Stan fell out of bed the next morning, in a whirlwind of sheets that had tangled themselves around his body. He was slimed with sweat, his breathing heavier than usual. He pulled himself from the cocoon of blankets and tried to stand. Stan made his way over to the bathroom in a hurry. He tugged off his clothes and started up the shower, trying to force every detail of his dream from his mind when he stepped inside.

He knew boys his age were prone to those kinds of dreams, but...fuck. He'd never had one that was so intense and real before. It was almost embarrassing how much he enjoyed it. Maybe that was partially because of who he was with, but still. He could feel his face flushing even thinking about it.

Stan ran a handful of shampoo through his hair, trying to compose a plan for the rest of the day. He found himself wondering when he would work on the poster board. He had all a whole week to work on it before his group's next meet up. Stan could always postpone until the last day before then to work on it. Which, he decided, was exactly what he was going to do.

He dried himself off and slipped back into his room to get dressed, kicking the poster board to a safer location under his bed before putting on new clothes. He tossed his covers back onto the bed in a messy pile and ran down the stairs. He silently wished his parents wouldn't be in the house. All he wanted right now was to be left alone.

He started up his game console, thinking that shooting online players mindlessly would help him forget details and he could always swallow down his guilt at another time. Maybe, he would stop thinking of all of the comparisons he could make between his best friend and his ex-girlfriend. He wouldn't let himself keep having thoughts down that path, because didn't the pastor always tell him that was a sin? And dammit, that meant he was going to burn in the pits of Hell—literally flaming, in every way possible—but.

It was just one dream.

It didn't make him someone he wasn't, and it didn't alter his perspective on who he was attracted to.

It couldn't mean anything.

(line break)

"I-I don't know, Eric, I wasn't even a-a part of Coon and Friends last time you started it up," Butters stammered, worriedly looking down at the ground rather than at the boy before him. "Y-you just kept me in a cell and made me eat my own excrement, a-and then my Dad grounded me because he didn't know where I was for four days..."

"Do you want to be on national television or not, Butters?" Cartman huffed.

"W-well, of course I do-!"

"Then why won't you just give in and become a part of Coon and Friends 2? Put Professor Chaos back in action, use your schemes for the greater good of CNN," Cartman interrupted.

"I have to think about it," Butters said reluctantly. He bumped his knuckles together nervously and muttered something under his breath. "Can you come back tomorrow?"

"Goddamn it, Butters, we could be saving the world right now. You better have an answer for me by Friday," Cartman said irritably.

"Okay, I-I will," Butters agreed hurriedly.

Cartman turned and walked off down the street once the door closed in front of him and sighed. This was going to be his future team of super heroes? An ex-villian and a girly pain in the ass? His stomach grumbled and he automatically started off toward the KFC in town. He ruffled up his hair and tried to make himself look as scraggly as possible before he sat down in front of the big double doors. He stared glumly up at the red and white painted Colonel on the sign advertising a new chicken combo.

A couple of people in their mid-thirties walked up to the doors. Cartman sniffled and got their attention with a whimpering, sniffling, "Oh, please don't pass me up! I haven't eaten in days and I'm starving, a-and my mother is sick-"

The girl of the group snorted and started laughing. "You? Homeless?" The man on her arm chortled and muttered something about being too fat to live on the streets. They ignored his angered protests and went inside the fast food restaurant.

(line break)

Kenny woke up feeling like he still had a stripper heel embedded into his skull. He groaned and checked his back pockets for Kyle's dollar. Unfortunately, it had not reappeared with him. He rolled off the bed and kicked some of his discarded clothes around on the floor to make a clear path to his dresser.

"Kenny? Are you up?"

He dug around through the second drawer, shifting around his underwear and his dirtier magazines until he found the bottle of painkillers shoved near the back. He opened it and popped two of the pills in his mouth, washing them down with some leftover water from the glass on his side table.

"Damn it, Kenny! Your friend is here!"

Kenny winced at his mother's loud voice, but yelled back that he was awake despite the pain it put his head through. He pulled on a pair of pants that he found hung over the side of his headboard. He went into the living room and was yelled at by his older brother for standing in front of the television, yelled at by his father in the kitchen for sleeping in until noon, and finally made it to the front door.

"I'll be back later," he called out to no one in particular and shut the door behind him. He turned to face Cartman, who looked purposely disheveled.

"What the fuck do you want, Cartman?"

"Kinny, you're poor," Cartman stated. "Can you pretend to be homeless so someone buys us a free lunch?"

Kenny stared at the brunette blankly. Out of all of the ideas that Cartman had come up with, this certainly did not seem like the worst. There didn't seem to be any kind of catch either, except for the fact he'd probably only get one or two pieces of chicken and Cartman would get the rest because he's a fat ass.

"Why can't you do it?" Kenny asked, pulling his hood closer to his face.

"I can't do it because I...uh..."

"Someone called you fat, didn't they?" Kenny snickered.

"Shut the fuck up, Kinny! Do you want lunch or not?"

"Alright, I'll help you, god damn," Kenny said, trying to stifle his laughing before Cartman punched him or something. He wouldn't mind punching back, but his head was throbbing and he wouldn't be surprised if it decided to fall off. It wouldn't be the first time, anyway...

They crossed the street and took a few shortcuts to make the walk shorter. They cleared the distance between the KFC and Kenny's house in no time at all. On the way over, Cartman had insisted on smearing some dirt on his face and clothes, and then slapped him a few times so he'd look more beat up. Kenny sighed and waited through the abuse. Honestly, he'd been through way worse and not gotten a meal out of it.

Cartman slinked around the side of the building and watched as Kenny settled down on the curb. Not a moment later, a bright red car pulled into a spot in the parking lot. She had to be passing through the town—her license plate read "Louisiana." A woman with short brown hair got out and immediately took pity on Kenny as soon as she saw him sitting beside the doors.

"What's wrong, sweetie?"

"I haven't eaten in days, ma'am," Kenny said quietly, looking up at her with big eyes and a frown. "My Dad just lost his job, and we can't pay for our house anymore."

"Oh, you poor thing! I'll go buy you a whole ten piece for your family, just stay right there," she said, her voice sickly sweet. She pulled out her wallet from her purse and walked through the doors. Kenny shot a glance over to Cartman, who was peeking around the side of the building. He flashed him a victorious grin.

"That motherfucker," Cartman hissed. "He makes being homeless look so easy."

Kenny came back around to the side of the building with the bucket of chicken in his arms. Cartman pulled out one of the thighs and bit into it, humming with satisfaction as if he'd never eaten a greater meal in his life. Kenny fished out a breast and tried to savor it, but Cartman was already tossing a bone back in with the other pieces and getting out another before he'd even finished.

"Hey, Kinny?" Cartman said around a drumstick.

"What's up, Cartman," Kenny said, throwing his hood over his head.

"I want to prove that CNN asshole we aren't boring, so I thought we could start up Coon and Friends 2, maybe pick up some trouble around here, get him a story," Cartman explained. "You think Mysterion would want in on any of that?"

"I don't know, dude," Kenny shrugged. "Maybe."

"Oh shit!" Cartman said suddenly. "It's almost three. I'm so fucked, man, Wendy's bustin' my balls over here with her project. I gotta go." He pulled the bucket out of Kenny's hands and took off back toward town. Kenny looked up toward the sky and let out a short sigh.

"Dick."

(line break)

Wendy chastised him for showing up a few minutes late, and informed him of her prompt and how much she had already finished on her project. There wasn't even all that much left to do, and she told him they could work on her superhero alias as soon as they were done. It wasn't difficult to pick up conversations, as they drifted from topic to topic aimlessly. They mainly referred to what had happened a few years back; another adventure they had been dragged into, or a ridiculous fad their town had picked up on. Cartman had even successfully made her laugh more than once. She always remembered he was actually fun to work with.

At last, when they'd finished, she poured a few Oreos onto a plate and led him upstairs to her room, leaving their work strewn out on the table.

She had found an old purple leotard she could still fit into, and after successfully butchering a ragged bedsheet, she had created a matching cape and mask to go with her costume. Cartman sat on her bed and watched her as she worked, conversing happily about what heroic act they could commit to get onto the news. Wendy kicked up a bit of a fit about how little clothing she was wearing. She wanted to not only go against comic book misogyny-whatever that meant-but she also didn't want to suffer from hypothermia after the ordeal.

"I don't see the big deal, Wonder Woman didn't want to cover up her legs, Wendy," Cartman shrugged.

"Doesn't it go against everything I fight for?"

"And what are you fighting for, exactly?"

"Equality! Rights for every man, woman, and child to be the same, Eric. Oh, pass me an Oreo?"

He stuffed one into his mouth and handed her a cookie of her own, and she ate it in a similar fashion. She walked around the bed and opened her wardrobe. Wendy dragged her extra pair of snow boots from the depths of her closet, as well as her yellow leggings. She couldn't sew very well, so she chopped out a star shape from the blue bed sheet.

"Hand me my stapler?" she requested. Eric grabbed it from her desk and gave it to her. She pinned the star into the a-few-inches-away-from-the-centre of the long-sleeved leotard.

"Have you thought on what your name is gonna be?" he asked.

"Yeah, a little," she admitted. She gathered all of her various equipment and headed for the door. "I'll be right back."

Cartman nodded and looked around at her walls. She had a few posters hung up, and a picture of her and Bebe from the sixth grade sat in a frame beside her computer. He caught sight of a few sticky notes stuck onto the monitor. Little reminders or positive phrases written in her own curvy handwriting. The light from the window dimmed slightly, and he pulled off his knit cap to set it down beside him. The door was thrown open, causing him to jump.

"I am the truth, I am judgment personified," she said, her voice steady. She whipped her cape behind her and struck a pose. "I am...Lady Justice!"

Eric barked out a laugh and she turned around quickly to face him.

"What?"

"Lady Justice," he echoed. "Are you seriously?"

"Yes, I'm totally seriously! I-I mean, I'm totally serious. Don't you think it's a good persona?"

"Whatever you say, Wendy."

"We should ask Bebe to join!" She turned to look at the picture on her desk, swishing her cape behind her as she did so.

"Uh, no."

"Why not? We could be like Harley Quinn and Cat Woman-"

"Those're bad guys."

"-because they were good friends, right? I don't really keep up with DC all that much." She made a vague motion with her hands. If Cartman squinted, he could read the tiny print titles of girly fantasy books on her shelves. The only thing relative to a comic was a thin graphic novel he didn't recognize.

She turned back to him and smiled. "Well, what do you think?"

Her black hair had been pulled back into a ponytail, swept away from her face and her hat was discarded. He couldn't think of anyone from his old Coon and Friends crew who had been able to pull off the superhero look as well as she did.

"Pretty fucking bad ass."