Fourth Wheel

Chapter Three

"I'm sorry, but due to your special circumstances, I don't think we can hire you at this time."

"That's discrimination."

Kenny folded his arms and dressed his face up with his best glare. He wasn't really angry, nor was he very surprised about the outcome of the interview. Of course, everyone in town now knew what his "special circumstances" were that would keep him away from work from time to time. His afternoon job of busting tables would tolerate it. Just about everyone else would not.

In fact, that wasn't the first time that he had to pull the discrimination card. Sometimes it worked, but most of the time, it didn't. Still, it was his last resort. It never hurt to use it at the off chance that it would land him another job for a month or two until he was fired and sent back to square one.

"No, it isn't. It's called good business practices. You weren't very qualified to begin with." Lying bastard. Since when were qualifications needed to fucking deliver pizzas?

The man behind the desk pushed up his glasses and leaned back in his chair, effectively ending the "debate". Kenny sighed and stood up, then extended his hand. The interviewer only looked at the hand, then back up to him.

"Have a nice day," Kenny stated dryly, withdrawing his hand when he realized he wasn't going to get his goodbye handshake. He walked out of the office that was more fit to be a closet, then out of the Pizza Hut altogether.

It was a sunny and cloudless day that would have been fit for the end of summer if it weren't for the snow on the ground. If Kenny had it his way that day, though, it would be storming or hailing. Big chunks of hail that would crash through windshields and roofs and maybe kill a puppy or two.

Misery does love company, and Kenny didn't know who else to share his misery with but his own "best friend forever." So naturally, after being rejected from one of the few places left in South Park for him to seek employment, Kenny's next stop that morning was Cartman's.

Kenny deeply breathed in the mountain air, then hopped into the truck that reeked of cigarette smoke and managed to remain at a temperature lower than what it was outside. He looked at the fuel gauge, which showed that the truck was dangerously close to a need for a stop at a gas station. He fumed to himself, digging his wallet out of his parka pocket and opening it to find that it was empty, save for the phone card, a few one dollar bills, and some spare pennies.

He looked around and tapped his index finger against the steering wheel. There was no way he was going to withdraw from his savings just to get gas until his next paycheck at the end of the week. Gas prices were ridiculous at the moment to begin with, anyway. So Kenny came to the conclusion that he'll have to drive home and start walking everywhere again, until he felt like blowing his money on gas again, or he got another morning job.

Resolution in mind, Kenny started his truck and made the trip over the railroad tracks and into the driveway of his home. Before cutting the engine, he waited for any signs of movement within the house. It was barely past noon, and sometimes Stuart McCormick slept in that late, sometimes not.

None of the curtains or blinds were drawn, and no lights were turned on, and this didn't change a minute after he had pulled up. Deeming it safe, Kenny twisted the key and pulled it out, swung the door open, and jumped out, then turned back around to collect all of the change that littered the floor and stuff it in his pocket. He then retrieved his "adult magazines" from underneath the driver's seat, and gave the truck a once over to make sure he didn't miss anything.

Once inside, Kenny snuck around the house, first confirming that Stuart was still asleep in his bedroom. Once inside his own room, he hid his dirty magazines underneath his bed after making sure the rest of his stash was accounted for. Then he approached his closet and stood on his tiptoes to reach around the top, where he felt a small pillow feather still on top that had been undisturbed since he was last in his room.

Kenny removed the feather and opened the closet door. Inside and on the top shelf was a jar. It was the largest jar Kenny had been able to find, and already it was halfway filled with change. Any type of change but quarters, which were invaluable to Kenny for a cheap, quick lunch from a vending machine they provided.

Kenny screwed the lid to the jar open and scooped out the change in his pocket to dump inside, followed by the change in his wallet. After closing and tightening the lid back on the jar, he closed the closet door and placed the feather back on top of the door.

That was when Kenny heard a door slam. His heart skipped a beat. He was definitely not in the mood to deal with his father. Then again, when was he? Oh, best to get it over with. He shoved his wallet back into his pocket and walked out of his room, shutting the door behind him quietly, then headed towards the front door.

Stuart's voice stopped him before he could place his hand on the doorknob. "Where do you think yer going?"

Kenny looked to his left into the kitchen, where Stuart was standing in front of the refrigerator, holding it halfway open and staring at him blankly, eyes halfway closed. Bastard was wasting electricity.

He shrugged and opened the door. "Out. I'm leaving the truck here."

Stuart just imitated his shrug and returned to rummaging through the fridge.

Kenny stepped out of the house and exhaled, grateful that the encounter was brief. He stretched, taking in the mountain air once more. He may as well enjoy his day before he has to return home. His father was going to kill him when he realized that the truck was out of fuel.

He started jogging, taking a right turn out of the driveway and heading back over the railroad tracks. The scenery instantly changed from that of a rundown street inhabited by drug dealers to middle class suburbia, where all of the houses were two stories tall and looked exactly the same, save for the color.

It did not take long for Kenny to reach Cartman's house. Sometimes living in a small, redneck town had its advantages. He knocked on the front door, then shoved his hands inside of his pockets and glanced around until he heard footsteps approaching the door, which soon opened, and he was greeted by Mrs. Cartman. She was in her coat and snow boots, keys in hand as if she were about to leave.

"Hello, sweetie." Kenny sometimes had a hard time believing that the owner of that nice, sweet voice was Cartman's mom. Despite her occupation, Kenny would have traded parents with Cartman in a heartbeat. It would be nice to be around someone that pleasant for a change.

"Is Eric home?"

"Yes, but I'm sorry, he's still sleeping, and I'd rather not disturb him."

Of course, he still wasn't above treachery, even when it came to Cartman's mom. "This is kind of an emergency. You see, I just called Stan and he told me Kyle's in the hospital. Issues with his diabetes. I thought Eric would like to know." Kenny made sure to put on his best kicked puppy look.

"Oh! Well go right on in. I was just about to leave to go shopping, I'll be sure to pick up a cake for you two."

Hell yeah, free food. "Thanks, Mrs. Cartman," Kenny responded solemnly.

Mrs. Cartman stepped aside to let Kenny in, who did his best to keep his downtrodden face on, then walked out, shutting the door behind her. As soon as she did, Kenny let out a snort, and started to head up the stair steps to Cartman's room, but then a better idea popped into his mind. He instead walked to the kitchen and located the phone, then dialed Stan's number.

One ring, two ring, three ring, four. Click.

"What the fuck do you want, Cartman?"

Kenny had to hold the phone away from his ear to keep Stan's scream from splitting his eardrums. Eyebrows raised, he responded, "Jesus fucking Christ, did I interrupt you jacking off?" He did his best to imitate Cartman when he continued: "If I didn't know any better, I would think that I was talking to Kahl. Sand in your vagina, Stan?"

"Don't do that, dude. Why are you calling from Cartman's house?" Kenny could hear Stan sigh on the other end, then the sound of him flopping onto what was probably a bed or couch.

"I was here, I'm alone, he's upstairs asleep, and I want to use my phone card sparingly. Jeez Stan, I'm not the one paying for the card, and I am considerate of this."

"And yet you're making long distance calls on Cartman's phone without his knowledge."

"It's Cartman." Kenny looked around the kitchen, wondering if he should grab a quick bite before waking Cartman up. Nah, Cartman probably has a count on his food and would know if something was missing, know who took it, and proceed with revenge plans. Best not risk it. "Have you talked to Kyle lately?"

"Everyday. He's wondering why you haven't called him."

"I have work when he doesn't have classes. Everyday? Does Wendy know how gay you two are being?"

"Fuck you, Kenny. Just call him in between his classes. Get a pen and paper, I'll tell you the times he's off."

"From memory, or did he send you his schedule?" Kenny opened a nearby drawer that he knew to contain odds and ends, and sifted through its contents until he found a black ink pen and a receipt.

"He emailed it to me."

"Then you memorized it. Gay." He put the receipt on the counter then poised his hand with the pen in it, ready to write. "Alright, shoot."

"Did not. Nine to eleven, noon to one, two to three, and four onwards on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, ten to two and... Uh..." Stan paused, triggering a victorious yell from Kenny. "Shut up, Kenny. Four onwards on Tuesdays and Thursdays."

Kenny scribbled down the times on the receipt. "Why hasn't Wendy dumped your gay ass?"

"Because I know how to be friends with someone without having to sleep with them."

"Oh, ouch. Right where it hurts." Kenny rolled his eyes, despite it being a telephone conversation, but he was sure Stan could detect the sarcasm in his voice.

"Are you having fun with Cartman all to yourself?"

"Hang on, let me check." A dramatic pause. "No."

"Really? Because I thought with me and Kyle gone, you'd be on him all. Night. Long." Much to his dismay, Kenny could practically imagine Stan humping air, which was probably what he was doing. He could feel acid surfacing to his throat.

"Aw, dude, no, sick!"

"What's sick?"

Kenny jumped, nearly dropping the phone.

"I'll call you back later." He hung the phone back on its receiver, then slowly turned around to face Cartman.

Over the years, Cartman hadn't changed much. Well, of course he grew taller, but with that height he also gained more fat, so his proportions were roughly the same as they were when he was nine, give or take a little width. He certainly got less shy about showing off his mass (not that he wasn't hesitant about it before). As of that moment, he wasn't wearing a shirt, and one could not tell from the look of him how high his boxers were really pulled up.

"What the fuck are you doing in my kitchen, po' boy?" Cartman gave him a half-assed groggy glare and crossed his arms. His voice lost some of its charming whine over the years, too, but he hadn't lost his apparent inability to pronounce his "Y"s.

"Well I was going to give your mom a visit in bed, but she had to go to the store. Oh, and Kyle's dying in the hospital."

Cartman's eyebrows flew upward on his face, then immediately furrowed back down to his eyes. "The Jew won't die until I kill him myself," he stated, as if it were a universal truth. He yawned, not bothering to cover his mouth, then waddled into the kitchen. "You better not have touched any of my food, or I'll kick your ass in front of a garbage truck again." Of course he was more concerned about his food than long distance phone calls.

Kenny just shrugged as he watched Cartman dig through the cabinets until he found a bag of chips and started shoveling them in his mouth like there was no tomorrow.

"Yeah, Kyle isn't in the hospital, but your mom thinks he is. She's getting us a pity cake."

"Sweet. You're leaving before she gets back."

"Nah." Kenny sat at the kitchen table and slumped in his chair. Cartman joined him on the opposite end.

They sat in silence, Cartman gorging on his "breakfast", and Kenny resting his chin on his right hand, staring blankly past him. After a few minutes, he started to drum his fingers against the table. Then he tried to drum his toes inside of his left shoe in sync with his fingers. He could hear the clock over the kitchen sink slowly ticking over the crunching of the chips in Cartman's mouth. Kenny closed his eyes, suddenly feeling restless. Was this how Tweek felt every hour of the day?

He jumped up, scooting the chair back. "Let's go. Stark's Pond. Or the basketball court."

Cartman paused inbetween fistfuls of chips to tell him, "Fuck no, Kenny. It's cold out there."

"It's always cold out there. How long has it been since you've been out of your house?"

Cartman seemed to ponder this question, but in the end he could only shrug.

"Get a job."

"I'm trying, asshole. Do you really think I want to stay in South Park forever?"

"Well, you are comfortable enough here." Kenny sat back down and resumed drumming his fingers against the tabletop. "Although I wouldn't want to end up living with my prosti-mom for the rest of my fatass life, either."

"'Ay!" Cartman threw a chip at him, which Kenny caught and immediately ate.

"Seriously, let's go. We could fuck with Butters or something."

"This isn't high school anymore, Kenny. Grow the fuck up, seriously." Cartman shook his head and rolled up the back of chips.

"Don't give me that. You were on Butters' ass all summer."

"And I'm getting sick of his whiny ass. How about Dougie instead?"

"He's in school right now. They started last week. Dog Poo?"

"No way, I won't be able to get the smell out before my job interview today. It's already bad enough that I'm around you."

"Tweek?"

"I thought you stopped fucking with him after Craig threatened you." Cartman got up to return the chips to the cabinet, then muttered, "Pussy", and sat back down at the table.

Kenny growled in frustration. There was no way in hell he was going to spend his mornings doing this every day before acquiring his second job. "I still have three hours until I have to go to work, what the fuck do you suggest I do?"

"Something that doesn't involve tormenting former classmates? Maybe sleep in, like I was trying to do?" Cartman was starting to sound annoyed. It was really time for Kenny to start pressing his buttons.

"I'm not a lazy piece of shit like you, fatass."

That did it. Kenny grinned as both boys simultaneously jumped up from their seats, leaning against the table, Cartman glaring and Kenny smirking, ready to jump on the table to kick Cartman's fat head in. Along with Cartman's larger size, he had also developed a larger temper that could almost rival Kyle's. Almost. However, to Kenny's dismay, Cartman's face softened, and he sat back down.

"I'm sorry, Kenny, but I do not think I can allow you to continue your self-destructive means of picking fights with me," he said sagely. "As your friend, I do believe that you should calm the fuck down and use your time wisely to review where you are going in life and leave me the hell alone. In doing this, you will achieve a state of happiness and I'll maintain a state of not having to deal with your poor ass."

"And I think you should go fuck yourself, but you don't see me making a speech about it."

The next thing Kenny knew, Cartman was leaning as far as he could over the table, practically lying on it, his fist crashing into Kenny's right eye. Kenny staggered backwards, then dashed around the table to put Cartman into a headlock. Cartman struggled, arms flailing. Kenny could feel Cartman's neck start to sweat. Cartman finally threw Kenny off of him, who just punched him back in his own eye.

"'Ay! 'Ay! Alright!" Cartman yelled out in defeat, doubled over and covering his eye with his hands. "Ow. Ow."

"Thanks for that. I'll see you later?" Kenny was so happy he could almost do cartwheels around his fat friend.

"You're so fucked up," Cartman growled.

Kenny walked out, and opened the front door to leave. Before it closed all the way, however, he poked his head back in and asked, "Was it as good for you as it was for me?"

"Just go!" Cartman shrieked.

Obediently, Kenny disappeared out the front door and started jogging away from the Cartman residence. He was on his natural high that he always got after a fight with Cartman. A fight with him always meant a fight won and a fatass in pain, even though he could feel a stinging in his eye still.

A good distance from Cartman's home, Kenny plopped down on a curb and stared into the sky, then proceeded to take out and light a cigarette. He still had that few hours. Maybe he could beg for another shift. It would certainly be more convenient for him, although he wasn't sure he could handle being in the same place for sixteen hours. He could barely make it eight, and he couldn't even stand to stay in his own home overnight.

Kenny couldn't just take Cartman's advice, either. Just the thought of emulating Cartman or his own father made him sick to his stomach, and he didn't think he could sleep that long to begin with. He had to stay active, whether what he was doing was productive or not. Everything he did outside of his home seemed to be a step forward towards his goal of getting the hell out of South Park for good.

Well, he did have time to waste, and he remembered a promise he had yet to fulfill that day. He hopped up, continuing what was going to be his daily jog. Whenever he crossed the street, he was careful to look both ways for any cars ready to mow him down. Finally, the Harbuck's building was in sight. Kenny wondered whether he could spare some cash to make his visit worth the cashier's while. He probably couldn't. He grinded the remains of his cigarette on the wall of the building, then flicked it out into the parking lot.

Inside, he found the Harbuck's to be empty, save for a few customers sitting here and there, and no one behind the cash register. He stood in front of the counter, occupying his time by staring at the donuts and cakes behind the display glass. After a minute, no jittery blondes popped up behind the counter.

Kenny rolled his eyes, then stepped to the other side of the counter and approached the back room. He raised his hand to knock on the door, but stopped when he heard a voice inside. Tweek's in particular. He pressed his ear against the door so he could hear better.

"No, I have to go... Ergh, but what if they're still here? I can't keep them waiting! Gah, I know I'm the one who called you! Craig! I'm hanging up now!"

Kenny heard the slam of a phone against its receiver and footsteps. He started to pull away from the door before he was caught, but it swung open, and he was nose to nose with Tweek.

In a split second, Tweek's eyes widened and he screeched out, "GAH!"

"AAH!"

"GAH!" Tweek stumbled backwards and started to fall, but grabbed onto the doorknob in time. Kenny watched as he struggled to stay on his feet against the door that was swinging back and forth. After a few seconds, he finally regained enough sense to grab Tweek's arm and pull him up to his feet.

"Rrr, you're not supposed to be back here!" Tweek shoved Kenny to the other side of the counter, then repositioned himself behind the cash register. "Welcome to Harbuck's, how may I, ergh, help you?"

Tweek was practically bouncing up and down anxiously. Kenny remembered him being a lot more calm the previous day.

"Um... Kenny?"

"I don't want anything, thanks. Come sit with me again."

"I can't, I'm working."

"Fine." Kenny jumped up to give himself a boost onto the counter, then whirled around, taking care not to kick Tweek when doing so, to face him. He then clapped his hands together into his lap and grinned. Tweek just stared, glancing back and forth between where Kenny's ass met the surface area he regularly touched, and Kenny's shit-eating grin, with an utterly horrified look.

"You can't smoke in here."

"I don't want to smoke." That was a lie, but Tweek didn't need to know. "So where did we leave off last-"

"Is there going to be trouble?"

Kenny blinked. "What?"

"Your, ergh, your eye!"

Kenny reached up to touch his eye but felt nothing. His hand lowered right below it, and immediately felt a sting. That fat bastard almost gave him a black eye.

"At least it's not... it's not bruised right on your eye?" Tweek's reluctant statement was twisted into a sort of question, his voice getting high pitched near the end. "If- If someone's..."

"It's fine, we're not going to get any drive-by gangs coming here."

"What?" Tweek's shriek sent a few looks in their direction, and Kenny's recoil away from him almost sent him falling backwards off of the counter.

"Fuck, Tweek, calm down! It was just Cartman." By then, Tweek had taken out a small brown paper bag that was stashed away by the cash register, and was hyperventilating into it. Jesus Christ, was he that bad yesterday? Slowly, Tweek began to calm down. When he no longer relied on the paper bag, Kenny continued, "What are you worked up about?"

"You!" Tweek gave an involuntary flinch. "And everything! Ugh! Just leave!"

"Calm down," Kenny repeated, though he wasn't sure if he really wanted Tweek to obey. He forgot how much fun it was to pick on him in middle school. Sure, he was being an immature asshole, but he needed his kicks from somewhere. Still, something in the very back of his mind felt sorry for the spazz.

Tweek didn't talk, but rather stared at the ground, until he closed his eyes and only stood there, shaking slightly. He finally reopened them, then walked away. Kenny opened his mouth to protest, but saw that he was just pouring himself a cup of coffee. He walked back and leaned against the wall, facing Kenny, and sipped on it. Kenny swung his legs back and forth, waiting, but Tweek wasn't going to say anything anytime soon.

"So... Ah, how have things been going?"

Nothing. Kenny was really getting tired of awkward silences that seemed to be occurring rather frequently lately. He started to say something else, but Tweek took a big gulp of his drink, choked it down, and finally responded: "Okay."

"Just okay? You were kinda freaking out earlier."

Tweek said nothing, opting instead to stare at the floor again. Kenny didn't blame him. With the exception of the previous day, he probably hadn't spoken a word to Tweek for four years due to his inability to bully him. Then again, he wasn't expecting him to spill his deepest, darkest secrets.

"It's just I, er, my dad's trying to get a new Harbuck's built in Westhaven so I can manage it and live on my own. But, errr, not really on my own, but getting an apartment and rooming with Craig," Tweek finally said, then, after another sip of coffee, his voice started to strain once more when he continued, "And Craig's just been acting really, really weird lately and I'm not sure if I really want to leave South Park and I don't think I can handle this pressure!"

Tweek's shaking started to worsen, and his iron grip on his cup of coffee popped the lid off, but Tweek didn't seem to notice. Once more, Kenny found himself trying to calm him down.

"Hey, hey. At least you'll be with a friend, right?" A friend? Kenny could hardly call Craig a friend, seeing as how even though he was off-limits when it came to picking on Tweek, Craig managed to more than make up for Kenny's absence. However, he really wasn't going to test Tweek's feelings on that issue at this moment. Not with the state he was in. Not wanting to leave South Park? Tweek really was crazy.

"Yeah, I- ergh, I guess." Tweek took another swig of his coffee, still not noticing the missing lid, or just choosing not to care. "I just... ugh, what about you?" He looked at Kenny's eye. "Are you planning on leaving South Park too?"

"I have a savings account just for that purpose."

"Really? How much do you have saved up?" Tweek's right eye twitched a few times.

How much did he have? To be honest, Kenny hadn't checked the balance in his account for a couple of years. At first he looked at the bank statement sent to him every month, but the amount just seemed to build up so slowly that after a while, he just got sick of looking at it. Afterwards, he just started burning the statements as soon as he could get a hold of them to make sure that neither he nor his parents could look at it. He really didn't care to see how far away from his goal he really was at the moment.

So Kenny just shrugged. "Not much."

"Oh." Tweek looked at the eye again. "Um... Aren't you and Cartman friends?"

"Yeah."

"So why did he punch you?"

"I just pissed him off. But I got him back, and I'm pretty sure he has a black eye right now."

Kenny was surprised when Tweek looked up at him with pure awe. Surprised because one, he suddenly realized that Tweek was actually looking up at him because for once, he had a height advantage because of his position on the counter. He never realized how tall Tweek was before. Doesn't coffee stunt one's growth? For another, he rarely ever got that look of admiration.

"You're not- you're not scared of him?"

"No. Are you?"

"Kind of. I mean he hasn't... ergh, he hasn't messed with me in a while. He stopped about the same time you did. But he's still... You're really not scared of him?"

Kenny laughed. He couldn't help it, even when Tweek started to look downright offended. "You think he's scarier than me?"

"Well he's... I don't know, he's bigger. And he made a kid eat his own parents. I think he tried to kill me once when I accidently tripped him in the sixth grade. I'm sure I wouldn't put a knife in my own locker set to fall on me when I opened it. And-"

"Alright, alright, I get it."

Their conversation continued on for a while, with the odd customer coming in, some doing their best to ignore Kenny, and some turning away and heading right back out the door when seeing Kenny's most likely unsanitary ass intruding into their order. Despite this, Tweek didn't try to kick Kenny off of the counter. Tweek even gave Kenny a donut free of charge. If Kenny were a regular, polite person, he would have declined or paid for it. But Kenny was Kenny, and he scarfed it down before Tweek could change his mind. He already had to pass up free cake in favor of a fight and "battle scars" that day.

After who knows how long (Kenny certainly didn't), the little bell at the top of the Harbuck's entrance rang, and in came a teen in a blue jacket and hat. Kenny twisted his head to look at him, and the other stared right back at him, then flipped him off.

"Kenny."

"Hey, Craig." Kenny turned back around to look at Tweek, whose mouth was continuously twitching, as if he couldn't decide whether he wanted to smile or not.

Kenny swung around to face the other side of the counter then jumped off of it to allow Craig a clear view of Tweek, who finally decided on a bright smile.

"Mr. Tweak isn't here, yet?" Craig asked.

"No, he has a, err, dentist appointment. He should be here in thirty minutes."

Kenny looked up at the clock on the wall, which gave the time to be a few minutes past eleven, and wasn't moving at all. He raised an eyebrow. "What time is it?"

Craig flipped out his cellphone. "A little after three."

Kenny continued staring at the clock until he mouthed, "Oh. Shit." He dashed out of the Harbuck's, across streets that he didn't care to check out before doing so, ignoring any honking horns and general outcries and rabbles as he shoved the people on the crowded sidewalks out of his way.

After ten minutes of running, Kenny arrived at the local steakhouse, only to realize that his apron was still in his truck. Behind the passenger's seat, the one place he always forgets to check. But that didn't matter right now. He burst in, rushing past a glaring waitress and into the kitchens, where he entered an office with a man sitting behind a desk. It was similar to the Pizza Hut's "office", but slightly larger. Only slightly.

"Listen, I-"

"Fifth strike, McCormick. Your paycheck for yesterday and Friday's hours will be mailed to you shortly. Granted you return your apron, of course."

Kenny wanted to argue. He wanted to keep that job. He also knew that it would be pointless. So he just nodded, muttered a goodbye, and left.

He cursed his bad luck. He didn't check both ways when he crossed the street again. All he could hear was a horn, and all he could see was a truck speeding in his general direction, and all he could think was that when he woke up in his bed the next day, the day after, or even a week from then, back from heaven or hell (most likely hell), at least he wouldn't have that little bruise under his eye anymore.