Word travelled quite fast throughout high school hallways, hushed whispers regarding the prospect of Eric Cartman- with his careless demeanor and the fight he hadn't backed down from against a Kyle Broflovski- had become the evident highlight of everyone's daily entertainment. Kenny McCormick cared nothing of the previous events revolving around the new fat kid, he had his own version of excitement happening currently in the closet with someone else. Score of the day, it had been one of his notably horny teachers. A married woman, yes, but her husband was so busy with his job and hadn't touched her like this in what seemed like decades and blah blah blah. It honestly didn't matter to Kenny, he didn't need the details to her sad life.
No, he had shown sultry interest when she asked him to stay behind in class to discuss his failing grades, she hadn't been all that difficult to win over either. Now he was enjoying the way her nails felt biting into his naked back. It took half an hour, tops, then Kenny was sliding his clothes back on and leaving behind a mess of a teacher as she wept over the dysfunction of her marriage and the horrid betrayal she hadn't resisted. Kenny could think himself as scum, but was he really? Most people thought someone who constantly showed obsession in sex was automatically a prominent asshole, but that was just unfair to proclaim. After all, it wasn't as though these women were rejecting him. And he wasn't making empty promises either, it was hardly his fault for being so striking.
School had ended a long while ago, the bell had shrilled with indication, which was why it had been remarkably perfect for him to make moves on his heartbroken instructor. He was walking down the hallway, twirling his car keys around his finger when the door to the nurse's office flung open suddenly and out stumbled a frantic blue eyed boy. "Shit, shit, shit!" He barked, glaring daggers towards the screen of his phone as he paced into Kenny's pathway, making the blonde halt curiously. "Fucking great, I missed the bus. Looks like I'm walking now." From the office, the nurse poked her head from around the corner and gave the boy a hard look, Kenny struggled in suppressing a shiver from scurrying down his spine. The nurse was plenty kind and often showed methods of sympathy, unlike most school nurses who functioned like robots. But there was a dead fetus growing right off the side of her face, which made it hard for some people to look directly at her. Kenny was one of these people.
"Stanley," she scolded in an undertone. The boy turned to glare at her, obviously not sharing in the same reluctance to ignore something as obvious as a dead fetus just casually attached to someone's cheek. "Don't swear like that. Listen, I'll call your father and explain to him that I was looking after you. He'll understand-"
"I told you I was fine," the boy, Stanley, retorted stubbornly. "You didn't have to keep me here all day long. It isn't even a concussion!" Kenny blinked, realizing that he recognized this kid. He was the school's version of Tom Brady, the dazzling quarterback treated like a rarity among his peers and instructors. Unexpectedly enough, he was a nice guy despite the fame, he didn't even have a trail of broken hearts. As for that matter, Kenny wasn't certain that he even dated in the first place.
"I'll give you a ride," he spoke up before he could think about it, surprising even himself. He blamed the generosity on the fact that he had been so kindly laid in a stuffy closet by an older woman who still had a good kick to her. Still, Kenny didn't typically socialize with, well, anyone. Especially not the popular half of the status quo. Stanley turned to look at him, the hostility fled his gaze for something that mimicked the way Kenny was feeling in that instant and his lips parted as though he were going to say something. No words came out, Kenny had to doubt that nobody had ever offered him their services simply because they could. Kenny shrugged, stuffing the keys to his car into his orange parka's pocket. "I'm never in a hurry to get home anyway, I'll give you a lift if you want it."
Stan awkwardly put his own cellular into his pocket, grappling for a sentence. Suddenly, it hit Kenny why he was so hesitant. While Stan was everyone's golden boy, Kenny was considerably opposite from that. He was the smoking sex addict who lived in a shack too worn down to be a home and gave no care to his surroundings. You stayed away from people like Kenny, who had the face of an angel but a poisonous smirk adorned like weapons on demons. Suddenly, his bright blue eyes hardened from their indifference. "Or walk," he said rather flatly. "You're a big shiny football player after all, some exercise will barely do you any harm."
It surprised him when Stanley flushed in an apologetic sense, actually appearing guilt stricken for a moment. So Kenny's suspicions had been correct, Stanley feared getting mixed up with the likes of him. "Actually," answered the other boy, swiping away a few black strands of hair from his forehead that escaped from the hem of his hat. "That'd be awesome of you, dude. I'll even pay you the gas money." Seeing as they seemed to be working out perfectly, the nurse slowly moved back into her office to leave the adolescents to their own devices.
Kenny reached back to pull up his hood before proceeding down the hallway once more, towards the school's exit. "Let's go then," he sighed.
§
Stanley appeared terribly discomforted in Kenny's beaten up old truck, the blonde took evident delight in this. How simple, he thought to himself, it barely took much to make the goody-goodies squirm. "So, Stanley." Kenny tried out the use of his first name, seeing as this was the first time really using it. Special or not, Kenny wasn't about to refer to him as some Lord or anything and wouldn't fulfill these desires if requested of him.
There was a request, but it wasn't ridiculous. "Just Stan, actually." He said without looking towards him.
Kenny snickered under his breath. Stan pointed right and the blonde happily followed his direction, his gaze flicking to and fro at the lovely homes lined together in the neighborhood. It wasn't precisely a rich neighborhood, but it was a quaint little place people like Kenny wished they could afford. In the unfortunate end, he lived on the wrong side of the train tracks, the side where vermin and filth all congregated together in what they deemed as harmonious. But this place? It looked like the type of neighborhood Walt Disney roamed in, where flowerbeds would sing good morning songs to smiling bypassers. It was so stupid, but Kenny felt an aching sense of jealousy as he looked around. He didn't even have flowerbeds, much less singing ones. "So where am I going?" He asked with an unnecessary bitter edge.
Stan either didn't notice or ignored it because he nodded towards a turn down a few more lovely homes. "Down that way," he directed. "Thanks for this by the way, I know you must have better things to do." Kenny really didn't have better things to do but was amused by this boy's attempts at lightening the mood. He would've said as much, if not for the far too sudden red and orange blur that sprung up like a nightmare in front of his truck. Kenny swore out loud before instantly stomping on his breaks and vigorously spinning the wheel to get out of the way. Stan shouted something towards him, but the screech of tires and the pound of adrenaline coursing through his ears fended off any words spoken his way.
The car swerved left, straight on to some poor fool's front lawn, and crashed into an old fashioned tree standing vigil before it. For what it was worth, the owners of said home didn't seem to be occupying it at all for the moment. Kenny's last thoughts before he shot out of his seat and straight through his windshield, ultimately severing his life, was simplistic and oddly ridiculous: I really need to learn to wear my damn seat belt.
§
Cartman was trudging on his own path home, glaring down at his brown shoes as he walked and keeping a firm grip around the strap of his bag. He hadn't come across anyone worthy enough to join the team he was attempting to form, just a bunch of morons, most of which found it hilarious to play a game called "How Many Pencils Can I Shove Up My Nose Before I Start Bleeding And Crying." The school itself had been obnoxious and disgusting, as though the janitors spent more time sleeping than scraping chewed up gum from underneath the desks (he couldn't count how many times his fingertips had grazed against them).
However, he supposed he had ran into two boys that intrigued his sense of interest. The first one, the boy he felt like ripping a new one anytime someone so much as breathed his name, had an interesting secret hiding just under his thick orange jacket as well as a bad temper that could make a city shift. Good quality, and strange eyes too. Not because of their rare, vibrantly green coloring, but because they had sizzled when Cartman looked into them. He could've sworn they did. And then there was Stan, the kid he sat beside in Shop Class who showed a surprising amount of patience with Cartman.
The thing about Stan was the way he had fallen. Cartman always thought that things like telekinesis was ridiculous and, point blank period, utter bullshit. He had seen apparent "proof" on the television many times before, but he had never considered them anything but lies no matter the explanation. But then Stan stepped in. Cartman must've just been looking at the correct moment because, when he flicked his gaze up briefly from his twiddling thumbs and saw Stan slip forward on the nail he had earlier kicked aside, he hadn't seen his arms shoot out to shove aside the can. If anything, Stan's limbs had flailed helplessly to his sides, the can had moved completely on its own when it knocked over and the dark haired boy had gracelessly banged his head against it. Impossible, it could've simply been a trick of the light. Or maybe even the excitement of witnessing a near death experience had caused Cartman to misinterpret what he had seen. He wasn't so sure though.
He heard another pair of feet walking gradually across the way, on the other side of the sidewalk, and Cartman looked up from his trek to see a familiar green ushanka rested casually on a head he didn't have any desires to be seeing again. They could've walked in silence until they finally parted ways, it didn't seem like Kyle had so much as noticed the other boy, much less cared to. But Cartman released an unnecessary groan of sour mood loud enough to reach the ginger and Kyle whipped his head up until his emerald gaze sought out the newest bane of his existence. "Great, fat boy is here. Shouldn't you be in the rich part of town?"
"You mean the royal section?" Cartman wondered with sarcastic arrogance, he could see how easily it made Kyle's skin grow into a boil. "Why yes, I should be. I'm on my way there right now, but I like taking the long way just so I can shake my head and sympathize with middle class poor people like you."
Kyle gave him a look that expressed idiocy on Cartman's end, but sticks and stones were his only weakness. At least, that was what he liked to think. "Nice bruises," Cartman went on, nodding towards Kyle in reminder of their previous fight the first time they had met. "Looks like a tank kicked your ass mercilessly."
"I got into a scruff with a fucking elephant of a kid, you know?" Kyle retorted, it came so easily from him. "You see, he pointed his gross saggy moon straight at me and opened fire, I'm lucky to even see straight." At this, Cartman came to a furious halt and Kyle followed his lead. They turned to face one another, one side of the sidewalk wordlessly challenged the other to duel.
"It must be surprising," Cartman said as he stepped off and into the side of the street, tensing when Kyle did the same. "Being beaten so ruthlessly by someone as amazing as me? I bet it's never happened to the almighty Kyle...whatever your last name is."
"Broflovski," Kyle took another large step towards the center of the street. "And yea, it doesn't happen very often." His gloves clenched and unclenched at his sides, clearly just itching for another fight. Cartman's smirk was wide and sharp enough to cut through bone, he liked the weary look that crossed over the other boy's face as he grinned in this way.
"Broflovski huh?" He wondered in a casual, smooth tone of voice. "I heard of that name before. I heard they burned the last of you in some wicked ovens awhile back, guess they missed a spot." He shrugged like this was a small token of error, but the look on Kyle's face would've sent a bull fleeing tail between legs. Even Cartman's smirk dropped, they stared at one another in frozen hatred. Then, without warning, Kyle barreled straight towards him with his fists raised in the offense.
Cartman's reflexes were sharp and focused, he slid to the side so that Kyle's knuckles connected with dead air, then reveled in the look of surprise that danced in his eyes. Cartman, swift like a cat, reached out and plucked the hat from Kyle's head and the boy whirled around in a form of outrage. Down tumbled a mass of crimson curls, falling into his eyes and all around his shoulders in a gargantuan afro. Cartman immediately burst into laughter as he stumbled backwards, still clutching the hat in his hand. "You're probably the most Jewish Jew I've ever met!" He barked past the excessive giggles. "Look at how ridiculous your Jew-fro is dude, how do you get by?" Kyle's eyes did it again, only this time it was much more evident than it had been before. They turned completely red, no pupil or whites, and he darted forward to try and retrieve his beloved accessory. Cartman had been distracted momentarily by the unnatural change in the redhead's irises, so the punch delivered his way sent him careening towards the road.
"Give me my fucking hat!" Cartman landed on his hands and knees while Kyle tried to swipe it up from his grasp, though Cartman was quick to roll away before his fingers could snatch up the ushanka. He was on his feet in record time, brushing himself off before waving the hat like a treat before a rabid dog.
"You want it? You're gonna have to take it from me."
Kyle darted forward, not needing anymore of an invitation, then Cartman spun around and took off at full speed towards the row of houses on the side he had been walking on. Kyle was spitting insults at him as he gave immediate chase, Cartman swore profanities under his breath as he saw that the other boy was catching up with little effort Cartman rolled his eyes up towards the bright blue sky and made a mental note to work on his cardio.
Cartman lunged for a silver chained fence and climbed swiftly over it, landing on his feet in someone's backyard. This proved a foolish effort when a German Shepard came crawling from it's doghouse and gazed hatefully towards the intruder. If he had the time, Cartman would've flipped off Heaven by now. The dog rushed forward, barking in outrage and baring yellow teeth in the means of death. Cartman swiveled around it and quickly made a dash towards the other fence that cut off someone else's territory. Unfortunately, the canine was much faster and tackled him down into the grass. Cartman rolled over and gagged at the foul smelling breath of the dog, his nose scrunching as he lifted the hand with the ushanka in it. He quickly shoved it into the animal's snapping jaws, it backed up in surprise and gave Cartman just enough time to scramble back on his feet.
"HEY!"
Cartman and the dog both looked over simultaneously at Kyle, who's death glare rested on the dog keeping his precious hat clamped between two rows of teeth. Unlike Cartman, he met the beast head on as it attacked him, Kyle's arms went around it's body and slammed it into the ground as he attempted to wrestle the hat out of its grip. Cartman stared in bewilderment at the tangle of fur and flying fists. He succeeded in the end, the dog took off back towards its miniature house in a whimpering mess while Kyle rubbed his hat against his jacket and proceeded to shove his tresses back underneath it.
When this task was completed, he regarded Cartman in outrage, obviously not satisfied that he had gotten his hat back. He wanted blood now. Cartman turned and ran again, Kyle taking off straight after him with the intentions of murder (or so Cartman supposed). Despite everything, Cartman was having an obnoxiously good time with himself, climbing over fences and being chased by an angry Jew proved to be shockingly fulfilling. Finally he stumbled out of the backyards and returned to a sidewalk. Coming around the bend was a beaten up old truck so mangled, it was a wonder it even worked right. How could someone own a piece of shit like that and still live somewhere as nice as this? He didn't have the time to contemplate this because, in the next instant, Kyle collided straight into him and they toppled together in front of the oncoming automobile.
Cartman looked up from where he was pinned underneath Kyle and sucked in his breath when the truck immediately swerved to the left in a cry of rubber against road, crashing directly into someone's front yard tree. A body shot out of the front seat, glass shattered as it plunged through the windshield and struck the tree in a bloodied heap of a corpse. From the passenger's side, a scream came tearing from someone's throat, Cartman could see through the blurry window as another kid tried to desperately undo his seatbelt and come stumbling out of the truck, coughing and dropping to his knees. A small trickle of blood spilled out from a long cut along his hairline and he spit out tiny red dots all over the grass.
Cartman turned to look up at Kyle, but the boy was still with horror, unmoving as he kept his focus locked on the scene as it unfolded before him. "Get off of me!" Cartman shouted, shoving Kyle off and getting to his feet to quickly see what had become of whoever appeared dead. He recognized the other lad as Stan, who had planted his flat palms against the truck's smoking hood in his struggle to stand.
"What the fuck were you doing?!" Asked the blue eyed boy, his words came scraping out in painful rasps. Cartman ignored him before climbing on top of the truck, towards the slumped body that still wasn't showing any signs of life. It was a kid, male, his blonde hair matted with blood and shards of glass sticking out from his face and neck. His pale blue eyes stared up at the clouds as they sailed quietly by, but he obviously wasn't seeing them. Kyle had finally broken from his trance and was rushing over to address the terrible predicament, though he looked so damn hopeful that no one had been killed.
"He's dead!" Cartman reported, both Kyle and Stan looked on in utter terror at the news. Kyle sagged down towards his knees, his mittens coming up to cover his mouth while he trembled in despair. "Shit," Cartman whispered and dropped the body, whoever it was, back towards the hood. Two options, run or stay? As he slid down off the truck, Stan was already pulling out his cellular from his pocket and dialing up the emergency numbers.
"We have to call for help!" He was saying, pressing the phone to his ear, Kyle remained soundless and frightened. "We have to-" Suddenly, the truck jerked harshly. Stan stumbled forward and looked backwards in surprise and question, Cartman and Kyle immediately did the same. The truck pulled itself backwards from the tree, it's damage fixing from the previous blow and the tire marks disappeared like nothing from the front lawn as it returned to the road. The dead boy, Cartman still didn't know his name, had fallen on to the ground when his truck had inexplicably lurched backwards. He became engulfed in a blinding sort of golden light, vibrant and impossible, the trio of boys lifted their arms to try and ward off the brightness. What was happening?
The light faded away, there stood a tall boy with shaggy yellow locks and pale blue eyes brushing off any dust from his outfit. He appeared so careless, so serene and silent as he went, grumbling to himself about something incoherent. When he lifted up his gaze and saw three others staring blankly at him, awaiting some form of explanation, he raised his brown gloved hands up slowly in disbelief. "Do you remember me dying?" He asked.