Summary: Kenny's final death brings Kyle back to South Park after 11 years of living in California. Little does either know that even in death Kenny has plans for his two estranged friends. Slash.
AN: A Stan/Kyle at long last!
Slight AU. This story takes as if the Broflovski's never returned to South Park from San Francisco in the Hybrid Cars episode. The name of the chapter is the name of the POV we're entering.
Title explanation: This story isn't really a bunch of short stories with tragic endings. In fact, it's a rather long story with a rather pleasant ending.
Disclaimer: I don't own SP
Warnings: Swearing, mild guy on guy act-shi-on, which won't happen for A VERY LONG TIME! Patience is definitely needed while reading this.
Genre: General, Romance, Angst, DRAMA
Rating: T
Pairings: Stan/Bebe, Stan/Kyle

Short Stories with Tragic Endings

Is death the last sleep? No, it is the last and final awakening. -Sir Walter Scott

Kyle

I look out my left window as I drive down the snowy road. I'm 10 years older and am finally driving back to my old hometown of South Park, Colorado. Since my parents had first moved to San Francisco, California they hadn't really looked back. But now that I'm old enough I'm going back myself without my parents.

My mind briefly thinks of Stan.

We had been best friends since kindergarten and after leaving South Park we had lost contact. At first we had written, called and emailed each other. Stan even got to spend a week with my family in California. As we grew up though we grew slightly apart and it became harder and harder for us to keep in contact. Especially when my father got promoted and we ended up moving to another area in San Francisco. Our tight childhood friendship hadn't been able to survive a year being apart.

But now I'm back, just not for the reason I would have wanted. What finally brought me back to the small mountain town was not the mere idea of seeing old friends like it should have been, but a funeral. Kenny, it seems, has finally lost his tormented battle with God and hadn't returned after his last death.

I was not looking forward to the funeral and not just for obvious reasons.

Imagine my surprise when I was typing up an essay in my dorm room at Stanford and received a call from a voice I barely recognized. It was a voice from the past, an older and much angrier voice. How Stan had gotten my dorm phone number, I hadn't asked. I had simply agreed to come to the funeral when I heard the news and had more or less tied up a few ends on my side before heading out the next day to South Park.

As I neared the small town I subconsciously patted my straighter significantly darker red locks, fingered one of my two earrings and adjusted my dark sunglasses. I ignored the gleam my sun kissed skin made when compared to the snowy white area. To say I looked different was maybe an understatement. California had straightened and darkened my hair, and it gave me a permanent tan I didn't think red heads could get.

I know I look different.

I take a deep breathe when I see the sign that reads South Park. I'm here, back home… no, not really. California is home to me now. I glance down at the digital clock that is on the radio, I still have a good hour to be at the church for the funeral, and knowing this town everyone is probably gathered at someone's house going over how much of a shame it is that Kenny has died.

I decide to pass on finding that house, I don't want to talk with my old friends and old neighbors just yet. Instead I decide to eat something to pass the time along. I cruise down the main streets looking for some place of interest. The town looks exactly the same, nothing has changed. Major business chains have still not managed to take over this town, and all that remains are the local places. Though, I stop my car in front of a restaurant I don't remember from my childhood. Cherry Kiss it's called.

It sounds a bit fruity, but it looks good enough, so I park and get out. I inhale the mountain air and look around, seeing a few people going about their daily routines. So far, I don't recognize anyone. Walking into the little restaurant I decide I like it right away. Soups, salads and sandwiches, the food my new west coast body prefers is what is offered. The place isn't packed, but it does have quite a few people talking and eating. No one is wearing black though, a good sign. Meaning none of them are going to Kenny's funeral, meaning none of them know me. This place is turning out to be better and better.

Making my way to the counter as I look at the menu, I become aware that I'm being looked at, and by every person in the restaurant. I sigh in slight annoyance. Does everyone have to blatantly stare? I remember quickly though, that in a restaurant, in a town full of people where the normal dress code is something of a t-shirt and jeans, I stick out like sore thumb in my trendy bright clothing. I muse lightly to myself that the sunglasses that I'm still wearing are probably worth more than a person's entire wardrobe here in South Park.

As I stare back angrily at the people behind my light shades I hear a deep voice ask, "what can I get you?"

"Yeah, I'll have a-" I stop when I turn to look at the person taking my order. "Chef?" I mutter in question at the slightly older, but still plump black man I had known in my past.

"You'll have me?" He raises his eyebrows, "sorry you can only have what's on the menu."

He doesn't recognize me. Although I have assumed that a large portion of people might not recognize me, I guess I had hoped that the ones that knew me well when I was nine would. It looks like I'm mistaken.

"No, sorry I'll just have a Turkey Bravo, a side Caesar, and a large water," I respond.

He rings me up, and I hand over my card.

"Debt or credit?" He asks automatically and I tell him my preferred payment option.

I watch as he glances at my card before looking back at me curiously. "California?" He asks swiping my card through the computer before handing it back to me. "What's a guy like you doing here in this little town?"

"Business," I mutter out. I'm not sure why I'm being reluctant to just tell Chef who I am. I thought he'd at least glance at my name on my debit card, but I'm not surprised that the sunny Golden Gate background image on the card caught his attention first.

"Business here?" He looks uncertain as he hands me a slip of paper to sign. I scrawl my illegible signature on the slip before handing it back. He gives me my copy of the receipt and continues to look at me curiously.

I say nothing to his inquiry.

"You know kid, you look a little familiar," Chef says titling his head to the side and frowns, "have we met somewhere?"

I finally lift my sunglasses over my head and let them rest on my darkened red hair. Chef's eyes widen as he looks at my bright green eyes. "Kyle, Kyle Broflovski?"

I grin sheepishly and nod. Chef laughs to himself and walks around the counter, to give me a hearty hug. He then pulls me back to look me over, "Kyle you look and sound completely different."

"Yeah," I say as I become very aware of my appearance.

"Well how have you been, still in San Francisco?"

"My parents are, I'm in Stanford for college."

"You go to Stanford?" Chef asks and I nod, "well good for you Kyle. Not that I'm surprised, you always were a bit smarter than the other children."

I say nothing to mention of my old friends but turn the conversation to Chef instead. "You work here now?"

"Not just work, but own," Chef states proudly and I grin, happy for the only adult I've ever trusted.

"I should have guessed, I mean Cherry Kiss?" I laugh as does Chef.

He suddenly stops though, "what's wrong?" I ask when I see him frown deeply.

"Oh, Kyle. I don't know if you've heard, but Kenny's died. For real this time, in fact his funerals today."

My own smile fades, "I know. That's why I'm back, that's the business I'm here to attend. Stan called me."

He looks surprised, "you and Stan are still friends?"

Are we? No, friends stay in touch so I shake my head.

"I hadn't thought so. I'm actually about to close up shop soon, so I can head to the church myself. Why don't I push everyone out, make you your food and we can go together?"

It sounds perfect, I'm a little apprehensive about arriving there by myself but I shake my head, a no. Even though it'd be nice to show up with him there's too much on my mind to bother with having company and try to keep conversation.

"I think I'd rather show up alone." I tell him.

He nods slowly, after studying me for a long moment. "Well then," he walks back around the counter. "Sit down anywhere and I'll get your food to you."

"Thanks," I give him a tight smile and sit at a far corner, away from everyone else. I never thought I'd feel like an outsider in South Park, but I am, and everyone else in the restaurant knows it too.

Eventually Chef walks over and hands over my food. But instead of going back to work he sits across from me. I welcome his familiarity. Hesitating after taking a bite of my sandwich I have to ask, "so… how is everyone?"

Chef sits back awhile and thinks about the question. "When you say everybody, do you mean everybody or Stan?"

My eyes dart to the side and out the window before falling back on Chef, "I guess I mean Stan."

"Stan is good. He's going to South Park Community College and he lives in the middle of town."

I stare at Chef, "that's it?" I ask after a length of silence has passed between the two of us.

"I think you should ask Stan yourself how he's doing. You two were inseparable when you were little."

"But that was almost 11 years ago."

"I'm sorry Kyle but it's just not my news to tell."

"News, what sort of news?"

"…Ah fudge it, the cats out of the bag now. Kyle, Stan is getting married."

"Married? He can't get married he's 19!" Chef shrugs as I continue, "who's he marrying, is it Wendy?"

"Wendy, oh no." Chef shakes his head, "you've been gone too long Kyle. Wendy and her parents moved from South Park 5 years ago. Apparently they just got tired of the stupidity. In any case, Bebe was pretty upset by the whole thing; they were best friends after all. Stan was there to comfort her and before anyone knows it, they're engaged."

"Jesus Christ…" I whisper out looking at my salad.

"Speaking of which, we'd both better head to the church soon."

"Y-yeah, um, can I change in your bathroom? I'm not dressed for a funeral," I ask gesturing down at my bright clothing.

"Of course, go on ahead. The bathroom is down that narrow hallway to your left."

As I toss my garbage away I start toward the door heading for my car so I can get my black suit out from the trunk.

"Oh and Kyle?"

I turn to look back, "yeah?"

"It's good to see you back here."

In spite of everything I smile, "thanks Chef."

When I park my car in the parking lot I turn off the ignition and stare. I don't remember the large white church building looking so foreboding when I was younger. I finally get myself out of the car only to stop outside of the double doors, willing myself to take the first steps in order to enter. I take a small tentative one with my right foot, but firmly place it back down in the spot it had been originally. Damn it.

Without looking at my watch I know I'm late, really late. Late to a funeral. No matter the situation, it is never right to be late to a funeral and now I am. Now I have to walk into the church, hoping that no one will notice me as I take a small seat in the back.

People will notice of course.

In the silent mourning of a funeral, when the priest talks everyone listens intently; so hard that every sound is heard. With such silence, the opening of a door quickly echoes throughout the room, and people will turn their head. They'll turn and see me, a few might automatically turn back, maybe mutter an insult to me, the person late to a funeral. But a few eyes will linger, because those few will recognize me.

I can't help but wonder if Stan's noticed that I haven't arrived yet, then I chide myself for thinking that. Stan's thoughts are probably not on me, but on the sermon, where they should be. I wonder if Bebe is beside him, I wonder if Wendy returned for the funeral? She didn't care much for Kenny, but maybe she felt an obligation to come back. I wonder if she'll see Stan and Bebe sitting together and wonder why they are… But maybe she already knows, maybe she and Bebe kept in contact like Stan and I weren't able to do. She might already know all about the wedding, she could be in it as Bebe's maid of honor…

Focus on the funeral Kyle, I tell myself. The funeral.

It's strange, because even though I haven't seen the guy in years, Kenny and I still had been friends since kindergarten. A lot of friends from my elementary school years I have fuzzy memories of. I hardly remember themmuch, and honestly Kenny should be one of them because he was in the background so often. But he's not, all my memories with him, as with Stan are ones I can clearly recall, like his perverted personality, I'll never forget that. And of course that orange hoodie, he wore it everyday. But what sorta hurts the most is my inability to think of his specific facial features… Was he a light blonde or dark? I can't remember… what color were his eyes? Blue, no maybe they were green. I want to be able to remember before I have to see his pale body in a casket. I don't even know what he looks like now. I could end up looking at the body of complete stranger.

Saying goodbye to a body, that I don't recognize … this is why I'm late. I had been musing too much on the way here and then suddenly as I had been driving everything struck me as hilarious and I had to pull over to laugh.

To laugh at the absurdity of me coming back. I kept thinking what was I doing here, I don't belong here, because I don't know any of these people anymore. I kept thinking would other people do this? Would they attend the funeral of a friend who they haven't seen or spoken to in over a decade? Or was I just crazy, and the stress in school had gotten to me? Maybe this was my subconscious's way of telling me to take a break, to go on vacation. But what sort of twisted subconscious thinks going to a funeral is a vacation?

Far too much thinking. And now I'm thinking again, well, fuck it. I ignore the pull in my stomach and walk to the doors. I step back when they open and a huge swarm of people come out. I jump to the side to avoid their pace. I see all the black and all the lingering tears, and I hear the mutters about the sermon and about Kenny.

And I realize something; I fucking missed the entire service.

-FG