It's Buttman, Baby!

Summary – After a prophetic dream, Cartman awakes convinced that he must finish what Hitler began. To begin with, he'll have to start the perfect Aryan race, and there is only one boy with the genes for that.

Warning – everything Cartman-related, i.e. extreme anti-Semitism, cursing, offensive language; and now really cute gayness!

Disclaimer – South Park is owned by Trey Parker and Matt Stone, both of whom I idolize and do not wish to profit from their marvelous work

A/N – Buttman's here. :D

Later that night, Butters was pacing anxiously at their front door, waiting for Eric to obnoxiously ring the door bell. "Be brave, Butters," He said to himself, turning on his heel and then back again. "Bravery, Butters, show courage. Show might. Show—"

"Thanks for leaving the door unlocked, Butters," Cartman said cheerfully as he walked passed. "Now, shall we get down to business?"

Butters gaped as Cartman invited himself into the kitchen. "Aw, shucks."

By the time he'd walked into the tiled floors of his kitchen, Cartman had already laid out slogan ideas, banner outlines, lists of shows to appear on and people to write to, as well as five boxes of markers. "C'mon, Butters, I can't do this myself."

"E-eric," Butters stuttered, but then found that he couldn't continue.

"Damn it, what is it?"

Be brave, Butters. "Well, it's just that…what these girls at school were saying sorta…sorta got me thinking, is all," He admitted haltingly.

"Okay," Cartman said, staring at Butters and waiting for him to continue. When Butters didn't speak, Cartman sighed and said, "So? What did they say?"

"Oh!" Butters said. "That, uh, we make a cute couple, even if you're kinda fat—"

"Hey wait a sec! I'm not fat, I'm big-boned!"

"—a-and then they started giving me all their phone numbers and stuff, sayin' they were willing to babysit for us if we ever needed a break, you know. And that got me thinkin'…we're not a couple, are we?"

Cartman resisted the urge to slap himself in the face. "Stupid, fucking girls…making up stories, calling me fat…listen Butters. We are, under no circumstances, a couple. That is the gayest thing I have ever heard of!"

"But…you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure!"

"'Cause, you know, all this working together and stuff, and baby-making business, that sounds all very couple-y to me…"

"Jesus Christ, shut up, Butters! You. And I. Are not. A thing!"

Butters' thoughtful expression immediately turned pouty. "Really?"

"Duh! Now stop looking at me with those goddamn perfect eyes of yours! Just because every time I need someone to go along with my elaborate plans, without complaint, especially without a big annoying argument like Kyle always puts up, you're always there saying 'o-okay Eric!' with those awesome eyes willing to do whatever the fuck I say, does not mean…" But Cartman trailed off on his own, now clutching his cheeks with a shell-shocked expression in his eyes.

"Um…Eric?"

"What's happening to me?" Cartman cried, voice trailing higher and higher as Butters stood there having no idea what was going on. "Shit, Butters, what are you doing to me? This is all your fault!"

"...Well, shucks! I haven't been doing nothing but a-asking you a few questions, is all!" Butters growled, or came as close to growling as he could. "I have just about had it with you, Eric! Always p-pushing me around, and stuff! I agreed to have this baby for you! Now you apologize right now…or you're sleeping on the couch tonight, mister!"

Cartman's lips curled with horror. "Oh God, oh no, it really is happening! I gotta get out of here!"

Butters stared as Cartman left all his supplies scattering to the floor as he leapt out Butters' front door. "Now, that's funny. That always works on Dad when Mom thinks he's making a fuss."

It plagued Cartman all night. Dreams of Butters, his back to Eric, turning around with a beautiful baby in his arms. All pink and blonde, all perfect. But then…there were more. They were everywhere. Multiple Butterses, carrying their Aryan babies, turning around to look at Eric saying, "This is your baby too…yours too…it's our baby Eric…"

"No," Cartman groaned, rolling over. "No, I'm just trying to appease Hitler! I don't want all these babies! They're not mine!"

"It's what you wanted," All the Butterses said contentedly, cradling the babies in their arms. And then they disappeared, leaving a lone figure in white.

"Hello?" Cartman called out into the distance. The figure didn't move. "Hello, can you hear me?"

He ran toward it, maybe this was the way out; but then the figure turned around. It was Butters—wearing a wedding gown.

"Oh God, no!"

"You're sharing this responsibility Eric," Butters said sweetly, edging nearer and nearer. As Cartman caught a glimpse of his gentle expression, and his even gentler eyes, he thought, well maybe this will be okay. But then suddenly fire spewed out of Butters' mouth, and he roared, "Either we're in this together, or you're sleeping on the couch, mister!"

"Nooo!"

"Eric!" A feminine voice cried as he felt someone shaking his shoulder. "Eric, sweetie, what's the matter?"

"H-huhh—Mom!" Eric startled into consciousness. "Mom, thank God, you saved me!"

"You were screaming in your sleep, dear. Were you having a nightmare?"

"…Don't be stupid, I'm too old for nightmares."

"Oh, alright," Mrs. Cartman said, making to turn around back to her room.

"Wait, Mom, don't go yet," Cartman suddenly insisted. "Um…so, hypothetically, if you were to have a baby with someone, even if it's maybe not technically having a baby with that someone, would that change your feelings for that certain someone? This is all purely hypothetical, remember."

"Well dear, usually when people make babies by accident, they end up hating each other and either getting the baby aborted or raising it in a crummy and unloving household."

"No, you're missing my point here. What if you chose that person specifically because you knew the baby would turn out like totally fucking awesome?"

"Then it sounds like you love that person very much, and want to start a family together."

Cartman's jaw dropped out. "Jesus Christ."

"This isn't about your friend Butters, is it?"

"Oh fuck no, Mom! This is definitely not about that stupid dickwipe with the perfect eyes Butters! Now leave me alone and let me sleep!"

"If you say so," Mrs. Cartman sighed. "Young love, oh, I still remember those tender days in the fourth grade."

"Mom!"

"Alright dear, no need to make such a fuss."

The next morning, Cartman let out a big yawn at the bus stop. "Whoa, Cartman, looks like you didn't get much sleep last night."

"If you start all that again," Cartman said in an eerily monotonous tone, staring straight ahead, "I swear, I'll fucking break your legs and kill you with my face."

"Hey Eric?"

"The fuck do you—oh. It's you." Kyle could've sworn he saw Cartman gulp as he turned to look at Butters.

"Listen, I just came here to drop off your stuff," Butters said, putting a large bag down on the sidewalk. "A-and that I'm sorry for hollering at you. I even made some real nice posters for our baby, and I called all those shows you had listed, and one of them wants us to be there tomorrow. So guess I'll see you then." Butters then took to standing there, as if waiting for Cartman to say something, but they both simply stared at each other, neither saying a word. "Oh…well, bye now."

As Butters walked away, Kyle took a closer look at Cartman's eyes. "Dude, are your pupils dilated?"

"Get the fuck out my face!"

"Shit, they totally are."

With a thud, the bag Butters just dropped off collided with Kyle's face.

"Ow," Kenny giggled, "whah owwa hurr."