Delinquent
Chapter 2: Behind the Curtain
written by Labyrinth1n3 - illustrated by Nhaingen and SoltianSecond period was US History, the one class Cartman and Kyle shared before actively avoiding each other for the rest of the school day. Hanging out after school in the privacy of their own rooms was fine, but they both had hang-ups about other people knowing what there was between them.
The problem was that Cartman wasn't about to change his lovable self any time soon, and Kyle didn't want people thinking that he was supporting his behavior by hooking up with him every once in a while. They wouldn't know what the hook-ups meant and there was no way in hell anyone would ever understand why he agreed to do them. Getting Stan to understand had been absolutely unbearable, and sometimes Kyle himself didn't even understand why he allowed this to continue.
So they kept their affair under the radar. Cartman didn't want everyone thinking he was gay for Kyle anyway, but he still had his problems. He couldn't keep his eyes off him, let alone his hands. US History was such an easy subject, yet he had such a hard time concentrating on anything but the redhead sitting right in front of him thanks to alphabetical order.
The distraction had become such a problem that in September, Cartman got into an argument with Kyle about what they could and could not do at school. Kyle adamantly refused to be caught doing anything with him, but Cartman told him that he could find a place where that wouldn't be a problem, and so had begun their back-of-the-theatre shenanigans.
Being a music student certainly had its perks. Since the only piano in the school was on the stage, the band teacher had given Cartman a key for his senior year so he could access the theatre even when it was closed.
Their favorite place was on the old dusty couch in the corner by the back door. Kyle thought it was disgusting at first, so Cartman mocked him for being a prissy little brat before begrudgingly throwing one of the prop curtains over it. This couch became their dining table of sorts; they convened, talked about their day, argued, fought, but on occasion got along and ate lunch together. Today was a mixed day though, Kyle had a lot on his mind and wasn't putting any attention into what he was doing.
Cartman certainly noticed, zipping up his pants with a huff. "If I had to rate that blow job on a scale of one to ten I'd give it a fucking negative five. I might as well have fucked a slimy vacuum hose."
Using the back of his sleeve to wipe his lips clean, Kyle coughed once before shooting the other boy a look. "That's sick, you're actually using that as a point of comparison? As though you've done it before?"
"Ugh, no! I'm just saying that was a lazy, unmotivated, sloppy performance compared the one I just gave you." Cartman straighted his back up against the cushions, jokingly throwing an arm around the back of the couch as he edged closer to Kyle. "I feel like I should charge you since I had to put up with it."
Kyle wasn't having any of that shit, promptly pushing the larger boy back to the other side with his outstretched leg. "Tough luck fatass, I wasn't even going to give you one today. The last thing on my mind is trying to please you. I'm still pissed off from the other night."
Cartman retaliated by grabbing onto Kyle's shin, pulling him even closer. "I didn't even do anything! You can't still be mad at me, Jesus Christ!"
"You're a douchebag in general, I don't even need a reason to hate your guts." Kyle snapped back before yanking his foot away, glancing towards the empty chairs in the audience as he pondered over what was really plaguing him. "This time it's not really about you though, it's Ike."
The asshole just chortled. "Why? He's a little dumbfuck. Don't waste your time on him, he'll do what he's going to do. He's only eleven anyway, what's the big deal?"
"That's just it, he's only eleven and he's hanging out with someone who'd risk people's lives by setting a room on fire?" Kyle asked vaguely, his brow raised and his fingernails digging into the cheap fabric of the curtain cover. "I've seen that goth kid hanging around him sometimes, but I didn't think anything of it at first since I don't judge people's character based on something as stupid as the color of clothes they wear."
Getting up from the couch, the redhead paced aimlessly around the stage. "I know I shouldn't hover over him or any of that over-protective bullshit, but I feel like I should do something." He peered back at Cartman, thinking that maybe this one time, the fat boy could offer at least a small amount of useful advice. "I don't want something to happen knowing I could have put a stop to it."
"Psh, you can't save everyone, Kyle," the larger boy retorted, pulling out a bag of snacks from nowhere as he went to town on them. Stuffing his mouth with chips, he launched into a lecture. "Ike needs to learn from his own mistakes. He might be book smart, but he's about as socially intelligent as a retarded llama. He needs someone to kick him into shape, and this kid seems hardcore enough for the position."
"Ugh, forget this." Kyle snapped back, stomping back over to the couch. "You obviously have no idea what you're talking about. No one 'needs' to get kicked into shape; that's just cruel."
Cartman didn't understand why Kyle was overreacting, so he shot the other boy a confused look as he swallowed more chips."He'll just resent you for sticking your nose in his business again." he insisted, smirking. "But by all means, continue to make matters worse for yourself!"
Kyle didn't even grace that comment with a response. Why he'd thought it was a good idea to discuss this with Cartman was beyond him. He settled for flipping him off instead, and stormed out of the theatre, the Fatass's cacophonous laughter ringing behind him.
After that argument, the school day seemed to last forever, and the last person Kyle wanted to see afterwards was Cartman. Instead of going over his house like he normally did on Mondays, he decided to hang out with Stan, since it had been a while. Two days, in fact, which was bordering on neglect for them.
They met at the bridge and started throwing rocks at whatever they could find. They never aimed at animals, but the occasional kayaker was always fun. The light chatter, however, soon faded into more serious discussion.
"So then he told me that I shouldn't be worried and whatever I'd say would just piss Ike off. I initially passed it off as Cartman being an idiot, but then I remembered back when I got into Ike's business with the teacher thing. He said I was dead to him." Kyle sighed, exasperated, and leaned over the side of the ledge, picking idly at a piece of cement. He felt helpless. It was his duty as big brother to step in whenever something seemed awry, but the last thing he wanted to do was smother Ike with unnecessary concern.
He hoped Stan would understand.The crime sounded so juvenile and reckless he couldn't believable that Ike would get himself wrapped up in it. Nevertheless, he was convinced that Ike was involved and was troubled that his brother would keep things from him.
Any responsible sibling would feel this way, and thankfully Stan reassured him that he was doing the right thing: "But then he tried to run away with her to Milan. You were clearly correct about intervening back then and you're still justified to think this way now."
Stan broke his own piece off. "What you're not right about is going to fucking Cartman for advice. While we're at it, I think you should stop going to him for anything. Period."
Kyle turned away from Stan in embarrassment. "I'm not talking about Cartman right now, I'm talking about Ike." He exhaled a long breath before returning to the subject. "You really think I should do something about this? You don't think this makes me some paranoid, helicopter older brother?"
"It's up to you, dude," Stan replied, tossing a rock a few yards further than Kyle's had gone. He smirked. "Honestly? I'd be concerned too if someone in my family was involved in something as serious as arson."
Kyle smiled, relieved that Stan was agreeing with him. "Yeah, there's definitely something wrong. I didn't think I'd have to be concerned with Ike getting into the shit we found ourselves in as kids."
"Well luckily the town's been practically dead since middle school." Stan pointed out, turning his back against the bridge to catch the view of the sun slowly disappearing behind the mountains.While their surroundings hadn't changed, South Park had become a different place in the ten years since this place was known as the stomping ground for the supernatural.
Settling back against the wall, Stan turned his head to match Kyle's gaze, sighing heavily. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I kind of wish something crazy would happen again. I'd like another adventure about now, it's been pretty fucking boring lately."
Staring back at him for a moment or two, Kyle tried not to look too off-put by Stan's odd admittance. The scary thing was that there was an ounce of truth to what he said, but Kyle wasn't ready to accept just how badly he wanted some chaos injected into his life as well. In place of admitting his own grievances about how dull this town had gotten, he joked instead, "Maybe the wormhole that caused all that shit to happen finally closed up!"
Yet after laughing at his own bullshit theory, Kyle's smile suddenly faded before he eventually conceded to his friend's previous comment. "But I guess I get what you mean."
The conversation lulled into awkward silence. Hanging out with Kyle was never usually this depressing, and though the Ike situation was nothing to laugh at, Stan wasn't willing to let reminiscence of their wonder years taint the evening. "Is that why you started hooking up with Cartman? You wanted a thrill?" he asked, teasing.
Kyle snapped out of his self-pitying reverie and playfully shoved the other boy back against the ledge. Thanks to Stan's prying, Kyle didn't have any qualms about actually pushing him over. The distance was short enough, and it would be funny as hell to see him tread his way out.
"That's not it at all!" His attempt to look angry failed miserably when a squeak of laughter bubbled up. "Fuck you, Stan, how many times do we have to go over this?"
"Actually, I'd be more relieved if that's all it was. We can go over this all night! I just wish I brought a recorder so you can hear how ridiculous your explanations are," Stan said, also laughing.
Eying the rushing water below with a mischievous grin, Kyle seriously considered throwing the other boy down to give him his own ‘thrill'. Just as he was about to go for it, he suddenly remembered that it was winter and there was a good chance Stan could freeze to death. Not
wanting his best friend to die, Kyle settled on giving Stan a good shaking. "I'm not talking about this, because guess what? Something crazy /is/ happening right now, and it involves my brother! Mecha celebrities and government espionage I can handle, but I don't even know where to start on this one."
"I know dude. I know." Stan patted the other boy's back, trying to figure out how he could help. There was something Kyle mentioned when he first explained the situation, something about a goth kid. This detail amongst all others stuck out to him the most. "You said that the kid who shot off that rocket was wearing all black? Maybe I know someone who can help."
Inhaling sharply, Kyle loosened his grip on Stan upon hearing that he had a lead. "Really? Who?"
"You don't know her, and I can't make any promises. She usually stays out of shit like this." Stan said with a hint of uncertainty in his voice.
"Anything helps Stan, how soon can you talk to her?"
Stan kicked a can out of his way as he walked down the sidewalk. Tonight was supposed to be filled with playing video games, eating terrible food, and making fun of the idiots in their classes like Kyle said they'd do. The last thing Stan thought he'd be doing was paying Henrietta a visit. Visits to her house were reserved for nights where he felt horrible about himself and needed company from someone who wouldn't give him hell for drinking a beer or smoking a damn cigarette. After the meeting at the bridge, though, meeting up with Hen seemed like the only comforting course of action.
A nasty gust swept through the alley, picking up trash as it rushed by. Shivering into his coat, Stan hurried down the last street before he got to the familiar row-house. She lived further away from the rest of the town on purpose, distancing herself from the townsfolk she had grown to resent. On the nights like this where everything seemed to go wrong, he didn't blame her.
As he walked, Stan wondered when exactly South Park had turned into a normal town like North Park or Breckenridge. What confused him the most was that he wasn't sure if he even liked the normalcy. Stan used to wish for regular problems like a firework launched into a Christmas tree, but a part of him actually envied Kyle for being there to see it.
This had gotten ridiculous. Stan could light his own fire if he really wanted that kind of cheap thrill, but he wasn't about to do something so thoughtless and stupid. If anything, he probably needed to light something else up that night.
Shivering on the crumbling front steps, Stan stared at the peeling paint of Henrietta's front door, knocking three times before waiting for her to answer. Despite accepting a monthly allowance from her parents for what they considered "an artistic change of atmosphere", she still needed to rent the place out to her friends - namely Ethan and Dylan - in order to keep herself afloat, and didn't have enough left over for basic maintenance. Still, the goths didn't just have a single room to smoke up anymore, they had a whole house.
A thumping sound came from the opposite side of the door. Henrietta wasn't expecting any guests tonight, and like the dumbass Stan was, he hadn't called ahead. Peering through the small glass pane, she recognized the boy on the other side and let him in. "Is the year already starting off this poorly for you? I've got a pot of coffee brewing. Did you bring my books back?"
"No, I'm still reading them." Stan said, taking off his coat and hanging it on the stair's banister. Peering upstairs, he heard several loud footsteps followed by what sounded like a window opening and then shutting close. Glancing outside, he saw a shadow drop down from the second story, probably one of the sob stories Hen picked up off the street.
Paying no mind, he casually returned to their conversation. "This really has nothing to do with me, I actually just had a question."
Henrietta walked back into the kitchen to fetch two cups anyway, her black night gown swaying behind her as she went. "I was going to say... I mean it's only been a week since your last visit. You're usually able to hold off for much longer. Still care for some coffee?"
"I'll take a cup I guess," Stan replied, shrugging dully, rubbing his hands together for warmth. "And actually, do you have a cigarette? I could use one of those too."
As she topped off Stan's cup, Henrietta looked at him curiously. Whenever Stan asked for a smoke, a long talk always seemed to follow. She could tell the boy had needed some coffee as soon as he walked in, but she didn't see the cigarette coming.
"So there is something wrong," Henrietta sat down next to her friend. She set both mugs down on the table, reaching a hand in between the cushions to reveal a box of cigarettes with a lighter tucked inside. "What did you want to ask me?"
Stan snatched the box from her as though it contained the answer to all his problems. "Kyle's worried about his brother messing with this weird kid. He went as far as describing him as "goth looking" and that he was involved in some fire. There aren't too many goth kids in South Park, so I thought you might know something."
Henrietta tried to remember anything she might have heard from Ethan or Dylan about other goth boys or recent fires. Drawing a blank, she picked up her coffee and answered with a regretful sigh, "Doesn't sound familiar, I don't know any younger goth boys in the area. I think the goth fad's gone anyway, thank god." She took a sip, "Everyone wants to be a hipster now, so we're back to where we were. Feels nice."
"Yeah, I didn't think you'd know anything about it." Stan responded quickly, tapping his cigarette into the ashtray.
No amount of coffee or cigarettes could prevent Henrietta from ignoring Stan's obvious plight. She could run away from a lot of things, but Stan wasn't one of them. Setting her coffee down, she tried to think of the best way to approach this without setting him off. Stan could be a stubborn asshole sometimes, but all her friends were.
Taking a deep breath, she plucked the cigarette right out of Stan's fingers to smoke it herself. Her only apology was a teasing smile. "Why do you look so disappointed? This doesn't sound like something that would call for a cigarette."
Stan only allowed himself to smoke one cigarette tonight, but now he was denied even that luxury. He needed something to take this edge away, something that could push all of his frustration and anxiety back into it's respective dark corner of his mind. To his relief, Hen's smile worked better than any amount of cigarettes could, so he paid no mind. "I don't know, I'm just being stupid."
"No, you're just keeping stuff bottled in again." Hen replied, eying Stan's cooling coffee before taking another sip of her own. "You know what that does to you."
"It doesn't matter." Stan stood up, trying to forget about how pointless everything seemed now that the town had returned to normal. "What I'm upset about doesn't even make sense anyway, I might as well just forget about it."
Henrietta watched with a pained expression as her friend got up to leave, frowning. The path of self discovery was just that, the discovery of self. This was something he'd have to figure out on his own, but she still felt the need to point him in the right direction. "Is this still about the whole... 'your life is going nowhere' thing?" She clutched onto her mug. "You don't need to figure out your purpose yet; you're only eighteen. The role of 'Town Protector' isn't necessary anymore."
Throwing his coat over his shoulders, Stan gave Henrietta a half-hearted smile. He knew there was no point in lying to her though, so he nodded dismissively. "I know."
He never touched his coffee.
"You gotta stem the evil tiiiiide, and keep it all on the insiiiiiide."
Cartman sang into the cold and starry night, trying to keep himself in a good mood on his way back home from the store. There was nothing like a catchy song to keep him from throwing a total bitch fit over his mom's forgetfulness. Late night runs for hohos were at least in his top ten most hated things in the world. It was 2012 for god's sake, he was sure they'd have invented a Jetsons-style instant food materializer by now. Or at least a mother fucking flying car.
This whole day just blew: gas went up ten cents this morning, Kyle gave him the worst blow job ever, they served those nasty ass sloppy joes for lunch, he got a D on his math test, Kyle bailed on him a second time, and now his mom sent him out for fucking groceries on the coldest night of the year. He was going to have to look up some fucking serious ass amazing porn when he got home, since Cartman knew his chances of slipping into a certain annoying redhead's window tonight were slim to none. God damn it.
Now he felt like taking the mother fucking bag of groceries and throwing it into a wall. But just as he was about to smash it against the nearest building, he heard someone shouting from the alley to his left.
"GET BACK HERE YOU FUCKING BRAT!"
Cartman spun around and caught sight of a smaller person weaving through the trash cans with an older man in pursuit. Though he wasn't sure what the hell was going on, he found himself chasing after the pair.
Rounding a corner, the older man had the punk cornered, his arms outstretched as he approached his crouching subject. "Alright, now fork it over! You're lucky I didn't call th-"
CRASH! The man suddenly went down like a paraplegic with narcolepsy, Cartman looming over him with a proud smirk. The broken beer bottle that did the job was still clutched in his hand.
"Jesus Christ, they don't make glass bottles like they used to." He flexed his biceps, but the result was a lot less impressive than he wanted. Still, they ought to be big enough to impress this scrawny kid. "Or maybe I've gotten stronger, heh."
"Keep dreaming, hero-boy. The bottle was probably defective," the kid drawled, rolling his eyes at Cartman's non-existent muscles.
"Ay! Is that the kind of thanks I get for-" Cartman cut off, grinning wickedly when he recognized the little punk. "Well looky here, if it isn't the goth brat. What are you doing up so late? It's definitely past your bed time."
"Up yours, Porkfucker, I could have handled that myself. No one forgets their run-ins with me. You can't erase a scar across your throat." The kid flicked out a familiar looking knife, expertly flipping it over and pointing it at Cartman's face.
Cartman kept his distance away from the blade, but stared ahead to see if he could pick up on any noticeable features. But to him, all goths looked the same, and this punk was no exception; same black clothes, same hair style, same loser bullshit. "Calm down Edgar Allen, I don't intend on stopping you from whatever the fuck you're doing out here. That said, I do know of know someone who's more than a little curious about your rendezvous with Ike on New Years."
The little fuck smirked knowingly, circling away from him with the blade still in hand. "I'm not stupid, you know, I know you're fucking Kyle and that he's been trying to figure out what his brother's been up to."
"How di-" Cartman choked on his words, staring bewildered at the punk. "Ugh, forget it. How about this, I'll give you twenty bucks if you just forget all about that and tell me why you've been hanging around Ike."
"Sorry, Lardbreath, I'm not giving you something to dangle over Kyle's head. Besides, why should anyone have to provide a reason for hanging out with someone? That exception being you and Kyle of course. That whole thing just makes no sense."
"What the fuck are you even getting at kid? You don't know us, mind your own damn business!" Cartman yelled, glaring.
"Likewise, now stop wasting my time!" the kid snapped, barreling past Cartman as the knife and loot fell to the ground.
"No! You know too much; this isn't stopping here." Cartman tried to block the fucker from escaping, scowling down at them. "Look at you, out here dealing with drunks like this guy at fucking midnight. You're a trashy lowlife who's obviously fucked up big time. Twerps like you are a disease and you're not about to infect anything to do with Ike Broflovski."
"Back off!" The kid darted between Cartman's legs, grabbing the fallen switchblade and drunk guy's stolen wallet on the way. "You don't even care about Ike, all you care about is running back to your enemy-turned-sex-puppet and blabbing everything to get back into his pants again!"
"Now that's just offensive! I wouldn't do that at all!" Cartman snapped back too quickly.
"You're such a miserable excuse for a human being. I'm so done here. I have all the money Ike needs anyway. Ugh too bad I can't even go home. Fucking.. Henrietta and her stupid crush on that... traitor." The kid thumbed through the bills, counting them in a rush while walking out of the alley.
"What are you muttering about now?" Cartman asked.
"Nothing!" The punk hollered back over his shoulder. "Tell Kyle to stop being such a fucking nosy asswipe! If he has a problem with Ike not telling him shit, he should just man up and ask him himself!"
Cartman watched as the kid disappeared. "Hm, you have a point, twerp."
But now he had something to dangle in Kyle's face, so maybe he wouldn't have to spend the night alone after all!