Chapter 1: Barrier

Before he had a chance to realize it, Eric Cartman had been tossed to the ground like a rag doll, the fall of his husky frame cushioned by gratuitous amounts of snow and fat. Two fists flew into his face, one right after the other, refusing to stop even for Cartman's grunts of pain and choked back sobs. He could feel tears falling from his attacker's face, chilled by the winter air before they mixed with the blood that was now streaming down Cartman's face; only God knew from where he was bleeding.

"Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!" his attacker screamed.

Cartman couldn't help smiling at the sound of his voice. Even when he was pissed, he sounded lovely. The voice continued to ring in his ears, increasing in intensity, until finally the world went dark.

Three months ago, things had been different. Which is to say, they hadn't changed at all. Cartman entered the halls of South Park High School like he owned the place, only to be met with a scowl from Wendy, her arm snaked around Stan's waist. Stan looked up to see what Wendy was glaring at, only to quickly look away when he identified his former friend, instead opting to drape his arm around his girlfriend's neck and lead her away.

"Fucking bitch is going to get what's coming to her," Cartman muttered under his breath as he hiked his backpack onto his shoulder again and pushed through the people filling the halls. He turned a corner, almost bumping into Tweek, who let out a shrill shriek at the near-collision. Cartman stifled a string of swears as the twitching teen leapt out of the way and darted down the hall to catch up with his friends. Cartman looked down the hall and stopped in his tracks, feeling the sneer melt off of his face. There, pulling his arm out of his backpack and carelessly tossing a textbook into his locker, was Kyle Broflovski, the most perfect piece of filth to walk this planet. Standing next to him, with his back to Cartman, was someone clad in a familiar orange parka. Of course, Kyle was chatting with Kenny. It had become a daily ritual for those two. Kenny was probably talking about how he boned one of the disease-ridden whores walking these halls. It was surprising to know he got laid, given how disgustingly grimy his parka was, how greasy his tangled locks of golden hair were, and how he reeked of cigarette smoke, cheap beer, and something else that could only be described as rotting skunk.

Cartman swallowed hard as he pushed himself onward towards his locker. Of course, the school had to stick his locker right next to the fucking kike's. He wondered if Kyle was having a good morning as the distance between the two closed. Kyle lifted his head as Cartman strolled past him.

"Jew," Cartman muttered disapprovingly.

"Fuck off, fatass," Kyle retorted.

Cartman grinned inwardly and felt his heart leap at the small bit of acknowledgement; Kyle was having a good morning after all.

"Leave him the fuck alone," Kenny spat.

Cartman opened his own locker without looking at the pauper. There was no doubt in his mind that he was getting a rather angry look from him, a look that Cartman was all-too-familiar with. "It's a free country, poor boy. I can do what I want." He looked towards the two boys and added with a smirk, "And that includes irritating the shit out of certain Jews."

"What you do is called hate speech, dumbass, and the fact that this country is free doesn't mean you can do as you please," Kyle said in a matter-of-fact manner, a slight tinge of annoyance bleeding through his words.

Cartman felt his stomach twist, threatening to expel the pancakes he had downed for breakfast. Two sentences from Kyle was unusual, he must've been having a really good morning. He decided to push him a bit more to see if he responded. "What are you going to do, get your Jew dad to sue me?"

Kyle shoved a rather hefty math book into his backpack and closed it, yanking the zipper shut. "No, but I might have him represent me after I dismember you." The glint of victory in the Jew's eye was unmistakable. He lifted his pack off the ground, nodded his head to the side at Kenny, and left down the corridor.

Kenny growled at Cartman. "You had best leave him the fuck alone, fat boy, or else all of the fat in the world won't protect you." He turned promptly and ran after his friend.

The threat didn't bother Cartman. Aside from maintaining a disaffected attitude, his heart was still somersaulting from his brief conversation with Kyle. Usually, his snide greeting would be met with a complete lack of acknowledgement of his existence from the ginger. His pulse refused to return to normal even as he tugged the oversized math book out of his locker and let it tumble into his bag, bending the edge of the cover as it did so.

"Oh, h-hey Eric!" a chipper voice said.

Cartman didn't need to look up to know who it was. "Butters," he said curtly.

"I got your essay finished, Eric, and I think it's the best thing I've ever written!" the blonde said, thrusting a stack of papers into Cartman's face.

Cartman, finding his field of view interrupted by the sudden presence of the essay, ceased his attempt to find something interesting to stare at on the ground. He lifted his head up, looked at Butters, and snatched the work out of the boy's hand. He hastily crammed the assignment into his backpack and closed it. "Thanks," he said. With a swift kick, he knocked the pack to Butters's feet. He turned and started walking down the hall, giving a short command: "Carry it."

The blonde obeyed and picked up the backpack, slinging it over his shoulder and crushing his own Pokémon backpack (featuring various ground type Pokémon) beneath the weight. "Hey Eric, are ya gonna come over today?" Butters said, lurching forward a bit in his attempt to catch up with his friend.

"Why the hell would I want to hang out with some faggot like you?"

The smile was wiped off of Butters's face and his expression suddenly became more concentrated, as if he were trying to force the look of disappointment onto his face. "You p-promised," he said sternly.

Cartman rolled his eyes and grumbled, "It's fucking boring at your house." The sudden sound of a book bag hitting the ground behind him stopped him in his tracks. He turned around slowly and saw Butters several paces back. Behind him, lying upside down on the floor, was Cartman's bag. He took a deep breath, glowered at Butters, and stepped forward.

Butters flinched a bit. "I'm p-pretty sick and t-t-tired of your shit, Eric," he said, holding his ground despite the threat of Cartman beating him up again.

Cartman continued to stare the smaller boy down. "Are you going to pick that up?"

Butters looked at the ground meekly. "Well… I guess so," he squeaked quietly, stooping down to retrieve the fallen bag.

"Fine, I'll come to your house, but god damn it, you better have some decent entertainment, or I will seriously…" Cartman trailed off. "Now hurry the fuck up, class starts soon and I don't want to be late."

The day, as usual, was uneventful. Cartman would always spend his first class distracting Butters from taking notes in some way; today, he had taken to yanking the paper out from under Butters's pen, which resulted in various blue curves and lines staining the drab gray desk. For the next two class periods, there was no one whom Cartman could pester. Instead, he took to sitting at a desk against the wall in a bid to attract as little attention from the teacher as possible. It made it far easier to nap unseen if there was someone sitting in front of him. The class before lunch saw him enduring the constant flirting and giggling between the high school sweethearts, Stan and Wendy. Of course, they had been dating on-and-off since before most of them could remember, but as the high school years dragged on, the two seemed to become more and more invested in each other. Cartman made it his personal mission to ruin their mushy moments during class through whatever means necessary. Twice it had scored him a black eye from Wendy, though he always made sure to land a few punches on the bitch before she hit her desired target.

Finally, Cartman's favorite time came: lunch. Despite school lunch tending to be a foul-tasting, diarrhea-inducing pile of slop sitting in a poorly cleaned tray, Cartman would always grab two helpings to satisfy his substantial appetite. Today's menu featured cheeseburgers, one of his favorites: meat patties (of dubious origins) blackened to a crisp, a piece of flimsy cheese on top (usually still wrapped in the plastic), all on a stale bun. It didn't get much better than this. Armed with two trays of what could be classified as a biohazard, Cartman skirted the edge of the cafeteria, making his way to a table situated in a corner. Butters was already seated there, examining an apple with fervor. He tilted his head up when he noticed the slight change in lighting, seeing Cartman looming over him. The latter plopped his trays unceremoniously onto the table before seating himself across from the only person who would still give him the time of day.

"Hey there, Eric!" Butters greeted him with a saccharine voice before screwing his eyes up to get a better focus on the apple again.

"Hey Butters," Cartman replied, somewhat disinterested in whatever dull conversation his friend was certain to start any second now.

"Boy, I tell you, Bebe sure was sore at me in class today! I asked her if I could borrow one of her pencils, and…"

Cartman tuned out the otherwise ingratiating voice and scanned the cafeteria. The ugly table, the table with the girls, Craig's group… there. Cartman fixed his gaze on a table where three familiar figures were seated: Stan, Kyle, and Kenny. Stan and Kyle were in the midst of a heated battle, tossing pieces of a torn up milk carton back and forth between each other. Suddenly, Kyle's head twisted towards Kenny's direction – Kenny had sacrificed a small piece of his bread sandwich to join the war, launching an ambush on Kyle's unguarded flank. The redhead responded in kind by tossing paper scraps in the direction of both of his friends.

"…and I promised I'd g-get some money for her to buy a new shirt, but, gee, I don't know," Butters furrowed his eyebrows as he absentmindedly lined his French fries up into neat rows.

"Riveting story, Butters. Really, you should be a novelist. Your narrations are sure to please millions," Cartman said, forcing his gaze back to the person sitting across from him.

"I just feel awful about it, Eric. I ruined her brand new shirt," Butters sighed.

"That bitch is buying brand new shirts every week, she'll forget about it by tomorrow," Cartman scoffed.

"I sure hope you're right, because I don't really want to give up some of the money in my piggy bank. I was saving up for something special!"

"A piggy bank? Jesus Christ, Butters, you're gayer than I thought."

Fifth period was always the most agitating for Cartman. One reason was because it was the penultimate class of the day, resulting in his eyes being glued to a clock for the entire class. Staring the clock down never helped time go faster. If anything, the second hand slowed down, as if it were mocking him. The other reason that fifth period was agitating was that it preceded sixth period which, for Cartman, was a study hall. Normally this wouldn't be an issue, but the fact of the matter was that Kyle shared his study hall. Other than the hallways, it was the closest Cartman could get to him.

When the bell finally rang, Cartman already had his stuff packed up and ready to go. Effortlessly, he snaked through the rows of desks while his classmates around him stuffed their possessions into bags of various styles, with sizes ranging from the uselessly tiny to the outrageously large. By the time he made it to the room where his study hall was, Kyle was already there, seated in a desk in the middle, his nose buried in whatever book he was reading this week. Perfect. Cartman slipped into the room unnoticed and snuck into the chair directly behind Kyle. It was the closest he could ever hope to get to him. He would spend the entire period staring at Kyle. As much as he hated to admit it, being this close to the kike was slightly intoxicating. Kyle continued reading his book, unaware that he was being observed, until the bell finally signaled to him that school was finally over.

As soon as the first sound reached Kyle's ears, he placed his book in a green messenger bag, slung it over his shoulder as he stood, and walked out of the room into the hallway, where droves of students had appeared almost instantly. Cartman swore at his lack of foresight – he had strewn several papers and two books on his desk to make it look like he was busy, but this had the disadvantage of a longer packing time. Not today. With one swoop of his arm across the surface of the desk, his work went tumbling chaotically over the side of the desk and landed on top of his waiting book bag. He leaned over, ripped the bag open wider to let his stuff fall inside, and zipped it up. He stood, yanking his bag up with his momentum and nearly toppling his desk in the process. Without looking back to make sure the furniture wasn't actually uprooted, Cartman went out into the hall and looked left and right.

Shit, he was gone. It was fucking impossible to see with everyone clogging the halls. He craned his neck and kept walking down the hall. When he reached the next intersection, he turned his head left towards the main door and caught a glimpse of a green ushanka in a sea of colorful hats bobbing its way outside. He pushed through any of the students blocking his path to the door, disrupting several conversations and hearing plenty of colorful descriptors shouted in his wake. He burst through the last wall of people and stumbled onto the front steps of the school. The first breaths of winter air stung his lungs as he surveyed the parking lot before him. Already, his target had crossed the parking lot and was progressing further down the sidewalk. 'Christ,' Cartman thought, 'it's like the Jew can fucking teleport.' He gritted his teeth to keep himself from shivering and stuffed his hands into his pockets. As much as he hated it, he'd have to run to catch up to him.

At first, Kyle thought it was the distant sound of car doors being slammed. Clomp, clomp, clomp. But as the sound came closer, he realized that someone was running after him. He turned around, expecting Stan or maybe Kenny, but the smile on his face disappeared the moment he saw the source of the sound.

"Cartman, fuck off," Kyle said, turning around and walking faster.

"Wait, Jew," Cartman said, stopping a moment to pant. "Jew, slow the fuck down," he said between breaths.

"No," came the short reply.

Cartman regained his composure and walked quickly to catch up to Kyle. "Jew, I said wait!" he barked.

Kyle stopped short and whipped himself around. "I said fuck off, fatass! I told you, I don't want to have anything to do with you anymore! That hasn't changed from when I first told you!"

"What's the matter," Cartman smirked, "Your butt buddy Stan couldn't give you a ride home today? It is you that does the riding, isn't it?"

"Oh my God, Cartman, you are insufferable," Kyle hissed. "Why the fuck am I even wasting my time?" He turned around again and kept walking.

'God damn it,' Cartman chided himself. 'You're supposed to talk to him, not push him away.' He called out "Jew, wait!"

Kyle simply held up his middle finger.

"Jew!"

Cartman's shouting was interrupted by a black pick-up truck pulling up next to Kyle. The window rolled down and Stan leaned out.

"Hey, need a ride?" Cartman heard Stan ask.

"I thought you had to stay late?" Kyle asked.

"No, I got out of it," Stan grinned. "Hop in."

"I could certainly use it," Kyle said, leveling a glare in Cartman's direction.

Stan looked in the direction of Kyle's gaze. "Oh," he simply said, his expression souring. "What the hell does he want?"

"Who cares? He's just being an asshole. He's a really persistent one today, at that." Kyle shrugged and skimmed around the front of the truck. He yanked open the passenger side door, climbed in, and slammed it shut. Before Cartman could yell out to him again, the truck was carelessly speeding off into the distance.

"Shit," Cartman said, oblivious to the pins and needles feeling developing in his face. He started walking, beating himself up mentally as his feet carried him home. "I just had to go and make that butt buddy joke," he said to himself. Of course Stan and Kyle weren't gay, but how could he resist poking fun at Kyle like that? He sighed, the realization finally sinking in that he had, once again, fucked up. Something fell across his line of sight as he trudged down the sidewalk, disrupting his thoughts. He looked up; it had begun to snow. For a moment he stood there, his breath swirling out in frosty clouds, staring up as the flakes around him began to blanket his world.

He had never felt more alone.