A/N: I'v never actually been to a party, so I hope I captured it for the most part. Some of this was hard to write, but some of it flowed pretty easily. I hope the lines of each are blurred enough though. And as always, please enjoy! :)

Chapter 3

January 6th

The bass of Token Black's party thrummed deep within the chest of one Eric Cartman.

But that could be due to the liquor that was quickly finding its way into his gullet. Or any number of cups before hand. He wasn't necessarily keeping count. Last nights game had apparently been a rather close call. At least, that's what the team was saying. Thus, the reason for the party. Not that Token ever really needed a reason to throw a party. Damn kid was rich enough to just toss one for the hell of it. But he was as reserved as anyone else living in their stupid little mountain town.

Back to the party.

Just out of the corner of his eye, Eric noticed a certain red head that was swaying to the music. His hair was tucked up into his green ushanka, and his jacket was lost somewhere amongst the crowd. The red cup in his hand sloshed with what Eric could only assume was fermented yeast. Judging by the clouded look, there was something extra slipped into it.

"Damnit," Eric growled to himself as he searched the crowd for the blonde, or ravenette that he no doubt came with. Surely, one of them wouldn't have been dumb enough to leave the jew alone; to abandon him to the wolves that were surrounding him and waiting for the perfect moment to pounce. They had left the gazelle to the lion, and it was a matter of time before the lion was tired of waiting.

"Oi, Ken!" Eric snapped when the whey locks of a his victim fell into sight. "Get your ass off the floor." The toe of his boot connected tightly when the knee of his best friend and arch nemesis. "Kyle-"

"Yes I know," Kenny sighed hiccuping slightly as he started his stumble to natural height. His feet swam below, and for just a second, Eric worried the kid was going to blow chunks all over himself right then and there. "He's drunk."

"S'more than that," Eric sighed brushing a hand through his hair. His brown locks fell back into place instantly, making the motion useless, but it soothed him none the less. Ways of approaching the subject flitted through his mind, but he decided to be the best Eric Cartman he could be, and came right out with it. "Someone fucker drugged his ass."

"What? There's never drugs at Token's parties." Kenny panned. The bastard even arched one of his brows like he was classy enough to fucking do it. "Trust me, I would know. I go out and look for them."

"No, you dumb fuck." Eric hissed rolling his eyes. His patience for the blnode was quickly reaching its limits. "Someone put ketamine or something in his fucking drink." That seemed to snap Kenny to shock soberness. But with soberness, came suspicion. It started with the shading of his blue eyes; his brow lowered, his eyes sharpened. He was glaring.

Of course, whenever anything bad happened to Kyle Broflovski it was Eric Cartman's fault. That was the way it worked, and the way it was supposed to be. So when something that wasn't Eric's fault happened, the brunette took it to heart. It hurt. Because, he knew he didn't cause anything that the redhead was feeling.

He didn't cause that dizziness upon looking straight. He didn't cause him to stumble, giggle, and grin because the ketamine was too far in his system, that he couldn't walk.

It hurt.

"I didn't do shit," Eric mumbled, sending his own glower towards the blonde. "I've been drinking in the kitchen."

"You better not have done shit." Kenny snapped tugging his orange parka on. "But help me get his ass to the fucking truck. Where's Stan?"

"Like I fucking know. I'm not a babysitter." The moment the words left his mouth he knew. Kenny would take it wrong; would warp his words in his mouth. But everyone did. So he shouldn't have been surprised, but it didn't dull the pain when Kenny started on him.

"Shit, fuck, man. Stan was supposed to be with him at all times. That was the fucking plan. So what the fuck? Why do you even care if he's drugged? You're the one always on his case." Kenny mumbled as they searched for the red hair in the sea of bronzes, and brunettes. South Park was just FULL of diversity. The monotony was rather outstanding if Eric was honest.

"It doesn't fucking matter," Eric snapped, too focused on finding the familiar curls of fire in the room. He was quite surprised with how fast they had moved—or been moved—from the corner of the room. A small buzz began in his chest. Not good. "Where the fuck did he go?" Brown eyes scanned the room faster than before; he had never been privvy to a panic like such. He had never felt his heart thunder in his chest, while anxiety bubbled in his gut. Something was very much wrong.

"Shit," Kenny hissed glancing around the room. "I'll check upstairs, you check the basement." Disgustingly bright blue eyes looked at him. But Eric could do nothing but nod. If his suspicions were correct, then Kyle was likely somewhere locked in a room upstairs with some jockstrap doing who knows what. But, better Kenny to find him than Eric. He'd never live it down if someone found out he had a soul.

"A'ight," Eric sighed before turning and heaading to the doors that would take him down into Token's ostentatious basement. It was disgusting really; how much money the family had put into making the place as grand and fucking beautiful as they could. Token seemed to get all of the breaks, while Cartman was stuck playing a hand that didn't really fit him. However, Eric Cartman was a fucking trooper, and he's stick to his hand, because one day...someday...it would play off. He would be able to lay it down and say read 'em and weep boys.

Fortunate, or unfortunately, depending on how he planned to look at it, Kyle was not in the basement. There were no red curls lost among the bodies of teenagers making out. Although, a few of said faces he would certainly store away for later.

For instance, Bebe and Wendy. Who in the hell would have thought? He was sure that the ravenette was as straight for Stan as Kyle was for the boy. Which would be to say, not at all. However, he hadn't expected her to really make a move on her blonde bombshell friend. In school she had seemed far too reserved to make anything more of the friendship than just that.

However, the lack of red curls sent Cartman's heart into his throat, and rage bubbling to his fists. He didn't want anyone else to have the one thing that he could get from the boy. He didn't want anyone else to see contortion of pain followed by rage when he no doubt found out what was going on. No, that would simply be too much for him.

"Shit," Eric muttered giving the crowd one last glance over before going back up the stairs—unnoticed as he usually was. His foot had just tapped the plush carpet of the living room when the argument began. Kenny came barreling down the stairs with Kyle held closely to him. He was screaming something to someone behind him, but Eric couldn't make out what it was over the bass that only seemed to reach the soles of his feet.

"Eric!" The brunette only noted because of his ability to read lips. A trait that he had picked up on whenever he would hide behind the corner and watch his mother speak into the phone. It was a sense of security, and a sense of dread. The brunette rolled his eyes, but still made his way over to the struggling blonde. "You were fucking right," Kenny sighed shaking his head as he reshouldered Kyle's thin arm. "Shit, he's heavier than I thought he was."

"Hand 'em over," Eric scoffed shaking his head. One arm wrapped around Kyle's shoulder while the other slipped just above his knees. Kenny helped to tilt him back, while Eric lifted him up—heavy his fat ass. The jew seemed to weigh nothing in his arms, but he fit just so. His heart shuddered in his chest, as he started to descend the rest of the stairs. If this was any other situation, Eric would have been enlivened to be carrying his affection through a crowd. Had he been anyone else other than himself, he would have been singing the praises of Kyle. He would have blasted his heart out in prose on a stage in front of the entire school, but, ultimately, he was himself. He was Eric Cartman, and Eric Cartman was a cold, concieted, dauntless twit. He could only ever be what everyone wanted, but not what he wanted. And he was content to keep himself as so.

After all, what could be more terrifying than being true to oneself? Than being so open to the world that even the slightest breath of air could slive open his artery and bleed him alive?

So, as it went, when he laid Kyle onto Kenny's torn leather interior of his breaking down truck, he turned to the blonde a look of austere defiance in his eyes. Kenny knew what was coming. Had heard it many a times, and would admit, that each time Eric asked him, it broke his heart.

"Don't tell him I helped. The story is you saw his ass go down on some juice, and then shit went to hell in a hand basket because you turned your back for two seconds. If he asks who the fuck did it, just throw my name out there. He'll believe it." Eric sighed reaching behind the seats into what little storage space that Kenny had. His hand grasped around a soft blanket, dragging it up to tuck the boy in.

"Eric," Kenny whispered glancing mournfully at the tender touches. It never went unnoticed—not by the blonde, not by Wendy, or Stan, or Bebe. Or fuck, not by the rest of the school. They all saw it, no matter how hard Cartman tried to cover it up. "You're a better guy than anyone gives you credit for."

The sardonic laugh that erupted from the portly boy's lip was tear jerkingly self depreciating.

"Don't let anyone else hear you say that. They'll be under the impression that I probably paid you, or I've got something on you."