A/N: I am so terribly sorry for how late this was. I hadn't touched this in months, I can't believe that. Please forgive! I seriously, literally forgot that this at all existed.

After the long while of standing and staring in bewilderment towards a blonde they had all presumed dead, they ended up clambering into the back of his truck and exchanging secrets they never thought would be shared with anyone. Much less other adolescents they hardly knew. "I can't die," Kenny had explained. From birth, he had been granted the ability to resist death no matter how mangled and torn his body might be. Typically, nobody remembered the incident so the fact that they did rose some questions. What made them so special?

"I have the power to command any tool possible," Stan had gone next, his dark blue eyes were wide with both excitement and curiosity. This power seemed rather specific, why not just give him mental command over all things? Stan also suffered from ignorance, he knew nothing of the orgin; where this power had first birthed. "All my life I was normal," he said, the wistful note in his voice tugged one of Cartman's heartstrings (surprising, considering he'd ripped them away years ago). "Then one day, poof, I've got this weird ability."

"I'm part kite," Kyle said, his voice gruff enough to show he hated admitting it. Naturally, further explanation was demanded of him, so he unzipped his thick orange jacket and leaned forward to expose the diamond shaped evidence through his black cotton T. "It's attached to me, spliced into my genes. I'm an accidental product of one of my father's experiments." He lifted up the back of his shirt and everyone leaned forward to stare. The edges were cramped and bent from the way Kyle concealed it's existence, but they seemed to spread out automatically when at last revealed. Dark lines went through the multicolored cloth like lazy spiderwebs. Veins, Cartman realized in fascination.

"Do you feel it when people touch you?" Stan was reaching out with a gloved hand as the question was asked, Kyle reacted immediately by shoving it away and offering him a dark glare.

"Yes I can feel it," he snapped, reaching behind and proceeding to fold the edges back to fit the shirt down again. Knowing that it was part of his physical appearance, Cartman found something savage to the act; like watching someone wrench their own leg in the wrong direction.

Cartman leaned back against the truck, his mind was spinning with the possibilities of such a blessed outcome. When he had blinked open his eyes that morning, way before the sun was even peaking, he hadn't expected to be rewarded with actual superheroes to lead! A silence fell over them, hushed but tense. They were waiting for him to admit something next, but he had no impossible abilities to share. No wings he kept from prying eyes and no power he struggled to contain. But that didn't mean he had nothing to give.

"My father was murdered when I was twelve," Cartman said, folding his arms over his chest. "Had his eye blown out by some crazed lunatic. I even saw his body. My mom shut down, she doesn't take care of me anymore. She's incapable because she's such a wreck, it's like I live alone." No one spoke, but they were observing him with wild eyes that varied from sympathy, to wonderment, to a hardness he couldn't read. Even still, he carried on. "Recently, I started doing a better cause. I've begun clearing out crime so that the streets of South Park could once again be safe for everyone to walk on. At night, I become The Coon, a fierce vigilante who keeps villains where they need to be."

For awhile, no one spoke. They had all gone terribly stiff and wide eyed as though he had revealed something unbelievable. But of course, who would take someone seriously when they spoke of a second identity? As though life were a comic book. It started with Kyle, but Stan and Kenny were swift to follow after: they burst into merciless laughter.

"That's the faggiest thing I've ever heard of!" Shouted the redhead of the bunch, wiping a tear from his eye while Stan, beside him, gasped to catch his breath.

"So wait!" Kenny held up a hand to gain prominent attention, though he was still bubbly with arrogant chuckles, Cartman wanted to rip his pretty ass a new one. "You seriously, like, dress up and go fight bad guys in a mask. How come I've never heard about this? Why are you not on the news?"

"Some kid playing dress up?" Stan had successfully managed to upright himself, his cheeks flushed with his exaggerated amusement. "Who's gonna be the sucker to report that?"

Cartman fumed at their utter disrespect, his fists clenched at his sides and he straightened up to hold his dignity. Who exactly were they to laugh at him?! A bunch of nobodies too ashamed of their own amazing gifts to so much as look at their own reflections. Cartman would let them know too. "Because what on earth are you all doing with your lives that's better than me?!" He roared, aggravated by how unfazed they were.

"Breathing," Kyle challenged with a shrug. "Breathing is way better than what you're doing. Also blinking."

Stan proceeded into yet another laughing fit, Cartman observed them each carefully. How was he ever going to convince them to become part of his team if they insisted upon mocking his cause? The more they were convinced of it's stupidity, the less chance he had of grasping their superhero abilities as his own to manipulate. Cartman let himself relax back against the truck again, the boil of his fiery temper was still alive beneath his skin, but he forced it from erupting with much difficulty. When the trio of others calmed down enough to hear him properly, the larger boy asked casually, "Who here can say that they completely and totally like themselves?"

Silence washed over the boys like an illness, eyes exchanged glances that spoke of whispered truths. Cartman could see them, he could read people like first grade books if he decided to. How else were you supposed to entangle power through one's mind if you were blind? It wasn't that they couldn't say the words, dub Cartman to idiocy and assure him that their self esteem was not at all fractured. But who was going to be the first one to spout the lie? And how could they, when Cartman had asked the question like the answer was already known to him?

"I can," Cartman said, still with infuriating casualty. A smile spread over his lips and he reveled in the burn of hatred that suddenly scorched their gazes. Who was laughing now? "I love who I am, who understand going to be. I think I'm way better than everyone else, and do you know why that is?" He was literally asking, he pointed his attention on each of them individually with a silent dare to produce an answer. They didn't give any indication that they knew, just glared at him in quiet outrage, Cartman smiled again.

"It's because I am," he explained, chuckling at the way Stan exhaled in irritation. "Because I live, really live, and the three of you hide away from the world because you're too scared to face it."

"That's bullshit," Kyle immediately retaliated. "I'm not hiding from this stupid world. I'm going to own it someday."

Cartman was still grinning like the victor of this little argument, he liked how easy it was to make the ginger lad seethe. "Are you? Because all I see is a bunch of pansies too afraid of their own reflection to face it. I see children, and I see a future just like the present for you guys. Unless..."

He let the words hang in the air, feeling a twinge of satisfaction at the way they raised up their brows with the utmost impatience. Stan leaned forward, more eager than the other two and much too anxious to hide it. "Unless?" He prompted.

"Unless you join me," Cartman finished. There was a dare to his words, a flaring question that asked whether or not they had the balls to step up. Release their fears and use their incredible power for the sake of the good in this world. With them on Cartman's side, capable of being led by his wisdom and stunning grace, there would be nothing in this universe to stop him. To stop any of them really, all he needed was a note of approval from them all. Yes.

"Nope."

"Nuh-uh."

"Not happening dude."

The three boys abruptly got to their feet and proceeded to make their exit, Kenny pulled the loud jingle of keys from his pocket when he landed back on the road. "This wasn't fun at all," he said to the others, approaching his truck's door and wrenching it open with a loud whine. "Let's never ever talk about this again."

"I can agree to that," Kyle tugged his jacket back on and zipped it up, moving quickly towards where the sun was slowly beginning to sink. Cartman slowly clambered out from behind the truck, struck dumb by the way they had rejected his invitation. He shoved his yellow mitted hands into the deep pockets of his jacket and began to retreat, his gray eyes locked on to the sidewalk as he traversed.

All was not quite lost. Not just yet. Cartman's words would swim through their minds tonight while they attempted to accomplish sleep, swirling through their train of thought until all they could think of was Cartman. The round boy was confident of this, a smile crept up his lips as he started for home. Something made him doubt this interaction had finalized their futures.

ยง

Cartman and Stan didn't exchange words in Shop Class the next day, the black haired boy was going through the most severe lengths simply to pretend Cartman didn't exist. The round boy found his evident resistance futile and stupid, but he hadn't the energy to play "I Bet I Can Make You Look at Me." Instead, he regarded a stray nail boredly, as he did only yesterday, his fingers tapped tirelessly against the wooden bench.

Somewhere along the way, Stan finally ceased his mindless banging with a hammer and slid in beside him, dark eyes locked on to the restless twiddling of his digits. "I've been...thinking about what you said." He tilted his head towards Cartman ever so slightly, the other boy merely grunted out a response. Stan was unsatisfied, but he took it as his cue to go on. "I mean, it's still a dumb idea. Dressing up like a superhero and, you know, going out there to stop crime or whatever."

Cartman still offered little answer, his focus solely on the nail he twirled in his grip. Stan wondered if he was listening at all. "But, I was just wondering," Stan flushed with embarrassment, cheeks growing a furious pink the more he went on. Why was he speaking at all? "Do you, you know..."

He trailed off, Cartman seemed impatient by his silence and dropped the nail with a soft plink. His irritated gray eyes shifted towards the black haired lad in a demonstration of intolerance and he asked in his unhappiness, "Do I what Stan?"

Stan knocked the side of his foot repeatedly against the leg of their bench, lip caught between his teeth. "Do you...do you actually help people?"

Cartman blinked, his surprise alight in his stormy irises. He flicked his attention towards the front of the classroom and appeared distanced from the present, as though actually considering the question being asked of himself. Stan waited with baited breath for his answer, perhaps Cartman didn't very well save anyone. Maybe he just pranced about the streets in a rat costume during the night and claimed to be a superhero. "Yes," he answered finally, turning back to regard the quarterback once more. "Of course I do."

Stan looked back down at his fingers, flexing the experimentally as he imagined himself doing the very same. In the modern world, he was a freak; an abomination to society. A witch that needed to be burned at the stake. But if his outfit was colorful, if a mask hid away his identity, if his newfound abilities were to be used for helping others... Would he hate himself so much if this could be made into a reality? Cartman certainly made it possible, why couldn't he?

"Cartman," Stan lifted his gaze towards the heavy boy with a burst of needed determination. "Could I possibly-"

"The more the merrier," Cartman shrugged, a smile lifted up his mouth.