Archive of Our Own ^beta

South Park had a new detective.

Kenny kept a pretty close eye on the whole of the SPPD, just based on a gut instinct. Something was wrong with them, other than the whole being police thing, but he didn’t know what yet. He’d figure it out eventually, but for now… he needed to figure out this new guy.

His digging didn’t get him much. Stanley Marsh, Stan to those who knew him. Twenty three years old, South Park born and raised. He had an older sister, his parents divorced when he was ten, and he lived alone, except for his dog. He’d grown up in South Park and joined the police academy immediately after finishing high school, and graduated from there somewhere in the middle of his class. He’d made detective quickly, but just worked as a beat cop in the next town over before that.

Basically, he was painfully average, and that in and of itself piqued Kenny’s interest. He didn’t reek of sleaze like the rest of his new colleagues; or at least, he didn’t yet.

The only thing about him that really stood out was that he’d once been arrested for protesting animal rights when he was sixteen. His mom bailed him out by the look of things. It was an interesting pipeline, activist to detective. Kenny made a note to look into that.

He didn’t actually run into Stan in the flesh for a while after he got the job. In fact, Kenny didn’t see him out on the streets at all until one fateful day when the Crab People attacked.

Kenny honestly wasn’t sure what their deal was, just that they lived in the sewers and were not, as much as they claimed to be, human. He also knew that the police were not equipped to deal with them; that’s where he came in.

Lucky for the good people of South Park, it seemed more like a small offshoot of the infestation rather than a full blown invasion, and he was mostly done by the time the police arrived.

Mostly. There was one left, the leader, that he still needed to subdue before he could send them back where they came from. The Crab People didn’t require lethal force or anything, but they did require focus. So much focus that he didn’t acknowledge the police arriving until it was too late.

"Drop your weapons!"

Kenny inhaled deeply and narrowly avoided having his head pincered off. He didn’t have time for this, not when it looked like he’d be spending the rest of his night trying to get the smell of seafood out of his cape.

"I said drop them! This is your final warning!"

That’s what Kenny hated about police. They really thought anybody gave a fuck what they had to say. "I’m busy—" he paused as he jumped back from another swinging claw, "—doing your damn job!"

It was just good luck that Kenny happened to dodge at the same time a gun was fired, the bullet cutting through the final Crab Person’s soft underbelly; their weak spot. It was dead in an instant.

Kenny was a violent person, but he knew death intimately, and he didn’t like people who decided it was their job to deal it out. Even if they were dealing it out to Crab People, and especially when they didn’t deserve it. Very few things deserved death, let alone a violent one.

Kenny whirled around, furious, and his eyes locked onto newly promoted police captain, Harrison Yates. He represented everything wrong with the police department and then some, and was literally holding a smoking gun.

Kenny slowly stalked towards him, drawing himself up to his full height. His boots gave him four whole inches, making him just a little over six foot; Yates was 5’9. "Did you just try to shoot me?" he hissed.

"And I’ll do it again if you don’t turn yourself in," Yates snapped back.

Kenny grit his teeth and only then did he notice who was stood near the back of the group, clearly a little nervous for his first run in with a vigilante.

Rookie detective Stan Marsh.

Kenny locked eyes with him and tilted his head to the side. He looked even more normal up close; old movie handsome with a square jaw and cleft in his chin, and dark hair that was just long enough to curl up around his ears. He looked right back at Kenny, making eye contact with his blank mask. His eyes were round and the colour of steel, a sort pale bluish grey.

"Final warning!" Yates yelled, gaining both Stan and Kenny’s attention again.

"That’s the second time you’ve said that," Kenny said, waggling two fingers in his face for emphasis. He normally tried not to be so mouthy when he had the costume on, preferring to scare people through silence, but he was in a bad mood.

He was out of the way before Yates had a chance to shoot. His grapple latched onto the streetlight above and he flew into the air, then chucked a trusty smoke bomb beneath him to create a thick cloud.

And then he ran. That was a surprisingly large part of the superhero gig, or at least it was ever since the police decided to actively hunt him down. That was when he really started getting suspicious, because what exactly were they afraid of him finding?

He stopped for a breather in a dark alley, and clutched his left shoulder. It had been bothering him for a while, he chalked it up to the momentum from his grapple and had been meaning to adjust it but just hadn’t had time. It wasn’t super high up on his list of priorities.

"Freeze!"

Kenny tensed. God fucking damn it. Okay, play along for a few minutes and then he could think of a plan.

He slowly raised his hands above his head and turned around, eyes widening ever so slightly when he saw who’d caught him. Stan. It was a bit of a kick in the teeth to be honest, being chased down by the rookie. His gun was drawn and pointed at Kenny. If he fired, it would probably hit his shoulder; his sore one too, just to add insult to injury.

Interesting though. Clearly he didn’t have a killer instinct.

"Nice and slow," Stan said. He swallowed and gestured with the gun. "Now on your knees."

Kenny grit his teeth. "Not gonna happen."

"I have a gun!" Stan warned, as if Kenny was an idiot.

"You don’t wanna shoot me," Kenny promised. "It’ll just piss me off more and you really don’t want to do that."

Stan stared at him, eyes wide. Kenny stared back, almost daring him to pull the trigger and confirm what he already knew. That he was just another violent man with a badge and an overinflated sense of authority. Stan’s hands shook, his eyes darted around nervously and…

He holstered his gun. He broke eye contact, turned around, and ran off to search another alley.

Kenny didn’t stick around for long after that, he wasn’t an idiot and he didn’t quite believe Stan wouldn’t change his mind, but he was definitely surprised. He stood on the edge of a rooftop that gave him a clear view of the police barricade, where Stan was now being berated by his superiors, and frowned.

Yeah. Stan Marsh had just rocketed to the top of his people of interest list.

~*~

Kenny didn’t have many friends. Shocking, truly, but his schedule didn’t really allow for it.

He’d wake up around noon, go to work for the closing shift at the only Italian restaurant in town that would accommodate his weird hours, then put on the cape and lurk the shadows until the sun came up.

"Do you wanna grab drinks with us?"

Kenny looked up from the clock out board to see Bebe, another member of the waitstaff, looking at him expectantly. "Oh I um—"

"I know you always say no but, like, you are welcome, you know?"

Kenny smiled weakly. Bebe was sweet, despite how hard she tried not to let people know, but he couldn’t. Not when South Park couldn’t even rely on their own police force. But he also couldn’t shirk this forever without someone becoming suspicious.

"I really can’t tonight," he said. "But… Next time, okay? Seriously."

Bebe sighed and spared him a small smile. "Sure Kenny. Get home safe okay?"

He nodded and waved them off, promising he could finish the close on his own. He could; in fact, he actually preferred it that way. It gave him a little bit of time on his own to just exist and not have to be anything. It was something he’d really come to enjoy.

Kenny only got the job because he was trying to keep an eye on the place. Turns out his gut instinct had been right, and he’d turfed out South Park’s branch of the mafia within three weeks.

Unfortunately that made waves, and got him to the top of the wanted list, but the new owner paid pretty well so he kept the gig. Plus it was probably best to keep an eye on the place; the mafia was very good at sprouting back up through the cracks.

And maybe he was sentimental. Maybe he liked being reminded that he did some good once, even if he was, admittedly, flailing a little bit now. Or maybe he just liked the free garlic bread and lasagne they let him take home. He tried not to think too hard about why he did things. It never led anywhere good.

Kenny locked up and headed to his safe house. He’d had the same one since he got to town, a small one story house in a part of town they called Sodosopa. There was, however, a basement which was very useful for storing his gear in. Other than that he just had the necessities; kitchen, bathroom, mattress, and a couch. He had a small TV too and a box for his clothes, but that was pretty much it. He didn’t spend much time there anyway, it was just a place to sleep.

He changed into his gear quickly. It was like second skin by now, he’d prioritised movability over protection when designing it. Whilst the goal was to not get killed, it wasn’t like it was game over if he did. Besides, he was a fairly small guy. He had to be able to play to his strengths, especially against some of the larger enemies he’d come up against.

Kenny flew out into the night and perched on a rooftop as he often did, cloaked in darkness. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for yet. Usually there’d be something that had caught his eye by now, but South Park’s crazies seemed to have taken the night off. Well. All of them except for him. Maybe it was a sign he should’ve just gone home and taken a bubble bath or something.

He didn’t do that of course. Instead he prowled about the rooftops, actively searching for trouble. He found it, predictably, when he arrived at the police station, in the form of Stan Marsh, smoking a cigarette and looking like he desperately needed it. Kenny wouldn’t have thought him to be a smoker, but he couldn’t judge. He wasn’t so bad now, but he’d been a fiend for nicotine in his teenage years, and still found it the only thing to take the edge off sometimes.

Stan had that same look on his face. He looked exhausted, alongside the tenseness anyone out after dark in South Park carried with them. It seemed like he’d been put on the night shift, poor guy. Working nights in South Park was basically asking to be murdered. Most businesses closed at sundown.

Kenny had been meaning to have a word with him ever since their run in a few days ago after the Crap People. But he’d gotten pretty busy when the incubi who worked out of Raisins decided to pop back up the next night, and then there’d been a night of none super related crimes he’d had to deal with, muggings and the like. Now, though, he had all the time in the world.

Kenny perched on a streetlight just behind Stan and waited for him to notice. It was a fun game he liked to play with the cops, just purely for his own entertainment. Once it took one of them five whole minutes to notice Kenny had followed him half the way home. He hadn’t even wanted anything from him, but the look on his face was worth it.

This time, however, it didn’t take as long as he expected. Stan was quicker than his colleagues, Kenny would give him that, but the reaction was always the same. His shoulders tensed as he developed that prickly sensation of being watched, and his eyes widened as he turned around and realised by who.

"You shouldn’t be here," Stan warned.

Kenny tilted his head to the side. It was almost endearing how dedicated Stan was to trying to tell him what to do. The whole point of Mysterion was that he could be anywhere he wanted, whenever he wanted.

"Seriously," Stan continued, taking his silence for what it was; disagreement. "Stop trying to play hero and let us do our jobs."

"Let me do mine," Kenny growled.

Stan flinched ever so slightly, just a minute jerk of his shoulders and a blink. "What do you want?"

"You could’ve shot me the other night," Kenny said. "But you didn’t. Why?"

Stan swallowed. "Because I don’t want to hurt anyone. Serve and protect, that’s the job, and shooting you wouldn’t have been either."

Kenny narrowed his eyes. So either he was a really good actor, or he actually was that stupid. Both were… interesting.

"You might be in the wrong career," Kenny said dryly. "And you could have arrested me."

Stan frowned and didn’t respond. "So what now? Are you gonna beat the shit out of me to send a message?"

Kenny fought the urge to laugh. "I’m not real big on animal cruelty." Stan stared at him blankly and Kenny sighed. He couldn’t even rile this guy up with pig jokes. "Never mind. I’m going to be watching you very closely Marsh."

"Be my guest. I’ve got nothing to hide," Stan snapped.

Kenny grit his teeth and fired off his grapple gun, disappearing into the night. God. He hated cops.

~*~

Kenny’s favourite job to do at the restaurant was work the bar. It gave him a clear line of sight for the front door, and he could easily escape out that way or the back if need be. He was aware that wasn’t something most people thought about.

But the point was, he was quite happy to be doing it even if he was doing it solo. Bebe was running late. Significantly late, actually, but she was pretty reliable usually. Kenny was more likely to be late honestly; sometimes he wouldn’t get back from his night shift until about seven in the morning, and four hours of sleep was not enough after spending the night chasing baddies.

"Bebe’s not turned up so you’re gonna have to handle this on your own," his manager said, suddenly appearing at the bar as if she’d read Kenny’s mind.

Kenny nodded and looked up slightly. "Is she sick?"

"I’m guessing. She hasn’t called but it’s not like her to leave us high and dry."

Kenny frowned. It wasn’t. But there was a flu thing going around, it was a miracle he hadn’t caught it himself yet, so he wasn’t that concerned to be honest. "Yeah I can handle the bar until later. Don’t worry."

His manager smiled gratefully and ducked out the room. Kenny watched her leave and scowled. She was a mean old bitch. He didn’t actually have any proof of that yet, but he could tell. She was passive aggressive but still aggressive .

It was a Monday, and the lull period between lunch and dinner, so the restaurant was basically empty. Kenny was just cleaning glasses with nothing better to do, which was why he looked up when he heard the door open.

He tensed when, all of a sudden, Stan walked in. He didn’t like his two worlds colliding like this, and his presence here couldn’t mean anything good, but Kenny did his best to smile politely when Stan approached the bar.

"Hi I’m Detective Marsh, do you work here?" he asked.

Kenny’s eye twitched and he resisted the urge to call Stan an idiot. Why else would he be behind the bar? "Yes sir. Can I help you with something?" He already deserved a fucking Oscar for this.

"Would you mind me asking some questions?"

Kenny swallowed nervously. He was pretty sure he hadn’t been caught but... "Sure."

"Can I get a name first?"

"Yeah. Kenny McCormick. Sorry Kenneth, I guess," he corrected. Sometimes he forgot he had a full name, but it was a stupid name anyway. He hated it.

Stan smiled slightly, then sat down at the bar and pulled a photo out of his file. "Do you know this girl?"

He slid it across the bar and Kenny’s heart dropped. Bebe. Shit. "Yeah," he said after a moment. "That’s Bebe, she works front of house with me. Why?"

If he hadn’t already had his suspicions, Stan’s face confirmed he should be worried. His poker face needed a little work if he wanted to go far in this profession. "She went missing last night."

Kenny’s jaw dropped open. "She— Huh?"

Stan nodded and smiled sympathetically. "We’re just trying to figure out what happened. Do you know anything that might help with that?"

"She went out for drinks with a couple other people who work here," Kenny said, more to himself than to Stan. He was already trying to piece his own case together. "I don’t remember who off the top of my head." He really didn’t, but he’d get the security tape later and see for himself.

Stan looked up from the notes he was diligently taking. "You didn’t go?"

He should’ve gone. Maybe he could’ve stopped whatever happened, he could’ve saved her like he was supposed to. It was his job. "No," he said instead of any of that. "I’m sort of the staff recluse, I just like to keep to myself."

"Okay. Can you think of anything else? A new partner maybe?" Stan suggested.

"She was seeing this girl for a while," Kenny recalled suddenly. "I don’t know if that went anywhere."

"Do you have a name?"

Kenny opened his mouth, but aborted the action at the last minute and shook his head silently instead. The little voice in the back of his head told him not to, and he’d learnt over his career that he should always trust that voice.

And he was right to, because a quick Instagram dive after Stan left revealed something that made his blood run cold.

Bebe’s sort of maybe ex girlfriend was a cop.

~*~

The first thing Kenny did that night was find Stan, who was apparently taking lead on this case. Showed how much they cared about Bebe, that they assigned the new guy to her. He could be totally incompetent for all they knew, although Kenny didn’t get that impression as much as he hated to admit it. Stan seemed pretty on the ball when he questioned Kenny at work.

He found Stan outside a nightclub on the outskirts of town, with a full police tape barricade and his stupid little notebook flipped open. He was the first detective Kenny had actually seen use one of those. From where Kenny was sat on the roof, it all looked legitimate. There were uniformed officers talking to who he assumed were witnesses, and Stan was genuinely taking pages and pages of notes. He was thorough at least.

Kenny picked up a small pebble and tossed it to the ground, watching it land just at Stan’s feet. He looked up searchingly, and his eyes eventually locked onto Kenny. They stared at each other for while, and not once did he alert his colleagues that a wanted man was on the roof.

Kenny tilted his head to the side and swept to the back of the nightclub. He sat on the edge of the roof and soon, Stan was on the ground beneath him.

"Are you stalking me?" Stan demanded.

"I heard about your case," Kenny said.

"There is no possible way you actually know anything about that, it came onto my desk literally this morning," Stan snapped.

"Missing woman. Barbra ‘Bebe’ Stevens, twenty two years old, waitress at Faguccini’s. Caucasian, blonde hair and brown eyes, about five foot six and," Kenny narrowed his eyes at Stan, "your first case as lead detective."

Stan swallowed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Okay maybe you do know a few things. But that doesn’t mean you should be here."

Kenny dropped to the ground and walked over to Stan, stopping only when they were almost chest to chest. "I just have some information you might like to know."

Stan looked up at him, visibly nervous. Up close, his eyes were a little more blue than Kenny initially thought. "We have a tip line."

"I want to make sure you know that I know," Kenny said carefully, "that Bebe Stevens started dating Sergeant Taylor shortly before she went missing."

Stan’s eyes went wide in a way that would be satisfying in almost any other circumstance. "How do you know that?" he asked, glancing around as if to check if anybody else had heard.

Kenny didn’t dignify that with a response. Instead he maintained heavy eye contact and stepped back into the safety of the shadows, where he could blend in effortlessly. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he’d learnt early on that if he focussed hard enough, he could become one with the shadows, and move about unnoticed.

It was probably linked to the whole immortality thing. At one point he’d been hellbent on finding the cause behind it, his origin, and it was what led him to South Park in the first place. But then he’d quickly realised that this place needed a guardian angel, so uncovering the source of his… weirdness got put on the back burner. His high school counsellor had once told him he had a nasty habit of developing tunnel vision when he was passionate about something. She also said it would only end up hurting him in the long run. She was probably even right.

But it would also help him find Bebe quicker.

Kenny decided the first thing he needed to do was look into this Sergeant character. He’d already found everything basic. Alexandra Taylor, a good fifteen years older than Bebe and going through a messy divorce with her ex wife, Delia. A quick look into the soon to be ex Mrs Taylor revealed she was quite accident prone, and spent more time in the ER than out of it. Kenny wasn’t dumb. He knew what that meant.

Aside from being a wife beater, Taylor liked to engage in other typical cop activities, like shooting, drinking, and ignoring the message of the Hunger Games movies. What Bebe saw in her was a mystery Kenny didn’t even delude himself into thinking he could solve.

She’d always been a bit hopeless in that regard. It felt like every shift she was telling Kenny about a new girl who was definitely the one, only for it to never go anywhere. He thought the problem was that she didn’t really know her worth. And now it had gotten her in some real trouble, it seemed

Taylor’s socials didn’t really give Kenny anything tangible in the end. He had to go deeper. He had to go to her house.

It wasn’t too hard to find her address either. People got really sloppy on social media, and in a small town like South Park there are only finite options. It was pretty easy for him to piece together where she lived based on the backgrounds of photos.

And that was why Kenny didn’t have social media. Well, that and the fact he didn’t have anyone to keep up with. Sometimes he’d stalk Karen’s just to make sure she was doing okay, but they were all private so he didn’t get much. She’d always been a smart girl. Kevin was not so smart, but his feeds were all mostly just about cars he’d fixed up so Kenny supposed that was passable. At least he had a job, and some of the cars even looked expensive.

Sometimes Kenny thought about messaging them. He had their address, as well as Kevin’s number and he’d passed on Karen’s when she first got a phone. He hadn’t spoken to either of them since he was eighteen, though, and it would probably be weird.

And if one of them got hurt…

Kenny dragged himself away from thoughts of things lost and stared up at Taylor’s house. It looked normal from the outside, and she left her bathroom window open. Idiot. It’s like she was asking him to snoop.

He got through with minimal struggle but landed ass first in the bathtub, probably bruising his tailbone. He sighed heavily, closed his eyes, and dragged himself to his feet. At least he wasn’t dead. One of his very early deaths had been caused by slipping and falling in the gross shower at the foster home, so he’d take a bruised ass.

The first thing Kenny did was check the medicine cabinet; nothing suspicious. Not even anything prescription, just over the counter pain relief and flu meds. The bedroom was similarly disappointing. Actually even worse. All he found was a box of x-rated items and he was pretty sure no amount of therapy would help him recover from the emotions he felt in that moment.

Other than a new thing to unpack in therapy once he could afford it, Kenny didn’t actually find anything in her entire house. And he scavenged, like a raccoon through a dumpster, leaving no stone unturned. Maybe Taylor was a little smarter than Kenny gave her credit for.

"Motherfucker," he mumbled to himself with a heavy sigh, getting to his feet after he’d finished searching the floor for a loose panel or something. "Come on Taylor… Where’s your shit hidden?"

All of a sudden, his gaze landed a door he hadn’t noticed before, presumably to the basement. For some reason his blood ran cold at the sight of it and he felt a pull, deep in the pit of his belly, like it was calling to him. He approached the door in an almost trancelike state, a hand outstretched for the knob, and it felt almost like an out of body experience. His pulse was rushing in his ears and his fingers burned even through his glove as they touched the tarnished metal.

He wrapped his hand around the doorknob and—

He was hit over the head with a chair. What the fuck?

It understandably took him a moment to regain his composure, but when he did he saw Alexandra Taylor herself, holding a broken chair leg and looming over him. Well shit.

"What the fuck—" she swung the chair leg at him and Kenny barely threw an arm up to protect his face in time, "—are you doing in my house bitch ?"

Kenny rolled out the way before she could hit him again and leapt to his feet. "Nice stick," he said breathlessly. He pulled his expandable staff out of his belt and held it out defensively. "Mine’s bigger though."

"You’re so irritating!" Taylor yelled.

Kenny twirled his staff just to show off and shrugged. "Don’t be jealous Sarge. Size isn’t everything. It’s all about how you use it."

She glared at him and swung again. Kenny darted to the side and swept his staff at her ankles. The bitch jumped, and her boot connected heavily with Kenny’s chest, knocking the air from his lungs. How was he losing this fight? She didn’t look that strong. Maybe she was on some kind of steroids or something?

Kenny spent the next three or so minutes playing defensively, but he didn’t manage to land a single hit. He realised he wasn’t going to win this one but he could out run her. He’d done it before, once.

"Alright," Kenny said. "Okay, I’m pretty sure I can’t beat you, right?"

Taylor smiled, practically frothing at the mouth. "So are capable of intelligent thought."

Kenny tilted his head. "Says the pot to the kettle."

"Huh?"

"Never mind. Point is, you can have me." He held up a finger, indicating for her to wait. "If… you can catch me."

And then he jumped out the window. He hit the ground running, even with a tailwind for good measure. It would’ve been easy, should’ve been easy, but apparently the bitch found time to call backup whilst kicking his ass. Since he was on that topic, his body was starting to ache fiercely too. Aside from his bad shoulder and bumped spine, his ribs had taken a bit of a beating and the glass window had knived him, leaving shallow bleeding cuts across his body. He tripped on an uneven paving stone and really that was the beginning of the end for him.

Or maybe it was before, when he got distracted by…

What had distracted him? He… He honestly couldn’t remember.

Just as he started to dwell on that, he had to duck below a low hanging tree branch and realised that, maybe, a police chase wasn’t the time to fight his own brain. He’d do that later, probably when he was trying to sleep.

Kenny took a sharp left, grazing his shoulder on the wall as he did so, and his eyes widened in relief when he realised he’d ran towards the forest. Yes. He could easily lose them in there. Climb a tree or something, he just had to gain some distance first. He could do that. He was fast. He got onto the track team in high school, it wasn’t his fault his foster parents wouldn’t let him stay on it.

He ran and ran until his legs burned and his heart felt like it was about to break out of his chest and his lungs were practically screaming at him. He ran, but so did the cops. Eventually Kenny skidded to a halt, kicking up dirt behind him, as the trees thinned and he entered a large clearing. Crap.

He whirled around and saw the police with weapons drawn and pointed. Taylor was nowhere to be seen, but Stan was there, right at the front. He was out of breath, but Kenny got the impression it was more from the heightened tension than the physical exertion.

"Nowhere to run!" Yates yelled.

Kenny looked around and bit his lip. Yeah. They did have him surrounded. And he couldn’t just grapple his way out of this one, what was he thinking, running into a field like that? He was off his game and he knew there was a reason, something that had thrown him off, but it was slipping his mind. That scared him more than the twenty so guns pointed at him.

Kenny grit his teeth and slowly raised his hands in the air, then locked his fingers together behind his head. He saw Stan exhaled heavily and lower his gun. Unfortunately none of his colleagues did the same.

"On your knees," Yates demanded and the sick fuck was smiling.

Kenny thought of about eighteen different gay jokes but he kept them all to himself and slowly knelt on the grass. In all honesty, he’d never felt as pathetic as he did in that moment.

"Cuff him Marsh."

Kenny’s eyes widened at the same time Stan’s did. "Me?" he asked.

Yates rolled his eyes. "Yes you! What, are you too incompetent for that?"

Stan set his jaw. "No sir."

He pulled out his cuffs and walked over to Kenny, avoiding eye contact. He had guilt written all over his face, woven into every line of his body language, and Kenny had no idea how to take that. Despite his conscience, he still cuffed Kenny, and avoided eye contact as he stepped back. Kenny, however, tilted his head back and stared him down. He didn’t say anything, didn’t have to; Stan’s eyes went wide all on their own.

"I’m sorry," Stan whispered.

"Then let me go," Kenny hissed.

Stan swallowed and looked up at his boss. "I… I can’t. It’s my job ."

Kenny faced the rest of the cops and suddenly realised Yates was still pointing the gun. They were going to shoot him like a damn firing squad.

"Congratulations Marsh," Kenny said. "You just signed my death sentence."

Stan backed up. "What do you—"

He was cut off by a bang. Stan’s eyes went wide and his hair flew about his face almost in slow motion as he whirled around to stare at the rest of the police. "What the hell did you just do?!"

Pain bloomed in Kenny’s chest and he tipped to the side, hitting the grass with a dull thud . He could feel the bullet getting lodged deeper and deeper within the meat of his heart with each contraction and blood flooded his mouth. He couldn’t will himself to spit it out, instead choking on it, causing it to trickle pathetically out of the corner of his mouth.

The last thing Kenny remembered before everything went black was Stan grasping at his corpse with genuine concern in his eyes, saying something he couldn’t hear. It looked like it might’ve been reassuring, and like there were tears in his eyes.

Maybe Kenny wasn’t the only one with a bleeding heart.

Never let it be said he didn’t have a sense of humour.

~*~

Waking up after a death always left Kenny feeling worn. It was happening less and less these days, but that just meant he was out of practice, which was maybe a contributing factor to how awful it made him feel.

This time though, he hopped straight out of bed, poured himself some coffee and grabbed an ibuprofen to go with it, and was out the door.

It was Thursday, his day off, and he had plans. He was going to report a crime.

It was raining hard during his walk to the police station, and Kenny thought it was a little bit like pathetic fallacy. He was glad he wore his parka; it made him more distinctive, but it also protected him from the elements.

"Hi," he said at the front desk. His voice sounded hoarser than expected and he cleared his throat awkwardly. Mysterion’s voice wasn’t too easy on the vocal cords, and Kenny didn’t really get much time to talk. "I um… I’d like to report a crime?"

The woman at the front desk looked up, almost bored. "What kind of crime?"

"A mugging," Kenny lied. "They took my wallet."

She sighed. "Go sit over there and I’ll send you up to an officer soon."

Kenny forced a polite smile and sat on a cheap plastic chair alongside some other poor souls. He reached into his pockets and pulled out a small device, the size of one of his fingernails, and stuck it to the underside of the chair. It was a bug, one that would stream audio directly to his computer. He doubted they’d be talking about their nefarious schemes in a part of the building open to the public, but it was good just to cover his bases.

He glanced up, intending to take a look around for another hiding space, and instead made dead eye contact with Stan.

Kenny’s breath hitched in his throat as he remembered the fear in his eyes from the night before, how he’d reached for Kenny and held his bleeding body. He wondered what happened after that, and he wondered what Stan thought did.

He narrowed his eyes at Kenny and, for a moment, an irrational part of his brain was worried he’d been figured out. But then Stan approached and fixed him with a smile, far kinder than anything he’d offer to Mysterion. "Hi. You’re Bebe’s friend from the restaurant right?"

Kenny exhaled. Of course. He was seeing far too much of this guy lately and it was making him jittery, getting his wires crossed. "Yeah. Detective Marsh?"

"That’s right. Are you… looking for an update on the case?" Stan asked.

Kenny shook his head. "No, um, I was mugged actually. And I’m waiting for an officer."

"Oh…" Stans eyes suddenly widened, like Kenny’s lie had only just hit his ears. "Oh!" He looked over his shoulder at the front desk. "Bailey I’m gonna take this guy!"

The woman just nodded and went back to typing on her computer. Kenny stood up and stuck his hands into his pockets, mostly to make sure none of his bugs fell onto the floor. That would be a bitch to try and lie away. "It won’t take too long will it?"

It was a sincere question. If he had it his way, Stan would be dedicating every waking hour of his life to trying to solve Bebe’s disappearance. He did, however, realise the irony of his made up crime being the thing to drag him away.

Stan smiled genuinely. "Yeah, don’t worry. It won’t take up too much of your time. Come on."

"What about your time, though?"

Stan blinked. "Kenny this is my job. Come on ."

Kenny was honestly surprised Stan even remembered his name, but let himself be led into the bullpen. He put a bug by the door, and briefly entertained the idea of putting one in Stan’s hair, there was a tangle at the back that would be the perfect place, but dismissed it. He wasn’t sure how he’d get close enough. He settled for putting one on the underside of the desk when he sat down.

"So we basically need to take a statement about the mugging," Stan explained. "First of all, where did it happen?"

"I was coming home from work and I cut through the alley onto the main street. The one by Raisins," he lied. He had stopped a lot of muggings in that alley though, so it was at least a believable lie. Whether that was morally better or worse was a question for another day.

"Okay great," Stan murmured. Then he winced. "Sorry I mean that you’re doing great."

Kenny forced a smile onto his face. "It’s fine."

Stan smiled weakly and typed something on his computer. "Alright. Can you describe the perpetrator?"

"Well he was taller than me but not by much, and he wore a mask, one with just the eye holes, so I didn’t really get a look at his face."

Stan frowned. "Okay. Did he have a weapon?"

"Yeah. A gun. A pistol or something, I don’t really know much about that," Kenny replied.

"And what did he take?"

"Just my wallet. I didn’t have much in there anyway." That was at least true. He didn’t usually carry a debit card or anything, the only thing in his wallet was whatever tips he’d made that day and an old photo of him with his siblings.

Stan nodded and folded his hands in front of him. "Okay so… Unfortunately in a lot of mugging cases we don’t actually find the guy, especially if the witness can’t give a description, so—"

Kenny waved a hand dismissively. "It’s fine. You said there was an update about Bebe?" If he could find out about that before he even eavesdropped through his bugs, that would be ideal.

Stan blinked and grabbed a file. "Oh um… Yes. Sort of. I can’t really share much about it with you since it is an ongoing investigation, but I can tell you that we’re making progress. And we’re not going to stop until we find her."

Kenny waited expectantly then realised that was all Stan was going to say. He couldn’t decide if that was good or not. On one hand, at least he was respecting her privacy and not blabbing about it to people who could be potential suspects. But on the other, Kenny had to wonder exactly what progress he was talking about. Because as far as he was aware, Stan had just lied about that.

"Are you two close?" Stan asked after a moment, snapping Kenny out of his thoughts.

"Oh. No not really. But she’s a nice girl and um…" And he should’ve been there, but he couldn’t tell Stan that. "Yeah. I just want to make sure the best people are on her case."

Stan nodded. "We are."

Kenny grit his teeth but forced a smile onto his face. "Um… Sorry. Do you have a bathroom I can use before I go?"

"Yeah. It’s just down the hall that way."

Kenny smiled gratefully and got up to leave. The second he was out of Stan’s sight he slapped another bug on every desk he passed and then one in the bathroom for good measure. And then he got to work.

Kenny hated vents. Like a lot. They weren’t as reliable as the movies made them out to be, something he’d learnt the hard way on multiple occasions. Once he’d gotten stuck and just had to kill himself to get out, like a rat chewing its foot off to get out of a trap. Another time the stupid thing had broken beneath his weight and he’d snapped his neck upon impact with the ground. So yeah, he didn’t like vents, but on this occasion he really needed to get into the evidence locker.

Thankfully fate decided not to use him like a chew toy that day, and the vent system was pretty straight forward. He crawled through them until he found the one overlooking the evidence locker, at which point he shimmied out and crouched on top of a shelf. It was a tight squeeze, but he was largely concealed by shadow and out of view of the security camera. He placed his bug in the corner, where it would be safely out of sight, and was crawling back to the vent when the door swung open. Kenny froze, pressing against the wall and sinking into the shadows as much as possible, as two detectives walked in.

"He just thinks he’s better than us cause he’s young to be making detective," the first one said.

"He is to be fair," the second countered.

Kenny quickly realised they were talking about Stan, and they didn’t seem fond of him either. "At his age, he should be doing scut."

"Yeah but maybe we’re just old and jealous.

"He’s too soft is all I’m saying," the first detective said. "I mean the kid nearly shit himself the first time he saw Mysterion."

"I don’t know man, we all nearly shit ourselves when we first saw him. That was back when he was all silent and creepy now he’s just…"

"Annoying, exactly."

"Still scary though."

Kenny couldn’t quite fight back a smile. He felt something that was almost like pride. But then he remembered most cops would probably be scared of their own shadow and reigned it in a little bit.

"My point is that Marsh isn’t cut out for this shit," the first detective continued. Then he laughed. "I mean I think he actually thinks he’s gonna save the world one day."

The second detective laughed too. "Shit you’re right. He’s pissing off the Cap too."

"Really?"

"Yeah. And with the way he’s floundering the Stevens case? He’ll be gone within the month."

"Aw I almost feel bad. That case is unsolveable."

"Yeah. That’s exactly why it ended up on his desk," she said. "Last one in, first one out, right?"

Kenny scowled. Unsolveable . So they weren’t even trying. Stan was at least. He probably still sucked, but he wasn’t entirely sucky compared to other cops. Kenny felt weirdly defensive about it.

He pulled himself back up into the vents, quickly and quietly, and shimmied back to the bathroom. He dropped down into a cubicle and walked out the bathroom and right into somebody’s chest.

"Woah careful I— You’re still here?"

Kenny looked up. Of fucking course he’d run into Stan. He inhaled shakily and nodded. "Yeah sorry um… I just needed a minute and—"

He promptly burst into messy fake tears. It was a trick he’d picked up when he was about seven years old and realised the fastest way to get what he wanted from an adult was to make such a display that they’d do anything to shut him up. It was also a very good way to distract people, as proven when Stan gently put his hands on his shoulders, any suspicion melting out of his face.

"Oh it’s okay, it’s okay," he soothed, voice remarkably gentle. "I know you’re worried about your friend but we’re doing our best, alright?"

Kenny sniffed dramatically and held his hands out in a helpless gesture. "But what if your best isn’t good enough?!"

Stan’s expression crumpled and he pulled Kenny into a hug. It startled him so badly he forgot he was meant to be crying for a moment, distracted by the strong thumping of Stan’s pulse beneath his head and the smell of his cologne. It was something warm and spiced, a little gingerbread-y. His hands were on Kenny’s back, one moving in gentle strokes up his spine.

It was so surprising, in fact, that Kenny almost forgot to be disgusted that a cop had got his revolting, slimy hands all over his favourite parka. Of course he couldn’t express that and blow his cover so he just curled in slightly and let Stan hold him.

And honestly… he hadn’t been hugged in a long time and maybe, even more honestly, a few of his tears were real now.

"I am doing everything I can," Stan said softly. "And I won’t leave even a pebble unturned."

Kenny inhaled deeply and closed his eyes for just a second before pulling away. He wiped his eyes on his sleeve and fixed Stan with a shaky smile. "Thank you. I have to go now, but um… Yeah."

Stan nodded, a light flush to his cheeks. He probably wasn’t meant to hug friends of victims, even if they were crying. "I’ll probably see you around. And you’ll be hearing from me soon, I promise."

Kenny smiled and turned away. Yes. He would.

~*~

Three days later and he’d officially hit a wall. His police station bugs had been wholly unsuccessful. All he’d found out was that a lot of people were hooking up in the evidence locker, which surely led to a lot of miscarriages of justice, and that Stan was largely hated by his colleagues.

Honestly… Kenny was starting to feel bad. Only because they seemed to only attack him for his more noble qualities and that just didn’t seem fair. They didn’t bring up his stubbornness or the fact he really needed a haircut, or the way that he really seemed to talk about his dog a lot . Instead they shamed him for being too soft , like softness was a bad thing. It wasn’t. It was an enviable thing; Kenny wished he’d stayed soft. He wished he hadn’t become mean and tough and lonely. Stan was soft, but he wasn’t weak.

By listening in, Kenny was slowly learning a lot about Stan. Like, for example, he was a lot more cynical than Kenny first thought. He took what Kenny thought to be a rather pessimistic view on human nature, that people suck and aren’t really capable of change. But interestingly, his belief that he was doing good seemed to be genuine. So he was a cynic, yes, but a naïve one. The guy had layers, clearly.

But other than teaching Kenny a small lesson about books and covers, his bugs hadn’t provided him with anything useful. Or they didn’t until, just as he was about to shut the whole thing down and give up, there was the muffled sound of the bug from Stan’s desk being moved. Kenny leant in and listened as the device was carried seemingly out the building; he could hear cars rushing by in the background.

"Look I know you’ve got the place bugged, I found one already," Stan said suddenly, his voice coming through loudly and startling Kenny. "On my desk? Really? You thought I wouldn’t notice that?"

Kenny grit his teeth and stood up, reaching for his cape and mask. Damn it. He’d gotten sloppy. That, or Stan was a lot smarter than he gave him credit for. Was it weird he’d have preferred the first?

He had to get there quickly and stop whatever Stan was planning on with this. He didn’t have a clue what yet but—

"I… I need your help, Mysterion," Stan admitted. His voice crackled around the room, echoing off the walls slightly. He sounded shaky, almost scared.

Kenny stopped what he was doing and sat back down apprehensively. This could still be a trap, but something about Stan’s tone and the way he said his name gave him pause. That, and he really did feel bad about how much the guy’s colleagues hated him. He never had liked bullies.

"God I hope you’re listening right now otherwise this is so embarrassing. There’s another missing girl. This one is off the books, more like a favour for a friend so I—" Stan sighed and cut himself off. He was quiet for a moment before speaking again. "I’m on my own here and as much as we don’t get along we both want the same thing. So if you can help, meet me behind the church in half an hour. And thanks, or fuck you in advance depending on if you turn up or not."

Kenny frowned and waited about fifty seconds before making up his mind and leaving. It could be a trap, in fact it probably was a trap, but he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if it wasn’t and something happened to this other girl. And her case may well be connected to Bebe’s and, as much as he hated to say it, he could use a new lead on that way.

But still, he came prepared, and by that he meant armed to the teeth. He landed on the roof of the church and crept to the back, peering down at the graveyard below.

Stan wasn’t alone, but he hadn’t brought the armada Kenny had been expecting. Instead he’d just brought a dark haired woman, about their age.

Stan looked up suddenly and made eye contact with Kenny. He was getting alarmingly good at knowing when he was watching. "Were you planning a dramatic entrance?"

Kenny grit his teeth and landed on the ground in front of them with a heavy thud. "I got your message." He tilted his head towards the woman and surveyed her carefully. "Who’s this?"

She swallowed and took a half step back, but squared her shoulders and looked him dead in the eye. "My name is Wendy."

"She’s the friend I mentioned," Stan said. "She insisted she came along, even though I told her it was dangerous."

Kenny looked at him, waiting for an explanation. Stan stared back. In the end, it was Wendy who spoke.

"Nobody’s seen my girlfriend since two days ago," she said. "Her name’s Heidi Turner, I have a photo."

She held her phone out to Kenny and he leant in to take a closer look. It was one of Heidi and Wendy together, on a beach somewhere. They looked… happy. Kenny looked up at Stan, for some reason, and saw him looking at the ground instead.

"Who was the last person to see her?" Kenny asked after a moment, looking back at Wendy.

Her slender brown eyes went cold and she shot Stan a truly tremendous glare. If looks could kill, he’d be dead three times over. "She was arrested. She’s an activist and there was a protest where they chained themselves to the railing outside the mayor’s office. She called me when she was in holding but when I went to pick her up they said they’d never taken her in."

Kenny frowned and Stan sighed. "There really is no record of her. But… Wendy’s not a liar."

Kenny got that impression already. "Did Heidi say anything suspicious when you last spoke?"

Wendy shook her head. "No. She was just normal she—" Wendy inhaled sharply and wiped at her eyes even though no tears had formed yet, like she was trying to prevent them before they came. "She just wanted to stop animal testing, that’s it."

Kenny put a hand on her shoulder. "I’ll do my best. I’ll find out what happened to her."

Wendy smiled weakly. "Thanks. I know you can’t promise that though."

"I’m not a cop. I don’t have red tape holding me back. I will do everything physically possible, and I can promise you that ."

Wendy stared at him for a moment before her smile became something more genuine. "And that’s why I wanted to talk to you," she said eventually.

She hugged him, tight, and it startled Kenny so badly he stumbled back. She pulled away quickly and stuck her hands in her jacket pockets, then looked at Stan. He cleared his throat uncomfortably and put a hand on her shoulder.

"I’ll call you when we find something, okay?" he promised.

Kenny nodded in agreement and waited for Wendy to walk away before turning on Stan. "You didn’t see Heidi at the police station?"

Stan’s eyes went wide. "No, man, of course not!" he insisted. "Why would you even think that?"

Kenny narrowed his eyes and found that he believed Stan. "It’s suspicious."

"It is," Stan admitted. "But I’ve been working on the Stevens case, I’ve either been at the scene or glued to my desk. Did you know her friend got mugged?"

"Oh fuck— I mean," Kenny cleared his throat, and thankfully Stan didn’t seem to have properly heard him. "Yes. I found his wallet, don’t worry about that."

"You did? How?"

"They took the cash and dumped it. He was more concerned about a photo he had inside apparently."

Stan hummed and put his hands on his hips. "Look, level with me here. What do you think we’re looking at with these missing girls?"

"It could be a string of hate crimes," Kenny said grimly. "Femicide or sexuality based."

"I don’t think that’s likely, is it?" Stan asked but he didn’t sound convinced.

Kenny looked at him. "It’s the only thing we have connecting the two of them. Well. There’s one other thing."

Kenny reached out and tapped Stan’s badge. He looked down and grimaced. "Yeah. Okay."

"And now you see why you did a good thing by bringing this to me."

"It was Wendy’s idea, actually, like she said. I just didn’t want her to get killed chasing you herself."

"That makes sense. She seems… intelligent. And dedicated," Kenny commented.

Stan’s eyes flashed with something weird. "Yeah. She is."

Kenny swallowed and tilted his head to the side. "Just a friend?"

"I really don’t want to get into this with you ," Stan spat. "What’s the plan?"

"I’m going to do my research and talk to a few people," Kenny said. "People you’d have to arrest on sight."

Stan nodded but he looked a little uncomfortable with the whole thing. "Okay. And what should I do?"

Kenny stared at him and realised, with something akin to horror, he was absolutely serious. "You stay out of this," Kenny instructed.

"Fuck that, dude!" Stan yelled, taking Kenny by surprise. "I owe Wendy and I’m not gonna let her down!"

Definitely not just a friend then. "You probably won’t be able to handle it," Kenny dismissed.

Stan bared his teeth. "You don’t get to tell me what I can handle! I grew up here! I’ve seen some shit in this town, okay, and I want to protect it. You might know all about violence and blood and guts but I know South Park and I can help. And this isn’t me asking you to let me, by the way. I’m telling you that we can either work together or separately, but I’m not letting it go."

Kenny blinked and he raked his eyes up Stan’s body. "Okay," he said eventually. "But if I tell you to do something, you do it. You should be good at following orders."

"If I was I would’ve arrested you the night we first met," Stan said plainly.

Kenny smirked. "You might’ve shot me but trust me, Marsh, you wouldn’t have arrested me."

"You were cornered, I had you."

"I’m never really cornered."

Stan scoffed. "Whatever. What do you want me to do?"

"Go to work and dig up anything you can find about Heidi. I mean anything. And if you see something out of place make a note of that too," Kenny instructed.

"So you’re assigning me to files."

"Pretty much. You know how to contact me."

Stan nodded. "What if you need to contact me?"

Kenny sincerely hoped he never needed to talk to him. "I have my ways. You’ll know."

Stan grimaced slightly but nodded again. "Okay. And… I know you don’t like me but thank you. For trusting me."

"Oh I don’t trust you," Kenny corrected. "But I believe in the philosophy of keeping your enemies close, and I don’t want to see another person hurt. You’re still on my list."

Stan grit his teeth. "Well maybe I don’t like you much either."

Kenny looked at him and hoped his exasperation was visible through the mask. "Wow. I will be losing sleep over this, trust me."

"I prefer you when you’re quiet and creepy. Now you’re just an asshole."

"At least I’m not a fascist pig. Read 1984. Or at least the Spark Notes, I’m not sure if you’re even literate."

"Jesus Christ," Stan muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. He did that a lot. It was… almost endearing. Almost. "Whatever. I’ll be in touch."

Kenny fired his grapple. "I’ll be waiting by the phone."

"You mean covert listening device."

"Don’t try to make jokes with me. I don’t find you funny."

"Yeah well you’re…"

Kenny was gone before Stan could come up with an insult. He headed straight back to his safe house, sat himself down at his computer, and looked up Heidi Turner. There wasn’t much he hadn’t already been told. She was a vegan, she and Wendy had a grey cat called Spider, and she liked to review books for all three hundred of her Instagram followers. She seemed very wholesome but not in the manufactured way a lot of people curated purely for their internet persona. She seemed genuine. Maybe his opinion of her was being influenced by a surprisingly good first impression from Wendy.

Kenny perked up suddenly. Bebe didn’t have any family, and Kenny was having a hard time finding any of her friends, but with Heidi… He had a cohabitating partner handed to him on a plate.

And so Kenny found himself sitting on Wendy and Heidi’s fire escape. He rapped on the window and Wendy was there like a bullet. She didn’t even flinch when she pulled the curtain back to find a masked man sitting outside her window, her immediate reaction being to open it and stick her head out. She was brave. Or very stupid.

"Have you found something already?" Wendy asked, dangerously hopeful.

Kenny shook his head. "It’s been three hours."

She bit her lip and inhaled deeply. "Sorry. What do you want?"

"Can I come in?"

Wendy nodded and stepped back, allowing Kenny to slide in through the window. Her apartment was extremely cozy, with mismatched furniture and lots of plants and books. He looked around absently until he felt something warm at his feet. He looked down to see Spider the cat winding herself around his ankles. Kenny stared at her and looked to Wendy.

"She’s friendly," she said. "If you’re… a cat person."

"I’m cat neutral," Kenny said. Still, he knelt down and rubbed his knuckles between Spider’s ears. She purred and pushed into the contact. Kenny’s breath hitched. He wasn’t sure why, but suddenly he understood why people had cats.

He straightened up after a moment cleared his throat as he faced Wendy. "I need to ask you some questions."

Wendy nodded. "Okay. Do you want some tea or—" She frowned. "I’m guessing you won’t take the mask off for a drink, right?"

Kenny shook his head. "It’s okay. Thank you for the offer."

"Never let it be said I’m not a good host," Wendy said lightly with a wry sort of smile. She sat down on the sofa and gestured for Kenny to do the same. He did, choosing a seat in the opposite armchair, and Spider leapt into his lap. He must’ve tensed noticeably because Wendy gestured to the cat. "I can move her if you’re uncomfortable."

"No! No, it’s um…" He cleared his throat. "It’s fine. I was wondering if Heidi had ever been arrested before. Or even just any trouble with the cops even if it didn’t get that far."

Wendy nodded. "Uh… Yeah. Once. She was with Stan actually, they were sixteen and it was about whaling. That’s how we met actually, I went to bail Stan out."

Kenny frowned to himself. "Is there anything else that ties her to the cops somehow? Any friends in the force?"

"Other than Stan? No. And we fell out of touch with him a little after high school anyway when he moved away for the police academy."

"Just… out of curiosity," Kenny said. "Did you approve of that?"

Wendy barked a laugh. "God no. Everything you’re thinking aside, I just had all these visions of him getting shot in the line of duty or something. But I couldn’t do anything about it. I was the girl who broke his heart, and he didn’t listen to a word I said."

Kenny’s eyes widened slightly. So they were exes. That explained a lot. And his suspicion about Wendy having her head screwed on straight was confirmed.

Kenny lifted Spider out of his lap and rose to his feet. "Thank you, Wendy. And here," he reached into his pocket and pulled out a bug, "take this. If you talk into it, I’ll hear."

Wendy accepted it and examined it closely. "Did you make this?"

"Yes."

"That checks out. It’s pretty crap."

Kenny blinked. "Excuse me?"

"I mean it serves its purpose, I’m sure, but…" She sighed and gestured for her to follow him. "I have some stuff that might help you."

Kenny frowned and followed Wendy into an office. He hovered in the doorway and watched as she sat down at the computer, then reached under the desk and grabbed a box.

"Okay so I started fiddling about with computers and stuff when I was a kid," she explained. "And then I started building my own."

Kenny raised his eyebrows and stepped closer, just as Wendy pulled out what looked like an earpiece. "Is that..?"

"A communication link. If you use this you don’t just have to listen like a creep. I can give Stan one too if you want."

Kenny huffed but let Wendy place the device into his palm. He pocketed it as she reached for something else. "What else have you got?"

"This." She grinned, clearly proud of herself. "It’s… not technically legal."

"You know what Wendy," Kenny said with a growing smile, "I think you were probably always too good for Stan."

She beamed. "He’s not that bad," she dismissed. "Plug that into your computer and you’ll have access to a whole bunch of private data that could help you. I’m guessing you’re pretty limited right now."

"Mostly social media stalking. I got some hospital and arrest records recently but it took… a while. Computers aren’t really my forte," he admitted.

Wendy laughed. "Maybe you need a tech girl."

"Maybe I do. But it’s a dangerous job, so I’m not really looking just yet," Kenny said gently.

Wendy nodded. "I get it. But um… just take all of it. If it can help you find Heidi I want you to have it."

"Thank you. This’ll be a lot of help," Kenny promised. He turned to leave, but paused in the doorway and looked over his shoulder at Wendy. "Don’t do anything stupid, okay?"

Wendy stared at him. "What makes you think I—"

"I think we’re similar people. I think you would do anything for the people you love. But… I’m asking you to stay as far out of this as you can. I don’t want anything else on my conscience."

Wendy held his gaze for a moment, then nodded. "I’ll keep my head down. But Mysterion?"

"Yes?"

"Please look after Stan. Because he’s… He’s in now. And I know him and I know he’s not going to stop because he is a good person."

Kenny’s stomach churned and he nodded curtly. "No more people get hurt," he swore.

~*~

A couple days later, Kenny arrived home at six in the morning and was ready to drop onto his mattress and sleep for a week, when his earpiece crackled to life. He’d only put it in for Wendy, to save him visiting her apartment every time he had a question for her (most of his questions were embarrassingly about how to work the tech she gave him, not Heidi), but it was not her voice in his ear this time.

"You spoke to Wendy," Stan said, as clear as if her were in the room.

Kenny grit his teeth. "Apparently so did you. Have you found something for me?"

"No. Just checking in."

"I told you to contact me if you’d found something. I don’t have time to chit chat with you."

"Hey man, you’re the one who put the earpiece in," Stan pointed out.

Kenny… didn’t really have an argument for that.

And that was equivocal to him opening Pandora’s box. For some reason, Stan had taken the communication devices as an olive branch, even though Kenny hadn’t even extended it himself let alone given any indication that it was that. He was talking in Kenny’s ear constantly. Very rarely was it actually relevant to their work either. Mostly it was just idle chatter.

Kenny got the sense he was lonely and needed someone other than his dog to talk to. Mostly his chatter would start up around lunch time, when Kenny was at work. That checked out, since he was evidently not popular amongst his coworkers.

The thing was that… Kenny really couldn’t understand why. Because he was actually starting to enjoy listening to Stan talk. He didn’t reply, except for to the few mentions of something case related, but it had become a weirdly comforting presence in his life.

His jokes were funny, albeit in a dry way, he was cattier than Kenny expected, and very very bright. He did the crossword everyday and rarely did it take him longer than twenty five minutes. He talked to himself whilst he did it, his words warped ever so slightly by him chewing on his pencil.

Maybe though, he wasn’t all that. Maybe Kenny was just lonely too. Or maybe it was both. Either way, he was starting to grow fond of Stan Marsh.

And that was scary. Because now he was starting to have something to lose.

~*~

It was two days before Stan gave Kenny something substantial.

"I think somethings just clicked," he said.

Kenny promptly let go of the pull up bar he had in the doorway and gave Stan his full attention. "It better not be something stupid cause I’ve stopped my work out for you." He would’ve done it anyway. It was boring, he just didn’t have anything better to do.

"Okay one you literally did not have to do that when you spend half the time ignoring me," Stan said, reading him like a book. "Hi, by the way."

"Hello."

"Two… Are you at the gym ?"

"No. I was doing pull ups. In my home. Where it’s safe."

Stan huffed. "Right. Anyway I’m on files today anyway so I had a look at the day of Heidi’s protest and noticed something weird. There were no arrests made for anything relating to that. At all. But we saw arrests being made on the news."

Kenny frowned. "So it’s not just Heidi who’s gone missing without a trace."

"No. It’s not. I’m gonna be in here for the rest of my shift so I’ll see if I dig up anything else."

"Shouldn’t you be working on the Stevens case?"

"I don’t know. I think they’re about ready to call it cold, I’ve been benched to the filing room for the next two weeks."

Kenny tensed. "They what?"

"Yeah I mean they haven’t said it but… I wasn’t doing a great job with it," Stan admitted.

"So they’re giving up?" Kenny asked.

"Hey. We’re not though, right?"

Kenny swallowed. "No. We’re not. Good work."

Stan was quiet for a moment after that. "So are you going out tonight?" he said eventually.

"Probably not." His shoulder had been really bothering him all day, and he couldn’t think of anything productive that he couldn’t do at his computer. "Why?"

"I don’t know. Maybe I was gonna keep my eye out for you," Stan said. "I haven’t seen you in a while."

"It almost sounds like you miss me."

"Nah. There’s just… Okay don’t let this go to your head, but there’s something cool about seeing your town’s resident superhero swinging through the sky."

Kenny smiled in surprise. "Definitely not going to my head."

"Mhm. It’s already pretty big."

Kenny sighed and rolled his eyes. "Do your job, Peppa."

"Huh?"

"Pig."

"Alright alright. Good talk."

Kenny didn’t respond to that. But it was.

~*~

Slow nights were Kenny’s personal favourite. He didn’t really enjoy fighting crime, as thrilling as it was, and in some ways the small things were more rewarding. Like getting cats out of trees.

This particular cat had a pink scarf around his neck, meaning he belonged to a man that the townspeople affectionately called Big Gay Al. At first Kenny wasn’t sure what that meant; but then he met Al. He was a nice enough guy, always tried to invite Kenny in for tea or ‘something stronger’ and he was very bad at keeping his cats out of trouble.

"Anyone want dinner?"

Wendy’s voice came through so suddenly that Kenny nearly fell out of the tree. He tipped to the side and was left hanging like a sloth, with all four of his limbs wrapped around the branch and his cape dangling below him.

"I could eat. Depends what though," Stan replied. He was extremely picky.

Kenny wasn’t sure why he knew that.

"I’ve got deals at this Pad Thai place by my work," Wendy said. "Gotta use them up."

"Then sure," Stan said as Kenny got himself up right again. "What about you Mysterion?"

Kenny sighed and inched back towards the cat. "I’m busy right now."

"Will you be busy in an hour?"

"I don’t know. I don’t exactly have a set shift, that’s kind of the nature of the business."

"Well if you don’t eat it, it’ll just go to waste," Wendy said.

Damn it. Kenny’s weakness. "Fine. I’ll try to make time but—"

And then the cat scratched him right across the face. In doing so, he lost his balance, and Kenny lunged to tuck him against his chest. The two of them tumbled to the ground, tearing Kenny’s elbows and knees up. Then, as thanks, the cat scratched Kenny again.

"Are you okay?" Stan asked.

Kenny sighed. "I’ll see you soon."

He returned the cat to Al, turning down his offer for a hot drink and first aid, before dragging his sorry ass to Wendy’s. He knocked three times on her window, in a way that had become a sort of code to let her know it was him. She opened the window and her lips became a thin line.

"First aid kit is in the kitchen," she sighed.

Kenny frowned and climbed in. "I’m fine."

"You look like you lost a fight with a rose bush or something," Wendy said.

"I’ve had worse."

She looked at him. "That’s not the point."

Kenny rolled his eyes and she somehow sensed it, even through the mask, and shot him an intimidating look; she was very good at those. Kenny folded his arms defensively and stared her down.

"Stan!" Wendy called out after a moment. "Deal with the hero!"

Stan appeared around the kitchen doorway and cracked a small smile. "Aw. Do you need a bandaid?"

"Yes he does," Wendy said on her way past him. "I’m gonna get this all on plates. Mysterion sit."

And for some reason Kenny did. Something about Wendy oozed confidence and authority, not to mention her obvious intelligence. Everything about her gave off the impression that trying to argue with her was fruitless; like talking to a brick wall.

Stan sat down opposite him a moment later and pulled an alcohol wipe out of the small first aid kit.  "So who did this?" he asked. "More giant crabs?"

"Crab People," Kenny corrected. "And no."

Stan raised an eyebrow. "What then?"

"Cat," Kenny said plainly.

Stan snickered and pressed the alcohol wipe to Kenny’s knee. "And that’s why I’m more of a dog person."

"Hey!" Wendy called.

Stan laughed again and Kenny felt a weight he hadn’t even realised he was carrying lift. Stan gently wiped the dirt out of his knee and pulled a bandaid out of the box. Kenny watched as he placed it over the cut on his knee, smoothing it with his tongue held between his teeth in a display of concentration. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had taken such care with him.

"There," Stan said, wiping his hands on his jeans. "All better."

Kenny blinked rapidly, tearing his gaze away from Stan’s hands. "Thanks," he said after a moment.

"It’s a bandaid, man."

Kenny shook his head slightly and stood up. "Sorry, I was raised with manners."

Stan rolled his eyes and the moment, if it could even be called that, was long gone now. "Yeah alright, bet you’re a real mommy’s boy."

Kenny tensed ever so slightly and turned towards the kitchen. "Uh huh."

Stan followed him. "Or not."

Kenny sighed. "You don’t get into my business without some issues," he said plainly.

Stan didn’t seem satisfied with that answer but he accepted it.

~*~

The other benefit of the earpiece was that Kenny could immediately tell when his new… he was reluctant to call them friends, so he went with associates , were in immediate danger. So far that thankfully hadn’t happened yet. There’d been one false alarm. Wendy had screamed and there was a loud crash, and Kenny had practically broken her door down within five minutes. Turned out her cat had just knocked over Heidi’s favourite plant pot, and the ceramic had unfortunately shattered. As nice a pot as it was, Kenny was quite glad that it was the only casualty.

That being said, he and Stan hadn’t found much more about the location of their girls. Yates officially called Bebe’s case cold, and Heidi’s had never been open in the beginning, so any hope however small Kenny had of the police doing their job had been officially smothered. He was starting to get antsy. He didn’t do well sitting idle, he never had. He was like a shark; he had to move to survive.

Besides, Kenny just couldn’t shake this niggling feeling in the pit of his belly that something was wrong, and that he needed to be at the police station.

So he went there, and dangled off the roof, peeking through the window. It seemed like they were having some sort of meeting. Actually scratch that; it seemed like Stan was being told off for something.

"We’ve got to do something about Mysterion," Yates said firmly. "What part of that don’t you understand?"

"I understand, Sir, I just disagree. Respectfully."

Kenny inhaled sharply. Damn.

Yates’ face turned an ugly colour. "Go on then, Marsh. Enlighten me."

"I think… I think we should work with him," Stan admitted.

"You think we should work with criminals? You don’t see a problem with that?"

"No!" Stan said, slamming his hand down on the table so hard even Kenny flinched. "I’m just saying he has his uses. He has good intentions and he can go places we can’t!"

"And that’s a problem, Marsh!" Yates yelled, and Kenny wondered which part he meant. "He’s operating outside the law, and it’s our job to uphold it!"

Stan narrowed his eyes in a way Kenny had learnt meant he was about to be a stubborn asshole about something. "Right. Because you do such a good job."

"I’d be careful what you say next, rookie."

It was as clear a threat as anything but, of course, Stan never knew when to quit. "Crime is down 20% since he showed up. And when you assign me to cataloguing the evidence locker so often as a punishment, it just means I notice things, Captain. Like, and this is just off the top of my head, all the cocaine that’s gone missing."

Kenny saw what was going to happen before it did. God fucking damn it Stan.

The second Yates reached for his gun, Kenny went flying through the window and grabbed him. They rolled across the floor until Kenny fired his grapple at the ceiling and used the momentum to kick him into the filing cabinet. Two more detectives ran at him, one on each side. He grabbed the one on the left and slammed his head against the other’s, hard enough to hear a crack, then pulled himself out of the way.

"Mysterion?!" Stan yelled.

Kenny whirled around to face him. "Don’t just stand there dumbass! Do something!"

Stan suddenly seemed to remember he’d been given a gun and slammed it against a cop’s head. They must’ve called for backup because it seemed like the whole precinct was in there.

Yeah. Kenny knew when to leave a party; when the cops showed up.

With one hand, he grabbed Stan by the collar of his jacket, and with the other he pulled a smoke bomb out of his belt. "Close your eyes," he advised.

Stan frowned. "Wha—"

Kenny hurled the bomb as hard as he could and it exploded into a thick, acrid cloud of smoke. There was the loud bang of a gunshot that seemed to miss its target, and Kenny fired his grapple out the window, pulling Stan out with him.

As soon as Stan realised what was happening, he wrapped all his limbs around Kenny’s body and buried his head against his shoulder. "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God," he whispered over and over, digging his nails into Kenny’s shoulder blades.

"Just hang on and don’t look down," he advised. They hit a rooftop and Kenny ran across it, Stan still curled up in his arms, before they were in the air again. "A little further and we’ll be okay."

He honestly wasn’t sure about that, but he’d learnt quickly that scared people benefitted from reassuring words way more than he ever expected.

"I’m gonna be sick!" Stan warned.

"Do not !" Kenny shot back in return.

Thankfully Stan managed to keep all of his insides in until they arrived at the ruins of Sodosopa. Kenny put Stan down, but he stumbled unexpectedly, shockingly pale. At first Kenny thought it was just motion sickness, but then he looked down and saw both his uniform and Stan’s shirt were both covered in blood.

Stan came to the same realisation at the same time, and touched his stomach numbly. "Oh," he said.

And then promptly passed out into Kenny’s arms.

For fucks sake.

He was still breathing, so that was something. Kenny lifted him up again, finding it more difficult now they were on solid ground and he was mostly dead weight, and carried him into his safe house. He felt bad about bringing Stan somewhere so dingy, and even more so when he placed him on the couch and a cloud of dust flew in the air from the impact. Maybe it was a sign he needed to relax more or something.

Kenny quickly gathered the supplies he’d need, luckily he’d had the bright idea of raiding the free clinic just a week earlier. He’d felt bad about it at the time but it sure was coming in handy now.

He peeled Stan’s jacket off, then his shirt, and finally saw the wound. He frowned and poured alcohol onto a cotton pad, then wiped the wound clean. "Oh for the love of…"

It was a graze. A bullet wound, yes, and one that was bleeding, but not a penetrating one. Kenny was relieved to be honest. He wasn’t really close enough with Stan to go fishing around his abdomen for a bullet. He applied pressure to the wound with one hand and grabbed a small bottle of smelling salts with another, that he waved under Stan’s nose.

He shot up with a sharp inhale. "What— Ah!" He hissed in pain and swallowed at the sight of blood, but didn’t pass out again at least. "Fuck."

"It’s okay," Kenny soothed. "You weren’t technically shot."

Stan exhaled shakily and leant back. "As long as I wasn’t technically shot that’s okay then," he mumbled and Kenny rolled his eyes. "Where am I?"

"Casa Mysterion," Kenny said. "You’ll need some stitches."

"Can you do that?" Stan asked.

Kenny looked at him flatly. "What kind of question is that? Of course I can."

"Sorry." Stan glanced around. "You really live like this?"

"What’s wrong with it?" Kenny asked, preparing the stitches. "I don’t have a painkiller by the way. Sorry."

Stan paled slightly and swallowed, but didn’t say anything to that. "It’s very dark."

Kenny huffed a laugh, amused by the fact that was what Stan found to be wrong with his safe house. He was probably trying to be nice about it.

"And it’s not very high tech? I expected you to have a… I don’t know, a Batcave," Stan continued, the second the needle pierced his skin, and Kenny realised that he was talking himself through the pain.

"That’s downstairs. I don’t show that to people until at least date number three."

He didn’t realise what he’d said until Stan laughed, a disbelieving edge to it. "Did you just make a joke?"

"I did. I do that sometimes." Not often, but it happened.

"Shocking."

Stan bit down on his bottom lip as Kenny pulled a little too hard on the thread. He was a little out of practice, preferring just to avoid the scar and bleed out and die these days. Even then, he didn’t have much experience on anyone other than himself, and he knew he had a slightly higher threshold for punishment than the average person.

"You have a dog," Kenny said after a moment, deciding that it was worth trying to keep him distracted. People usually loved talking about their pets.

As predicted, Stan was no different. "Yeah. How do you— You know what, of course you know that. Her name’s Clover, if you hadn’t already found that out yourself."

"What kind of dog is she?"

"Some kind of dalmatian mix."

"Not a German shepherd or something? Aren’t dalmatians for firefighters?"

"Funny. No, they never gave me a dog. I wanted to train K9s actually but… I changed my mind."

Kenny finished the stitches and prepared another alcohol soaked cotton pad to clean it. "Why?"

Stan went quiet. "I don’t want to talk about it," he said after a moment. "How did you know I was gonna be in trouble tonight?"

"I don’t know, I had a feeling. And you went quiet," Kenny said. "I don’t know if you’ve noticed but you talk a lot."

Stan swallowed. "You’ve been listening to the precinct. And you were waiting outside tonight. Coincidentally?"

"I didn’t know they were gonna jump you," Kenny promised.

Stan seemed to take his word for it and fell silent. Kenny swallowed. He should’ve known. Of course Stan would’ve defended him; he was an idiot, but one with his heart in the right place, as Kenny had slowly come to realise. It really shouldn’t have been a surprise.

"I didn’t know you felt so strongly about me," Kenny said eventually, because he honestly didn’t.

Stan looked up. His jaw was tight and there was something weird going on in his eyes. "Do you think I’m a good person?" he asked, instead of responding to Kenny’s words.

Kenny blinked but ran with it. "Do you really think I am?"

Stan pursed his lips and shifted, still cradling his ribs. "I think you’re who I wanted to be when I grew up. You help people. You don’t care about staying inside the lines when there’s lives at risk. Maybe you’re not good, I don’t know you well enough to argue either way, but… you do good. And that’s all I’ve ever tried to do but now…" He grimaced and ran a hand over his face. "I’ve gotten lost."

Kenny sighed and shut the first aid kit with a snap. Then he leant back against the couch and tipped his head back so he could look at Stan. "I think the fact that you think that means you are a good person. And I also think that the right path isn’t always clear."

"I should’ve trained the damn dogs."

"And then you probably wouldn’t have known what was going on and aided it for the rest of your life," Kenny pointed out. "See? Not always clear."

Stan smiled slightly. "Thank you. For saving my ass and for stitching me up."

Kenny waved a hand dismissively and stood up. "It’s fine. Do you… Do you want something to eat?" He didn’t have much in the kitchen, but Stan should probably have something after his blood loss.

Stan sat up. "No I’m okay. I um… I kind of haven’t processed anything about the last day yet, so I think I’m just gonna sleep it off. If that’s okay?"

"Obviously it is. You can stay there or take my mattress."

"You mean your bed?"

"No."

Stan smiled politely. "I’ll just stay here thanks."

Kenny nodded curtly. "Okay. Well… Goodnight. The bathroom is there," he pointed. "And if you do get hungry help yourself. I’m going to sleep now."

He did but he couldn’t sleep. He kept thinking about Stan on his couch. An indeterminate number of hours later, Kenny sighed and reached for his mask. He pulled it on with his hoodie and sweatpants, then walked into the living room.

Stan was asleep, and snoring. He looked peaceful enough but Kenny just… had a bad feeling. Like maybe his stitches would come undone, or he’d get an infection, or maybe he’d just die in his sleep. That happened all the time.

Kenny swallowed and sat down in the armchair. He’d just have to make sure it didn’t.

He wasn’t sure he slept that night, just that an indeterminate amount of time passed and sunlight filtered through the windows to the best of its ability, and then Stan woke up. He groaned softly and stirred, his lashes fluttering before his eyes opened completely. He looked bewildered for a moment when he saw Kenny, but the tension leaked out of his body as he seemed to remember the night before.

"You nearly gave me a heart attack," he mumbled.

Kenny raised his eyebrows and didn’t say anything, just sagged back in his chair. His body felt stiff, like he’d been on high alert all night. Stan, at least, looked well rested.

"Do you feel better?" he asked.

Stan hummed, still visibly tired, and touched his side. "I feel… rested. That’s something." Then he frowned. "Were you watching me sleep?"

"I was making sure you were still breathing."

"Were you worried about me?" Stan asked.

Kenny looked away. "What makes you say that?"

~*~

They put Stan on the wanted list that morning. His face was on every news channel Kenny checked, all telling the tale of the traitor detective who aided and abetted the unruly vigilante. Stan watched it all with a stony expression, and Kenny watched him.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

Stan looked at him. "Yeah."

"No regrets?"

"A couple. It’s done now."

Kenny watched him carefully then gestured towards the door. "I’m going to handle some things."

"What things?" Stan asked, not taking his eyes off of the TV.

"Confidential. You can watch all the channels you know, not just the news."

"Your generosity astounds me."

Kenny grit his teeth. "Yeah more than you know," he muttered under his breath.

The first place he went was Sharon Kern’s house. She reverted to her maiden name after the divorce and kept Stan’s childhood home. And, by the look of it, his room hadn’t been changed since he left. The walls were adorned with posters for goth and metal bands, and he had a Colorado Avalanche blanket still on his bed. It almost felt private, like Kenny wasn’t meant to be there.

Well. Strictly speaking, he wasn’t. He was actually dangling outside the window. He shook his head and refocused on the task at hand; bugging the place. He left bugs in each room, hidden behind furniture or on the ceiling fan, places where they would hopefully go unnoticed. That way if they went after his family, Kenny would be the first to know about it.

He repeated the same process at the farm Stan’s father owned, which was a little bit more tricky since he hadn’t expected to have to factor in the barns, and honestly wasn’t sure if he should bother with the fields (he did just to be safe). He figured his sister was probably safe since she lived down in Nevada now, which left only one last location to hit.

Stan’s apartment.

He slid in through the window remarkably easy, and reminded himself to have a word with Stan about home security, then looked around the surprisingly empty space. It looked lived in of course, but Stan clearly hadn’t put much effort into it. It was almost sad. Kenny tried not to think too hard about it. Maybe Stan spent more time at with his parents since they lived so close, it’s not liked Kenny would know if that was normal or not. Instead he found himself forcing himself to focus on what he was doing, for the second time that day. Stan was proving to be very distracting.

Kenny hummed and looked around. If he was a dog, where would he be?

He didn’t have to wonder for long, before he was nearly knocked off of his feet by a blur of black and white and fur. When he looked up, Stan’s dog was hovering over him, licking his head.

"Hey!" Kenny snapped, pushing her off of him. "Down girl."

She retreated slightly, sitting down on his legs as he pushed himself up. Clover was cuter in person, but very slobbery. Kenny sighed and scratched her head, finding her fur to be very soft, like Stan regularly brushed it.

"I’m gonna take you to Stan now," he said. He wasn’t sure why he was talking to the dog to be honest, but Clover seemed to perk up at Stan’s name. "Yes, your owner. Yes."

Kenny was well aware that Mysterion walking a random dog through the streets of South Park was a weird visual. He knew that. But after the first five minutes the staring got old. It didn’t help that Clover liked to stop to sniff everything. Literally everything. Traffic cones, another dog (whose owner looked mildly terrified to have run into Mysterion), the curb of the damn sidewalk. It took around five times longer to get back to the safe house with the dog than it would’ve without. Kenny actually did the math in his head, during his unnecessarily long walk.

But eventually he made it, and the second he opened the door Clover rocketed inside, like she knew Stan was waiting. Kenny sighed and shut the door behind him just as he heard Stan cry out in surprise. He found him in the kitchen, on his knees with Clover wriggling in his arms.

"Hi baby," Stan crooned. "Hello, yes, hi! Oh daddy’s so glad to see you! How did you get here?"

"She’s a very smart girl," Kenny said dryly. Then he wrinkled his nose as the rest of Stan’s words hit his ear. "And don’t call yourself daddy in reference to your dog."

Stan ignored his words, and instead looked up as somehow his smile grew wider. "You got my dog for me?"

Kenny shrugged and pointed at Stan’s newly blonde head. "It’s not a big deal."

"It is. Thank you."

Kenny hummed and leant against his counter. "I’m going downstairs for a bit."

Stan looked up. "You mean to the Batcave?"

Kenny nodded and turned to leave, but something made him pause. "Maybe… you should come too.

Stan tilted his head to the side and got to his feet. "What happened to your three date rule?" he asked, a small smile on his face.

Kenny was glad that the mask concealed a smile of his own. He waved a hand dismissively. "If you don’t wanna see it…"

"No I do, I do!"

He practically skipped after Kenny, his dog trotting behind him. Kenny glanced at him. "Close your eyes."

Stan frowned. "Why?"

"Because I’ve got a code for the door and I don’t want you knowing it."

Stan’s excited smile slipped. "Oh. Fine." He closed his eyes and Kenny watched him for a moment before opening the door and guiding Stan inside.

His basement wasn’t as impressive as the Batcave Stan made it out to be, but Kenny thought it was pretty okay. He had a huge computer set up, all of which was stolen from the local tech store and bathed the room in a blue light, and a case with all of his gear hung up on the wall.

Maybe it wasn’t impressive, but Stan still looked like a kid in a candy shop.

"Are those ninja stars?" he asked, moving towards the weaponry like it had a gravitational pull. "And nunchucks?"

"Yep. I don’t use them too much."

"Yeah you use the stick."

"Retractable bo staff," Kenny corrected. "But yeah."

Stan smiled. "What else have you got?"

"Well… I’m working on something. Over there." Kenny jerked a thumb over his shoulder to a half built motorbike. "I figured I can’t keep running and swinging everywhere."

Stan’s smile widened. "Yeah the swinging is… dizzying."

"No it’s not that. I’m slowly fucking up my shoulder so… motorbike."

"Mysterybike?" Stan suggested.

Kenny had been thinking it; he just hadn’t said it out loud. "Yeah. Mysterybike."

Stan approached the bike but hesitated before touching it. Kenny nodded, allowing him permission. "It’s a pretty sweet ride," Stan commented appreciatively.

Kenny shrugged and sat down at his computer. It was pretty sweet. "Do you know much about engines?"

"I know enough."

"Good." Kenny swivelled in his chair to better face Stan. He tilted his head to the side and folded his hands in his lap. "She’s yours," he decided.

Stan looked up. "Sorry?"

"Do whatever you want with the bike. I don’t have much time for it anymore."

"Really?"

"It’s like you said. My generosity is astounding."

Stan smiled and made a movement that made Kenny think maybe he was going to hug him. He seemed to think better of it. "Thank you."

Kenny nodded and frowned slightly at the weird, tight feeling in his chest. "Not a problem."

~*~

"Mysterion is a very lengthy name," Stan said. "Doesn’t really roll off the tongue."

Kenny didn’t look up from his computer, where he was running facial recognition on all missing people from the last couple of weeks. It was Wendy’s programme, and would lead him directly to any publicly available information about them so he could search for connections. That girl and her tech were angels; Kenny already couldn’t imagine doing that manually like he used to.

"I’m gonna call you Mysty," Stan continued.

Kenny inhaled deeply and spun around in his chair to see Stan playing tug of war with Clover (and losing). "Are you now?"

"Yeah."

"You know I’m starting to realise I can’t stop you doing odd shit so just… whatever."

Kenny turned around and leant back in his chair. He felt a weird feeling in his chest that he slowly realised was affection. He hadn’t been given a nickname in a long time. It was… almost nice.

Even if it was a stupid nickname.

~*~

Unfortunately the world didn’t stop turning and always needed saving, so Kenny found himself trying to discreetly disarm a bomb stuck to the back of the elementary school when he was meant to be lying low.

"What kind of sick fuck tries to blow up a school?" Stan asked with a scoff. He’d insisted on tagging along and Kenny hadn’t had it in him to argue. Stan was really wearing him down.

"I don’t know. I try not to think about it," Kenny admitted.

"Really?"

"Some people are just bad. There isn’t always a grand explanation."

Stan chewed his bottom lip, looking unsatisfied by that answer. "That sucks. I mean you’re right, but I was hoping you’d say something optimistic."

Kenny smiled to himself. "I think a vast majority, 99% or so, of people are good. Or they try to be, but things get in the way."

"What things?"

"Capitalism, abuse, it doesn’t really matter. My point is, I think there’s only about 1% who are truly evil."

"Which category do I fall in?" Stan asked.

"Jury’s still out."

He huffed. "Right back at you."

"I guess that’s an upgrade from when you hated me," Kenny mused. He pulled a knife out of his pocket and stuck it to the padlock keeping the bomb intact. It was a pretty shitty explosive; rookie work.

"I never hated you," Stan said quietly.

"Marsh—"

"Seriously. It was just my job," Stan insisted. "I mean to be honest I only took the Sourh Park gig cause I kinda thought we’d work with you."

Kenny looked up for a moment to see Stan was totally sincere, then looked away again. "That was naive."

"Maybe. But I always thought you were just… the coolest thing. Like my crazy little town I grew up in had its own superhero watching over us. Sort of like…"

He trailed off and Kenny glanced up at him. "A guardian angel."

Stan smiled slightly and folded his arms. "I didn’t realise you were a religious man."

"I’m not. I don’t know. I was raised agnostic, which is all well and good but it was enforced by nut jobs and created uncertainty for a lot of kids who needed something stable."

Stan nodded. "I grew up Catholic. I don’t know how much I believe in God anymore though. I don’t know if I ever did really, I think I was just going through the motions cause that’s what we did."

Kenny sighed. "Well I think everyone needs to believe in something ."

"Even if it’s just you, right?"

"Even if it’s just me." Kenny leant back as the lock gave way and looked at Stan. "Especially if it’s just me. I think that means they probably have nothing else."

Stan smiled slightly and folded his arms. "You wanna know what I think?"

"I really really do."

"I think you’re not as tough as you make yourself out to be. I think you’re actually a big softie," Stan said.

Kenny tilted his head to the side and hummed. "I was soft. Once."

"Oh yeah? What happened?"

"I was bullied."

It was almost satisfying how quickly the smile slid off of Stan’s face. "Oh."

"Yep. I was skinny and poor and I didn’t talk much… I mean I was really quiet. I think there was something wrong with me, maybe there still is I—" Kenny realised he was rambling and exhaled sharply. "The point is, I had to get tough if I wanted to survive."

Stan frowned. "Really? What did they do?"

Kenny frowned and picked up a screwdriver. "I don’t feel like reliving it with you."

He got all the classic stuff and more. Shoved in lockers, kids would spit in his food and force him to eat it, he got given ‘baths’ where they’d just shove his head down the toilet and flush it. And then he’d go home to the crazy people, who only let him drink Dr Pepper and punished him for having any opinions about anything.

So he taught himself how to fight and how to protect his sister and the rest was history.

"Sorry," Stan said quietly. His cheeks went pink with embarrassment and he looked like he might die. "Of course I um… I don’t know why I asked."

"Were you bullied?" Kenny asked.

"Do I seem like I was?"

"I don’t know that’s why I’m asking."

Stan sighed and leant against the wall. "I think maybe me and my friends were the bullies. Sometimes."

Kenny raised his eyebrows and pulled the plate he was unscrewing off of the device, exposing the wires inside. "The typical cop origin story."

"I know, I know. We weren’t very popular we were just… arrogant. Cocky. Kinda mean."

"Not much has changed then."

"Ha." Stan ran a hand down his face. "I grew out of it when I was like twelve."

Kenny hummed. "What were your friends like?"

"I had two best friends. Kyle and Cartman, we’re still close now actually. Kyle’s still at school, he’s gonna be a lawyer. Cartman’s in finance, he does something with stocks." Stan smiled nostalgically. "We were closer than close, you know?"

"I was a lonely kid," Kenny replied. "Like I said, quiet, poor, bullied. I didn’t have friends."

"Not even one?"

"No." Kenny swallowed and pulled his pliers out of his belt. "You and Wendy are my first."

"Seriously? Mysty…"

Stan’s voice was so soft and Kenny found himself blinking back tears. He wasn’t sure why, just something about Stan’s tone. "We’re going to be quiet now, this is the part I need to focus on. You know, so we don’t die a painful death."

Stan nodded. "Oh yeah. Good plan."

He stayed quiet long after Kenny had cut all the right wires.

~*~

Sometimes, after patrol, Kenny liked to sit on his roof, in silence, and look at the stars. Since Stan was unofficially living with him, he had company, but the silence part seemed to be understood.

Most of the time anyway. "I don’t know much about you," Stan said, breaking the comfortable silence.

Kenny looked over at him, sitting with his knees to his chest and arms looped around, and swallowed. "You can ask."

"Can I?"

"Yes."

"What’s your name?" Stan asked immediately.

Kenny smiled wryly. "Anything except that."

Stan nodded. "So I can ask anything else and you’ll answer?"

"If I see fit, yes," Kenny agreed.

Stan hummed and leant back on his palms. "Well now I don’t know what to ask."

"Anything. Literally anything, the world is your oyster."

"Okay okay how about… Alright, do you have a favourite colour?"

Kenny cracked a grin. "That’s what you wanna know?"

"Yes," Stan said decidedly. "It is."

"Alright then. I like purple. And orange."

Stan smiled. "Orange surprises me."

Kenny shrugged. "What about you?"

"Blue or red. I like purple too." Stan crossed his leg over his opposite knee and tilted his head with a smile. "What to ask next?"

"Like I said. Anything."

And then the floodgates were basically opened, and the questions came quick. "How old are you?"

"Twenty one."

"Did you grow up here?"

"No. My parents did though."

"Then where?"

"Greeley."

"What’s your star sign?"

"Aries. I think." Kenny turned to look at him. "I didn’t think you’d be into astrology."

"I’m not but Heidi was— is. I feel like she’d want me to ask," Stan said with a small smile. "I’m a libra."

Kenny wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say to that. "Okay."

"Do you have any siblings?" Stan asked.

"Two."

Stan smiled. "Are you the oldest?"

"No, middle," Kenny said. "My brother, then me, then my sister."

"That checks out. Are you close?"

Kenny looked down at his lap and swallowed. "We um… We were. Not so much anymore."

"Oh. What happened?" Stan’s cheeks darkened ever so slightly. "If you don’t mind me asking, obviously."

Kenny sighed. For some reason he wanted to tell Stan. "We were foster kids, our parents weren’t great, and we sort of just had each other. That’s when I created Mysterion actually, to protect my sister from bullies and just give her something to believe in. But then my brother aged out and I told him to take her with him and things just weren’t the same since."

"How old were you when that happened?"

"Thirteen."

Stan’s expression dropped. "Mysty…"

"The last time we spoke was my eighteenth birthday," Kenny concluded. "But it’s okay. Less people to worry about. The further they are out of my orbit the better."

"Well… I’m pretty in your orbit now," Stan said quietly.

Kenny looked at him. "Yeah. And I worry about you."

Stan had the audacity to look surprised, like that wasn’t obvious by now. Like Kenny hadn’t just poured his heart out to him, like he hadn’t gone above and beyond to save his life. Of course he cared. Of course he worried. Stan was probably one of the last good men in town, he wouldn’t forgive himself if something happened to him on his watch.

Kenny hadn’t felt that strongly about someone in a long time. It was uncomfortable and sat heavy in the pit of his stomach when he realised. It honestly scared him.

"Do you trust me?" Stan asked eventually.

"Yes," Kenny replied, surprising even himself with how certain he was. "Do you trust me?"

"Yes." Stan looked at him and swallowed. "Can I..?"

Kenny honestly felt his heart skip a beat and somehow he just knew what Stan was asking. "Yes."

Stan inched forward and took the edge of Kenny’s mask. He slowly rolled it up over his mouth and nose, so just his eyes were covered, and stared at him in something like awe. It was almost reverence and Kenny honestly thought he’d melt right then and there.

But he didn’t. Instead he stayed perfectly, deceptively calm as Stan put a gentle hand on his jaw and guided him to his lips. Kenny breath hitched as they touched and Stan’s other hand came to rest on his thigh.

"You’ve never done that before, have you?" Stan asked quietly, still close enough that Kenny could feel his breath on his skin.

"Once. I was eleven," he confessed. "I haven’t had time."

Stan smiled and ran his thumb across the scar on Kenny’s lip. That one was from when he was ten and took it upon himself to rescue the neighbourhood cat when it got stuck up a tree. "Thank you for… I don’t know. Letting me have that," Stan said carefully.

Kenny smiled. "Thank you for wanting it."

"You have a nice smile," Stan said, almost absently like he hadn’t really meant to. His hand slid back to his lap and he inhaled deeply. "Will I ever see all of your face?"

"Probably not," Kenny admitted.

"Will I ever know your name?"

"It’s better that you don’t."

Stan sighed and ran his thumb along Kenny’s jawline. Then he smiled and tugged on a loose strand of hair that had fallen out when he’d moved the mask. "You’re blonde," he said softly.

Kenny looked down, at the slightly waxy split ends of his hair held between Stan’s fingers, and felt self conscious for the first time in a long time. "Yeah. Always have been."

Stan smiled and shook his head fondly. "Can I ask one last question?"

"You can."

Stan met his gaze. "What colour are your eyes?"

"Brown," Kenny said quietly.

It was a lie. They were, once, but at some point after the dying got more frequent, they turned a dusty purple. He wore contact lenses now, when he was at work or otherwise out and about.

Stan’s mouth twitched. "I like brown eyes."

"I know. Wendy."

"You’re different though."

"How?"

Stan shrugged. "I don’t know. You just are. I’ve never met anyone like you."

They went back to silence after that, but Stan stayed closer than he was before.

~*~

Kenny’s eyes flew open with a gasp.

It was raining, cold against his skin, and his mask had been pulled up over his nose but no further. He grabbed at it desperately but warm hands held onto his.

"Hey hey, careful." Stan. It was Stan.

Kenny’s eyes adjusted and he realised he was on the ground, with Stan hovering above him, shielding him slightly from the downpour.

"I’ve got you. You’re okay, you’re amazing actually. Took it like a champ." Stan smiled breathlessly and pulled Kenny’s mask down for him. "You’re alive."

Kenny tried to sit up but Stan gently guided him back down to the soggy ground. "What happened?"

"You hit your head. Like an idiot. And I had to do CPR."

Kenny frowned and blinked rapidly. "You know CPR?"

"Of course I do. This is where you thank me for saving your life," Stan prompted.

Kenny honestly… didn’t know what to do. Nobody had ever brought him back from death before; he was pretty sure nobody had ever tried. "Thank you," he whispered. He sat up despite Stan’s noise of protest and threw his arms around his shoulders. "Thank you Stan."

Despite asking for it, Stan seemed uncomfortable with the praise and awkwardly patted Kenny on the back. "It’s alright. You’re a fighter."

"Like you wouldn’t believe."

They went back to the safe house after that and sat on the roof, in what had become their spot. Kenny’s ribs hurt but his pulse was strong and he felt more alive than ever. But something was bothering him.

"If I die…" he said, and Stan hummed in acknowledgment. "Just unplug me. Seriously, don’t let them hook me up to anything. When I’m gone I’m gone."

Stan looked at him funny. "You can get papers for that."

Kenny nodded and reached into his belt, pulling out the DNR he’d filled out as soon as he could. "Yeah. I have them. But just in case."

Stan swallowed. "So are you mad at me? For the CPR?"

"No. I’m not. But I don’t want to end up as some kind of garbled vegetable when I’d much rather be nothing." Not that he would be nothing, of course, but it wasn’t worth explaining all that to Stan.

"Okay," Stan said quietly. "I mean ideally we’ll never be in a situation where I have to make that call but—"

"You’re all I’ve got," Kenny admitted. "Like I said, no parents, no siblings. Just you. So if anyone’s ever gonna make that call it’s you. Sorry."

Stan held his gaze. "I don’t wanna be a potato either. And if I start to forget stuff… I mean honestly in that case, just put me down."

Kenny tilted his head and fixed Stan with a look he was aware was intense. "Alright."

And then, predictably, Stan spilled everything. He wasn’t sure why that technique was so effective but it was. "My grandpa had dementia. He was old and I just… I remember that one day he asked me to kill him. And he was more lucid then than I remember him being almost ever. I didn’t, obviously, I mean I was eight and he just wanted me to strangle him or something, but he lived to be like… almost a hundred?"

"Wow," Kenny commented.

"Yeah. But I don’t wanna be an angry old man who begs my grandson to kill me but can’t even remember his name." Stan laughed weakly. "He called me Billy. I have no idea why."

Kenny sighed softly. "That sounds difficult."

"It was and it wasn’t. I didn’t know him before. I think it upset my dad but he was a very sort of macho guy, the kind who’d rather get angry and take it out on everyone than admit he was upset," Stan explained. "I’m the same sometimes."

"I don’t think so."

"No I am. I’m my father’s son."

"I think you’re your own man. And I like you just fine either way."

Stan inhaled deeply and looked at him. "When can I kiss you again?" he asked.

Kenny held his gaze then lifted his mask. "Right now, if you want."

Stan’s eyes lit up in an almost hungry way and he lunged forward, his lips colliding with Kenny’s much more roughly than the first time. They tipped backwards, now lying on the roof with Kenny pinned down by Stan’s lips. He gasped softly and Stan snaked an arm around his waist.

"We can’t," Kenny murmured, placing his fingers against Stan’s lips when he pulled away for air. "It’s… We can’t."

Stan’s expression became that of a kicked puppy but he moved, giving Kenny enough room to sit up. "I wasn’t trying to—"

"I know. But I don’t want to get your hopes up. Because I can never take this mask off and—"

"It’s okay. I’m sorry."

Kenny swallowed. "Don’t be. I’m the one who let you get close even though I know it’s not— It’s dangerous."

Stan bit his lip. "I disagree."

"Excuse me?"

"I think the safest place I could be is by your side. In whatever way you’ll have me."

Kenny inhaled deeply and fought to keep a smile off of his face. "And I think you’re an idiot."

~*~

Kenny became very grateful for the fact he was paranoid enough to wear his mask to bed, when he woke up to the sound of knocking on his door.

"What?!" he yelled, glancing at the clock with a groan. It was barely eight am. He’d been asleep for about two hours total. "Just come in, Jesus Christ."

Kenny sat up as the door opened, only to almost be knocked back down into his pillows by a very slobbery Clover. Stan pulled on her collar and she eventually settled for laying over Kenny’s legs.

"Sorry. Were you asleep?" Stan asked.

"Night shift, remember?" Kenny gritted out.

"Oh yeah. Well I remembered something and I figured you’d wanna know."

"If this is another one of your fun facts about DnD then I really appreciate it but—"

"No no no!" Stan said hastily, a faint pinkness to his cheeks. "It’s case related."

"Oh. Go on then."

"They all had this meeting on the group calendar at Sargent Taylor’s house. It’s been bothering me all week thinking about what this date is but then it just hit me. They’re all gonna be in one place, probably discussing some shady shit, tomorrow afternoon."

Kenny frowned. "You think they put their important supervillain meeting on the group calendar?"

Stan shrugged. "They’re cops, man. Not the brightest."

Kenny stared at him for a moment. "I’ve never been more proud."

~*~

Kenny didn’t do much undercover work, so disguises weren’t his strong suit.

Actually clothes in general weren’t. He had about three outfits, not including his work uniform; one for the gym, one for his day off, and one semi formal outfit that he’d worn to church once, just to see what it was all about.

It was a little sad really. When this was all over he’d have to go shopping.

Still he was able to cobble together a decent disguise by wearing his usual outfit of ratty sneakers, jeans, and a faded band tee, then adding the biggest sunglasses he could find and a face mask. It hid all of his face, just in case anybody clocked that he was Mysterion, even if it did look a little odd. When he pulled his parka on and tugged the hood up, he was even more effectively obscured. It would work.

"Stan! Hurry up we’ve gotta go!" he yelled.

"I’m coming, I’m coming!" Stan jogged out of the bathroom, and came to a screeching halt. "What the fuck are you wearing?"

Kenny frowned. "It’s my undercover outfit."

"Jesus Christ."

"Well I still have to hide my face!"

Stan snorted. "You look ridiculous."

Kenny flipped him off for lack of a better response. He knew this wasn’t his best look, but it was effective . "Focus," he hissed. "Instead of acting like a fucking fashion critic."

"And you’re shorter than me. How much height do those boots give you?"

"Enough."

"I’ll fucking say."

Kenny glared and realised with a pang of rage that he had to look up to meet his eye now. Stan looked thrilled by this. It wasn’t a bad angle for him, honestly.

"Quit pouting," Stan said, patting the top of his head. "We have work to do."

Said work involved lying on the grass and peaking into Taylor’s basement window. Stan, in all his wisdom, had worn a white shirt which obviously instantly was dirtied with green stains, and Kenny only knew this because he was complaining about it.

"You never got to the stakeout portion of being a detective, did you?" Kenny asked after a moment.

Stan looked at him. "It’s not like anything’s happening yet."

Kenny rolled his eyes but remained silent because Stan was right. So far, the entire precinct was just sat on rickety fold up chairs. There was an old school projector and screen set up but nothing was being displayed. By all appearances they could’ve just been there to christen the new home cinema or something.

But fortunately or not, depending on how you look at it, things in South Park had a tendency to not be what they seem and Harrison Yates himself stood in front of his men with bravado.

Stan thankfully had the good sense to go silent, and Kenny found himself fixated on the room as they all rose like they were in church.

It quickly became apparent that it was exactly like that. "Praise Cthulhu!" Yates bellowed, loud enough that it was clearly audible through the window Kenny had cracked open.

"Praise Cthulhu!" the police all replied with equal bravado.

"What are they saying?" Stan whispered.

Kenny glanced at him. "Praise Cthulhu. Can you not hear?"

"You understand that? I thought it was Latin."

Kenny frowned and went silent as Yates continued, but couldn’t shake the feeling that they might’ve gotten in over their head. "I want to welcome you all to what will hopefully be our last meeting. As you all know, should things go to plan, the Ascension takes place next week."

"The Ascension…" Kenny murmured, to himself more than anything.

"What’s going on?"

"It’s like… some kind of church."

"A church? For some kind of demon?" Stan asked.

"Yeah they worship Cthulhu," Kenny replied absently.

"How did you know that?"

Kenny blinked. How did he? "I— Be quiet."

He felt something pulling on part of his mind and he shifted uncomfortably where he lay. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the window, from the cult inside, and he couldn’t figure out why this was bothering him so much. It was something more than the obvious. Somehow it felt personal.

"The great Cthulhu will rise again, bathed in the blood of the pure, and take us to Godlike status as thanks for our loyalty!" Yates shouted and the cops cheered. "All we need is to bring him his son. An immortal who walks among us."

Something flashed in Kenny’s mind. "No," he said quietly. "No no no no…"

"What?" Stan whispered.

"It’s time for us to reclaim his rightful heir, his son on Earth." Yates smiled in a way that made Kenny feel cold all over, a way that was pure evil. "The Netherborn!"

Kenny felt his heart drop all the way to his boots as a picture of Mysterion flashed on the screen. He reared back from the window and scrambled to his feet, pressing a hand to his mouth as his stomach turned over.

Slowly everything started to fall into place.

They’d been trying to get his attention all along. The whole thing was a huge, ginormous trap that innocents like Bebe and Heidi got caught in the crossfires of.

This was all entirely and indisputably his fault.

~*~

Kenny didn’t sleep for three days after that. He wished he could’ve said it was because he was being super productive, but he didn’t really do much of anything. He felt paralysed.

The only thing he had done was piece together everything he knew.

The police were part of Cthulhu’s cult. They believed he was basically a fucked up version of Jesus; a Netherborn. And they were planning some big sacrifice in four days.

Then there was speculation, things he couldn’t know but felt fairly strongly about. Like how Bebe and Heidi were probably part of this sacrifice. And like how he was going to die for good.

Memories had come trickling back in since he found out. He’d known about the cult, it was what brought him back to South Park. But when he got too close he somehow forgot, the whole thing was wiped from his memory, just like the pull he’d felt to Taylor’s basement.

Then there was the anger that, apparently, his parents had sold his soul to a cult. And finally the uncomfortable knowledge that there was only one person Kenny knew who’d maybe know about any of that.

~*~

Kevin and Karen had a nice little apartment in Greeley. Third floor, red brick, flowers on the fire escape.

And unlocked windows.

"Did nobody teach you about home security?" Kenny asked, climbing through the fire escape window, into the kitchen. He kept his gaze pinned to the floor for as long as possible, until the silence crept on and he was forced to look up.

Kevin was older than he remembered. Of course he was. He was twenty six now, a proper adult. But in a way he looked exactly the same. He was pointing a vegetable knife at Kenny’s chest in a way that was familiar; their sibling relationship had been dysfunctional at times.

"Take the fucking mask off," Kevin said after a moment.

Kenny frowned. Coming in costume was easier, this was about business after all, and he’d honestly thought Kevin would have reacted better to it than to his face. "Not even if you asked nicely."

"Stop playing games, Kenny!" Kevin snapped. Kenny took a step back reflexively and his frown deepened. "You think I don’t remember how you’d dress up for Karen? As soon as I saw the news about a masked freak in South Park I knew it was you. So take of the fucking mask or get out."

Kenny swallowed and reached up with shaking hands to peel away his disguise. He looked up and Kevin winced. "Is it that bad?" he whispered, trying to force a smile.

Kevin inhaled deeply. "You’ve just gotten old."

"I was thinking the same about you."

Kevin laughed weakly and put the knife down. "It’s really you?"

"I— I guess?" Kenny wiped at his eyes and frowned when they felt wet. "I don’t know how to prove it to you."

"Your second grade graduation," Kevin said without skipping a beat.

"You were grounded but snuck out to watch and they made you clean every window in the house as punishment," Kenny recited, just as fast.

"Fuck! Kenny you— Come here."

Before Kenny knew what was happening, Kevin had wrapped him in a tight hug that knocked all the air out of his lungs. Kenny gasped and hid his face in his brother’s shoulder.

"I’m so sorry," he sobbed, everything spilling out all at once. "I am so sorry Kev, I should’ve called I—"

"Yeah," he said quietly. "You should’ve."

Kenny wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, just that eventually they broke apart and he felt lighter. Probably because he’d shed half his body weight in tears. He’d also almost forgotten why he was there, until he saw his mask lying on the counter. He picked it up and Kevin sighed.

"You want something, don’t you?" he said quietly.

Kenny looked away. "Yes."

"Of course you do. You know Karen still asks about you? Every birthday she asks me if you’re gonna call. She used to ask if you’d visit."

Kenny’s stomach churned. "Where is she?"

"Sleepover."

"Good. She can’t know I was here."

"Oh my God. Did you even miss us? At all?"

"Yes but—"

"I mean Jesus, Kenny, what the fuck happened to you?!"

"I need to know about the cult," Kenny blurted out, making eye contact finally. "And mom and dad are completely off the grid so you’re the only person who might know anything helpful."

Kevin blinked, clearly surprised. "Oh shit."

Kenny nodded and Kevin sighed heavily, then sat down at the kitchen table and gestured to the seat opposite. Kenny sat down and waited.

"I don’t know much," Kevin prefaced. "I mean I was five. But I remember going to one of the meetings. I didn’t have a babysitter or anything, so they’d usually bring me everywhere. Anyway they got into some shit, like they usually do, and mom was pregnant with you at the time and she… Basically they needed to pay off their debt, somehow."

Kenny felt his blood run cold. "How?" he whispered.

"You can probably guess."

"Please just tell me they didn’t do what I think they did."

Kevin swallowed. "Cthulhu wanted a human vessel, to carry out his will on Earth or whatever. And our parents offered them you."

Kenny inhaled sharply and put his head in his hands. Everything in him felt white hot and sharp, coursing through him in a rush that was deafening. He wasn’t sure where to begin reconciling that. All of his years suffering, going through demise after demise, because his parents used their unborn child as collateral. Bebe and Heidi were kidnapped, because his parents made a mistake over two decades ago. It was probably a good thing Kenny didn’t know where they were. If he did, he probably would have gone and killed them in cold blood.

"I don’t know anything else," Kevin said quietly. "I kinda thought you were fine, you know, normal, but I guess something’s come up."

Kenny shot up from the table and pulled his mask back on. "I have to go."

"Ken wait—"

"You’ve been a big help," he continued, one leg out the window.

Kevin grabbed his arm. "Wait! You have to come back. Karen she— Look, she still idolises you. Her brother and Mysterion. I don’t wanna have to tell her you’re dead, so don’t do anything stupid."

Kenny swallowed and shook off his grip. "I have to go," he repeated, and disappeared into the night.

He didn’t get home until the sun was starting to peak over the mountains, and Stan was there waiting for him. He jumped to his feet when Kenny walked in.

"Where the Hell have you been I was… worried. Are you okay?"

Kenny inhaled deeply. "When I go to fight the cult, I’m going to die. It’s important to me that you know that."

Stan’s expression crumpled. "What do you mean?"

"I mean my heart is going to stop, l won’t be breathing, I’ll be deceased. Do you understand?"

"No I don’t fucking understand, talk to me like a human!"

Kenny pinched the bridge of his nose, a habit he’d picked up from Stan, and groaned. "I don’t know how else to say it Stan. I’m a dead man walking. And I can’t… I can’t do anything about it."

"You have to fight," Stan said stubbornly, smacking his fist against his palm. "Please."

Kenny looked at him and swallowed. "It’s okay. I’ve died before."

Stan barely flinched. "But not like this."

"No," Kenny agreed softly. "Not like this."

~*~

When the day came, Kenny didn’t really know how to handle it. He wasn’t sure if he was scared of dying, or just that it would hurt, or maybe (most likely) both.

He and Stan seemed to have entered a mutual agreement not to talk about dying. Stan preferred to live in denial. Kenny would allow him that; it was, after all, the first stage of grief.

As for Kenny himself, he was just focusing on getting the job done, something that felt more daunting now he was stood in front of the police station about to do it. He could feel the warmth of Stan’s body heat where he was stood beside him.

"Mysty I… I just wanna say that it’s been an honour working with you," Stan said, breaking the terse silence between them.

Kenny looked at him and laughed despite himself. "You’re not so bad either, Marsh."

"Do you think you’ll be in the business for a sidekick after this?"

"Maybe. I’ll probably give Wendy a call."

Stan laughed and punched him in the shoulder. "You’re the worst."

Kenny shrugged and regarding Stan softly. Stan looked back at him with a smile that said a thousand words. Without thinking, Kenny tugged his mask over his nose, hooked an arm around Stan’s waist, and drew their lips together. Stan was stiff in his arms for a moment before sagging, as if he were weak in the knees, hanging off of Kenny’s neck.

"Are you sure you don’t have more practice than you’ve been letting on?" Stan asked breathlessly when he pulled away.

Kenny smiled and watched as Stan flushed even more. "Maybe I’m, like, a prodigy or something," he suggested as he set Stan firmly back on his feet.

Stan cleared his throat and pulled out his gun. He loaded a new clip into it, and flashed a charming grin at Kenny. "Let’s go kick some ass shall we?" he said.

Kenny nodded. "We shall."

The ass kicking was not as immediate as their little display made it out to be. In fact, the station was empty when Kenny kicked the door down. He wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or not, but he did know what it meant; they were all at the sacrifice.

Still, they were vigilant as Kenny let Stan lead him to the basement. It was eerily quiet, each of their footsteps echoed throughout the space, bouncing off the stone walls. Kenny, interestingly enough, didn’t really like silence. His biggest strength was how quiet he could be, but that didn’t really mean much when a pin drop could be heard. He did better in bustling crowds and fights where he could slip into the shadows unnoticed.

It was still preferable to the crying he heard the second he opened a door.

It was dreadful. Dozens of people locked in cells, crying and begging for help that they couldn’t be certain would come. The conditions were inhumane, reeking of blood and sweat. Kenny saw men, women, even children and when he stepped into the room and their eyes locked onto him, hands reached for him through the bars, desperately grabbing at his cape. They were still begging, but his name was thrown into the mix.

"Save us Mysterion!"

"We don’t want to die Mysterion!

"Mysterion please, please , you have to help us!"

Kenny turned in a circle, unsure where to even start. It was cruelty like he’d never seen. Stan had gone white as a sheet and each step he took was uncertain.

"What do we do?" he asked quietly.

Kenny pulled a device out of his belt; a skeleton key, courtesy of Wendy Testaburger. "We get them out."

It felt like it took years, when it reality it was probably only minutes before they got each cage open. Stan directed them back up the stairs whilst Kenny worked, and only joined him when he was on the last one. As soon as it was open people rushed out, and a head of curly blonde hair collided with his chest. Kenny steadied her, his heart jumping into his throat.

"Bebe!"

She looked up with a wild expression. "Mysterion thank you! Thank you! I—" Bebe suddenly narrowed her eyes. "How do you…"

"I know things," Kenny dismissed quickly. "Come on we need to—"

"Stan!"

Kenny whirled around just in time to see a brunette collide with Stan. She looked up and even through the dirt on her face, she was clearly Heidi Turner.

"Are you okay?" she asked, clutching onto Stan’s jacket.

He stared at her. "Am I okay? Are you?"

"Well I heard you got fired."

Kenny cleared his throat loudly. "We can do this later! You two, can you make sure everybody gets out?"

Bebe saluted. "Yes sir! Come on Hei!"

She pressed a kiss to Kenny’s cheek then took Heidi’s hand and together they started corralling the other hostages. Stan glanced at Kenny.

"She’s friendly," he commented.

Kenny raised an eyebrow and walked past him. "Don’t be jealous."

Stan scoffed. "As if."

Kenny looked at the door in front of him and clenched his fists. "If you wanted to leave—"

"Don’t even say it. I’m with you," Stan promised.

"I’m just saying I’d understand."

"I know. But the only place I want to be is right here."

Kenny nodded. "Kick some ass for real this time?"

Stan laughed softly. "Yeah. Let’s go."

~*~

"Mysterion!"

Kenny opened his eyes as a voice permeated through the ringing in his ears; Stan’s voice. He groaned and sat up, clutching his aching head.

Stan knelt at his side. He was bleeding from his lip and looked a little worse for wear, but he was okay.

Suddenly everything came rushing back. They’d summoned the demon, God knows if it was Cthulhu himself or something else. They’d been fighting the cops when suddenly it had brought down its tentacle, shaking the cavern. Kenny must’ve been knocked out.

"Come on we’ve gotta— I don’t even know, dude, we’ve gotta do something," Stan said, pulling himself and then Kenny to stand.

"Holy shit," he murmured, taking in the wreckage around them.

There was about three things that weren’t on fire, and everything else had been engulfed in flames that shifted between unnatural hues of orange and purple and green. Most of the cops were dead, the rest were running. Then, of course, there was the actual demon.

Kenny looked up at its tentacled form and it felt like he’d been punched in the chest as he quite literally met his maker. The cult had been right about him, he knew it in that moment. He was more like this thing than any human.

"Stan you need to leave," Kenny said.

"Are you crazy I—"

"Someone has to take care of the hostages."

"Mysty!"

"Only one of us has to die today."

"Mysterion look at me!" Stan yelled.

Kenny blinked and drew his eyes away from the demon to look at Stan. He was crying. Of course he was. Him and his bleeding heart.

"I’m not leaving you," he insisted.

"Stan please."

"I’m not doing it!" he shouted. "All of this is at least partly my fault so I’m gonna see it through to the end!"

Kenny’s breath hitched and he squeezed his eyes shut. "None of this is your fault, if you die I’ll—"

"None of this is your fault either!"

"You don’t know that."

"Fine. Fucking fine whatever let’s agree it’s nobody’s fault but we’re the two guys who can fix it! I’m with you on this, Mysterion. You don’t have to do it by yourself anymore," Stan pleaded.

Kenny inhaled deeply and opened his eyes to see Stan’s small but beautifully optimistic smile. Warmth and determination spread through his body. "Okay."

"Okay! So what’s the plan?"

Kenny looked around and his heart sunk as he couldn’t find some miracle fix it, something he’d overlooked. There was still only one way out that he could see, and it would mean he didn’t leave.

"You won’t like the plan," Kenny said quietly.

"Mysterion no!"

"I’m really sorry Stan," Kenny continued, placing a hand on his cheek and wiping his thumb across his cheekbone. "I’m so sorry."

"Then don’t do it," Stan pleaded.

"I have to."

Stan exhaled shakily. "I— I know. Just—"

"I know."

Stan put a hand on the back of Kenny’s head and leant their foreheads together. They stayed like that for a moment, listening to each other breathe for the last time. "I’ll get the hostages out."

Kenny closed his eyes and nodded. "Just don’t forget about me."

Stan placed a simple kiss to his forehead. "Do you really think I ever could?"

Kenny exhaled heavily and stood up shakily, watching as Stan did the same. "Go on. Get outta here."

Stan nodded and forced a smile. "Thanks for everything."

" Go ."

Kenny watched as Stan left, and hung his head for a moment. Okay. Dying wasn’t new. He’d be okay. He’d be okay. He’d be—

"Hey ugly!" Kenny yelled, lifting his head towards the demon. "Over here!"

He ran up the rubble until he was stood right in the creature’s eye line, and waved his arms about like a crazy person. His heart was threatening to break out of his chest and he’d never had to fight his body like this in his life; all he wanted to do was run.

"It’s me you want," Kenny panted, spreading his arms out. "The Netherborn right? Well I’m right here! So fucking take me already! Kill me! I’ve been ready for this my whole damn life!"

The demon looked at him, or he thought it did anyway, and seemed to tilt its head. Kenny saw himself in it, literally reflected back in its eyes but also in the predatory mannerisms it displayed. It made him sick to his stomach but he stood his ground.

"You understand you will die for good this time, don’t you?" a voice said, and Kenny was pretty sure he only heard it in his head.

He inhaled deeply and nodded. "Yeah. Good. It doesn’t scare me anymore. You can have my soul or my body or whatever you want, but no more innocent people die."

"Very well."

It happened pretty fast after that.

The pain was immediate, blinding, and seeped through every molecule making up his body. It was paralysing, he was pretty sure he stopped breathing, and he couldn’t pinpoint what exactly was happening other than it hurt. He wasn’t dead. He was conscious. But he couldn’t see or move or hear anything over than his own screaming.

And then it stopped. Or rather, it suddenly dulled dramatically, his senses flooding back to him. Kenny swallowed and tried to sit up, but he could only summon a hand twitch. Eventually he managed to roll onto his side rather than his back, and saw that the demon had disappeared completely. It worked. He was just paying the price.

Kenny coughed weakly and blood bubbled up from between his lips. He probably had a few minutes left, tops.

Stan suddenly appeared in his field of vision. He was dirty and bleeding from a cut on his forehead but he was in one piece and alive. Kenny wanted to yell at him, ask why he’d come back, but then he realised he was selfishly happy about it. Happy that he wasn’t dying alone.

Stan pulled Kenny into his lap, and his eyes went wide with fear. Kenny suddenly realised his mask had basically been evaporated, and he definitely didn’t look his prettiest.

"It’s you," Stan whispered.

Kenny swallowed and it tasted like metal. Stan put a hand on his face and a tear ran down his cheek, ending up dripping onto Kenny’s forehead.

And then Stan looked at him, in all his bleeding and broken glory, and smiled. "You’re beautiful."

Kenny leant into his cool touch and closed his eyes. "I’m dying."

"I can see that," Stan said softly, almost soothingly. "You did really good though."

"I’m sorry."

"It’s not your fault."

Kenny felt tears spring to his eyes. "I don’t wanna die," he realised, looking up at Stan. "I don’t wanna go anymore."

Stan swallowed and brushed Kenny’s sweaty hair out of his face. "I know."

"I’m scared."

"I know."

"I think I’ve fallen in love with you," Kenny whispered, forcing the words out even as numbness started to wash over him, starting in his fingertips and toes.

Stan smiled and laughed wetly. "I know."

Kenny exhaled in something like relief, like he’d done everything he needed to do. A moment passed, and suddenly he felt lips against his. He forced his eyes open as Stan pulled away.

"I love you too," he murmured, voice wavering with each syllable.

Kenny’s voice wasn’t working anymore and he could feel death enveloping him like a blanket. His vision went blank and everything fell away, leaving him floating in nothingness.

And then suddenly he decided no . He was going to fight. He was going to see Stan again.

Kenny McCormick was not dying today.

~*~

He woke up in his bed to the sound of rain pounding against his window.

For all of five seconds he actually felt amazing, like he was floating on air and weightless. But then that came crashing down and his entire body screamed in agony at him, angry at him for knitting it together against its will. Kenny had never been so happy to be in pain before.

It meant he was alive.

He had no idea how. It defied all laws of the universe. The only thing Kenny knew was that the last thing he remembered was Stan Marsh, and he was certain that was somehow part of what brought him back.

He could figure it out another day. Now? He had to find Stan.

It wasn’t difficult. Somehow he just knew where he was, it felt like there was a magnetic pull from his actual soul drawing him to Stan’s location.

He found him in the hallway of a run down apartment building just at the edge of town. Kenny had multiple criminal contacts who lived there and the place was practically falling apart. Stan was struggling with the key and holding slightly pathetic looking groceries in his other hand. He looked tired. Sad. About as bad as Kenny felt.

Kenny cleared his throat and Stan barely looked up at him at first, only to do a double take seconds later. His expression was disbelieving, and Kenny could practically see him doubting his own sanity.

"You look like you’ve seen a ghost," Kenny said, voice cracking nastily.

Stan’s expression lit up with relief as he realised this was real, and he dropped his groceries. "Mysterion."

"Hey Marsh."

Stan raced forward and pulled Kenny into a bone crushing hug. He dug his fingers into his shoulders and buried his face against his collarbone. Kenny stood there for a moment, then slowly wrapped his arms around Stan’s waist and deeply inhaled his scent.

"I thought you were dead for good," Stan whispered, voice cracking.

"Yeah so did I."

"What happened?"

Kenny peeled Stan away from him and placed his hands on his face, looking him in the eye. Then he pressed their lips together gently, in a kiss that tasted like salt and tears and a second chance.

"I found something to live for," he said softly.

~*~

Three weeks later, Bebe invited Kenny out again and this time he didn’t say no. 

"I should’ve figured," she said as they arrived. "This isn’t for me. You just want to see your beau."

"Quiet," Kenny said. 

She wasn’t entirely wrong. The fact that she’d invited him to game night at Heidi and Wendy’s place, which Stan was also invited to, had played a role in his eagerness. But she could’ve invited him bungee jumping over a boiling tar pit full of zombie piranhas and he still would’ve owed her his presence. 

Bebe smirked and pressed the doorbell. "You know I heard that you were harassing the police about me."

Kenny glanced at her. "Who told you that?" 

"Just the grapevine. Admit that we’re friends."

"We’ve always been friends."

She smiled brightly as the door opened and Heidi greeted them, at which point she was distracted. "Heidi!"

"Bebe!"

From what Kenny understood, the two of them were very close. Trauma bonding and all that.

Heidi turner to Kenny with a smile. "Oh you’re Kenny, right? It’s nice to properly meet you, I’ve heard so much about you."

"I’ve heard a lot about you too," Kenny said. 

Wendy poked her head around the door. "Ken! Hey! Come in, come in." She pulled him inside and hooked their arms firmly together. "Heidi you can get Bebe settled right? I need to talk to Kenny in the kitchen. About your allergy."

Kenny frowned. "Oh yeah. My allergy."

She nodded seriously and led him away. "Yes. So you can have gluten or is it soy or…" she trailed off and shut the door with a click, then practically crushed him with a hug. 

"Jesus," Kenny mumbled, struggling to breathe.

"Thank you," Wendy whispered as she loosened her grip slightly. "For bringing her back to me."

"All in a days work," Kenny said, patting her on the back. 

Wendy laughed and pulled away. She regarded him carefully. "How’ve you been, by the way? Stan said you… you died."

"I got over that."

"Seriously."

"I’ve been feeling crappy the last couple of weeks," he admitted. "But I’m okay. I’m alive."

"Good. Thank God I mean."

Kenny smiled. "You know your tech was a big help."

"You can keep it."

"Thanks. And remember how I said I wasn’t in the business for a tech girl?"

Wendy’s eyes lit up. "I accept."

"I haven’t offered you the job yet."

"But you were going to."

Kenny laughed softly. "Yes. I was."

Wendy opened her mouth to say something when the doorbell rang and her expression turned into something a little more sly. "Ah. That would be your lover."

"Please don’t call him that."

"But I’m not wrong."

Kenny didn’t say anything to that, just breezed past her and towards the door. He flung it open and Stan smiled at him. 

"There’s a sight for sore eyes," Stan said. 

Kenny rolled his eyes. "Cheese ball."

"You love it."

"Unfortunately."

"Get a room!" Bebe heckled. 

Stan laughed and Kenny turned to look at her, a warmth already rushing to his cheeks. He couldn’t really bring himself to care though. He felt happy, truly happy, for the first time in a long time. 

He felt alive.