South Park © Matt & Trey.

This is my favourite chapter haha. I'm either going to disappoint people, or make them relieved. Either way, enjoy and don't forget to check out the sequel 1shot!

Kyle's POV

After that, Eric Cartman was gone without a trace. He left without a word to anyone. He resigned as mayor and there was no search party. It was something everyone was forced to accept. I don't know where he went and I don't know why he left. Maybe he just knew everything was falling apart and he didn't want to deal with the consequences of what he was doing. I like to think he finally learned that you can't play with human life, but I'm sure his reasons were more selfish than that.

I was once again jobless and an emotional mess. Shit happens. I've learned that. Life can be fucking beautiful and it can treat you like a God… but when you think everything is perfect the illusion shatters. You realize that there's no such thing as perfection.

Craig Tucker confessed to killing Filmore Anderson a few weeks after Eric's disappearance. I guess the guilt ended up getting to him in the end. Since Eric was no longer punishing him, he decided it was time to be honest. There was a trial, but since he was a child when the murder took place, he got tried as a young offender. Since there was no malicious intent, no evidence, plus a lenient judge… he got off easy. Cops often do, but it worked in favour this time because for anyone who knows Craig – really knows him – they'll know he's not a bad person. So, he got off with nothing more than a scheduled trip to a counsellor. The case was closed and Craig quit the force shortly after, even though they told him he didn't have to. He was never really a wordsmith or anything, but he is even quieter. These days, he hardly speaks at all. I don't see him out much, either. He's turned into a bit of a hermit. I guess it's understandable. Everyone knows what he did now. Everyone knows he killed a kid.

Kenny left the hospital after a few weeks and was transferred to prison, where he donned an orange jumpsuit. Unlike Craig's trial, Kenny's didn't go well. I visited him as often as I could. I could tell he always tried to keep in high spirits, but it got difficult. I'm sure prison can do hellish things to a guy – especially a guy as kind hearted as Kenny. The thought of him spending six undisturbed years in there makes me sick.

He got out last year. It's a shame so much of his youth was wasted in there. When he was freed, he was different. He, too, was quieter. He looked wary and exhausted in all kinds of ways, and at first he didn't even bother trying to force smiles. I guess prison is more than enough to wear a person down.

"Kyle…" he mumbled the greeting almost mechanically the day I came to pick him up. His tone was hollow.

"What happened in there?" I asked for what felt like the hundredth time, but he wouldn't say. He refused to speak a word of what happened to him in there. I know nothing I can say will ever convince him to tell me, so I try not to think about it because I always end up imagining such awful things. It turned out that committing suicide whilst in prison is a difficult thing to accomplish. Kenny tried, but all it did was land him trips into isolation. Perhaps he was being honest when he said death lost interest in him.

Craig only visited Kenny once. He couldn't bring himself to do it again. I forced him to come with me and for him, it was like seeing firsthand what he did. He was the one who threw Kenny in. He was scared, but it's no excuse for what he did. It fucked him up. I guess we all got fucked up. Some of it was our own fault, and some of it was Eric Cartman's.

Craig cried in the parking lot after the visit. He told me he hated himself. I didn't say anything. There was nothing I could offer him to ease his regret, so I just drove him home.

Kenny never did end up confessing to Butters. I found that sad, but he said he didn't want to hurt Butters reputation since the arrest tarnished the McCormick name beyond any possible reparation. It was no longer simple rumors, but a drug bust. Kevin, Stuart and Carol were all arrested. Kenny spent some time in prison, same with his dad, his mom and his brother, but they, too, will soon be free. However, I doubt they'll be walking the straight and narrow path. Some things don't change. Some things can't change.

Poor Kenny. Poor Butters. I feel like may have felt the same way at some point, but he's moved on since then and is now married to a woman named Lexus. They have two kids.

Stan and I forgave each other. He was there for me when I needed it and Wendy understood. She never left him and he never left me. They're married now. Like Mercedes and Butters, they also have a couple of kids. It's weird. It makes me feel like the odd one out. I'm still single and I have no children. No one to care for me and no one to care for.

Kenny and Craig moved in together a few months ago. Maybe they're in love. It's a one bedroom apartment after all. I don't know. It's hard to tell with them, but I guess Kenny forgave Craig for what he did. I think Craig desperately needed that. Without the forgiveness of others, it's so damn hard to forgive yourself. Filmore Anderson's parents never forgave Craig. In turn, Craig never forgave himself.

It took me a while to get back on my feet. I have trouble sleeping most nights, but I have a steady job. I now work at the Crisis Hotline. I like what I do. I was hopeless when it came to helping myself, but maybe I can help others instead. During my first week, Kenny decided to be a little asshole and prank call me on the job. I would have been mad, but I couldn't bring myself to be. Kenny hadn't joked around in such a long fucking time, it made me feel happy to hear him laughing on the other end.

Eric Cartman fucked over every person in this damn town when he left. The new mayor is stupider than McDaniels was. Oh, well. That's South Park, I suppose. Stability was never a constant thing here.

It's been a long time since I saw Eric and I doubt I'll ever see him again. I'm thirty years old now and too much has changed. I no longer talk about him or the things he did to me. His name is like a bad word amongst most people and I think it hurts us all in different ways.

Nonetheless, it's for the best. We all know that now.

Today is a Wednesday and it's a strangely quiet day. Sometimes you get these angry callers who just want someone to yell at. That is never fun, but I'm always patient. I prefer those who just want someone to vent to.

I'm doing paper work at my desk when the phone begins ringing yet again –

"Crisis hotline," I answer. There's an audible sigh from the other end. "Hello?" I say again in my gentlest voice.

"I'm sorry," comes the voice.

"What are you sorry for?" I ask softly, trying to coax out answers to get to the root of the problem. "Are you in some kind of trouble? Talk to me and I'll help you."

There's a laugh. "This suits you," the man on the other end says.

"Excuse me?" I feel myself frown.

"I've been thinking about offing myself lately," he starts, dismissing my confusion. "I think I might. I just need to do one last thing."

"Why do you want to kill yourself?" I ask.

"I've been gone for a long time, you see. I just got home and I'm realizing that everything has changed and everyone has moved on. I used to matter and now I don't."

"Everyone matters," I say gently.

"On a small scale, maybe," he reasons with himself. "I get that now. I never used to."

He's stubborn. "Why do you say that?"

"I hurt a lot of people because, to me, they didn't matter," he continues. "I'd be doing humanity a favour if I put a gun in my mouth and shot a bullet in my brain."

"Sir, please don't do that," I try to reason while waving Wendy over and pointing to the phone. She knows what this means. It means we need to trace the call and try to prevent a death. "Sir?"

"I wanted to hear your voice…" another sigh. "I missed it."

Then he hangs up and like some sort of dramatic and intense mental implosion, I experience this moment of vivid clarity. I know that voice. I fucking know that voice.

"Kyle, we couldn't trace it in time," Wendy informs me sadly. She touches my shoulder, squeezing it before walking off.

"It's okay," I whisper weakly, hanging up the phone before checking the number.

That, too, is familiar… It's my home number. He's in my fucking house…

My hands immediately begin shaking. I stand up and I run. I can hear Wendy calling my name and I know I'll have to come up with some sort of excuse for her later on, but I need to get home.

It's snowing again and the roads are icy, so the drive is long and I'm growing horribly anxious.

After Stan and Wendy got married, he moved out and Ike moved in. He finally finished school and moved back to South Park to find work. The economy still sucks, but it's a hell of a lot better than it was. He's a lawyer. Typical, right? If I had more motivation, I'd be one, too. It's easy living with Ike. He never forces me to talk, but he's always there for me when I need him. He knows what happened. He's gotten pieces of the story throughout the years, but he's certainly smart enough to put each shard together.

When I return home, I announce my presence, but hear no reply. Instead, a tall man shows up from around the corner. "Who –" I pause, cutting myself off. "Oh, God…"

"Don't tell me you forgot what I looked like," he says.

I slap a hand over my mouth as my suspicions are confirmed. The stubbly face threw me off, but yes, this is exactly who I knew it would be. "You look like a lumberjack," I tell him.

He just chuckles before sobering. "And you're drinking again," he scolds, gesturing behind me.

I turn around and notice all the alcohol is sitting on the counter. "Why did you go through my things?" I ask quietly.

"I wanted to see what you were up to," he shrugs. "I found your work number. Decided to call. Lucky I got you on the other end."

"Today is slow," I weakly explain, "It's only me, Wendy and Tammy there."

"I see."

"Why are you back?"

He just smiles. "I'll be gone tomorrow."

I press my lips together, beginning to feel that familiar weakness that always came with being around him. "Why show up now?"

"I was passing through," he tells me. "I've been travelling. I made a full circle. This is my last stop."

"You're last stop?" I ask, unsure what he means by that.

He only nods, choosing not to explain and I choose not to pry any further.

"People can't change," I say softly. "I learned that. You taught me that, but so did science. I've been reading textbooks lately… A person can change the small things, but they can't change who they are. You can't change who you are, Eric."

"I know," he admits. "I lied when I said everyone moved on, you know."

"Oh?" I ask.

"Everyone moved on, except for you."

"Me?" I frown. "I've moved on, too."

"No, you haven't," he states. "If you did, you'd be settled. You'd be living with a guy who would take care of you. You'd be playing happy family while cooking him dinner. Maybe you'd even have a few adopted kids… But no. Instead, you're living in a two bedroom apartment with your brother, trying to fix other people's problems and ignoring your own. You're thirty years old for fuck's sake…"

"You can't just walk back into my life and say things like that!" I shout, feeling like I might start crying at any second. I rub my hand over my face, pressing my lips together in an attempt to stifle a sob that wants to escape. Instead, I end up letting out a pathetic whimper.

"Kahl…" he murmurs.

I clear my throat, looking away. "You said you were travelling?" I ask in a wet voice, needing to change the subject.

He nods, taking the backpack off his shoulders and pulling out an album. "Here," he hands it to me.

"What's this?"

"Photos I took," he says. "I developed them all and put the best ones in there."

He always did have a passion for photography. I sit down on my sofa and open to the first page. "Where is this?" I ask, pointing to a photo of a massive waterfall.

"Niagara Falls," he says, sitting next to me.

"You went to Canada…"

"Yeah. That's the first place I went after leaving the USA."

I flip to the next page and then the next. Eric continues telling me about where he went and what he saw.

Canada, Greenland, Norway, Sweden, Finland, Russia, China, India, Pakistan, Iran, Ukraine, Germany, Turkey, Lebanon, Israel, Egypt, Sudan, Zambia, Botswana, all through South America, and finally he's back here.

"You've been all around the world… I'm surprised you adventured to the Middle East," I admit.

"So am I," he snorts. "Brown people everywhere."

"Where are you going after this?" I ask, but he stays quiet. "Eric…?"

He shrugs his shoulders. "I don't know yet," he says in a strange voice. "Maybe nowhere, maybe somewhere."

I close the book, setting it on the coffee table. "Why are you here, Eric?"

"I want to give you a proper goodbye."

I let out a breath, closing my eyes for a moment. "Goodbye?" I ask quietly.

"I won't be back after today," he says.

"Why?"

"Because it isn't good for either of us. If I stay, there will be a repeat of what happened before I left. It'll be an endless cycle… You make me fucking crazy."

Sick and sad as it makes me feel, I can't deny it… Yet, I feel oddly melancholic. I lean forward and press my lips to his, slowly and gingerly. It isn't necessarily a romantic kiss, it's just a kiss – simple as that.

"What's that for?" he asks.

"I forgive you," I say. "For everything you did to me."

"You do?"

I nod, "I think I forgave you a long time ago, but you weren't around to hear me say it."

"You shouldn't forgive me," he whispers, cupping my face in his palms.

"I've learned that there are times when you need to forgive," I say. "Not only for the other person, but for yourself as well. It's too tiring to hold grudges."

"How like you," he chuckles, kissing the top of my head.

Eventually we move to my room. We don't have sex. That's not what this is. That would only drag us in even deeper than we still are. Instead, we just talk, lying side by side on my bed, with our shoulders touching innocently.

When midnight strikes, he shifts. "I should head out," he announces.

I want to protest, but I don't, because like he said, it's for the best. This time, we don't kiss. Instead, I take his hand and I hold it in mine for a moment before letting go.

That's what I'm doing. I'm letting go. Of everything.

"Goodbye," he smiles.

"Goodbye," I say, returning the smile.

And I'm alone once again. I return to my room and lay down on my bed, falling asleep almost immediately.

When I wake up, I begin to wander through the house in a dazed manner, trying to get rid of the cotton feeling in my head. Last night felt almost like a dream.

"Kyle?" I hear.

"What is it, Ike?" I ask. "Did you just get home?"

"Yeah," he says. "What is this?" He holds up the album from last night. Eric must have left it here. I guess it really wasn't a dream.

I approach him and take it, holding it to my chest. "They're photographs."

"Who took them?"

"A friend of mine."

"Oh, that's nice," Ike says. "You got a letter, by the way. I checked the mailbox on my way up." He hands me a small, white envelope.

I take it from him and tear it open –

Kyle –

I think that was definitely a better goodbye than last time. You told me earlier that you learned about forgiveness, and I thank you for it. Because you forgave me, I think can leave this time and be content with wherever I end up. Like you, I've also learned something. I've learned that sometimes you need to hurt someone to help them in the long run. Perhaps that's what we did for each other. If we stayed together, it would have been even more painful. You may not believe me, but I never wanted to hurt you the way I did. I just wanted to hurt you enough to make you mine. Forever. But that is selfish and another thing I learned is that when it comes to love, you need to be a little selfless. So that's why I'm leaving. South Park was my final destination. It was good seeing you again. It was a nice way to be sent off.

Perhaps we'll meet again in another life – one where I can be a better person.

EC

"Kyle?" Ike frowns, approaching me slowly.

I just shake my head. "It's nothing," I whisper. I don't need to talk about Eric anymore. He's gone now. I can read between the lines. I know what this means.

"You're crying…" Ike points out.

Am I? I reach up and brush the damp trail off my cheeks. "I'm all right," I tell him. For the first time in a long time, I feel like I might mean it. This is the closure I've been waiting for. My heart feels immensely heavy, but it will heal. I can stop waiting now.

"Are you?" Ike asks quietly.

I nod, forcing a smile even though my eyes are still wet. "I will be…"

"Kyle," he says gently. "You don't need to do that… cry if you want to."

I give him a somewhat helpless look. Ike wraps his arms around my shoulders and I press my face into the crook of his neck, letting out a long sob. He allows me to mourn, not asking questions or begging for answers. He's quiet because he knows there are times when silence is best and words are not needed. Times like now.

We can never go back. I understand this. All we can do is move forward, so that's what I'll do. For Eric Cartman, for my family, for my friends and for myself, that's what I'll do.

Tomorrow is a new day.

- Fin -