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Summary
Two thousand years later, Kyle is still trying to leave South Park, and Stan is along for the ride.
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This fic honestly really hurt, it was short yes. But it made me feel as if it was a conclusion to life. The end that never ended. Never would. Not 'or' but in other words, Grief.
'The ending that fucking rivals SYSBFK's.'
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Bookmark Notes:
"Don't tell me any more," Stan says. It's true that they're a long way from sixty-one, barely into their twenties, but he can't imagine any amount of years with Kyle feeling like enough.
Kyle stops reading, and Stan stares at him, astounded. This is not the sort of thing Cartman is capable of inventing.
“Well, of course not," Stan says. It resembles Kyle quite a lot, actually, when he's pretending to be disaffected and cynical in order to protect himself from some disappointment. "It wasn't you, after all, so why should it sound like you?”
Something like adrenaline is keeping him from processing all but the rawest shock, and if he wasn't trying to hold Kyle with both arms he might not even know that he's only got a left arm now, the other one floating off behind him like all the bodies his DNA has burned through the past two thousand years.
He feels almost comfortable as his eyes fall shut, and then very much so. In his mind or in his next life he's a baby in Kyle's arms, recognizing the tears that drop down onto his cheeks when Kyle kisses them, some part of him remembering the way they fogged his helmet on an unnamed planet. He's a child who can't make it through a nightmare without sneaking into Kyle's room, crawling into his bed, wrapping himself in the smell of his one familiar thing. Stan will have Kyle again: he can feel it now. He might already be back in Kyle's arms
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ch.1
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