Posted here for Azu-Luna because she loved it so much
My first Kyle/Cartman fic, so be gentle
Reposted from my deviantART account
I do not own the characters in this story. It's all made up.
Eric Cartman can't take his eyes off of the outside as the car rolls down the long dark road. The tranquility of the autumn night is something Eric could never fully grasp, never really be a part of. He is loud and rambunctious and anything but peaceful. He leans his cheek on his fat hand, propped up against the car door as he watches the snow-capped mountains and the pine trees zoom past at speeds Eric cannot ever imagine running.
Beyond his control in his mind, is a weight problem that makes him so uncomfortable, that he pretends to be someone he isn't; someone who can't stand everyone else in the world because they're stupid and wimps and hippies and Jews. Really, he can't stand everyone else in the world because they're smarter, stronger, more comfortable with themselves, and thin. They are everything Eric wants to be, but can't. He wishes he is someone else, but has no thoughts of change.
Change is not an option, in this town it never was and will never be. The people here are stolid, intangible objects; machines of people who follow a strict day-to-day routine. They watch the news, fear terrorism, go to work, and drink like emotionless robots. Everything is wall with a black and white coat and god-forbid anyone breaks out the fluorescents.
Out the outside, Eric is like the town itself.
The air in the car is stuffy and hot and unbearable, or maybe it is because Eric is so uncomfortable having such deep thoughts. This is what happens whenever he gets afraid; when he starts thinking of things beyond his grasp, he gets very uncomfortable, his body heats up and he claims the room sucks and what they're doing sucks. Everything sucks to Eric Cartman, nothing is to his liking.
Instead of politely mentioning his discomfort, he growls it, muttering under his breath as he tries to find the switch that will put the window down. From between his lips comes pouring a long, colorful string of obscenities sprinkled with conjunctions and articles, not that he knew what those were, of course.
The driver turns his head upon the sudden, jerky movements coming from the boy next to him. His eyes narrow upon hearing a familiar insult. He hates hearing the names coming from Eric Cartman so often. He hates being called a Jew like it is a mortal sin. He snaps back, but Eric does not reply. Rather, the brunette finds the lever and manages to pull down the window until it is no longer visible, tucked away inside the car door and well hidden. He folds his thick arms across the empty window and rests his chin atop them, watching the pure white snow go by him.
The thing about South Park is that it snows too much. For about eleven out of the twelve months of the year the filthy, dirty ground is covered in layers of pure white snow. After a day or so, the citizens have trampled or driven over it and the cleanliness of the earth is tainted. Eric fears the same thing about the inhabitants on this piss-ant town. Everyone here was pure, whether when they were born or when they moved here, but after only a short about of time, they lose what was to be most precious to them, their innocence. Eric figures that this must be the only place in this state of being. Nothing in the world can be more sinful and wrong.
Eric inhales, trying to fully rid himself of the uncomfortable feeling of rejection and self-doubt. His nose fills immediately with the strong scent of mountain air. Where they are from, this consists mainly of melting snow, cow, and pine. The evergreen is strong in this particular area and makes him feel a little nauseous. Clenching his hands into large pudgy fists, Eric wishes he were not so weak. He wishes he was strong and refreshing and a joy to be around like the smell of pine, but instead it just makes him feel sick, yet another reminder of how little self-esteem he carries with him and the self-loathing that binds him to forever being the resident fatass. He knows he can never change.
Right now, the snow is glinting blue, a mirror image of the dark sky above. It races by, burning holes in Eric's eyes. The reflection is too strong. The moon casts the stinging glow upon the earth, a giant ball of light in the sky is merely a reflection of something brighter and more powerful. Eric feels like the moon, Kyle is the sun.
He glances over at the driver, Kyle Broflovski, and regrets calling him. He could have called anyone else to pick him up from Denver, but 'Jewface' was the first name that popped out at him when he glanced through his contact list on his cell phone and he couldn't think of any other person who might bother with him. His enemy was more reliable then his acquaintances. Eric and Kenny had been restaurant-hopping, a common hobby of theirs, in Denver when Kenny ran into a girl from school. They had been dancing around each other for weeks and she offered Kenny to stay at her place for the night. Kenny is by no means a slut and is certainly not expecting to 'get any' tonight, but he was quick to take her up on her offer, hoping to ignite some sparks. He lied and told her Eric was leaving soon to go to a party, so Eric left just as Kenny wanted, and started looking for someone to call for a ride.
The redheaded little Jew that Eric hated so much was the first name that stood out, but he continued to scan his list. Stan is more tolerable of him lately, but he has been with Wendy constantly seeing as they made a mistake and Stan has to stay by his girlfriend and the life growing within her, Kenny is of no use, Pip is too French, Clyde is under house-arrest for drug-dealing during school, Butters is grounded, Token is too black, and there was no way he was calling that faggot Craig, not that the spazz-fucker would pick up anyway. This had left him with Kyle and now, as they careen threw the night on a long country road, Eric regrets not calling Token or Pip. Damn racism.
Eric feels overheated again and shakes his head to rid himself of such thoughts. He leans back against the seat and slouches, propping his feet upon the dashboard. He folds one arm across his wide chest and the other remains on the window. He tilts his head back as the wind wafts through his thick mess of chestnut-colored hair.
His eyes trail upwards, focusing on the dark sky which stretches endlessly above them, covering them in darkness broken by the vast amounts of starts over head. The glistening little specks overhead shimmer down at him, dancing before him in a sea of black. They both mock him and enthrall him. Eric wants to be like a star, genuine and clean and unadulterated, the way all children are to be. Nineteen may be too old to be considered a child. All that are left for him are the satellites, false attempts at imitating the stars, pretending to be chaste and innocent as they really broadcast hatred and addiction to the world below them.
He strains his eyes as he watches the lights above. Eric yearns to tell the difference between the fakes and the ones that are true at heart, but to no avail. He hopes no one else can see the difference either or else he will be seen differently. He will be seen for the weak person he truly is. His facade can only hide him for so long. It can only last for so long before shattering in a dark ocean of uncertainty. Eric is burying himself in lies and fronts, pleading with a Lord that will never listen to be concealed behind it forever. For his walls will remain strong in a time when he feels the need for others so urgently. He prays again that perhaps these people will remain blind to him, to never notice what is beneath two hundred and forty-three pounds of resentment and fascism.
"Do they collide?" It was a slip of the mouth, a vocalization of something he mean to keep to himself, but he let it out somehow and saw Kyle tense up beside him. Eric feels an intense rush of emotions hurdling at him: anger, fear, embarrassment, yearning, hope, hatred. Another wave of nausea hits him as he realizes what this simple question divulges. Yet, these emotions come to a halt before him. From the corner of his eye, Eric catches a smile grace his companion's full, peachy-pink lips and suddenly, he doesn't feel so lost anymore.
He slouches a little more and smiles up at the sky, the moon made the sky a little brighter and less confusing. His body feels lighter somehow, as if his obesity never existed and left him only with love where his fat should be. Every wall and mask he has built up since he was young have crumpled at the mercy of a simple smile of understanding from a boy whom Eric once deemed an enemy and a threat to his ever-growing pride. Kyle was the originator of the fat jokes, the stupid jokes, and the mom jokes. Kyle was the start of all the hatred that built up on Eric's body and maybe—just maybe—he would be the end of it as well.
When Kyle's cheeks turn a deep shade of pink, Eric realizes he is staring. He doesn't remember taking his eyes off of the sky, but that does not matter at the moment. What caught his attention was that the redhead did not snap at him or say anything rude or intrusive. Rather, he just flushed a little, caught off guard and with jumbled thoughts and fantasies of what could being going on in Eric's mind as well as his own. Kyle turns his unfocused eyes back on the road as he watches the road before him with no concentration of goal. After a moment of uncertainty, Eric realizes the danger in this and places a hand gently on the leather steering wheel next of one to the redhead's white-knuckle ones. Kyle tenses for a second or so before finally relaxing with still-tinted cheeks and centering on the road with a little smile.
Eric laughs to himself and maybe a little aloud by the way Kyle steals a glance at him. Within his chuckle is a sense of self-pride and comfort. He realizes that there is something to their relationship that is much more than enemies and much more than friends. There is a mutual understanding of the ability to cause vivid reactions; the power to both piss each other off, and to calm each other down. They understand and reassure to a level beyond any set of best friends' imaginations.
Sure, maybe Eric does not fully grasp the concept, but he has a vague perception of the idea and he is fine with this. He does not reach any farther, knowing he will hit a wall and he does not ignore, knowing he can never forget. He was always an expert on human emotions, but never on his own. He always assumed himself as a different species, not worthy of them, but below them in a manner that they feel nothing he does. These rickety machines of people are void of any sensitivity to Eric Cartman and his aching heart.
Kyle is what keeps him in South Park, Kyle makes the dumb little town bearable. Kyle is his sun that keeps him own moon a glow when the darkness settles upon him. Kyle is the magnetic force that pulls the satellites and the stars together that divulges the secret of how Eric is both true and false and when they collide, he is left naked as a burning ball of natural gases and synthetic fuels. Kyle is the freshly fallen snow that hides the dirt and grime of Eric from the world. Kyle is a fluorescent pink in a world of black and white that shocks the normalcy in a blush. Kyle is the pine, big and strong and over-powering to a point of breaking everyone else, especially Eric. Kyle is everything that changes Eric and keeps him the same. Kyle is Eric as well as Eric is Kyle.
There is an understanding, a ghost of a kiss that has yet to occur that settles over them both. A simple, romantic air that changes them and Eric knows he will never give up on the redheaded young man who is guiding them home. He may get angry and frustrated and say words he does not mean and may never be able to take back, but Kyle will always be his better half. In five years if Eric finds himself standing at the alter with anyone else, Kyle will always be the one, in ten years if Eric finds himself cradling a baby with anyone else, Kyle will always be the father, in forty years if Eric finds himself depending on anyone else, Kyle will always be his spouse, in sixty years if Eric finds himself dying in a hospital bed with his hand in anyone else's, Kyle will always be clutching him tightly and begging him to never leave.
Eric smiles at the satellites above as he sails silently through the mountain night, his star leading the way.