Long time reader, first time writer (at least in this fandom). I hope this isn't too similar to anything else.

Inspired (but not much) by the film Paper Moon where a con-artist has to drive cross-country with his new daughter. I recommend it. Moze is hot.

To make events that happened in the past more obvious the text will change to italics. I apologise if this wrecks things for anyone on a Braille reader. I had a friend who used to smash walls over capslock but I can't remember if italics was an issue.

May contain offensive language and content blah blah this is South Park we're talking about of course it will. But this is pretty vanilla in comparison to the show.

Cartman is OOC but this will slowly be explained.

Kyle is irrepressibly hot no matter what universe he exists in.

Cartman's daughter is almost as much a psycho as he was.

This will be a moderately slow burn but the chapters are long so hopefully it won't feel like it.

There will be mentions of F/M but nothing explicit. The rating is for the eventual hot man sex.

It was the first time he had been left to watch the pharmacy alone. Actually he wasn't really alone as the pharmacy technician was out back distributing drugs and medication and whatever the fuck else was required of her but he was the only one on the frontline and he'd only been working there a year. He felt pretty good about himself and it had been a long time coming. But there was only so much tidying and restocking shelves he could do between customers and it was a slow day even for midweek. Probably why he'd been allowed to keep an eye on the place without supervision in the first place.

He pushed back his cropped hair, trying not to be vain enough to catch himself in the mirror meant for checking sunglasses before buying. Too late, there he was, grinning back with small neat teeth shining between full lips, a smattering of freckles draped over a (what he hoped wasn't as big as he thought it was) prominent nose. His reflection boasted lighter hair than usual under the harsh pharmacy lighting and he looked almost blond for a moment. He was caught off guard and for the first time since he cut it, he regretted losing his trademark curls. But it had been his first act of revenge after his separation. They were his wife's, no ex-wife he reminded himself, favourite thing about him. He kept them only because she liked them; had always hated the tangled mess. Bye-bye wife? Then bye-bye stupid fucking Jewfro, bitch.

He wasn't supposed to be thinking about her. He tried to distract his mind by rearranging the desk, counting the lollipops in the jar next to the register, making sure there was no trash hanging around. He even contemplated getting some spray and cleaning underneath the register when he spotted a small girl pressing tear-streaked cheeks against the window from outside. Pulling a pink ushanka over her ears against the cold, she brightened when their eyes met and immediately dashed in.

"Are you a doctor?"

He was a little taken aback. "Ah, no, sorry. I'm a pharmacy assistant. Oh! But I've had first aid training. Is someone hurt?"

Her face had already fallen. "Daddy said not to trust strangers except doctors and policemen."

"Well, your daddy is good to teach you that." He crouched down, not getting too near. This kid knew enough about Stranger Danger, it seemed, to not let him get closer. "But I could call a policeman for you."

"Really? Thank you Mr…" she tilted her head at his name badge. "Brewski?"

His laugh was loud but gentle. "Broflovski," he translated. "But you can call me Kyle."

Her face reddened but she held his gaze. There was something off about her, though he couldn't quite put a finger on what. "Kyle… I need a policeman so I can find my daddy."

"Okay. I'll just call one." He turned to the phone on the wall behind the desk. The child seemed to have overcome her shyness, taking a lollipop when he had nodded in response to her pointing at them eagerly, and then slipping beside him to join in the conversation. Not that there was much of one. The station seemed to be taking its sweet time. And the second they answered she seemed determined to talk to them herself, trying to snatch the phone from his hand. "Just a sec, kid, wait, hello, yes, there's this kid that-" he tried to explain the situation to the perplexed officer on the other side when just as suddenly as she had started to act up she rushed to the window and pointed at a nondescript man across the street.

"I see my daddy, okay bye Kyle, thanks!"

And just like that she was running out the door and around the corner. He pursued her as far as the doorway stumbling against the frame and watched her disappear in a completely different direction to the one in which she had pointed. "What the hell had all that been about," he mumbled turning back into the store. His eyes fell upon the ransacked lollipop jar and empty shelves which cold medicine had once filled. He grabbed at his hair, swearing loudly because there was no longer enough of it to tear out.

The girl threw herself into the passenger seat of the pick-up truck, her father waiting and counting through his stash of stolen goods. "Nice work, hun. Ay! Where'd you get those?"

She pushed her own collection of stolen goods into the glove compartment. "The doctor gave them to me. Sort of."

"Don't take sweets from strangers. And pharmacists aren't doctors. They're to doctors what mimes are to legitimate actors." He paused and glanced at the glove box. "Gimme one."

"Whatever," she pouted with a flick of brown hair. "He was really pretty though."

Her father wrapped a smirk around his candy. "Pfft, uh-huh. So, what's your new boyfriend's name."

"Kyle."

His hand froze on the gear stick. There were a lot of Kyles in Colorado.

"Kyle… something weird like Brewski."

"Broflovski?" he almost shrieked.

"Yeah, that! You know him? Ooohhh," she grinned. "Is he a 'special friend'?" She even air-quoted. But he just picked at the leather on the steering wheel in response. "Oh, sorry Cartman."

"S'cool. So, pretty huh?"

"Super pretty."

That sounded like Kyle alright.

"Hey," he said, suddenly livelier. "Wanna go see grandma while we're here?"

"Yeah! Grandma! Punch it, Cartman!"

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

Kyle Broflovski stared Eric Cartman down in disbelief. He stared back, utterly defeated by his ridiculous actions. Regretting every single moment of his life leading to this, because they had all colluded in making sure that this one failed. Because failed it had and he knew exactly why.

Kyle had been playing basketball in just a vest and shorts outside his house on a uniquely warm May afternon and Cartman couldn't resist the sight any longer. He'd half-jogged, half-skipped to the driveway where Kyle had paused for a drink. "One-on-one, Jew?"

"No, I always beat the crap out of you and then you run home like a bitch."

"Wow, so rude! Just wanted to make you look less of a loser playing by yourself. Where's your boytoy?"

"If you mean Stan," Kyle drew a breath between his teeth, "Wendy's of course."

"And Poor-boy is miles away. I'm your onwy fwend, poor Joo."

Kyle flexed his muscles alluringly. "We doing this or not, fatass?"

Cartman's inexorable grin was the only answer Kyle got as he gleefully slapped the basketball from his hands and ran up the so-called court. Kyle easily caught up, passed by and blocked the shot. "You suck, Kahl."

"No, you suck, Cartman. That's why we never play. You do your 'screw you guys I'm going home' thing after like ten minutes."

It was true but like hell was Cartman giving in. Not when he finally had Kyle to himself. The perfect little nerd had barely left his house all year, their final year. Determined to earn his place at whatever college he'd applied to. Cartman hadn't been privy to that information. Cartman didn't hear a lot from Kyle anymore. He'd grown tired of the berating and the offensive remarks. Horrifying from a little kid, sure, but not at all tolerable from someone approaching adulthood. They only spoke when forced together at school, or when Kenny (unrelenting in his pursuit of Cartman's good side, the role Kyle once shared with him) insisted on not leaving Cartman out of a group activity.

Stan had been just as eager to cut Cartman out and he fucking hated him for it. Knew it was mostly because of the jealousy Stan held – that he and Kyle did have some secret little bonds that his hippy ass couldn't comprehend. But that was all friends, wasn't it? You had different friends for different needs.

But Cartman had no interest in being Kyle's friend anymore, not for a long time. Not since he'd started looking for constellations in the freckles on his face and purposely brushing against him next to the school lockers so that his curls glanced his chin – right up until Kyle went through a growth spurt and evened things up between them.

Right now he was fairly certain he could burst just from Kyle dancing in front of him trying to bat the ball away from him. It was the closest they'd been for years, and their longest conversation outside of school work. And he was smiling. Enjoying himself – enjoying himself with Cartman.

So naturally Cartman fucked it up and leant forward. Kyle stumbled back and would've fallen on his ass if Cartman hadn't abandoned the ball in favour of grabbing his arms. The proximity was too much and Kyle pushed away. Their eye contact barely broke until then, when Kyle couldn't bear the genuine hurt in Cartman's eyes.

"I love you."

That was when Kyle had started on him. "Are you fucking kidding me? All the bullshit you've put me through? All the crap you've said, thought, believed!"

"I didn't!"

Kyle gave him a pointed look.

"Okay I kinda did but I was a mess, I'm fucked up, Kyle."

"No, no that shit works when you're eight Cartman, not goddamn fourteen, fifteen, fucking now. Weren't you on arson just last year?"

"No-one was in the building," he smirked. Wrong move.

"You're fucking ridiculous, Cartman. And I'm done with you."

"But I lo-"

"Yeah well, thanks. I'm flattered I guess. But I'm not dating someone who'd probably put Dacaux jokes in our wedding vows."

"That's not a bad idea. And it's cute you're thinking that far ahead."

"Grow up." Kyle escaped into his house. Cartman considered taking the basketball home. Give an excuse for Kyle to come to him. But he got the feeling Kyle would happily avoid him forever for the price of a damn ball.

"Kyle you look so fucking hot," Kenny grinned.

"Kenny, if you fucking French me I'll- goddammit get off," Kyle growled as Kenny pawed at his suit.

Kenny moaned. "Sooooo hoooottttt. Be my prom date?"

He already kind of was. They were both going stag, hoping to pick up any desperate girls at the end of the night. At least Kenny was. Kyle wasn't into ruining his night being a last-chance saloon for dumped women. He just wanted to dance with friends, drink the punch (very likely to be spiked especially with Kenny and Craig around) and tuck away into his memories all the people he was probably never going to see again. He had no desire at all to come back to South Park after college.

Stan was having a painfully poignant night with Wendy, who of course looked beautiful. They'd agreed to date other people at college and meet up afterwards if they were both single to see if there was still anything there. Kyle was on standby for when Stan inevitably cried and threw up at the end of prom. Craig and Tweek were adorable as the only gay couple, and whenever he looked at them he felt a weird pang. Cartman hadn't gone to prom. He waited for him to turn up, had actually hoped to make amends for how harsh he'd been. Cartman at least deserved a proper 'thank you but no'. That it was sweet but Cartman's feelings were misguided, they had to be. At least, he didn't act like a normal human being in love. But when had Cartman ever embraced normal?

When Kyle went outside to hold a sobbing Stan, he found out Cartman had gone to prom. He'd sat outside in his mom's car, listening to the muted music from the gymnasium. The moment Kyle had spotted him, he fired up the engine and screeched out of the lot.

Cartman graduated, barely, and Kyle looked out for him as Wendy gave her Valedictorian speech. It had been a close call between then, and he was actually a little relieved she won. As great as it would have looked on his application, he would never have been able to give a speech about bright futures and past friendships without feeling awful for Cartman. And it was stupid. This was exactly the sort of shit he'd meant. He didn't owe Cartman for his shitty life, he wasn't his babysitter. But he cared, he cared so fucking much.

Deep down you're so smart, Cartman, and witty and you can be fun, really. Don't waste your life.

I won't forgive you if you do.

He needn't have worried about the speech. Cartman never turned up.

Kyle wished that the last time they saw one another had been in the parking lot of the school. It was the kind of scene that belonged in a teen movie where a character does something brash or tragic and then they drive off listening to some emo crap with rain running down the windshield.

The last time was far less inspiring. Kyle had been walking home from his last basketball practice. The team were planning to meet up later for a proper send-off and he wanted a shower at home. His clothes clung to his skin and rasped uncomfortably. He looked up at Cartman's house when he walked past. He always did. And for the first time, he was there, sat at the window as if waiting. Kyle smiled as warmly as he could, held up his hand in a friendly hello. Cartman pulled the curtains closed. Not angrily or dramatically. As if he hadn't even seen Kyle. That it was just getting to that time of day when curtains needed closing.

Kyle left South Park for college the very next day.

Cartman ran away the day after.

Kyle shivered against the mountain town breeze cutting through his bones, trying not to feel too shit about the curt goodbye offered by his co-worker as they finished locking up. The call to his boss had been worse, but at least phones couldn't glare. And the police officers sent to investigate and take away the security footage as evidence had done everything short of laughing in his face. Robbed by a child; that's gonna be one to tell down the precinct for months to come.

His cell phone throbbed into action and Stan's name flashed on the display. "S'up dude," he sighed.

"Oh, just my wife. As in knocked."

"You fucking serious?" Kyle fell against the doors. The pharm. tech. had already left and there was no-one to grab and scream at their face in delight. Actually, she was the last person he'd get away with doing that to, so probably a good thing she was gone. He kicked a small flurry of snow instead. "That's epic dude, congrats!"

"Hey, well I mean, it's all thanks to you."

There was a pregnant pause, so to speak.

"Sorry dude, I didn't mean to make you feel weird." Stan's voice trailed off.

Kyle kicked some more of the snow aside. "It's not that dude. Had a shitty day at work, that's all. Gonna go home and eat my own weight in ramen."

Stan chuckled, "Sounds like a good night to me. But you should come over soon. You live like ten blocks away and we never catch up."

"We'll catch up even less once there's a baby, you know."

"No way, you're our free babysitter."

"You fucking wish!" Kyle began to make his way home, chatting eagerly and unaware of the figure watching from across the street, puffs of misty breath curling around their face. As soon as Kyle was out of sight, they hurried away throwing their body into the pick-up around the corner.

"Well?"

Cartman sat quietly, still a little breathless from the cold. That's what he was telling himself it was.

"Told you he was pretty," his daughter shrugged, handing him a lollipop.

"Yeah."

"Hey, if he's not a 'special friend', does that mean I have a shot?"

"Oh my God, Addie, don't talk like that. You're fucking eight." Gathering his seatbelt, Cartman started up the car. "Let's get the fuck out of here."

Cartman had never needed a fake I.D. It wasn't so much that he looked old enough to be in a bar, just that no-one ever dared call him out on it. Most knew Cartman by reputation, so that night he easily slumped over his drink and sucked up a cigarette as if it were the only one he had without question. In fact he was a regular at this particular dive and the barkeep had sympathetically pushed a shot towards him the moment he had entered. He'd missed his own prom when he was younger. Knew how it felt.

Cartman was mildly aware of a pair of eyes on his back half-hour into his night of feeling sorry for himself, and cursed under his breath when the owner parked on the next stool. Some woman with actually quite fetching azure eyes, ruined by hair that was bleached to death and make-up to rival a clown. "You all alone tonight, Big Guy?"

Oh wow, here we go, thought Cartman using all his composure not to roll his eyes in front of her.

"I was, but then someone went and spoilt it."

"Aw, don't be like that," she cooed leaning forward and then yelping suddenly. Cartman retrieved his wallet from her hand. "Don't hustle a hustler, girl. But not bad. Barely felt you."

"Hmm, do you want to?"

"Not my type."

"What is your type?

Prissy little Jew boys, Cartman smirked to himself. It wasn't as though he hadn't thought about woman. They just always turned into him. He was obsessed was the problem. Had no idea if he were gay or bi or whatever. Just fucking Kyle-sexual. Even if he were interested, leaving with a woman like this he'd probably lose the shirt on his back if he wasn't careful.

Fuck it. He was depressed and it was prom night and no fucking way was he ending it a virgin.

He handed his keys to the barkeep, not wanting to give his prom-date the opportunity to run off with his car, and followed her to a hotel.

He woke up exactly as he thought he might – alone, and a wallet and nutsack of sperm lighter.