Price to Pay

Summary: What price did Kenny pay to keep coming back from the dead? (Slash)

Fandom: South Park

Pairings: Kenny/Damien

Warnings: Slash, character death

Disclaimer: Not mine. I am making no profit – as if anyone would pay for this crap…

Author's Note: Hmm…still not quite sure how this happened. It seemed like a good idea at the time

There wasn't really any night or day in Hell, but Damien's internal clock told him it was about three in the morning when someone knocked on his bedroom door. He knew who it was, of course. Satanic powers aside, he recognised the knock, and he'd been expecting the person at the door for a few days.

"Come in," he said, and the door swung open. The person who stepped into the room was a short skinny boy of about seventeen. He looked pale and malnourished, and his clothes had a faded, second-hand look about them. His shoulder-length blonde hair was streaked with blood.

"Hi, Damien."

"Hey Kenny. What happened this time?"

Kenny winced, and pulled his hair aside to show a small, perfectly round bullet-hole in his left temple. Then he shrugged; a don't-even-ask expression on his face. Damien moved his feet to make room as Kenny flopped down on the end of his bed. They sat in silence for a while. Screams, pleas for mercy, and the other day-to-day background noises of Hell filtered through the walls.

"I really wish you'd stop dying the whole time," Damien said, apparently to the ceiling.

"Hey, I'm not exactly loving it," Kenny told his shoes – a pair of Converse that were, for reasons best known to himself, bright pink.

"It's getting harder to send you back. I can't keep doing this."

"Oh." He didn't sound worried, more…resigned. Constantly dying can really warp a person's outlook on life.

Kenny tended to stay in Hell for a few days before going back. Once you got past the whole 'eternal torment' thing, Hell wasn't really that bad. Being friends with the Antichrist certainly helped. He spent a few days hanging around with Damien before broaching the subject of returning to life again.

"How long have I been doing this?" Damien replied with a jaded smile, "Ten years? Seems pretty pointless, to be honest. You always end up back down here again."

"I'm too young to stay dead," Kenny said, "I just have to finish school. Then I can travel – see the world. Do all the things I've always wanted to. Then I won't mind staying dead."

"I suppose that's understandable."

They were lying on Damien's bed again, side by side, System of a Down blaring in the background. Their love of rock music was another thing they had in common; the song currently playing was 'Chop Suey', and they were both word perfect.

"…Trust in my

Self-righteous suicide…"

"Nice necklace," Kenny said, reaching out and touching it; it was a silver pentagram. Damien swatted his hand away playfully;

"Try and steal it and I'll castrate you."

"Ouch," Kenny said, wincing, "Don't even joke about that."

"Who said I was joking?"

"Now that's just plain nasty." Kenny shifted away a little, protectively covering the portion of anatomy concerned. There was another period of silence, then Kenny sighed.

"Listen, man, I want to go home-" A pause "-I can make it worth your while."

This earned a sly, knowing smirk, and Kenny had the feeling that Damien knew exactly what he was thinking; "Oh really? How?"

"Like this," Kenny said, and kissed him.

He was allowed a few moments of control before Damien pinned him down in one fluid movement; their lips not parting for a second. Kenny moaned as his mouth was expertly ravished by a slick tongue, deft hands burning a trail across his chest and down his stomach. The last thing that crossed his mind before Damien's cool hands - drifting ever lower - rendered him incapable of coherent thought was that the reward was meant to be worth the payment, not the other way round…

When Kenny woke up the next morning, he was in his own bed. He shivered – one good thing about Hell was that it was warm. But his house always seemed so much colder afterwards. He staggered out of bed, pulling on the first warm item of clothing he saw. He would have to leave for school soon. No time to get ready properly – he ran his hands through his hair and pulled on his beloved pink Converse.

As he crossed the room, a flash of light caught his eye. He turned and saw his reflection in a cracked and spotted mirror, and smiled as he saw the silver pentagram hanging around his neck. Hell really wasn't that bad.

Sometimes he wondered why he bothered coming back.