Archive of Our Own ^beta

Eric Cartman was no stranger to seeing his best friend and love of his life die. As unfortunate as it was, for the both of them. Eric would say that it had to be worse on Kenny, surely, having to feel and live and die and know he was stuck in a vicious, seemingly never ending cycle of feeling and living and dying. He felt a little selfish, truly, knowing that it was hard on himself, too. Eric Cartman was not usually one to care about whether he was being selfish or not, but Kenny McCormick did things to him that he was too afraid to explore or explain.

But it was . It was hard. It was hard knowing that someone was in so much pain, someone who didn’t deserve it. It was hard knowing that someone was so scared, even though Kenny would always brush it off and say he was fine. It was hard not knowing if the next time would ever be the last time, not knowing if Kenny being missing the next day was just a fluke in his curse or if it was really over. It was hard watching someone die and knowing there was nothing he could possibly do to ever stop it. He could hold Kenny in his arms or rush him to the hospital or ruin his clothes to try and stop the bleeding, but the end result would always be the same. No matter what he did, Kenny McCormick would die, would be dead, and he’d just have to watch and sit and wait and hope he’d be back.

It had happened again. The four of them — Eric, Kenny, Stan, Kyle — were out at Stark’s. It was late, the sky was dark, and it was one of those few times that the sky would be clear enough to see a beautiful smattering of stars. Stan had just said something about stargazing, as gay as that was, but had gotten everyone on board. It somehow turned into Kenny wanting to ice skate on the frozen over pond, despite Eric giving him looks to tell him it wasn’t fucking smart and to listen to him for once . But of course Kenny hadn’t heeded the silent warnings, and of course the universe couldn’t give either of them a fucking break, and of course the ice cracked and splintered, and of course Kenny fell in.

Stan and Kyle were too busy freaking out, ushering each other off the ice, to do anything. Eric barely heard when they shouted at him to do the same. Instead, he lowered himself to his hands and knees and crawled forward and reached a hand out. “Kenny!” he shouted. “God fucking damn it, Kenny!”

The look in Kenny’s eyes was pure panic. He didn’t take Eric’s hand. Eric yelled at him to, to take his hand, to let him help him, to let him save him. But he didn’t. Eric watched through the blur of tears as the cold took away Kenny’s energy, and the water took away his breath. By the time he managed to get a good enough hold on Kenny’s parka to pull him up, he was as good as gone.

“God fucking damn it, Kenny,” Eric repeated, voice thick. “Fucking asshole. Don’t fucking die on me, god damn it.”

But it wasn’t as if Kenny had any control over it now. And it wasn’t as if Eric’s words could fix anything now. Kenny’s body was colder than ice, Eric swore it. So cold that he wasn’t even shivering anymore. Eric wasn’t even sure if he could hear him anymore. He hoped not, since the only things he could utter anymore were pathetic pleas and insults.

Eric didn’t remember getting home that night. He didn’t remember having to leave Kenny’s frozen body there on the ice. He didn’t remember Stan and Kyle walking him home. He didn’t remember his mom’s concerned glances as she helped him out of his soaked jacket and sent him up for a warm shower before bed. He didn’t think he showered. He didn’t think he even changed. He thought he only managed to sleep because crying took out all of his energy.

He woke up to an incessant tapping. At first, Eric almost wanted to swear at it. To yell at it to go away, fuck off, didn’t it know he was grieving . But then he remembered, and had never been out of bed quicker in his life. He was pushing open the window and carefully helping Kenny inside within seconds.

Kenny’s hands were cold to the touch, and he was shivering. Eric knew not to be alarmed, he’d watched Kenny fall into the ice and had seen the aftermath too many times now. The concern still ran deep, though, and before Kenny could even find stability on the carpet of Eric’s bedroom floor, he was being guided into bed.

They were pressed together. Eric tugged Kenny into his chest and wrapped the blankets around both of them. Kenny’s shivering slowed, in time. Neither of them said anything for a while. They didn’t have to. Kenny was usually quieter on the mornings after he died. Eric thought it had to be something to do with reliving old traumas for the fifth or sixth or thirtieth times.

“You didn’t take my hand,” Eric mumbled.

“What?” Kenny asked. He peeked up from his spot in Eric’s chest, eyes a darker shade of blue than they had been yesterday. Eric hadn’t had the chance to spot it until now.

“I was trying to help you,” he answered. “And you wouldn’t let me, you fucking asshole. You wouldn’t take my hand.”

Kenny’s face was against his chest again. “What if I accidentally pulled you in, instead?” he asked. His voice was quiet, so quiet. He didn’t like talking about his deaths and Eric knew it. But Eric also knew, from his own therapy sessions, that sometimes you had to talk about the shit you’d rather never talk about.

He knew that Kenny had a point, though. Kind of. If Eric had fallen in, if Eric had met the same fate Kenny had, he wouldn’t be here right now. And Kenny was afraid of death for other people, maybe even more than he was afraid of death for himself. “You wouldn’t have,” Eric insisted anyway. “Your scrawny little ass couldn’t drag me and my big bones.”

Even with Kenny hidden away, Eric could feel his frown. “You don’t know that,” Kenny whispered. “You don’t know. And we can’t risk shit like that, because if we tried and it did happen, nobody would be able to save both of us. And if I die, it doesn’t matter. But if you died—…”

Kenny’s voice broke. Eric’s heart broke.

“If you died, and it was my fault, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. But I wouldn’t have any choice but to live with myself.”

“And you think I can?” Eric asked. The words spilled out of him before he could stop himself. It wasn't accusatory, wasn’t blaming. It was just sad. He was sad. “You think I can live with myself after all the times you die? After all the times I try to save you , but I can’t? You think it doesn’t fucking matter just because you’ll probably be back later? Because it does. And I can’t. I fucking— fucking cried myself to sleep last night, like a stupid fucking pussy, because this was the second fucking time this week that you died and I was too late.”

“…Cartman,” Kenny said, softly.

“I know it’s not your fault or whatever,” Eric continued. “And I know it fucking sucks for you, too. And I know there isn’t anything we can do other than hope. But hearing you say shit like that, shit like it doesn't matter if I die , it fucking sucks, Kenny. Because it matters. You matter.”

“I’m sorry,” Kenny whispered. It wasn’t really the response Eric had been wanting, he didn’t want an apology, but he supposed he wasn’t sure what he did want either. So he didn’t say anything, and let Kenny finish. “I didn’t realize. I just thought it wasn’t a big deal because I come back.”

“You do come back. But you’re also gone .”

“…Yeah.”

“And I fucking miss you , you fucking asshole.”

Kenny leaned back. His hands cupped Eric’s face. They were still cold, but they were warming up. He was warming up. Eric had to remind himself that for now, right here, Kenny was still alive. “I miss you too,” he said softly. “And I’m sorry you have to remember all of it.”

Eric frowned at him. “Kenny. That’s not what I’m saying. I don’t want to be another one of the assholes who don’t remember. I want to remember. I’m glad I remember. I’m glad.. you don’t have to be alone. Or whatever.”

Kenny’s eyes softened. He couldn’t find the words to explain how much it meant to him. So he didn’t use his words. His hands still cupped Eric’s cheeks, thumbs absentmindedly creating small arcs against the soft skin. He leaned in, without much thought, and then they were kissing.

They were kissing, and it was the warmest thing either one of them had felt in a long time. One of Eric’s hands moved to mimic Kenny’s, touching his face with a sense of hesitancy but with so much love. Kenny couldn’t ever think of a time he’d felt so loved.

Neither one of them knew how long it lasted, nor did they really care. Long enough that when they pulled apart, their cheeks were pink and they were out of breath and it took them a few seconds to return to Earth. Kenny recovered first. “I love you,” he whispered breathlessly. “I’m sorry.“

“I’ll fucking kill you myself if you apologize again, Kenny,” Eric grumbled. And he didn’t need to say the words back, because he’d managed to pull a small laugh from Kenny’s lips and that had him crashing their lips together again, himself.

Kenny would still die. And it would still suck. There would still be nothing either one of them could do to stop it, to help it. They would both still hurt, and they would both still have to live with it. But they would be okay. Through all of it, they would still have each other. Both of them thought that maybe it was more than enough.