Title: Cartman's Wonderful Life
Author: flannelninja
A/N: I got this idea… like most bad ideas I get… from watching "That 70's Show"… It was the episode right after Eric and Donna broke up. Now, I love me some Eric x Donna. The first time I found out they eventually broke up… I was pissed. What's the point of the show if the only cannon couple you love is dead? But then, Jackie x Hyde was cannon and it was cool again.
Anyways… the point is…
It got me thinking. What if Candy (my OTP) ended up cannon (like for reals, going out and shiz) and then they broke up? Would I still watch the show?
Fuck yes. It's fucking South Park. Life goes on. More importantly, South Park goes on. But, somehow, I knew that Eric wouldn't think so. So I had to write this: My first fic ever written in first person P.O.V. And… it's Kenny's. Don't ask me why… I don't know why… Jesus Christ… -.-
Chapter 1- In Your Eyes
Bebe McCormick and I—dancing to what she thought was the most romantic song in the world. The song we danced to at porm after we were crowned king and queen. Ten years later… and Bebe was still the most smoking girl I had ever slept with. Her head nestled itself in the crook of my neck. I could feel her soft, curly, gorgeous golden hair against my skin, as well as the silky material that made up her dress. My hands slyly made their way down her back and—
"Ooh! Kenny!" My wife giggled. "It's like Prom all over again…" She put her hands on my chest as if to push me away, though I noticed she made no attempt to move my groping fingers. What a slut… Just the way I like 'em! Wait… I can say that now, right? Well, she totally is… And she's my slut. So… it's fine.
"If I remember correctly, I got to third base that night," I said, nibbling at her ear.
"Play it cool, McCormick, and you might just get lucky again." Bebe winked suggestively and I—taking the bait—proceeded to twirl her across the mostly barren dance floor. It turns out that my escapades as Mysterion had made me quite nimble on my feet. The dance lessons my wife signed us up for so that we could "spend more time together" didn't hurt either. But, I digress. This story isn't even about me. It's about Cartman.
I know what you're thinking. The asshole? The douche bag? The fat Nazi kid? The spoiled fatherless bastard? That's the one. He hasn't changed much. Don't get me wrong, he's become a man and all that jazz—but Eric Cartman's gonna do Eric Cartman. It's all he knows how to do, and it's what he's good at… y'know what I'm saying?
At the same time… we're talking about my best friend: the one I stole food from every lunch period… the one who convinced me Bebe would give it up if I invited her to prom… the one who stood by my right during the wedding that followed. I once believed he was incapable of friendship—or of caring about someone other than himself. Maybe he's just gotten really, really good at pretending… Or maybe… our favorite thick-headed Fatass had found his heart… and maybe, even a conscience.
O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O
Wendy Testaburger, my wife's slightly less hot friend, sat in a grayish green foldable chair pushed in so that her breasts rested on the cheap red cloth covering the table. Wendy tended to think a lot at events such as this. She contemplated life… and the past… and everything in between. But, most of all, she contemplated suicide. Now, this ink-haired beauty had discussed this her therapist countless times. He said it was a completely normal thought—"yet, one shouldn't try to dwell on these things." That's what he said. And Doctor knows best.
She felt a hand on her shoulder. It had a familiar weight to it. She knew these hands. These were the same hands that had teased, taunted and caressed her body so many times. She took a deep breath before voicing her guess.
"Cartman?"
"We're back to that?" Wendy turned to the man she had once loved more than the moon and quadruple stuffed oreo cookies combined. He, of course, had a cup of peanuts in his hand. Couldn't he go three minutes without food? He had probably headed straight for the snack table once he had gotten there. She wondered vaguely if he had brought them from home.
"What do you want me to call you, Cartman?" She spat out his name as if to show him just how bad it tasted in her perfectly fine and over him mouth.
"Eric. Teddy. Snookums. Officer." He grinned. Wendy was taken aback—how dare he!—so blatantly!—that was something private and personal and never to be spoken about outside of their bedroom. Except that… they didn't have a bedroom anymore. They didn't live together. Wendy's heart sank. All those dirty, delightful memories… they didn't belong anywhere now.
"What are you doing, Cartman?" Something inside told him not to speak. "What are you doing talking to me?"
Eric smiled—Wendy knew that look. He used it on clients and judges and teachers… but never on her. He never tried to put up a front with her before. He was—or at least he used to be content with being his evil, asshole of a self with her.
"A friend can't—"
"Friend? We haven't seen each other for three years, Cartman!" She stood up, the chair clanking to the ground behind her. "My Mother died. Did you know that, Eric?"
"I heard…"
"From Kenny? Bebe? Kyle? Oh, I know! Snookums, you must've seen it on Facebook!"
At this point, people were staring. Bebe and I were momentarily thrown out our wonderful perpetual honeymoon. We had both been so diligent in mending Wendy and Cartman's broken heart after the incident... Butters, Stan, and Kyle walked through the metal doors. The music stopped. Everyone wanted to know what would be said next.
Eric furrowed his eyebrows and turned to our childhood friends giving them a smile and a wave. Bebe grimaced. Wrong move, man… Wendy was furious. She was not a woman to be ignored. She did the one thing she could think of—she slapped him across the face.
His body snapped around so fast we were all sure Fatboy must've gotten whip lash. He brough his palm to his now reddened cheek.
"That fucking stung, bitch!"
"You have the balls to ignore me!"
"Fuck yes, I have the balls, you've felt them up with your own damn tongue you dirty—"
"There are people you here you giant asshole, do you not care about our reputations or the consequences to our actions or—"
"You left ME!" He screeched finally. "You left me! You left me! YOU LEFT ME!"
Wendy fell silent, and I used this time to quickly and quietly slip behind Eric and put my hand on shoulder. It was easier said than done, as he was… shall we say… significantly taller than me. Despite my desperate efforts, he merely shrugged off my dainty hand. He was staring her down. Hard.
"You… you were the one who kicked me out—"
"You left me at the altar!"
"But… I didn't want you to completely leave my life!"
"YOU LEFT ME!" Eric smoothed back his thoroughly cleaned and blow-dried hair. "You left me. And now there is now 'Our', there is no 'We', and there is never going to be a fucking day when I hope you don't fucking die!"
Wendy's eyelids fluttered. A wetness appeared in her eyes. She turned to run—and she found herself enveloped in my wife's bodacious embrace. Cartman downed the rest of his peanuts… and he turned to me.
"To the bar?" I asked gently.
"To the bar."
O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O
I nodded slowly into the telephone, watching my friends from the pay booth. "Mhm, babe. I'll see you when I get home. Take good care of her."
I took my designated seat at the bar, right beside Cartman and Butters. Kyle and Eric were arguing and to be honest, Eric sounded a wee bit drunk.
"Don't belittle my people, Fatass!"
"Well, Kayahl…how can I heeeeelp it… when your Mom…. is… such… as beetch?" His voice was even more slurred than usual.
"Your Mom's a crack whore."
"AY!" Cartman's head dribbled in my direction lazily. "Kenneh, mah mommy's not a crack whore… is she?"
Butters giggled in to his apple martini. It was his fifth of the night, and I could tell he was getting tipsy.
"Shut ahp , Butters! You gahs!" He slammed his meaty fists on the table. "Ow… you gahs just don't understahnd what Ah'm going through…"
"But it's been three years big guy—" I said, attempting to drape my arm over his massive shoulders.
"It's getting kind of pathetic." Kyle finished for me. Stan snickered, and I shot them both a glare. He might've deserved it for all the shit he's put us through over the years… But, really… way to kick him when he's down.
Cartman was silent. "I know!" He shrieked violently, shoving his face in his hands. The four of us watched as Eric freaking Cartman broke down in genuine tears before us all. Kyle's face softened. He placed a comforting hand on Eric's shoulder.
"I don't think you're pathetic, Eric." Butters stated quietly.
"I was only joking Fat—Cartman, I really didn't—"
Cartman stood up, his barstool screeching agains the floor behind him. He wiped the tears off his face with his sleeve.
"Wah… Why doesn't anybody git it?" He slurred. "You cain't just erase wha you've said!" He stormed out of the bar dizzily. I had never seen him run so fast… or so lopsidedly. The four of us quickly followed behind. He was standing dangerously in the middle of the street. As luck would have it, a car was speeding towards him from the distance.
"Ah… wish! I had never said yes!"
Ironically, Eric Theodore Cartman was about to be run over by a pot-smoking Hybrid-driver. Somehow, we knew he wouldn't have wanted it any other way.