This story... makes me happy.
I don't know why, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. :)
Disclaimer: I don't own South Park, it rightfully belongs to Trey&Matt!
Good Samaritan
Just another wonderful afternoon in the life of the eldest Goth, Michael. Get up, go to school, smoke break at the docks, get coffee and the Village Inn, go home, and get a lecture from parents, bed. Rinse and repeat. Oh, joy. He couldn't resist having another argument with his family over drinking coffee at the dinner table instead of a glass of milk like every other Taylor or Justin wannabe conformist in his quiet little mountain town.
Or so he thought.
An image stumbled into sight as he made a sharp turn at the corner. There was a girl, one that Michael had no intention of knowing—although judging by her outfit, seemed to come from the poorest edge of town. Her pigtails were like two little bird nests, and he wouldn't be surprised if he did find an egg or two in them. Deep holes embedded in her clothes, letting her skin become exposed to the blizzard around her, and that coughing fit would be a ten out of ten if she was entered in a contest.
Little Karen roamed on, praying that she'd be home soon from the cold. Despite her house, it was better to be inside of it than being sick in the snow for another half an hour. Kenny was home sick in bed and if she wasn't home soon, her father threatened to whoop her butt big time, due to the fact her parents only had very little medicine and could just afford one child absent from school once every three months if they were lucky.
Oh, if only her guardian angel was here…
However, the windy flurries ended abruptly. Karen found herself under the warmth of a long, black trench coat. Soon she was looking into the eyes of a taller child, whose hair was dark as night.
"Are you all right, little conformist?"
The typical child would be too afraid to speak to a mysterious brooding stranger, but Karen was Karen, considering she hung around someone who was not so different from this young man who just so happened to shelter her from the snow. He appeared to be quite tired, with dark rings around his eyes. The little girl's mind wandered. Did he suffer from nightmares? If so, he had one too many, for she worried. Lack of sleep, she supposed.
"Yes," she squeaked, hoping it was enough to convince him, but a cough said otherwise.
Humming a sigh, Michael went down on one knee. Around his throat was a loosened scarf, which he removed instantly. Karen watched with interest as he draped the winter garment around her neck, tying it round and round until the entire cloth shielded her mouth from the cold—despite it was still much too big for her. Michael managed to keep his smile hidden from view.
"There," he said, satisfied. "Now you're on your way to becoming a Goth."
A patch of curiosity gleamed in her second grader's eye. "Wow…"
The tall Goth pointed an index digit between her eyes.
"Not 'wow'. Whoa," he corrected. "Whoa. No way."
"Whoa," Karen repeated.
He nodded. "Whoa."
Moments later, she fell into step alongside him, carefully avoiding patches of slippery ice—though, her scarf was the main conflict at the time. She nearly lost her balance if it wasn't for Michael's rescue. Smiling tiredly down at the little girl, he wrapped the scarf around her once more.
"You'll grow into it," he assured her.
They soon arrived at the edge of the railroad. Karen checked both ways before getting down on her knees and placing a mitten-covered hand to the smooth metal as Michael took a drag and watched, secretly impressed with a skill for her age. She caught him staring and smiled.
"Just something that my brother had taught me," she replied.
The Goth blew a dragon's worth of smoke in another direction.
"Your brother?"
Speak of the devil once across the tracks, the front door of the broken home opened to reveal a fourth grader in an orange parka. He spied Karen and gestured her to come inside. The little girl yelped with joy before charging over the tracks toward her brother. Michael watched their hug from afar, taking in the heartfelt moment, although taking these somewhat conformist feelings to a minimum. As Karen hurried inside, blabbering about her most recent adventure, Kenny gazed forward. Michael stared back.
The feeling between them was mutual.
"Michael, your scarf's missing."
Puff.
Exhale.
The self-proclaimed leader clutched his cold throat when a sudden realization dawned on him and heaved a sigh for his lousy memory.
"Huh. I suppose it is."
Immediately Henrietta retrieved handfuls of yarn from her bag.
"Would you like for me to make you a new one?" she offered.
Michael shrugged, indifferent towards the situation. "Well, I…"
He stopped, mouth dropped. Bravely peeking out beyond the corner of the building was a tiny girl with pigtails and a strangely familiar scarf. The Goth Kids followed his gaze as said girl stepped from the shadows and onto their turf. Slowly, carefully, she crept toward Michael, head bowed, as though she was in the presence of royalty. Pete and Henrietta watched on, intrigued by this young conformist's appearance as Firkle raised a questioning eyebrow.
"Why is that trashy conformist wearing your—Oww!"
He sent Henrietta a death glare after earning a nudge in the ribs.
Karen approached Michael, smiling up at him.
For a split second, he smiled back.
"What's up, little Goth?" he asked.
"Snow," answered Karen, raising her eyes to the sky. "I brought you something."
She stepped forward and revealed a buttercup from behind her back. Michael blinked in surprise. Karen lowered her head again, as though she was ashamed of herself.
"I'm sorry that it's not your preferred color," she apologized quickly. "There weren't any black roses in stock."
The other kids watched in silence, waiting for their friend to actually do something instead of staring at the conformist colored flower in awe.
"No way," he breathed.
Karen clasped her hands together, pleased with his reaction as he snatched the flower away.
"Would you mind if I dye it black?" he asked softly.
She beamed. "Of course you can!"
Michael nodded his thanks.
Without further ado, Karen rushed up to the stairwell and hurried to the door.
"I better go before the bell rings," she said. "Bye…?"
"Michael."
"Michael," said Karen quietly, processing his name as another smile graced her lips. "Bye, Michael!" And quickly slipped inside.
Pete was first to exhale, which caused him to earn concerned looks from everyone.
"Guys, not to sound like a freakin' conformist," he cried, "but holy crap, you've got to admit, Karen McCormick is adorable as f—"
"I get dibs on painting her nails first," Henrietta volunteered, pointing her cigarette holder in each of their faces. "That green has gotta go. From now on, she'll be wearing purple. Come to think of it, she could need a scarf of her own." She stopped momentarily. "… Shit. Now I'm sounding like a conformist."
"She can keep mine."
The trio glanced Michael's way. And there it was—a real, genuine smile, rare in the wild.
"I loaned it to her yesterday while she was lost in the cold," he explained. "She'll grow into it."
"Softie Goth," whispered Pete, giving the older boy a shit-eating grin.
Firkle rolled his eyes as he lit another cigarette.
"Back-stabbing conformist is more like it," he muttered. He swatted Henrietta's hand away as she playfully ruffled his hair, like the mother hen she was.
She smirked. "Somebody's jealous."
The Kindergoth pouted. "Am not. Jealousy is for preppy cheerleaders and their uptight douchesaurus quarterbacks only."
Pete stifled a laugh. "Freaking jealous, his heart's totally a green-eyed monster right now."
"Lame," Firkle drawled. "So. Lame."
"Then stop being a douchy little dillhole and start acting like a freakin' Goth."
"You all just accepted a junky Disney Original Movie queen into our group! How is that even Goth?!"
The school bell rang, signaling their petty argument to a halt. Students began cramming the halls from the inside.
"Whelp," Michael clicked his tongue and grabbed his cane before gently placing the sunshiny flower inside one of his trusty coat pockets. "I'll meet you guys at Benny's in ten minutes. I need to go take care of something."
He parted with his bickering friends and went on his silent way, the wind being the only sound aiding him on his journey. Once out of sight and earshot from the group, he slid the buttercup out of his coat just to take a curious whiff.
By the time he entered the house, his father wondered just on earth how Michael had gotten a splash of gold on his nose.