Kenny McCormick had died more times than he cared to remember, but it never really got any easier. He understood quite clearly that he had nothing to fear from death, that its finality had no hold on him like it did for other people, and that after the hurt and torment, he'd just wake up back in his bed, safe and sound. But the pain grated on him, wearing him down every time it happened, because even an instant death wasn't entirely instant. Despite the immediate nature of a death via bullet through the skull, it was still a traumatic, excruciating thing to have to deal with.

On some level, despite his pleading and carrying on, Kenny still gave thanks that it was him that the criminals had chosen first. At least if he died, he'd be back tomorrow, despite the fact that no one would care about his ordeal. But he couldn't help the fact that he was shaking like a leaf as the hostage-taker held the pistol to his head. Why did they have to come to Pioneer Village? Why now?

The terror built until he couldn't hold it back anymore.

"SOMEBODY FUCKING SAVE ME."

Already he could feel the bullet tearing through him, knowing the pain like an old friend. How many times was this now? Seventy? A hundred? Two hundred? When would the pain become dead numbness instead of this over-powering terror that he was forced to experience every time it found him? Just this once, he prayed. Just this ONE TIME...

"Howdy, thar, Strangers!"

For just a brief moment, Stan's eyes met his. And with that simple glance, the pain vanished. The barrel of the pistol still pressed against the hood of his parka, but the situation instantly fell to less dire. His friend didn't smile, but the confidence and determination were quite clear on Stan's face, and with some impressive thinking, he was able to get the code that the thieves were after. He was then able to provide enough of a distraction so that the police could infiltrate the village and get the entire class out.

Kenny, shaking even more than he had been with a firearm against his temple, lowered himself to the street curb as the police questioned some of the other kids, as well as the employees of Pioneer Village who'd stuck around after closing time. It wasn't long before Kyle sat down next to him.

"Uh..." Kyle asked. "Kenny? Are you okay? We're all worried about you. Well, me an' Stan are. Cartman's, you know, unconscious. Kenny?"

He paused, leaning forward just enough so he could meet Kenny's eyes. For some reason, Kenny couldn't stop crying. He wanted to, but the tears just kept coming.

"Ken? Are you okay?"

"Just..." He sniffled. "N—never had my life saved before." The realization came suddenly and powerfully. No one ever took the time to actually save him. It was almost more painful than dying, but it was a good sort of pain... The kind where all the preconceptions you've formed about the fact that people just don't care come crashing down on top of you.

"Yeah, well, most people don't end up in those situations." Kyle smiled, patting his shoulder gently.

Kenny shook his head. "You don't understand, dude."

"I know." Kyle sighed and bowed his head. "They're SO gonna rip on me for this tomorrow, but..." He leaned over and wrapped his arms around Kenny for a couple moments. "I'm really glad Stan saved you, Kenny. I mean, seriously." He nodded at the bodybags that were being pulled from the village. "Those bastards."

As Kyle stood up and walked off to check on Butters, Kenny couldn't help a chuckle.