Don't look back don't look behind you don't let them know your breathing is slowing don't let them know how your chest burns don't let them know that your eyes are wet don't let them know don't let them knowdon'tletthemknowdon'tletthemknow

The car's windshield did its job well enough, shielding them from each and every impending raindrop. The car's wipers flickered back and forth to cut through the watery strands that fell to earth, and the car itself rushed through the late night fog.

2:36 am

My mom is going to kill me

But Stan could care less. Stan could care less that his mom would freak out. Stan could care less that it was cold as all hell outside, and the heater in Kyle's car was busted. Stan could care less that he was having trouble keeping his eyes open, begging for the sleep he craved. These past few days had left him so tired and so broken.

In the drivers seat beside him, Kyle tried to keep his eyes on the road. To keep his focus on getting to their destination. Don't think about how weird it is to see your friends so shattered. Don't think about what it's like to have to say goodbye and for it all to feel so overwhelmingly familiar. Don't think, don't think, just drive.

Kyle made a right turn smoothly into the cemetery and pulled over by the mass of evenly lined tombstones. Putting the car in park and unbuckling himself, he made it a point to not look his best friend in the eyes.

The pounding rain hit the car more and more violently with each drop. Neither of them had an umbrella.

"Are you sure we should do this? Like, that we should even be here right now?" Kyle kept his eyes on the steering wheel. He didn't want to be back here so soon. He wasn't sure if he wanted to be back here ever. The soil was still too fresh, the grave too new.

Stan didn't respond. He only silently unbuckled himself and pushed open the car door. Kyle trailed after him.

"Stan, dude, get back in the car, let's just go home." Kyle raised his voice to compete with the jarring rain.

"I have to see it again. I just, I can't explain it but I have to make sure he's still here." Stan yelled back, shoving his hands inside his pockets and quickening his pace.

When they arrived at the grave sight, they both just stared.

"See man? He's here. He can't leave. He's here right now, he'll be here tomorrow."

"You don't get it! Kyle, it feels like we've been here before."

"Yeah, Stan. We were here yesterday." The day Kyle had been trying desperately to forget about all day.

"But it feels like we've done this before. For some reason it just feels so familiar." Kyle placed his hand on Stan's shoulder.

"I know this is hard for you, it's hard for all of us. But he's gone. You don't have to come back to make sure his grave is still here." Even though they both felt the overwhelming urge, the two of them had expressed their sorrow enough for the week. Crying wouldn't help anything now. Kyle just wanted to go to sleep. Stan didn't know if he'd be able to. As Kyle lead his friend back to the small car, he took one last look back at the grave, clenched his teeth and kept moving.

Again, Kyle kept his gaze on the road in front of him and Stan stared out of the window.

The odd feeling refused to leave Stan's chest as the memories of his friend flashed through his mind. This was just too hard to believe.

Kenny McCormick, aged 18, a high school senior, one of his best friends for over ten years, was killed in a car crash just six days prior.

Kyle was beyond upset, Cartman is pretending like he's alright, Butters hasn't spoken to anyone since, and Stan doesn't know where he is anymore.

School is a joke. They're in their senior year, they should feel like they're on the top of the world. Talking about the future, the world of possibilities, the world is theirs for the taking. Or at least, it should be.

How can Stan focus on history class when the empty desk next to him is too loud. How can Kyle drive them all to get breakfast early in the morning on the way to school where there's a vacant spot in his car? How can the four of them go on when there would always be an unfillable void between them? How can they be expected to move on so soon?

The car pulled up to Stan's house, yet Stan made no move to exit the vehicle.

Kyle fixed his eyes onto his best friend, and took a deep breath.

"You should go inside and get some sleep. You know we have to go back to school tomorrow."

Stan didn't answer.

"This is hard for me too, but we don't have a choice. You shouldn't make this harder on yourself than it already has to be."

"...Fine." Stan threw the door to Kyle's car open and proceeded to speed walk to his front door. He wrapped his fingers around the doorknob and paused. Why did they already have to be going back to school? Why was it already time to try and pretend that last week never happened? He knew he wasn't angry at Kyle for wanting him to at least get a good nights sleep before school started in the morning. Maybe he was just angry that life was continuing for everyone else. Everyone else except him.

Stan opened the front door and walked in, quickly making his way to the stairs and up to his room. He didn't care if the noise he made woke up his family. He was too tired and angry to care, he just wanted to sleep.

After watching Stan enter his house and close the door behind him, Kyle once again started his car and made his way home.

—-

Stan grimaced at the buzzing sound of his alarm clock interrupting his sleep. With a groan, he reached over and simply unplugged the clock from his wall. He didn't feel like hitting the snooze only for it to go off again in another 10 minutes.

Kyle had dropped him off at around 3 am last night. His alarm clock had woken him up for 6 am this morning. Shit, he was still so tired.

Stan pulled himself up from his bed and made his way to the bathroom. He brushed his teeth, ran a hand through his hair, and splashed some water over his face. He didn't bother to change out of the clothes he was wearing, the very same clothes he had worn the night before, before he grabbed his jacket and backpack and made his way out of the front door.

On his way to the bus stop, he turned over the thought that he should text Kyle and apologize for last night. He didn't mean to be an ass, he was just fed up with everything lately. Losing one of your best friends and then having to be pushed back into your normal life was draining. Not only that, but watching his friends go through the same thing, it was awful.

Kenny had always been there to help them get through everything, even if he didn't usually share his own issues, they tried to be there for him. It just seemed cruel to have to continue on without him.

Stan must have been waiting at the bus stop for thirty minutes for Kyle and Cartman to show up. When the bus finally pulled up and Stan had to climb onboard by himself, he knew something was up.

Huffing to himself, Stan made his way to the very back seat of the bus. After a few moments of starring out the window at the same old scenery, he decided to send a text to their shared group chat and see what was going on.

Stan: hey where tf are you assholes?

Stan: i waited for you guys for like thirty minutes!

Stan stuffed the phone back into his pocket. He knew they wouldn't just abandon him there for no reason, but they could've at least texted. After a few moments, the sound of a muffled text notification called from inside his pocket.

Kyle: dude what are you talking about? kenny stopped by your house but shelly said you'd already left.

Stan felt his heart drop. He read the text over and over again. "kenny stopped by your house—".

What the fuck?

Stan: wtf is wrong with you that isn't funny

Kyle: what are you talking about?

Stan let his phone fall back into his pocket. The bus had just arrived at their high school and he didn't even know what to say to Kyle anymore. He swung his backpack over his shoulder and stumbled off the bus.

Was Kyle really trying to make a fucking joke about this? And today of all days? For one thing, it's completely and absurdly unlike him. Stan wondered if maybe he was still dreaming.

As he walked through the double doors leading into the school lobby, he caught sight of Kyle and Cartman out of the corner of his eye. Normally, he'd be walking over to join them, but right then he was so distraught he didn't want to talk to anyone. Yet, that still didn't deter Cartman, Kyle, and another student from trying to catch up to him.

Stan kept his eyes forward as he propelled himself through the hallway. He just wanted to get to class and get this day over with already.

"Stan! Dude, wait up!" It was getting painfully hard to ignore Kyle. Though Kyle was shorter than Stan, he was still faster for some odd reason. Catching up to him was easy.

Kyle stood in front of Stan to stop him from going any further.

"Slow the fuck down! Where are you going?" Stan took note of the confusion Kyle wore, but ignored it.

Stan couldn't hide his anger. Did he really think after that last text he would want to talk to Kyle at all?

"Seriously dude what's the matter with you?" Kyle demanded.

By this time, they were attracting some attention from the passing students.

"What's the matter with me? Why did you think it would be okay to joke about Kenny right now? How could you even do that, anyway?"

"What do you mean? I didn't make any joke about Kenny!"

Stan was almost at his limit with all of this. He'd had enough.

"You and Cartman know as well I as I do that Kenny didn't bring you anywhere."

"What do you mean? He's brought us to school everyday since he got his license last month—"

Stan had to hold himself back from practically slapping Kyle across the face. Which, in hindsight, he may have actually done, had he not seen a certain someone walk up behind Kyle and put his arms out defensively to break up whatever fight was about to erupt.

The boy was tall, had a skinny build and messy blonde hair that was covered by the orange hood pulled over his head from his parka. He shot a sideways glance in Stan's direction. Though he didn't say it, the stare practically yelled "calm the fuck down" to him.

Stan couldn't believe it. All at once, he felt the hair on his neck stand and his blood run cold. Standing directly in front of him, was one of his best friends of more than 10 years, the best friend that would say perverted things under his breath that made Stan and Kyle laugh and had this melodious, barking laugh that made Stan laugh harder after hearing it, the best friend that, for years-and possibly still to this day- dressed up as a superhero and was a full on vigilante, the best friend who just last week was in a car accident and who's grave Stan had visited with Kyle just last night.

In front of Stan, stood Kenny McCormick. Alive and whole, save for the tired look on his face.

Stan thought he was going to faint. Nope, scratch that, he was definitely fainting. The room around him went dark, as Stan felt the ground being pulled from under him. Kyle and Kenny's voices got farther and farther away, until Stan was absorbed by the nothingness. And then, just black.

When Stan opened his eyes he was met with a white ceiling adorned with insanely bright lights. The smell of cleanliness and sterilization assaulted his senses, and he quickly gathered that he was in the school nurses office.

As he lifted himself off the small bed, he became all too aware of the pounding in his head. He must've hit it when he fainted or something. It hurt like hell.

Why did he faint again, though? He tried to recall his steps as best he could to how he got there.

Kyle. That's right. He was fighting with Kyle. And he was mad at Kyle, too. Shit, why was he so mad again? Was it really that important that something had caused him to faint? Did Kyle hit him?

No. Kyle didn't hit him. He knew Kyle didn't. So what the fuck happened?

As Stan dug around his thoughts, he heard shuffling at the door next to him. It was probably just the nurse coming to check on him. Shit, he hoped no one called his parents. The last thing they needed was to be worried about whatever happened to him.

"Hey, you're awake!"

Stan froze. That voice. It sounded just like—

"You hit your head pretty bad. They wanted to call your parents but Kyle told them not to."

This is impossible.

The person whom the voice belonged to put a hand on Stan's shoulder. Stan took a deep breath before looking up to reach the kind blue eyes that peered down at him.

Kenny. Not just Kenny. Kenny alive. Up and walking and talking and standing there with his hand on Stan's shoulder and looking so concerned but at the same time so calming as if just his presence were a lullaby. The warmest lullaby anyone had ever sung. And Stan was still so in shock.

"What the fuck is happening?" Stan demanded. Kenny looked confused for a moment before he began.

"Well you and Kyle were having your little drama session in the hall for whatever-the-fuck reason, and—"

"No, not that, I mean. What the fuck with.."

Kenny furrowed his eyebrows. Stan looked frustrated, like he couldn't find the words to express his anger and confusion.

"With what?"

Kenny was dead. Declared dead at Hell's Pass at approximately 4:28 am due to a head on collision with another driver. The other driver was going the wrong way, and Kenny didn't have time to move away. Though Kenny didn't make it, the other driver had survived the crash. When Stan first received that information, he couldn't even process it. It was a wound that got worse and worse and was torn more open and deeper with each passing second. That night, his mother held him while he cried. Sharon hadn't held him like that in years.

The next morning, Stan and Kyle held each other close as they both sobbed into each other's shoulders. Eric even did the same. The three of them tried to talk to Butters, but he didn't let them.

The four of them all wore matching orange ties amidst their black formal clothing to Kenny's funeral, and Stan felt gray all through it.

How is it, that Stan remembers the pain and trauma he'd suffered through this past week, and no one else is reacting to Kenny's return? He knew that Kyle, Eric, and Butters were all hurting. How could they just pretend everything was alright now?

How was Kenny alright now? None of this made sense.

"With what?" Kenny asked again, pulling Stan out of his thoughts.

Stan looked back up at Kenny and took in a deep breath.

"...Nothing. I just want to go home. My head hurts."

Kenny smiled gently as he patted Stan's back. "Good. Cause I already signed myself out to take you there."

"What? You signed yourself out?"

"Yeah? I'm eighteen. Don't need a parents permission anymore. But I got your parents permission to bring you home."

Stan groaned. He really didn't want his parents knowing about all this. "I thought you said that Kyle told the nurse to not call my parents."

Kenny smirked. "They didn't call them. I texted your mom and told her you pissed your pants and needed to go home."

Stan stared at Kenny in bewilderment, completely unaware of how to respond.

Kenny sighed. "I'm kidding. I told her you weren't feeling good and that it wasn't that big a deal." Stan still didn't answer. Kenny moved to help Stan up. "I've really gotta get you home, huh?" Stan just slowly nodded.

While Stan sat in the passenger seat of Kenny's old and beaten up truck, he couldn't help but watch Kenny as he drove. It was as if he was watching a ghost, and he questioned whether or not he actually was.

The ride to Stan's home was silent. The four of them were usually okay with silences, as it was a comfortable silence and they were so used to each other's company that just having the others around was nice in itself. But Kenny felt a chill in the air that hadn't been there before today. It was as if the air around Stan was 30 degrees colder than everyone else, and Kenny couldn't figure out why. Of course, that thought came into his mind, but he quickly pushed it away. No one ever remembered. Stan was just feeling odd after fainting. Once Kenny got him home, he'd be better in no time.

Kenny brought Stan's backpack in for him and held the door for Stan. Stan slowly walked inside and threw himself down on the couch and buried his face in a pillow. The throbbing pain still lingering in his head.

Kenny took a small blanket from off the side of the couch and threw it over Stan. Stan only groaned in response before turning his head to face the blond.

"Kenny..?"

"Yeah?"

Stan thought for a moment. He didn't want Kenny to leave. He felt that if he let Kenny leave, he may never see him again, and suddenly fear came rushing over him.

"Can you, like... stay here with me?"

Kenny shrugged. "That was the plan." That put Stan's mind at ease. He could keep an eye on Kenny at least for a bit.

Kenny walked to the kitchen to fetch Stan a glass of water, and Stan felt his heart rush at the thought of letting Kenny out of his sight even for a second. But he couldn't let Kenny know how much he was panicking, so he shut his eyes tightly and let Kenny leave the room. He'd be back in a second, he'd be fine.

Suddenly, a familiar tune rang out from inside Stan's pocket. He reached inside and pulled it out to find that it was his phone ringing. The caller ID revealing it to be Kyle. Shit, that's right. He hasn't spoken to Kyle since before he fainted.

"Ken, Kyle's calling me, I'll be right back." Stan called out to Kenny before pushing himself off of his couch and the up the stairs to his bedroom.

After shutting the door, Stan answered the call.

"Hello..?" Stan hated the unsureness in his voice, but he didn't know how upset Kyle may be with him.

"Hey dude, how you feeling?" The concern in Kyle's voice made Stan feel much more at ease.

"Better. My fucking head hurts like hell, though."

"Dude, you fell so hard, we thought you were gonna have a concussion." wonderful.

"The nurse said you'd be alright, though." Kyle continued.

Stan was silent as he tried to find the words to explain his actions. He was angry, confused, and just all around broken. He wanted to apologize. His eyes shifted over to his bedside table. It was littered with different papers and objects, but one paper in particular caught his eye. A newspaper article, showing a brief passage under a recent photo of Kenny. And Stan's heart stopped.

Stan didn't notice that his phone had fallen out of his hand. He barely heard Kyle's questions though he was sure Kyle must have been yelling for him.

Stan slowly walked over to his bedside table and carefully picked up the small piece of newspaper. Stan's eyes filled with tears as he read over the obituary he'd read before at least fifty times during the last week.

Kenny McCormick

Kenny was a senior at South Park high, eighteen years old. Kenny enjoyed spending time with his friends and caring for his younger sister, Karen.

The obituary went on, talking about Kenny's hobbies and how he played in the school band, and explaining the arrangements for his wake and funeral.

Stan's heart was no longer in his chest. It was in some other place far away from there, replaced only by a numb emptiness that raced from the paper he held in his grasp and through his arms. He was shattered.

Kenny did die. Was Kenny still dead? Had he been speaking with a corpse this whole time, a ghost of the friend he missed so dearly. Or had he finally lost his mind?

Tightening his grip on the paper, Stan made his way back downstairs. The slow footsteps sinking into his soul the closer he got to his living room, where he knew Kenny still should be.

Once he'd made it there, Stan found Kenny sitting on the couch waiting for him, a glass of water sitting on a coaster on the coffee table in front of him. Kenny looked calm, the way he always did. Calm, peaceful, like the way the morning feels on a summer day just as the sun rises. But all that calmness melted away from Kenny once he glanced over to Stan. As if the ghost himself had been looking at a ghost.

"Stan? What's.." Kenny cut himself off when Stan raised his hand, which held tightly to a piece of newspaper, Stan's hand so strangled around the thing that his knuckles had turned completely white.

Stan opened his mouth to speak, even though at first only a whimper escaped him. But he pushed himself to go on.

"What is this." It was a demand more than a question.

"What is what? Stan, chill out—"

"NO. What the fuck is happening?!"

Kenny walked over to try and calm Stan down, but Stan backed away. "Get away from me!" Stan's breath had gotten quicker, and Kenny feared he may be having a panic attack.

"Stan you need to calm down, everything's okay, just come sit down and—" it was then that Kenny realized just what Stan was holding. No. Fuck. No.

"What is this." Stan repeated.

Kenny didn't know what to do. How was he supposed to explain something Stan shouldn't even remember. No one ever remembered Kenny dying. Never.

"Stan. I, I can explain.."

"Explain what? Why you're suddenly up and walking and talking after we went to your fucking funeral?! Why this morning I was mourning you and now you're standing in my living room without a single scratch? What are you gonna tell me to explain that? Are you ghost? Are you a zombie or some shit?! What?!"

Stan was raising his voice, and Kenny feared his neighbors would overhear their conversation. Kenny grabbed the back of Stan's head and pushed his other hand over Stan's mouth to shut him up.

"You need to calm down, please, I'll explain everything." Kenny pleaded, and Stan backed down the slightest bit.

Kenny looked down at the floor and lightly kicked at the ground. He took a deep breath before beginning. "I'm not a zombie. I'm not a ghost. I'm not dead."

Stan narrowed his eyes. "Then what are you?"

Kenny chuckled sadly before looking back up to again meet Stan's eyes.

"I'm immortal."