Chapter Text
Two years.
It had been two whole years since Kyle abandoned South Park, eager to make something of his life far from his batshit crazy hometown. He'd always aspired to attend college, and getting into Yale to study Law was the ultimate dream for an overachiever like him.
He’d be lying if he said he’d never thought about South Park. His family lived there, for a start. Stan too. Others...well, anyway. There were four people he missed. But overall? He always felt like he was being held back while he lived there. When the opportunity to leave arose, he practically gapped it to Connecticut.
It hadn’t exactly been as he’d expected, with the workload hitting him like a ton of bricks. Still, the people were nice, if a little dry, and he got along with everyone he had to deal with, including his roommate.
Overall, he couldn’t complain. He certainly didn’t wish he’d stayed in South Park.
But life had dragged him back, if only for a few weeks.
He couldn’t help but think, pulling into his parents' drive, that Kenny’s funeral was scheduled at a very convenient time. His last exam was a week ago, one day before he learned the news that a freak accident had occurred, though no one had been able to elaborate as to what exactly had happened.
He immediately chastised himself for the selfish thought, mentally pointing out that his old friend’s death should never be thought of as convenient. It sure as hell wasn’t convenient for Kenny.
In truth, he hadn’t processed it. Finding out your friend you’d pretty much known forever had passed away at 20 years old...it’s not something you’d ever expect to happen, even in a town as godforsaken as theirs. It was a crushing reminder of how everything could change in one moment, that no one was invulnerable to death, regardless of age. That all your hopes and dreams could just be wiped out in the blink of an eye.
So yeah, Kyle hadn’t processed it.
Feeling the need to get some air, he pushed through the guilt and swung the car door open, stepping out into the warm summer breeze. It had rained recently, and the damp patches of pavement reflected the sun in his eyes. He turned, shielding his face instinctively, and in doing so, caught a glimpse of movement across the street.
A hooded figure was treading down the path, hands in pockets, confident posture with a stocky build. They continued to walk, eyes locked ahead, before happening to glance across the road. At Kyle.
Eric Cartman. Even swamped by what looked to be an XXL hoodie at least, the stride and shrewd expression were instantly recognisable.
He stared at Kyle appraisingly for a few seconds before turning away and continuing.
Kyle let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. So, Cartman was also here for the funeral. That’s if he'd even left South Park. Stan had mentioned Cartman before, though Kyle had quickly put an end to it, asking that he no longer brought their old friend up. Cartman had been really bitter the last couple of months before Kyle left for college, and he wasn’t interested in maintaining a friendship with someone who, let’s be honest, was always a raging dick.
“Kyle! Bubbilah!” his mother was racing toward him from the front steps, the door pulled open to reveal his father and Ike following in her wake.
Kyle greeted his mother with a hug, pretending to mind the smattering of kisses she plastered to his forehead. He hugged his father and Ike as his mother continued to fuss over him, her “little lawyer” visiting home at last.
They ate lasagne that night. Mrs Broflovski led the conversation as she filled Kyle in on everything she and his father had been doing (not much from what Kyle could tell), Ike’s new girlfriend, work. She asked him plenty of questions too, wanting to know everything about Yale, his classes, friends, roommate, and if he had a girlfriend yet? What was his RA like? Was he ever lonely? Did he need any money?
It was the kind of thing that really grated on him while he lived with them - the perpetual questioning. There were a few times when he quipped that she should have been the one studying Law, which, of course, resulted in passive aggression and silence. But for tonight? It was fine. Endearing, even. It had been too long since he’d seen his parents outside of a screen, and he was looking forward to sleeping in his old bed, free from worrying about accommodating his roommate’s needs.
Ike appeared to be doing well, too. He was in his senior year now and as the only Broflovski child in the house, was receiving the full brunt of their mother's expectations. She explained to Kyle that she'd been trying to encourage Ike to follow in his footsteps; however, his younger brother was only interested in pursuing Art. Fixing Kyle with an expectant, opportunistic smile, she asked him to tell Ike how amazing his college experience was. Feeling the need to placate her and genuinely concerned about Ike’s job prospects, Kyle complied. Ike nodded several times and asked follow-up questions, but he was clearly checked out as far as seriously considering the advice went. Still, it was enough to satisfy their mother, and Kyle could tell he remained in her good books as she patted him on the head and left to wash up.
She returned to talk with him a while later, after Ike had headed upstairs and Gerald had begun to fall asleep on the couch. It was only then that Kyle noticed an old photo of himself and his friends from preschool on the wall, and the reason he’d returned home hit him with a sharp pang.
“Mom...what exactly happened to Kenny?”
She sat up a little straighter and sighed. “I wondered when you’d ask that Kyle.”
“No one seems to be able to explain what happened.”
“No. Well, I guess it’s a sensitive topic,” she stared at the floor for a moment before meeting Kyle’s questioning gaze, “his parents say that it was an accident, that...he was playing around with a gun and didn’t realise it was loaded.”
The room spun a little. This wasn’t what Kyle had expected by an “accident.”
“So...was it?” The words came out as a croak, and he grimaced. He hadn’t meant to become emotional in front of his mother.
“I’m not sure. Maybe.” She smiled softly and blinked back tears, inhaling deeply. “I’m sorry Kyle. I know you were good friends.”
“Yeah. I mean, we were. I hadn’t really talked to him in a while.”
“You were busy,” she leaned in, “none of this is your fault.”
“No. I guess not. Well, I think I might go to bed.”
“Okay, bubbe, do you have everything you need? We have new toothbrushes in the cupboard under the basin if you need one.”
“I brought mine, but thanks. I’ll be good. Night Ma.” He could feel her eyes on him as he retreated upstairs, trying to come to terms with this new knowledge.
Suicide? Kenny had always been pretty happy-go-lucky, from memory. His family weren’t the best, they all knew that, but still...it didn’t seem real.
Stepping into his old bedroom made it worse. His parents had left things as they’d been in senior year, the Denver Nuggets poster and a map with pins in places he’d been or wanted to go. Mechanically, he picked up a white pushpin from the desk and pressed it into Connecticut. He turned and sat down on the bed, pulling his knees up around his chest. Memories of the last few times he’d spoken to Kenny flashed through his mind.
That concert Stan had wanted to go to in Indiana...he’d had to pull out of to focus on his exams. That was the last plan they’d had to see each other. Kenny went to that, didn’t he? He vaguely remembered seeing his Instagram story, all smiles and blaring music in the background.
Before he knew what he was doing, he picked up his phone, navigating to Kenny’s page. The concert was the last post. Looking at him now was surreal. One hand running through his blonde hair, wide grin and eyes so bright, so full of life...
He fought back a sob, hearing his mother ascending the stairs outside. This is so messed up. Kenny had so much potential. He could be out living his life right now. Should be.
“What the hell happened, Kenny?” He absentmindedly ran his thumb over the screen, eyes glazing over.
A loud tap at the window snapped him out of his thoughts. He jumped up, a sense of apprehension and deja vu growing as he stalked over to the window.
He inhaled deeply and pulled the curtains aside.
Nothing.
Must have been a tree branch or something. He pulled the curtains back, returning to bed. This time, he climbed inside the covers, putting his phone on the bedside table. He’d need sleep to deal with the days ahead.
He began the process of trying to fall asleep, knowing it would evade him for a couple of hours yet.
Outside, a figure retreated from its place behind the large tree in the backyard, creeping away into the night.