The people that you must remember (Kenny x Reader) (COMPLETE)

If you tell me what it's like to die, I'll tell you what it's like to be alive

You stared down at Kenny's body in horror, your nails digging into his purple shirt. Sprinkle was clambering to pick up her phone to call the police, then, she paused and stopped.

"Y/N? Why are you sitting on the ground?"

You craned your neck to give her a confused look, which she returned, and when you turned to look back at Kenny, he was just..gone.

His body, his blood. All of it. Even what had gotten on your hands and pants, it had completely vanished. Like it was never there.

This, you realized, must be Kenny's power.

Sighing, you climbed to your feet, the dead grass crunching underneath. You forced a smile as you looked at Sprinkle. "I just tripped over my own feet. Let's get back, I'm not feeling to well. I wanna nap." "...are you sure?" Sprinkle asked, pulling the fake mustache off. It was difficult to believe what was happening, but a hazy feeling was starting to creep its way up your spine. You weren't forgetting, but it was starting to feel less real. Maybe because you knew Kenny would be in school tomorrow, just fine, as if nothing had happened...

You closed the door to your dorm with your foot, leaning back and sliding down it with a sigh. Today had gone from 0 to 100 real fucking fast. What a shit show. Closing your eyes, you flinched as you ripped off the fake mustache and tossed it with the sunglasses across the room, hearing the glasses lame with a clatter somewhere on the floor. "1...2....3...4.." You muttered under your breath, trying a new calming tactic your therapist had suggested. Counting to 10. Something you'd always scoffed at, but why not give it a try? When you reached 10, you still felt like shit and pushed off the ground, walking to your desk and wrenching the drawer open, pulling out a small container and lighter. You woke your laptop off, smacked random on Spotify, and sat back on the ground, rolling a blunt.

On hollow ground I sit and wait,
Playing songs upon your graves,
And I hope that you can hear me,
Cause you know that I have got a lot to say.So you made all your mistakes,
But you didn't die in vain.
You know that I was taking notes,
And I assure you that I won't do the same things.

You glanced at your computer with a scowl, thinking back to Kenny's comment once. Maybe you did have some sort of useless power that involved fitting music. Rolling your eyes, you lit your blunt and inhaled deeply. You'd been intended to quit, but this year was a stressful clusterfuck of everything that was absolutely horrible. It seemed anything that could go wrong, would. As you exhaled smoke into the air, waved of exhaustion began to go over you, your head starting to nod forward.

This was a graveyard, with headstones as far as your eyes could see, but they each bore a single name.

Kenneth McCormick.

That one name, with the same date of birth but so many different dates of death. You silently picked your way among them, running your hand over the stone, scraping your nails against it. In the distance, you could make out someone in orange leaning against one of the headstones, so you made your way over. You knew who it was. There was only one person who really belonged here.

The boy was young, 9 or 1 0 years old, with a head of unkempt blonde hair, a bandage smacked sloppily across his nose, and the most beautiful blue eyes. He looked up at you and gave a gap toothed smile, patting the ground beside him. This was the Kenny from the church. The one that had been backed over all those years ago. You hesitated, staring at the spot he kept patting with his hand. He laughed, and it sounded far away. Distant, as if carried by the breeze.

"What's wrong, Princess? Scared to get your butt dirty?"

All my fathers dead and gone,
All my mothers, brothers, and sisters tagged along.
And they left me all alone,
With the rest of the lost souls,
In this world that made our home.

You slowly lowered yourself down, for some reason refusing to look directly at him. You couldn't say exactly what it was. The answer was right at the tip of your tongue, you just couldn't reach it. From the corner of your eye you say him lean his head back against the gravestone, peering up at the dark sky overhead. "I couldn't stand you, you know that?" He started, and didn't wait for you to reply, "I saw you as just another well off kid in an upper-middle class family who liked hurting other people for fun, like Cartman. Hell, I thought you got off on it...then, the day at the church happened."

He was looking at you, you could feel it, but you still couldn't make yourself look at him. It felt like he was waiting for you to say something, but you had nothing, so he kept on.

"The minute you got in with your family, I knew something wasn't right. You looked..." He trailed off, as if trying to find the right word, "...Wrong. You looked wrong. More like my kid sister than some well off kid. All pale, with dark circles under your eyes, and Christ, your eyes...they were so scared...I watched you that whole night, watched as you kept dozing off, or didn't sing along with the hymns. Watched as that lady I'd thought was your mom get angrier and angrier. Then, when church ended and we all went out to the parking lot, I saw the way she clamped down on your shoulder. The grownups didn't see it, but I did. She was threatening you, wasn't she?"

And what I'd really want to know,
Is do we really have to go?
Cause I don't think that I believe,
And I must admit that I'm pretty afraid to leave.
So I call on you tonight,
Come up and tell me,

everything is going to be alright.
I'll tell you what it's like to be alive,
If you tell me what it felt like to die.

"...Yeah." You replied, just barely nodding your head. You'd pulled your legs up to your chest, resting your chin on your knees. Kenny let out a hum of approval once you verified what he'd thought. "I figured. I knew that face you'd made. The face of a kid being threatened. I see it too often at home." He then reached out, placing a clammy, cold hand on top of yours. It didn't look like a real hand, it was too waxy. It looked like the hand of a statue you'd seen at some wax museum as a kid. You tried not to cringe, still averting your eyes from him. If this bothered Kenny, he didn't let it show. "I watched you after that. Noticed things I'd ignored before. How grownups made you flinch. How you always had to pull up your pants because your clothes were way too big for you. Then came the day that Cartman stole your lunch. You remember that, don't you?"

Only recently. You gave another nod.

"Yeah, a sight like that, fatass bent over, puking his guts out, it would be hard to forget. That's when I knew for sure something was wrong, so, I went to talk to you. That night, in your backyard..." He trailed off as you closed your eyes. This was all...tiring. You were tired of having to deal with all this. Something dropped on you and you lifted your head. His orange parka, now coated with streaks of dried blood, sat draped over your shoulders, and Kenny's face, flattened by a tire, was inches from your own. A scream caught in your throat.

I'll tell you what it's like to be alive,
If you tell me what it felt like to die.

"You're not like me, Y/N. You've got one life. So start living it. Start really living it."

I'll tell you what it's like to be alive,
If you tell me what it felt like to die.

I'll tell you what it's like to be alive,
If you tell me what it felt like to die.