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When the school bus brakes with a deafening screech, Kenny and Cartman both rise from their shared seat. It’s an automatic instinct, one formed through a lifetime of sitting next to each other on the way home. Kyle glances at them with a bit of confusion from across the aisle as he straps his backpack across his shoulders.
“This isn’t your stop anymore, Cartman,” he points out. “Your place is too far from here to walk, isn’t it?”
Stan silently looks up at the three standing boys from his spot next to Kyle. He’s leaning against the window and spent the last part of the trip staring out of it with barely disguised envy. There’s been this somber air to bus rides for the past few months; watching his three closest friends get on and off together while he endures his longer journeys to Tegridy Farms always depresses him.
Starting today, however, it’s just going to be Kyle and Kenny. It's the first school day since Cartman moved to his new house — if that crappy old hot dog stand can even be considered one. Going from four friends to three was strange enough. A group of two is even weirder.
“Ah, shit,” Cartman mumbles. “I’m still not used to this yet.”
Kenny almost trips over legs and backpacks as he swerves through the aisle with Kyle. The other boy grabs his arm to steady him and they clamber off of the monstrous vehicle together. When they reach the ground and look up through the window, they can’t help but notice that Cartman moved over to sit with Stan for the rest of the trip. Neither of them enjoy being by themselves, even if someone like Cartman will never admit it.
Fresh snow crunches under two pairs of boots instead of four, and the route home seems so much emptier without Stan and Cartman. Kyle and Kenny walk side by side, perhaps a bit closer than they usually do, on the path they’ve memorized like the back of their hands.
“So,” Kyle begins. “This is how things are going to be from now on. I still can’t believe that dump Cartman and his mom ended up in, though. He screwed up big time.”
Kenny nods and shoves his hands a little deeper into his pockets. The chilly air seems to poke through his parka and rattle his skinny bones. Colorado weather has never been good for him.
“He looked kind of…sad all day, don’t you think?” he suggests. “Like how Stan did when he first moved.”
The memory tugs at Kyle’s heart a little. Helping his best friend has become a tremendously overwhelming task — and maybe even impossible — since they stopped being neighbors. Living so many miles apart makes the world overwhelmingly massive for children who can’t take themselves to wherever they want to go.
“I guess,” Kyle concedes. “But we’re probably better off without him. I, for one, am thrilled about the new peace and quiet we’re gonna get.”
When the only noise is the whistling wind instead of a flurry of playful chatter, the two both silently wonder if this change might actually make things too quiet.
Kyle and Kenny have always been part of the same friend group. They’ve spent every day of their young lives together, to the point where they might know each other better than they know themselves. This is true for all four boys. Logically, they should be fully comfortable spending time alone together. It should be no different from when Stan and Cartman are with them.
But somehow, minutes keep passing with barely a word exchanged and they begin to feel like total strangers.
Kenny is a remarkably reserved child. It’s one of his defining traits that usually makes him relaxing to be around, because he doesn’t tend to comment on things unless he really has something worth saying. Fading into the background is easy to do with personalities as loud as Stan and Cartman to accompany Kyle, but carrying the weight of a conversation by himself isn’t something he’s great at.
On the other hand, argumentative words itch at Kyle’s tongue like routine. He keeps his fists clenched as he walks, like a tiny soldier prepared for a battle that isn’t coming, because he’s so used to fighting that he can’t imagine a walk home without it. Kenny’s calm presence isn’t as engaging as the violent spars Kyle has with Cartman or the way Stan’s world often orbits around his best friend. A mundane trip back from school hardly feels like a moment from the life of Kyle Broflovski, and Kenny knows it.
“Do you think your parents would let me stay over for dinner?” Kenny asks, mostly just to test the waters of conversation. “Kevin and I fought during breakfast today, and I’m seriously not in the mood to deal with his crap if he’s still mad at me. That asshole really holds a grudge.”
“That’d be fun,” Kyle agrees. “You’ve got good timing. I think my mom’s making those knishes you like tonight.”
Kenny cheers, his mouth almost watering at the thought of Sheila’s cooking, and grins. “Hell yeah! I’ll put on my best pleading face at the front door. She can never resist the big teary eyes.”
Kyle laughs and elbows him lightly. They’ve been through this same routine countless times.
“You don’t need to do the whole starving orphan act with my mom today. She’ll be in a really good mood once I tell her I aced our math test, so she’ll totally let an unexpected guest slide.”
A yawn creeps up on Kenny, and he stretches out to pop his back. There’s no way to wake up on the right side of the bed when he sleeps on a broken mattress; his joints are always stiff and sore, like some flimsy doll that keeps taken apart and patched back together.
“Ugh, I did shitty on that one,” he confesses. “I’ve been so tired lately. I can’t focus at all.”
Concern glistens in Kyle’s green eyes as he looks at Kenny’s weak frame. Sometimes he really does look like a corpse who’s just barely managing to drag himself along.
“Didn’t you get called out for napping in class the other day?” Kyle asks. “What’s been keeping you up all night?”
That question…is better left unanswered. But when the others aren’t around to hear, when it’s just Kyle he’s talking to, maybe opening up wouldn’t be such a bad idea.
“…Mysterion stuff,” Kenny tells him in a quiet voice, like he’s afraid of one of their neighbors overhearing. “There’s been so much injustice going on recently that I can’t just stand by and let it happen. We live in a hellish place, y’know. I have to help people, or else it’ll eat away at me.”
The local kids haven’t played superhero together in quite a while, but Kenny has always been the most passionate. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that he still fights crime on his own, considering that’s how his persona started in the first place. Somehow, though, it still shocks Kyle. Even Cartman’s attention whore ass hasn’t squeezed back into his costume for ages.
“Things haven’t seemed worse than usual to me, though,” Kyle says. “You’re gonna get hurt someday if you keep wandering off into danger on your own like that.”
Countless deaths and even more injuries have trained Kenny to be hyper-aware of his surroundings. Where others see typical small town weirdness, he notices potential pain. Calculating risks to his own safety is an automatic habit he’s had for as long as he can remember.
He’s often wondered why he has such a despicable curse; it used to bother him much more, but he’s slowly come to terms with it as he’s found ways to cope using Mysterion. It’s not fair for a child to endure so much torment — but then again, he’s well aware that nothing in life is fair. If his lack of luck can help him protect other people, then maybe immortality isn’t entirely a curse.
Because he can’t save himself, Kenny’s purpose has become saving others.
“Nobody sees the things I do,” he complains. “And sometimes I really wish someone could.”
Kyle slows to a stop. He stands in front of Kenny on the sidewalk, his hands tucked into his pockets, and smiles warmly. His fond feelings could melt the snow surrounding the two boys like the sun, and his freckles sparkle like stars across his sweet face.
“Well, even if nobody else is acknowledging your help…I’ve always thought you’re pretty brave, Kenny.”
Kenny’s breath catches in his throat and a sudden question flits through his mind like a drifting snowflake: has Kyle always been this beautiful?
After he mumbles his flustered gratitude, Kenny tugs on his hood to tighten it a bit more. He brings his parka close to his chest, and the gray and green sweater from his superhero costume twists a little against his pounding heart. Being seen for who he really is, just for a moment, makes him feel more alive than he has in a long time.
With warm cheeks and shaky legs, he keeps walking down the path with his friend by his side. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to tell Kyle about the secret parts of himself more often…and he’s yearning to know the same little things about Kyle’s life too. Kenny likes being alone, but he despises being lonely — and on the long way home from school, with just the two of them, he has all the companionship he needs.
Maybe a bus stop meant for four can work even better with two.