Stan's lips smooched Wendy's cheeks and travelled down to her neck. Wendy giggled, playfully pushing him away, though with not much force.
"Stanley, not here..."
"It's okay, guys." Kenny smiled, shrugging.
It was very peaceful there, at the Town Square. Stan and Wendy were not the only couple who was there kissing. They saw Big Gay Al and Mr. Slave with their adopted children, having a little picnic under a tree; Red and Kevin Stoley with their eyes on their respective phones but hugging each other; Francis, from school, with his new girlfriend...It was really heartwarming to see that the time of fear had passed and now people were not afraid to go out. This atmosphere reminded Kyle to find the old notebook where he used to write phones and make a few calls later.
Leaning on the fence until they decided to go to the bus stop, the three of them were drinking soda, enjoying doing nothing. They had talked about how assholes Craig and Tweek had been but now they just enjoyed the peace and quiet, contemplated everything and everyone around them, and Stan could give Wendy the kisses he felt he owed to her.
Yes, everybody thought that Craig and Tweek had behaved like douchebags. They were friends, weren't they? After all that had happened, very close friends. So why didn't they invite them to the wedding? Why didn't they tell them they were going to get married in the first place? That crap about wanting it to be done as soon as possible, not caring about the money or the details, after all that had happened, wasn't an excuse. As private as that wedding was, they could have told them, at least. They had to find out when Wendy saw the photos on their families' social media and, a day later, photos of them in Washington D.C. By the way, much to Mr. Tucker's relief, both Craig and Tweek kept their own family names.
Anyway, they didn't need them. They managed well on their own. They were eleven and now that there was no one screwing around, there wasn't much to do. Bebe could breathe again—although Nicole had told Wendy that she had caught her in the middle of the railroad and driving with no caution so that that guy, the Mosquito, would come and save her.
As for Butters, they didn't hear from him again and nothing happened that could be attributed to him. Kenny had him in his mind very often, most of the time with sorrow. He expected him to show himself in any moment. He hoped he would. Professor Chaos—Butters had to be somewhere, licking his wounds, waiting to strike again. He had to. Day by day, Kenny always blamed himself for not being able to make him stop and go back with them, get help...
Anyway, he had to think of the future. Now he was not defending South Park alone.
They called themselves Freedom Pals.
They were beginners, but they were learning fast. Last time, when a man tried to commit suicide, dragging his wife and children with him, Scott managed to solve the situation without hurting anybody. Officer Barbrady was being very nice to them. Everybody prefered Sargeant Yeats (as much as police brutality against people of color had decreased considerably after he was gone) but Officer Barbrady seemed to have learned a lot during his long leave to learn how to read. He knew about their secret identities and managed to keep the secret. Whenever there was an emergency, as soon as he knew about it, he passed it to Wendy and, with the help of Timmy, spread the word to her friends—the fittest or the closest to the scene would take care of it. Any other policeman would have been upset that they took their jobs, but there had never been many agents in South Park, and the tragic events had decimated them, and not many people were wanting to take the job. Also, in spite of Kyle's initial reluctance, Ike's labor as the 'community manager' of the group contributed to their acceptance in the community. His videos and photos arised so much curiosity that the South Parkers couldn't wait for another bank robbery or assault to see those masked vigilantes. The successes they saw made up for the times when they screwed up. The young Broflosvki had even received juicy offers from national television companies and newspapers to talk about them, but he always refused. He was devoted to them with just one condition: that they addressed him as 'Smuggler Maplebeard the Pirate King', the name by which he signed his reports.
They all had fictional names. Names rescued from the deepest part of their memory. Human Kite, Toolshed, Call Girl, Mosquito, Wonder Tweek, Captain Diabetes, Tupperware, Fastpass, Doctor Timothy and Super Craig. The children they once were, who made up the game, would have been amazed if they knew that all their make-believe would become true, suits included. They had to give it to Cartman: he had good taste designing costumes. They were comfortable to wear, adapted to their powers well, helped them protect their identities and, most of all, they didn't find themselves ridiculous at all with them on. Not even Kyle, who's costume suffered a very decent make over, or Token, who used to wear literal tuppers as an armor. The only one who made a few modifications was Wendy, adding much more fabric to it.
"Move that fat ass!" Kyle shouted, and laughed.
They had to worry about relationships, career, money, family and superhero matters now, yes, but there was always time for a little entertainment.
And, boy, was that hilarious.
Cartman, dressed with a very tight, short and flashy skirt and a black top, with his face full of the sluttiest make up they could find, had managed to stop a truck.
"Hello, cowboy! Me so horny! I suckie-suckie to you! Free!"
They didn't know what the truck driver's tastes were, or for how long he had been alone on the road, but he opened the door so that Cartman could get inside. They couldn't help laughing at the way his fat butt moved when he climbed the stairs to the driver's cabin, and how he immediately got into business with that old, ugly guy.
["There's a big fight at the bar; Fastpass and Tupperware are already on it."]
"Got it, Doc, thank you." Wendy replied aloud, still laughing at Cartman, as the truck drove to a more discreet place.
THE END
