Flashback:
The next time Eric was seen after the disastrous "wedding", he had come out in his everyday clothing and dispersed the self-invited guests.
"What the fuck are you guys doing here? Get out of my backyard." All left in disappointment, except for the High Jew, who approached him.
"OK, fatass. Now that you've ruined the one happy ending to our game, what do you want to do?"
As the elf had expected, Cartman already had a new commitment. "Something completely different. It's not about love and war anymore. That shit was boring. Now it's about making lots. Of. Cash."
Unfortunately not one that boded well. "Wow, uhh… we're not doing that. Whatever you're thinking, my mom said that I'm not allowed to make money unless it's with an actual job, so no more superhero franchise plans. She doesn't trust me not to go out in the middle of the night and start robbing banks, which is probably what you're gonna make us do anyway."
"Well no one gives a fuck what you think, Jew."
"As the High Jew Elf, I can say, yes, they do."
Cartman argued heatedly against this, until Stan the Ranger was summoned to corroborate his allegiance to Kyle, and then came the Bard, then the Cleric, then the Barbarian, then the Thief, then the Warrior and all the rest of their underlings until Stan asked, "I guess we can ask the Princess what she thinks."
"Yeah, we should ask Kenny if we should keep playing with the Stick." said DogPoo further into the yard.
All gazes rested on the Wizard King, who snapped under the pressure.
"You know what, actually, I think this is fine. Stick of Truth is an amazing game, and I'm outvoted, anyway."
Said Feldspar the Thief, "Really? Princess Kenny is literally the only person who might agree with you."
Suddenly the Wizard said, "Princess Kenny's opinion doesn't matter. Did you even hear her earlier? No? She barely talks." There was a mute surprise. The King did not think he had said anything out of the ordinary.
"(Actually, I do tire of my gown. I vote for superheroes.)" In this very inopportune moment walked in the Princess herself, who had not gone far to her own home before seeing the exodus of wedding guests, and decided to return. A slight murmur rose among those who had sided with what the Coon labeled "DC Comics" in their most recent failed superhero conference.
"If Mysterion's playing, then I think I will, too," said Tweek the Barbarian in a sudden shifting in loyalty. Cartman reddened as half of the party agreed, as the wedding was uneventful anyway, and as one added "Hey, at least Coon & Friends isn't playing". Within minutes Freedom Pals was already reunited and ready for their second first meeting.
Eric Cartman watched in horror and confusion as the Princess led her energetic team away, while he wondered what he could possibly have done wrong. Beside him Kyle quietly cursed Stan.
It was going to be quite the party, Stan thought as he walked through the U-Stor-It facility. He was "secretly" aiding Butthole behind Freedom Pal's back while the Coon & Friends "secretly" stalked the two of them. But it wasn't really a secret, not to Freedom Pals. Butthole was overnight converted to the Freedom Pals side, thanks to Cartman being an asshole in general. This is not Butthole's allegiance in the canon, so the Coon & Friends won't know what hit them when Freedom Pals expect to lead the enemy straight to Scrambles. Or the alleged whereabouts of Scrambles. Either way, Freedom Pals were prepared.
He didn't hate Butthole like the others did; the kid genuinely deserved Stan's help, but professional matters were professional matters. Certainly the Coon-allied Butthole would understand that.
It was sad, really. They were all friends at some point. Not a month ago and they were trailing in a line after their faithful King Douchebag. The lines felt so clear, then. The Humans were against they Elves, and all were against Clyde. And the Nazi Zombies. And Kenny.
So maybe the lines weren't so clear. Maybe it just helped he fought alongside his best friend Kyle, for little reason other than that they were friends. Wendy was his girlfriend then, too, for little reason other than…
He jolted into action as three Chaos Minions came charging through the clearing.
"New Kid! Need a hand?" Call Girl appeared from above on her superheroic cue, standing on a stone divider. Her impossible-to-catch gaze asserted she was there for Butthole only, but Toolshed knew better.
That was why: she was always, always, even when she wasn't, there for him. He suppressed a smile. She had conveniently been working as Butthole's undercover ally for awhile, having saved the kid from an ambush by the Raisins waitresses — a feud only the Coon & Friends would be dumb enough to start. Now helping out Freedom Pals with Douchebag's trust, she functioned as a bridge between the two groups. The mental boundaries began to clear again and he readied his power drills.
The battle was nothing difficult. Butthole was a proven pro and Wendy was pleasantly OP. With nothing better to do than to heal, he thought to himself a better way to put it: they were all a nice sheet of glass cut in half, the old boundaries soldered back together but broke again through the middle by a sledge hammer. Some ends fit right back together, shards clicking in an unmistakable puzzle. But such a brunt could never be healed completely; some shards would be shattered beyond recognition. You always lose a part of yourself.
The kids all liked to laugh how they were "fractured, but whole" and while that may be the case with the more… inclusive Freedom Pals, the ultimate reunion would be imperfect.
Wendy nudged him briskly with her elbow, breaking him from his thoughts. She didn't say anything else, but as an experienced mind reader boyfriend, he knew Call Girl was wanting him to check his phone.
Sure enough, she had sent him a text during the battle: Look who finally showed up. Keep an eye on him. We don't want him acting out.
They had expected Mysterion to go with them on this mission as backup and reconnaissance, but he should have joined much earlier. He claimed he wanted to rest first, and Toolshed and she assumed he was too angry to show up on time, but that wasn't the case.
Kenny normally didn't have any opinions on their personal lives. He was the unchanging, silent rock in their group and for that reason he didn't take change well. Whenever he wasn't the same boy in the same orange parka, such as back when he joined Coon & Friends as Mysterion, he turned out visibly different. There was a second layer of personality as the world was ravaged by Lovecraftian horrors, just as it did now, after the fracture.
He pretended not to notice the new presence to keep Freedom Pals' plans under wraps from Butthole. Wendy threw a glance in the direction of Mysterion, and Stan could tell she was still angry. Not helping.
"Butts, I'm gonna have to re-check that corner. Not that I think you missed anything, but I gotta keep my options open in case there's a power generator." The Amazing Butthole took no offense and continued his typical ransacking toward other nooks and crannies.
Stan crouched down in mock examination while he waited for Mysterion to reach his next sleuthy destination, which by no coincidence fell there. He gave Stan a weary look. "Is there a problem?"
"I hope not. I'm just here to smooth out some ruffled feathers — not my idea."
"Wendy's, right?"
Stan bristled. "Call Girl's, yeah. We're only worried about your… delay." He bit his lip at saying "we". Us against you was never a diplomatic choice of words. Especially against the cornered, tired beast Mysterion looked to be right now. "What's with the bloody nose?"
"Just ran into some trouble along the way." Mysterion shrugged, and shifted in his boots, refusing to wipe the trail of blood that went past his lip.
"What trouble?" said Stan suspiciously.
"No more trouble than anticipated," he assured him, straightening. "All we need to worry about are Coon & Friends. They could be here any minute."
"It wasn't the Coon that hit you, right?" Stan said after a moment of thought, noting the subtle yet distinct scratch marks.
Mysterion jolted. "What? No. Just some rats." he muttered, self-consciously patting the side of his face.
"Oh. Rats. Right."
They're on to us, oh fuck! They're on to us!
Those were the words that flew through the Coon's head as he scampered, deranged, through the alleyways. There wasn't so much that he was trying to escape but as he was trying to reach. He had failed on both ends of his bargain: he did not find incriminating evidence against Mysterion, and he did not successfully follow Toolshed and Butthole on his way out. All because he was too busy swapping spit with his superhero rival. But Mysterion wasn't Princess Kenny; he should have seen through the ruse sooner.
Now he had to find Butthole. If Mysterion had known he was following Butthole, there was no way the rest of Freedom Pals didn't already know. The two buttfuckers were way ahead of him, and the corpulent Coon had found little release of whatever fury was building up inside him when he exited Kenny's putrid backyard. All that was left was to play messenger, and possibly check on the rest of the gang. The prowling manimal was short of breath and admittedly lost without his lead.
All rudiments of a cohesive plan halted when he heard voices. He hid himself. Stan's, certainly. Butthole didn't talk. Then another, female. He approached tensely and nearly jumped out of his cape when he saw the clear silhouette of Mysterion. Fortunately, he seemed too busy on reconnaissance to notice him. Unfortunately, the Coon had been beaten yet again to his objective.
Protective of his already wounded pride, he chose not to question how Mysterion had gotten there faster than him. This was a valiant opportunity for vengeance, so he stalked as a Coon did, sliding noiselessly against the pavement. He was so close… Only the indigo cloak was between himself and Kenny now. Claws extended in ten directions, he was ready to free Butthole from Mysterion's prying vigil, leaping toward the hero.
Suddenly as a bird, Mysterion whipped around and snapped his fingers about the other's throat. "Shit…" He was pushed against the wall. Again. But this time what once was tenderness was an unforgiving fury that nearly choked him.
"You seriously thought I wouldn't expect you?" Kenny hissed beneath his hood. "After… what you did?"
"After what I did? I mean how the hell did you know I was there? I was only trying to find out more about you, because of the mission, because I…" He couldn't figure out where he was going with it, not without revealing his special trump card about the cheesing vials.
Mysterion was easing his grasp — was he expecting an apology for hitting him? Ha. Cartman felt nothing to be sorry for. Regardless, his hands flailed, and he felt himself lose control of the situation. So he balanced himself on his two feet, curling his hands around Mysterion's own death-grip. "I'll scream."
The death-grip tightened as before. "Scream? You'll only give yourself away. No one here is on your side, Coon. Not even Butthole. I hear you've been making an enemy of him. So there's only one way out for you, pussy, and that's running away."
The choice of insult arose a taste of bile and rage. "Yeah? Well, I'll tell them you tried raping this pussy."
"I didn't!" growled Mysterion. "I didn't, you fucking know that."
"Not like you asked affirmative consent. Ouch! Yeah, nice, Mysterion. Bruising me even more will definitely prove your innocence to Super Craig, Captain Diabetes, Fastpa—"
"They're just hickeys, Cartman." Which were still technically bruises, but he had a point. He rolled his eyes, not taking the hint that the rest of Coon & Friends were on the way.
Lined against the wall, the proximity made his heart sear through his chest as it thumped loudly and he realized a crueler plan with which to punish his perpetrator.
Distant chattering from his own companions came from the distance, but the Coon purred above the noise: "Then prove that they're just hickeys."
"Huh?" said Mysterion, stupidly.
He bit his lip. "Why don't you finish what you started?" He pecked Mysterion on the lips, slowly and carefully. It was his first time kissing a boy, and he was so nervous, but Kenny wasted no time in returning it, and he really bit down this time.
"Fuck me, Kenny." He could hardly believe himself, or that his wiles were reciprocated so fast.
"OK, let's get this with over quick, before anyone catches us." What was Kenny on? The blond was trying to sound serious, but it was obvious to Cartman he was breathlessly horny. He unbuckled himself faster than Eric could sing I love you, Jesus and he was fully prepared to make love to his fat nemesis. The Coon didn't remember being bent over, but he was, and this was more of a compromising position for the both of them. The hands around his hips turned rigid. Mysterion had heard the approaching footsteps. His voice grew high pitched.
"Shit, Coon, is this your idea of setting me up? We're gonna get caught!"
He ground his teeth. "There was no getting you to leave, Kenny." That was how he justified it. "And I swear, I'll scream, and you'll be the bad guy. So there's only one way out for you, PUSSY, and that's getting the fuck out of here!"
Mysterion backed off from him, looking resigned. "You're so dumbfucking stupid. You had one last chance and you ruined it."
Cartman ignored him. He felt professional and cold as he said, "I'm gonna count from three and when I'm at zero you better be gone! Three… two… one…"
BOOM. It was at that moment that things became much worse for the both of them, because Kenny self-destructed.