertain the question. But he knows what he wants.
"Mm-hmm." Kenny’s small voice is muffled through his hoodie, but God doesn’t have any trouble understanding him.
"Are you sure?” God’s tone is both coy and serene. “That's the tougher road. Lots of speed-bumps, more turns, car trouble..."
Kenny nods, mind already made up.
God smiles knowingly. "Usually more payoff, too.” God winks.
God earnestly shifts His hands, if they could really be called hands, emphasizing the weight of Kenny’s options with a heavenly grace.
“If you stay, you won't feel any pain ever again. It will be like this, always.”
God gestures to the ethereal expanse of fluffy, iridescent cloud-banked paradise stretching endlessly around them.
Everything in Heaven is like a comforting waking dream. Peaceful sunrises infinitely colliding into breathtaking sunsets. An ambient glow paints the clouds in cozy strokes of gold and pink and lavender. Never hot, never cold, never wanting, always satisfied. Time stands still here, like the universe is taking a seemingly infinite exhale. All finally calm, and quiet, and ready for restful slumber.
Except Kenny. He doesn’t feel tired. Kenny just feels antsy, like maybe he forgot something. He’s not ready yet. It was nice to stop and catch his breath, sure, but sinking into peace and serenity for infinity like the Mormons do sounds kind of lame. And boring. Lonely. He misses his friends, his big brother and baby sister, his mom and dad, despite them fighting all the time. He misses watching cartoons. He even misses school. He misses his life.
Kenny’s eyes follow a shimmering rainbow’s path melting into a piece of the dazzlingly blue sky. Twinkling daytime stars impossibly dot the hazy space around it. He watches a perfect shooting star cut across it all.
He looks to God Who gazes back at him solemnly before continuing.
“Living comes with the cost of dying. For you, it's a greater cost than most. If you go back, it will be more of the same. The cycle of life and pain… You know what that means, don’t you?"
Kenny shrugs, just barely hesitating. “I’m... used to it."
"It's a long road. I can’t draw you a map."
"That's okay."
Kenny tucks his hands into the pockets of his jacket. He kicks a wisp of cloud with his foot, bashful and mischievous. Cherubic.
The child could fit in here, God knows, among His ranks of angels.
Both childlike and something other. Something more. A conduit, swaddled in innocuous packaging. His complex, striking aura could shine brightly if nurtured. Polished, his soul could sing like a bell. God sees it now. He can almost hear it. His potential for good. His purity and strength, despite the dark power held within him. Partially because of it. Even now, cut down so early in his stride, he could be great.
The potential of this strange child, who shifts between realities, who’s been tripping through time and life and death and afterlife and somewhere else, both inside of and above it all. Not quite belonging to any of it. A heavenly body, born of sin. The beauty and wondrous triumph of it all. Of him. The boy could find peace here. He could be cleansed, his vessel made whole. His energy could be put to softer, kinder uses. He could stay a sweet and gentle thing, shaped this way forever.
Still. Ultimately, the child must decide.
The other road is much darker, and less certain. Still cloaked in shadow. It will take time to shape itself. The child might be lost to it. Then again, he might be found there, too. He might find himself and make his own destiny. If not, the cost will be grave, the consequences unspeakable, unknowable.
To send him back, this special child, this bastard of the universe, it will poke a black hole where the first one’s just been sealed. Like reopening a wound. From there, he will draw it back to him. The darkness. The blood. And others... like him. Chaos will reign, if only for a time. He is undoing. He is adverse to life and death and time. Reality will break and then reset, over and over and over unto itself.
Still. He is a little boy, so full of love and surprises. Capable of growth and light and life, despite adversities. He could be good. Joy and horror cascading from his tiny body, he could be great. He is an infinite paradox. The future will rise to meet him.
Finally God speaks. "As you wish, it shall be done. Go with grace, My child. Carve your path-path-path…"
God’s echoing voice fades as His aura disperses into a halo of light before Kenny’s eyes.
An angel appears beside Kenny, having glided down from on high. Blond, tall, and somewhat gawky, the angel sort of reminds Kenny of his sweet classmate Butters Stotch, not just in appearance, but in sunny disposition.
“Heya, little fella.”
He removes Kenny's wings with ease, plucking them from his shoulder blades. It doesn’t even hurt. The wings vanish with a ‘poof’ in a cloud of smoke and glitter from the angel’s hands. The angel dusts off his palms then begins guiding Kenny to an undisclosed secondary location while listing off his lengthy ‘Returning Soul Rights’, at the end of which he pats Kenny on the back.
"... And don't worry, kid. The Big Guy’s got a plan for ya.”
They’re now standing at the Gates of Heaven. The golden gates swing open as the angel directs Kenny to follow him through them, his hand gently resting on his shoulder, leading him along. They continue onward, the angel still chatting away.
“Us angels, we were all taking bets. Ya know, on which option ya'd choose. And I was really hoping ya'd pick this one. Ha ha! It's gonna be way more fun!” The angel smiles excitedly down at him. His expression slowly shifts to a rueful one. “Oops-- I've probably said too much. Our little secret…” The angel pantomimes zipping his lips and throwing away an invisible key. “Just, be careful down there, okay?”
They stop walking. There’s nowhere left to walk. Kenny carefully peers over the edge of the cloud bank, his curiosity momentarily taking hold. Below them lies a layered sea of more clouds, whites bleeding into grays. He quickly scoots back over to the angel. His fear of heights did not die with him this time, either.
“You probably won’t remember all this, right? I mean, hopefully not, huh?”
“Um.” Kenny shrugs, knowing the chances are likely that he will. At least in his dreams. In his nightmares, too.
The angel smiles at him again, like they’ve shared some sort of inside joke.
“Anyway…”
The angel waves. Kenny waves back, confused.
With no further warning, he pushes Kenny off the ledge of clouds.
“Have a great trip!!!"
Kenny tries to grasp onto something, but his hands only glide straight through the clouds. Just clouds. Everything in every direction, they’re all that surrounds him. Enveloped in damp and cool and gray. For a split second, it almost feels like he’s floating. Then the clouds break and he can see where the sky meets the ground, and he knows that he’s falling because the ground is getting closer. The wind rips past his falling body, almost through him, roaring in his ears, stinging his watering eyes, chafing the skin of his vibrating cheeks, burning up his nose. He can’t breathe, can’t think. Earth’s horizon line comes crashing towards him.
Kenny falls down down down.
Kenny wakes up in his bed with a start. He’s sweating. His chest is heaving. He hears his heart pulsing loudly in his ears. He had dreamed of falling. No, wait-- he did fall. He had died and gone to Hell and then to Heaven. Now he’s back home and he’s crying. He knows it had not been a dream or a nightmare.
He looks at his surroundings through teary-eyed, blurred vision.
It's night time. His dark bedroom is bare aside from the bed and the piles of boxes packed and stacked in each corner. That’s odd. He wipes his wet face on his pillow.
He hears a creak from down the hall, then soft footsteps pass by his closed door. Probably just Kevin going to get a glass of water from the kitchen, he guesses by the light weight of the footfalls.
A glass of water sounds really nice right now. He's suddenly so parched.
Kenny climbs out of bed and walks to the door, opening it. He pads quietly all the way to the end of the dark hallway which opens up onto the kitchen and living room. Simultaneously, he sees and is spotted by a little girl of no more than two or three standing in front of the fridge. A cup of water slips from her hand as she lets out a high pitched scream. Karen. He almost didn't recognize her. The cup shatters on the linoleum.
"Wait, Karen, don't move." Kenny puts both his hands up, motioning for her to stay there as he begins searching for the broom. "You’ll step in the glass and get cut."
Their parents rush, or more like stumble drunkenly over each other, into the room. They both bumble right past Kenny, his presence going unnoticed.
"Karen, what the hell--" Stewart scoops Karen up from the glass trap of the kitchen floor, but steps on a shard of glass in the process. "Ow! Shit!"
He hops one-legged to the table and plops her down there.
It's only then that he sees his youngest and recently departed son, finally in his direct line of sight. For once, the boy hadn't rudely awoken them at an ungodly hour with his equally ungodly rebirth. Hell, he’d actually given them a few months off this time around. The shit show’s about to start all over again though, Stewart knows it. Vacation’s over.
"Kenneth." Stewart says it plainly, like all the air has been knocked out of him. The hairs on his arms are standing up.
Carol had spotted him only a second earlier. Her lost boy, stood there like a ghost behind the table. A drunken mirage, perhaps. Or a figment of her imagination. She remained stunned into inaction until Stewart spoke, breaking her spell. She rushes to Kenny now, pulling her son into a tight embrace. Her damned, miracle baby.
"Kenny?!” She pulls back, disbelieving, still cupping his face. Inspecting his features. Making sure he's real. “Oh darlin' you gave us all quite a- quite a fright, honey.” She strokes his hair, swipes his cheeks. “My baby, my baby…"
Kenny remains silent in her grasp. He had not anticipated this much attention to be paid, if any at all. For just a moment, he feels like she knows. Do they remember? Can he make them remember? He dares to hope.
Stewart still inspects his foot, hobbling into the light to get a better look. Callously ignoring the seemingly obvious elephant in the room, and undermining its implication. He coughs.
"You just scared your sister, that's all. Don't sneak up on people in the middle of the goddamn night. Carol, gimme a hand here?"
Some things never really change. Kenny should know by now.
Carol tears herself away from her son to help Stewart with his foot. Can’t ignore her man in need. Kenny understands. He’s almost sort of relieved. Less desperate eyes on him.
Karen is still watching him from the table. He peers back at her, probably looking just as confused. Last time he saw her she was practically still a baby. It felt like she had just learned how to walk. At first, he hadn’t wanted a younger sibling. That had quickly changed. Her first word was his name.
How long had he been gone?
Those were clean sheets on his bed. Otherwise, his room had been empty. Stuffy. Packed up into neat little boxes. Like they just packed his life away. Or put it on hold. Entombed. Like he died, which he had, he reminds himself.
In the corner of the living room, the ugliest discount Christmas tree possibly ever, undoubtedly from the hardware store bargain bin, decorated exclusively in beer cans and a single twisted light strand tells him it’s most likely December again. It had been spring, almost summer, when he died.
He decides to make himself useful and finish what he started with the broom, spotting it in the corner by the tree. He goes to sweep up the broken glass. Their parents had limped together into the bathroom to fuss over Stewart's foot, the greater mess in the kitchen set aside now, despite its still pressing urgency.
He can hear them bitching at each other through the wall as he sweeps, although he can’t quite make out what they’re saying. Their tones are mean, and tired. He hasn't missed them, not so much. Not very much at all. Or he has, he really has, but he doesn’t want to admit that.
Everything's already starting to feel more familiar. Less wrong. More like he’s in his body again. Kenny takes a deep breath, squeezing the broom handle between his small hands.
From the table, Karen still hasn't said a peep. She’s just quietly watching his movements.
Finally, he hears her whisper, "Are you an angel?"
He stops sweeping to consider this.
"I'm your brother."
It’s all of an explanation he can muster.
She just blinks at him.
Kevin creeps in from down the hall, where he was clearly lurking in the shadows, eavesdropping, waiting for their father to become distracted enough to finally emerge once the coast was clear.
"Good joke, Kare-Bear.”
Kevin ruffles Karen's messy baby hairs as he walks by.
“Just cuz he does more chores than us don't make him a saint. Gimme the broom, Ken."
He takes it from Kenny and finishes sweeping up the mess. A stray piece of glass crunches beneath Kenny’s foot as he steps back, and he suddenly realizes he's still wearing his boots. He’s wearing all his clothes, actually. Even his parka. So, what he died in.
The bathroom light flicks off as their parents saunter back to bed. With the rattle of their bedroom door, the children are alone. Once again, forgotten.
Yes, some things stay the same.
Kenny goes to get Karen and himself both glasses of water from the sink. The task which had brought on the whole family affair in the first place. This time, he uses red solo cups instead of glass. No more accidents tonight.
He offers Kevin water too, gesturing with a third plastic cup he had pulled from the stack on the shelf. His brother waves him off, declining, so he puts it back. They've always been good at communicating without words.
He pours Karen's glass of water first. Kenny hesitates as he rests the cup in her little hands, his own hands hovering to make sure she doesn't spill it.
Kevin notices this and instantly comments on it, teasing, "C'mon, Ken. She ain’t a baby no more."
Face warming with embarrassment and feeling completely out of place in this kitchen (or more out of time, it had just moved right along with out him), Kenny drops his hands away from Karen's, retreating back to the sink to get his own water. He drinks the whole cup greedily before immediately pouring himself another. Earthly delights. He tries not to think about the pang in his stomach too much. That feeling is familiar enough to ignore, he knows.
He drinks a second cup, then half of a third. Finally satiated, he offers the rest of it to Kevin who just finished dumping the last of the broken glass into the trash can. His brother accepts the solo cup from his hand.
"Sure, I'll chug your backwash, runt."
Kevin downs the rest of the water in one swig, then wipes his mouth with a flannel pajama sleeve. He raises an eyebrow at Kenny, giving him a once over.
"Why’re you in all your clothes?"
Kenny shrugs sheepishly.
To his credit, Kevin had slipped on his own boots to avoid the glass. He shakes his head at Kenny.
"You're so weird."
Kevin pulls Kenny’s hood down over his eyes playfully, then turns to Karen.
"Isn't he so weird, Kare-Bear?"
Kevin jostles Kenny by the shoulders, who swings his arms out like a zombie, now playing along and fully committing to the bit with him. Their little sister giggles shyly at their antics.
"Get a load of this freak o' nature!" Kevin whisper-yells in a goofy, exaggerated circus carnie voice. "Step right up to meet Turtle-Boy, eighth wonder o' the world!"
Karen begins laughing out right now, and her brothers laugh too. Kevin shoves Kenny. Kenny shoves him back. They're still a family. He still belongs.
Their fun is quickly cut short by a loud thump from their parent's bedroom, no doubt a work boot hitting the wall, followed by "GO TO BED!" yelled in their father's warning-almost-threat voice. So they sneak back down the hall to their respective bedrooms.
Kenny thinks about the ominous stacks of boxes in his otherwise eerily vacant bedroom and passes up his own door in favor of trailing after his siblings to their doorway instead. He tugs Kevin's pajama sleeve, his creaking whispered voice sounding even younger than he is.
"Can I… sleep with you guys tonight?"
Kevin only nods once, permitting him to enter the room behind Karen.
Kenny sheds off his outerwear before crawling under the blankets next to Kevin.
Kevin usually gives him crap about nightmares or calls him a big baby before inevitably letting him sleep in his bed anyway. Tonight though, something compelled him to skip all the big brother formalities.
Maybe he’s just being extra nice, though being woken up in the middle of the night doesn’t tend to bring that out of him. Maybe it was in the way Kenny had asked. Suddenly so uneasy, so sad, and so very, very small. Innocent, yet clearly haunted by something they don’t have words for yet. Maybe, deep down, Kevin knows Karen is right.
Their brother is an angel. Or a ghost.