I don't even remember most of what I've written so editing this is kind of fun. Good excuse to reread!

Disclaimer: South Park is the creation of Matt Stone and Trey Parker. Fan fiction is the creation of people who are completely insane, like me. I swear, I didn't run away from a mental institution to create this story.

Tweek's eyes blinked in rapid succession, pupils locked on the slain flesh. The disarray of his hair seemed to reflect the destruction that lay before him. Stan, Kyle, and Kenny approached only to join the demi-circle formed behind the one frail boy. They were outsiders, observant to the world of chaotic aftermath inside a self-constructed snow globe. The insider was deaf and dumb to the watchers as he took a step closer.

His hear jerked to the side, hands continuously trembling though his arms rest quietly along his sides. Knees buckling, he fell to the ground—a choked cry escaping the back of his throat.

"Dude, is he okay?" Kyle asked. He stepped closer, their globe becoming smaller as the movement drew the other teammates in. Tweek's hair was a reflection of the sun; the outsiders were none other than planets, satellites, ad rockets orbiting the source, tugged closer by the thread of gravitation.

"Man, this is taking forever. I'm bored," Stan muttered. Cartman rolled his eyes, arms crossing in front of his chest.

"Stan, listen, okay? You need to take that butt plug out of your ass and respect my authorit~ay!"

The boys snickered, save for Stan and Kyle. Stan stalled, eyes shifting from side to side before his face lit up. He could put it in his favor. Swing it around.

"Just so you know, a butt plug would put anyone in a good mood, not a bad one—I asked your mom about it last Thursday." Stan started to laugh, expecting the others to join him ,though he was greeted by silence. The eyes of the boys burned his sides. "Dude… it was a joke-" he continued, laughter dying as it lost vigor, face contorting.

"Fag," Clyde said plainly, turning his head to watch Tweek again.

"A joke, guys! A joke!" Stan protested.

"Well, gee Stan, didn't Token say that you should wait until after our playoffs to make lewd comments?" Butters addressed, oblivious to the boys' laughter, as if he had forgotten that Stan had punched him in the face not even a few hours ago.

"Wait-what? Guys! We joke like this all the time! It was a rip on Cartman's mom-"

"No offense, Stanley," Pip interjected. "-but that's pretty gay."

"What?" Stan's voice cracked into a squeak. If he had a gun, he'd shoot himself in the head. Brains everywhere, no question.

"It's simply not funny if you're gay. It's like Token making a Black joke or Kyle making a Jew joke."

"Dude! That's like, backward! You shouldn't make fun of other people-"

"But you do it all the time, don't you?" Pip asked, hands locking together as his fingers interlaced.

"Guys-" Stan protested though he wasn't heard.

Tweek rose to his feet, skin a yellowing tint. His hands still trembled, moving in front of his stomach as if to compress it from nausea. His left eye blinked in sporadic twitches, body still convulsing.

"Jesus Christ, it took you long enough," Cartman complained, rubbing his hands together. "So, what is it? A gnome right?"

The blond's teeth grated against each other, grinding bits of bone apart. "…I don't know."

"You WHAT?" Cartman snapped.

"I don't know! I DON'T KNOW! I've never seen anything like that! It's too big for the Scandinavian Gnomes unless they're doing new genetic research and—OH GOD! THAT'S IT! THEY'RE COMING TO KILL ME!" His breath came quickly and he ran forward, trying to shove through the group though Token and Craig gripped onto his shoulders holding him in place.

"Whoa, easy, Tweek. Easy," Token comforted. "It's not out to kill you because it's dead."

"That's the thing!" he protested, voice now a hushed whisper. "They die… you think they're dead and you're safe for the time being. Then, when they notice that one's dead they send another three days later… and then another… and another. One by one we'll be picked off until we're destroyed."

"Tweek, our bus just broke down. Surely we wont even be here more than a day," Token tried to reason. "Besides, you have all of us here. And Craig. I don't think anyone would want to fuck with him." Hearing the faint mention of his name, Craig lifted up a hand in salute to the skies. His middle finger pivoted, eyes narrowed at Token.

The boy still persisted, head shaking from side to side. "Gah! Er! No one… no one believes me. Just… you guys think I'm crazy. I'll prove it to you. But by then one of us will be dead!"

Cartman's hands moved to his hips as he moved, halting only inches in front of the blond. "Tweek, I'm giving you to the count of five to tell us that it was a gnome under the wheel."

"What? Cartman, that's cheating!" Clyde whined.

"It is not."

"Is too."

"AY~! RESPECT MAH AUTHORIT~AY!"

Another typical fight. No matter the circumstance, Cartman couldn't stay out of trouble. He seemed to relish in the arguments, perhaps knowing that otherwise he would be ignored. He would always be the hated, manipulative fat kid—never the weak.

"Fellows, please!" Pip interrupted, stepping in between Clyde and Cartman. Tweek took the opportunity to duck and sprint, pulling away from his surrounding teammates. Pip stopped by Kenny, breath rising and falling in quick heaves. "We really should be figuring out a way to set camp—it's getting dark and who knows when help will arrive."

"He's right," Token sighed. He turned his back to the now-smoldering flesh as it burned and absorbed the fumes from the crash. "Everyone, get your things. We'll stay right here-" He started to walk a perimeter approximately twenty feet from the side of the bus. "Incase it falls, we'll be in the clear. We'll also be able to use the bus as a windshield. Who can start a fire?"

"AY~! Token, in case you weren't listening, I was assigned to lead everyone through this adventure-" Cartman countered. Token barely lifted his brow before his shoulders shrugged.

"As I was saying, who can start a fire?"

"Damn it, sonuvabitch," Cartman mumbled, reluctantly conceding.

"Man, getting stranded really sucks," Kyle complained, turning his back to the group. "I'm starving—you guys want any Challah Rolls?"

"ACK!"

"Oh… forgot you were here, Tweek. You can come too, I guess," Kyle mumbled, certainly less enthused than he was a few minutes ago.

"Free food? I'm in," Kenny chirped, patting Kyle on the back. Stan glanced at the trio before toward the group. Token was trying to coax a reluctant Craig into retrieving firewood to start the bonfire while Cartman spewed out every reason for him not to. Stan wasn't sure if he would be able to tell the outcome.

"Stan? Earth to Stan! Come in, Marsh!" Kenny moved a hand in front of the boy's head until he jerked, snapping back to the present. "Dude, what bug crawled up your ass?" he asked. "I mean, seriously. You and Kyle are cute."

"Whoa, wait, cute? Huh? Dude, sick, Kenny. He's my best friend," Kyle protested, arms folding in front of his chest.

"Best friends who wake up in each other's arms that I found in the storage-"

"How come people aren't making fun of Kyle for gah! You know," Tweek interrupted. Shoulders shaking, he moved closer to Kenny's side.

"Because Stan's the fag and Kyle's not?"

"Kenny!" Stan's eyes widened. "You're supposed to be my friend!"

Kenny shrugged his shoulders, eyes twinkling mischievously. "Patience," he murmured, the mumble barely audible as he tightened his parka.

"Well, come on, guys. I'm starving and I don't want to have to share with Cartman," Kyle said, leading the group back toward the fire. With each step, Stan glanced toward Kenny and frowned. What did he even mean by that? Patience? People couldn't change. A useless dream.