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Death isn’t a kind thing.
When people think of dying, they think of heaven or hell or eternal bliss or whatever bullshit they believe in. People fill the unknown of what happens after death with the version of the afterlife they’d come up with, because not knowing scares people. Uncertainty is a curse and the only cure is faith in something, disregarding how unlikely it is.
So, death is almost a comfort to some. Believing that they’ll go somewhere nice and lovely is something to look forward to.
Kenny McCormick disagrees.
Kenny McCormick has looked death in the face countless times, and not once has he woken up in a paradise. (He did go to heaven that one time when he was nine, but that doesn’t count, because he had to be head general for a war.)
He’s found that many people overlook the whole dying part of the ordeal to get to the after. Not Kenny. The dying part is all he gets.
Unfortunately he wakes up in his bed after experiencing whatever unfathomable pain he’d been subjected to each time. He stares up at his plain beige ceiling or out his cracked window and wishes that maybe, next time will be final, and the cycle will stop. Maybe, he’ll be able to rest, and not be plagued by his deaths that nobody else remembers. Would he fade from everyone’s memories, or would he finally get a funeral?
It doesn’t matter, because it will never happen. He’s been sick, starved, fallen from cliffs, pushed off cliffs, caught in tornadoes, been at the center of freak accidents and he’s still alive and kicking. And has never received any sort of compensation for it. Not even the scars.
But he does get the pain.
He gets a fire in his limbs that never stops burning. He gets pain in his bones, from when he’d broken them in many of his accidents. He gets a throbbing headache from a fatal head injury. He gets an arm that tingles painfully, because some jackass shot him there once, piercing through his important veins and arteries. He gets shaky limbs that barely manage to keep him upright most of the time, because dammit they’re tired of being so abused, and so is Kenny. But he pushes through it even when it’s bad, he doesn’t have a choice.
Once, he complained of pain to his dad, who drunkenly told him to fuck off. His mom took him to the doctor who did nothing aside from mention a ton of chronic illnesses and autoimmune diseases that he probably doesn’t have. Figuring it out and seeking a diagnosis would be too expensive, anyway.
Though, chronic pain is the best way he has to describe it. It’s pain that never stops, after all.
Kenny blinks his eyes open after his most recent death and immediately feels the urge to cry. Being twisted in half by some machine at a construction site was anything but painless. That’s a new one to add to the list. His hips ache and his legs might as well be broken. It’s nothing he hasn’t felt before. He hauls himself out of bed, downs some off-brand painkillers he knows won’t help, and makes his way out the door to the bus stop.
The world still spins even when his life momentarily stops, and school waits for no one.
Three familiar faces greet him as he arrives, trudging through the early-winter snow. Kyle and Cartman are, predictably, arguing about something stupid as Stan tunes them out with his earbuds. The normalcy is comforting.
“No, Cartman, it’s not funny!”
“Really, Kahl? Then why am I laughing?”
“Because you’re an ASSHOLE!”
Kenny can’t help but snicker at the red shade Kyle’s face turns. It’s endearing. Wait, what?
“Oh– hi Kenny!” Kyle greets him before he can unpack the wave of emotions that just smacked him in the face. Stan doesn’t notice, far too engrossed in his music, and Cartman echoes a deceptively sweet hi Kinny.
Whatever issue had been going on is easily dropped within a few minutes, now with Kenny playing referee. Though, it wouldn’t be too bad if they kept fighting, so they were too distracted to notice the far-too-often winces of pain Kenny tries and fails to suppress. His hips are killing him. When the bus arrives, Kenny makes sure to be the last on, so nobody catches his slight limp. Inside the vehicle is loud and overwhelming, just as it always is.
Despite all four of them being above legal age, none of them have their licenses, all for various different reasons. Kenny’s broke, Kyle’s mom gets too worried, Cartman’s lazy, and Stan hasn’t found a reliable adult to teach him. He could get a ride from someone else, as it would involve less standing in the cold Colorado air, but the bus is familiar.
His hood helps block out the worst of the noise. Kenny takes a window seat near the back of the bus where his extended friend group sits, and Cartman slides in next to him. For once, he’s glad his friend is being obnoxious, because it keeps the attention off him and how much quieter he’s being than usual. Kyle still sends him a concerned glance from his seat next to Stan across the aisle, which Kenny unconvincingly shrugs off. He frowns, silently telling Kenny that they will be discussing this later, and Kenny resigns himself to his fate. He can’t even hope that Kyle will forget, because he’s Kyle Brofloski, he doesn’t forget anything he deems important.
The fact Kyle deems Kenny important is not lost on him. It is, however, shoved to the back of his mind, so he doesn’t turn into a tomato while in the presence of Eric Cartman.
It’s not that his friends don’t know about his pain. He’s told them, but he always leaves out the details, so they don’t prod for answers about where exactly it comes from. If anyone, Butters probably knows the most, because Kenny can always rely on him to comfort without question. Cartman, obviously, has been given the least amount of information possible. He took Kenny’s middle-school “I wasn’t at gym ‘cause of chronic pain. It’s like, pain that never goes away, I guess,” and ran with it to the hills and back.
Kenny doesn’t bring it up to Kyle and Stan if he can help it. He knows they don’t think less of him for it, but he’s always paranoid they’ll pity him, that they’ll have another reason to think of him as a charity case. He doesn’t want their damned pity. He’s gotten enough of that to last a few lifetimes.
Eventually the bus arrives at South Park’s high school, where the four depart and get lost in the sea of students. Kenny thanks the lord that his locker is on the lower floor of the building, along with his first class. Hopefully by the time it’s over his limbs will cooperate with the stairs. Kenny all but collapses into the hard plastic chair of English class, where Butters cheerfully waves to him. He does his best to seem happy to see Butters, but the kid has far too much enthusiasm for so early in the morning.
“Are you okay, Kenny?” Butters asks, brows furrowing with worry. Of course, he immediately senses something is wrong, which is as frustrating as it is touching.
He brushes the concern off like he did with Kyle, but he knows Butters won’t corner him at lunch and lecture him about taking care of himself better. “I’m alright, Buttercup, don’t worry about me.”
Thankfully, Butters drops it, but Kenny still catches Butters glancing at him with a concerned look on his face throughout class. Kenny appreciates the care, even if it’s a hindrance to his facade of being perfectly fine. It’s just so difficult to lie to Butters. He still has his childlike whimsy and way with words that could break even the best liar. Except Eric Cartman, but he’s an anomaly, so he doesn’t count.
Kenny waves goodbye once class ends, using the desks throughout the room to support him. The hallways are, predictably, a nightmare to navigate without properly working legs. Kenny’s respect for Jimmy grows every time he has a bad flare up, because jesus fucking christ, nobody has any spacial awareness. He hobbles to his next class, and the next, working on auto pilot while he tries not to explode. The fire burning in his hipbones steadily grows as if every movement was kindling. He’s suddenly grateful he doesn’t have many classes with his friends, so he doesn’t have to put up a front all day. Before he knows it, lunch arrives, and the wrath of Kyle is waiting for him.
He readies himself before he enters the cafeteria, for both the crowds and his friend. He doesn’t have lunch today, either, because he’d made sure Karen’s lunch had the rest of the food in the house. Kenny suppresses the urge to groan as he arrives at his extended friend group’s lunch table, taking his seat on the furthest edge next to Cartman. Kyle and Stan arrive shortly after him, sitting across the table to complete their quartet. He’s not allowed to call it a quartet, though, because he did once and Cartman called him a fag then banned quartet for being too gay.
Any attempts at conversation land on deaf ears as Kyle stares directly across the table, like laser beams firing into Kenny’s soul. After a minute or so, once Stan and Cartman are chatting with the rest of the table, Kyle slightly leans across and speaks soft enough that only Kenny can hear. “What’s wrong with you?”
“A lot of things, Kyle, be more specific.” Kenny leans in, getting up in Kyle’s personal space with a cheeky grin. Maybe if he deflects hard enough he won’t get a lecture.
Kyle narrows his eyes. “I meant today, smartass. You’ve been acting weird.”
He shrugs in reply. “I don’t know what you mean. I’ve been totally normal all day. I’m flattered you pay so much attention to me, though.”
“Don’t lie to me, Kenny, I’m not above locking you in a closet until you confess. Butters told me you were limping.”
Fucking snitch. He’d go punch Butters in the face, but it’s Butters, so he’ll let it slide this time. Kenny glances at Cartman, making sure the man isn’t listening, because he doesn’t feel like getting ripped on today for his useless limbs. “My pain is just bad today. No biggie,” He shrugs.
A deep frown etches itself onto Kyle’s face, his eyebrows furrowing with worry. Kenny resists the urge to coo at how silly he looks. “Do you have work today?”
Kenny takes a moment to remember what day of the week it is, and his always-changing schedule. He probably does have work, but Kyle’s expression says he’ll strangle Kenny if he says yes, so he decides that he can call out just this once. Work would be hell with his pain, anyways. Kenny eyes his friend suspiciously as he answers with notable hesitation. “...I don’t.”
“Good!” Kyle smiles, but it’s that grin he gets when he’s plotting something. “You’re coming to my house after school.”
“What?”
“So I can make sure you rest.”
“Kyle, I don’t need a babysitter, I–”
“AYE! Stop planning makeouts and listen to me!”
The two whip their heads around to see the whole table staring at them. Kyle jolts back into his seat, immediately yelling an insult back at Cartman, while Kenny slowly moves back from his position leaning halfway across the table. He’s not one to let Cartman’s words stick in his head, but the concept of making out with Kyle isn’t so easily dropped, much to his dismay.
He’s not a total fool. Kyle’s objectively attractive, and maybe Kenny’s had the hots for him since middle school, but he’s never considered acting on it. Kenny peeks across the table to see Kyle’s cheeks faintly red, but Kenny tells himself it’s just because of Kyle’s anger and current argument with Cartman. The same red he gets when Kenny jokingly flirts with him. Kenny forces himself to join in the current conversation to distract himself from both the fiery redhead and the aching of his limbs.
Lunch eventually concedes with one last reminder from Kyle that he’s not allowed to run away. Not that he was really planning to. Kenny learned long ago that sometimes it's better to listen to Kyle than attempt to avoid his wrath. He calls out of work, smokes a cigarette with one of the goth kids, and skips the rest of his classes in favor of sitting on the pavement behind the school. The best thing about the goth kids is that they’re happy to let him mope around whenever he wants as long as he doesn’t bother them with any confirmatory nonsense. The cold chill outside doesn’t help his pain, but it gives him something else to focus on, at least.
When the final bell rings Kenny hauls himself back to his feet, pleased to find that his hips hurt slightly less than before, even if they still feel like they’re on fire. He thanks Henrietta for the cigarette and walks around the side of the building to the buses. He’s the first one aside from the driver, who pays him no mind as he walks to his seat in the back row.
Within minutes the bus is filled with the kids he’s known since he was in diapers. Surprisingly, Kyle slides in next to Kenny, taking Cartman’s usual seat. The fatass objects and Stan preaches about betrayal, but Kyle doesn’t move, and it makes Kenny’s heart beat a little faster. The bus seats are big, big enough to have some semblance of personal space, though Kyle’s knee still knocks against his own. Neither of them make any attempts to pull away.
The ride to their bus stop is fine. Kenny’s hips ache the longer he sits there, but instead of laying flat on his back like he wants, he settles for throwing his legs over Kyle’s lap. It takes some of the pressure off his joints and Kyle doesn’t shove him off, so he assumes it’s okay.
Once they depart from the vehicle the four go their separate ways. And by separate ways Kenny means that he and Kyle walk off in the same direction side by side, and Cartman can’t even tease them for it, because they’re basically neighbors anyway. Take that, fatass. Kyle watches him as they walk together like he’ll need to swoop in and pick Kenny up bridal style at any moment. Which, under any other circumstance, Kenny wouldn’t object to. Being in Kyle’s arms? Sign him up! The boy might look thin but he’s got some nice muscles from playing basketball.
His admiration of Kyle’s body is rudely interrupted by the man himself. “So… bad pain day?” He asks, and Kenny replies with an affirmative hum. Kyle doesn’t ask any questions like why, he instead nods and gently bumps their shoulders together. Kyle’s nice like that — he doesn’t pry when it’s not necessary.
Kenny appreciates this greatly. Stan, bless him, would be hovering about Kenny like a worried mother. It’s sweet, but not what he needs right now. He knows Kyle wants to question, wants to study him and learn it all, because he’s Kyle. Kenny’s eighty percent sure Kyle scours the internet for tips to help whenever Kenny actually admits to being in too much pain to handle alone. It makes Kenny cherish the knowing silence from him even more.
Kyle’s house is thankfully empty when they enter. Gerald’s at work, Sheila is out with friends, and Ike has some after school nerd club to attend.
“You need an ice pack?” Kyle asks as they kick their shoes off.
After a minute of debating with himself, Kenny answers. “Sure.”
“Okay. You can head upstairs while I get that and some drinks.” The redhead walks into the kitchen, leaving Kenny to his own devices.
It’s then that Kenny runs into his next obstacle, the mortal enemy of leg pain: the staircase.
Usually he can grit his teeth and manage stairs, but after walking all the way here and spending the entire day up and about, Kenny thinks he might just collapse if he tries to conquer them. What he wants is to lay on the floor and whine like a petulant child until his body feels better and he can move like a normal person again, but he really doesn’t need to make more of a fool of himself in front of Kyle. With his backpack adding extra weight, he resigns himself to gripping the banister with white knuckles and praying that it doesn’t rip off the wall.
Kenny takes a few seconds to glare at the stairs first. How dare they inconvenience him so badly. If it were up to him, all stairs would be replaced with either escalators or elevators. This is a personal attack specifically on him, and his independence.
Apparently he’d taken too long shooting silent threats at the structure. Kyle’s voice startles him out of his vigil. “You gonna go upstairs, or spend all day trying to explode my house with your mind?”
Kyle has the ice pack in one hand and two cans of soda in the other. “I’m going,” Kenny lies, “I just need to… assert dominance first.”
“Assert dominance?”
“Yep.”
“Over the stairs?”
“Mhm.”
Kenny doesn’t turn to look, but he can feel the incredulous expression Kyle has on his face. He can hear the gears turning in Kyle’s head as he goes into problem-solver mode.
“I could… carry you. If you want.” His voice is unusually hushed, like he’s scared, like Kyle isn’t sure if it’s the right thing to say. And, although Kenny had just been thinking about being in Kyle’s arms not even thirty minutes ago, he doesn’t jump at the chance.
That had been imaginary. That had been a fictional thought in his brain that he never once expected would come to fruition. Certainly not while he’s an inch away from keeling over and chopping his limbs off, just to stop the pain. Hesitantly, Kenny agrees, because he really doesn’t feel like hauling himself up the staircase like it’s a mountain. And it’s not like he’ll ever have this opportunity again. “...Yeah, sure. You want me in your arms that bad, Brofloski?”
The flirting is a method of deflection and mercifully, Kyle doesn’t comment on it. Neither does he indulge Kenny’s attempt at wooing him. “Put your bag down,” He says, setting his own items on the floor. Kenny complies, and within an instant, Kyle’s arms are around him and he’s being bridal carried by his best friend and sorta-crush-maybe. His own arms wrap around Kyle’s neck, just in case he falls, even though he’s sure Kyle would never drop him. Not on purpose, at least. (Well… not on purpose while he’s in this much pain.)
Kyle walks up the stairs as gently as possible. He holds Kenny like he’s made of glass, like he’s fragile, like he hasn’t died a thousand times over. He carries Kenny like he’s important.
If Kenny thinks about it too much, he might cry, so instead he focuses on the wallpaper.
Carefully, Kyle kicks open his door and sets Kenny down on his bed. Kenny would make a joke about it if the air around them wasn’t filled with a strange, yet sincere energy. Kyle mutters something about going to grab their things and disappears out the door.
Immediately Kenny sprawls out atop the perfectly-made covers. Kyle’s blankets are always so soft, and his mattress doesn’t feel like a brick, and fuck it feels great to finally lie down. For a moment, it’s pure bliss. For a moment. Until a sharp stab of pain makes itself known in Kenny’s left knee. Then he’s back in the present, his entire body aches, and he actually lets out a small, high pitched whine. Unfortunately, that’s when Kyle enters the room again, and grimaces at the sight. “That bad, huh?”
“Everything hurts,” Kenny whispers, more vulnerable than he’s used to being.
“I’m sorry, Ken.” He drops both their bags onto the floor and closes the door behind him. Kyle sets the drinks on his bedside table, next to the framed picture of their quartet, and hands Kenny the ice pack. Kenny sits up to wrap it around the knee that’s trying to kill him currently, then dramatically flops back down, draping an arm over his face. “Why don’t you take a nap while I do my homework?”
“Tuck me in?” Kenny smirks, because he has an annoyance quota to fill, pain or not. Kyle sighs but begrudgingly pulls a nice, thick blanket over him, and peels Kenny’s arm off his face. He looks down at Kenny like a holy angel here to bless Kenny with one million dollars or solve world hunger.
He falls asleep soon after.
It’s dark when Kenny wakes up to something poking his side. He cracks his eyes open and is met by Kyle’s face.
“Wake up. You should be getting home soon.”
Kenny groans in reply and swats his hand away. He snuggles deeper into the blankets rather than getting up. Instead of forcing him up, Kyle giggles, much to Kenny’s surprise. After blinking a few more times the pain comes rushing back, immediately attacking his hips. He winces, and something about it makes Kyle sigh. “Or you can stay over so you don’t have to walk home. But you gotta change.”
He whines. Loudly. He’s cozy and he doesn’t want to move and Kyle’s so mean to him. Kyle rips the blankets off him in an instant. “Hey!”
“The ice pack is also melted. Here,” Kyle tosses a hoodie and some sweatpants at him. “Put these on,” He takes the now lukewarm ice pack and leaves the room, closing the door so Kenny has privacy.
Through the floor Kenny can hear people speaking, so he can only assume that Kyle’s family is home. He hopes they don’t mind him sleeping over, but they rarely have before, so it’s probably fine. He is not walking home in this condition. It takes longer to change than it should, considering Kenny doesn’t stand once during the process. He doesn’t need to collapse on Kyle’s carpet right now. The pajamas are Kyle’s own clothes, which makes them even more comfortable than they already were. He tosses his laundry on top of his bag just as Kyle comes back in, wearing a hoodie and basketball shorts. “Scoot over.”
“Yes sir,” Kenny replies with a yawn and makes space for Kyle. He’s slept over numerous times, so at this point sharing a bed is nothing out of the ordinary. Kyle slides under the covers and sets his phone on his nightstand. He turns to face Kenny, and Kenny thinks he looks beautiful with only the moon shining through the window as lighting. He hums and grabs Kenny’s hand.
“Do you feel better yet?”
“A little,” Kenny whispers. “Thanks.”
Kyle sleepily grins, and it sends butterflies through Kenny’s stomach.
“Anytime.”