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Chapter Text

Never in a million lifetimes did you think you’d end up back in South Park, Colorado. Yet here you were, sitting cross legged on the floor of your new living room, back laid against the couch. It was your attempt to stay out of the way of the movers unpacking your family’s things–and to stay out of the way of your family. The chill from the open door crept in, reminding you it was early September. You pulled your wool scarf higher on your face, just enough to keep your nose warm, but low enough to observe boxes upon boxes stacked around you. You sighed. You pulled your phone out from the pocket of your jeans, waiting for a text from someone back home. No such luck. 

The move wasn’t planned–for the most part. Your older brother, Isaac, was your typical rebellious student through high school: skipping class, smoking weed in the bathrooms, caught twice with girls behind the locker rooms, and once arrested for knocking another kid’s teeth out after an argument involving the price for a vape. Despite numerous suspensions and a round in juvie, your parents adored him. He truly could do no wrong. After rounds of unsuccessful college applications (written by your mother and father of course), Denver University was the only school that accepted him. You chalked it up to that your mother and father met there; they wanted him to continue in their footsteps.

Both your parents were highly educated–your father, Theodore, was a criminal defense lawyer, meanwhile your mother, Angelica, a child psychologist. It was ironic you thought, all things considered. You, on the other hand, were a mirror opposite of Isaac. Quiet, studious, quick-thinker, rule-follower, you never stepped foot into the principal’s office before. Your quiet demeanor won you a lot of points with teachers and places you volunteered. Not that you could help being quiet. You pursed your lips at the thought. No. You weren’t quiet. You were mute. Despite your outer thoughts being silent, your inner thoughts were as loud as can be.

‘UGH! Get. Me. Out. Of. Here.’ You knocked your head on the back of the couch after every word. ‘I wouldn’t be in this stupid town in this stupid mess if it weren’t for HIM.’ You paused, standing up as the movers had stopped bringing in the boxes.

‘And I would be able to talk if it wasn’t for this stupid fucking town!’ You kicked the nearest box in full force, unaware it was filled with heavy kitchen ware. ‘MOTHERFUCKER! Ow, ow, ow.’ You could hear your parents upstairs with your brother, assumedly fawning over his course schedule and discussing his commute to the University. There’s no point for you sticking around, you already spaced out for the past few hours and your butt hurts sitting on the floor. The sun was setting, but no issue. You pulled your phone back out, sent a quick text to your parents telling them you’d be going out for a walk, and slung your green parka hood over your head. 

Over the past eight years, South Park changed. An Italian restaurant, the mall under construction, a stripper bar, a Medicinal Fried Chicken, but City Wok stayed City Wok. You hadn’t seen any familiar faces, but a lot could change from fourth to 12th grade. ‘Best to keep it that way,’ you thought to yourself. You tried not to make direct eye contact as you passed Raisins, out of fear of being dragged inside. As much as you loved bar food you didn’t want to put the poor waitress through attempting to make conversation with you. Or you thought, until your stomach let out a whale-like groan. You haven't eaten since yesterday. 

‘Well, I guess I have no choice now then, huh,’ you sighed. ‘Might as well get this over with. This place seems pretty busy, so maybe word will get around and it’ll make tomorrow less awkward for me.’ You pushed open the door to Raisins, the warmth flooding your face. Immediately, a girl with shoulder-length brown hair, garish green eyeshadow, hot pink blush, and bright red lipstick greeted you. She held a couple of menus close to her chest. 

“Hi there cutie! Welcome to Raisins, my name is Ferrari. How can I help you?” Ferrari smiled, showing off a set of bright pink braces. You smiled back, and pulled off a small whiteboard that was velcroed on your backpack and a black whiteboard marker. She furrowed her eyebrows as you began to scribble a response, but her smile remained. You flipped the board over to face her. 

‘Hi Ferrari, could I get a table for one please? Any place is fine.’ You smiled as you held the board up, and Ferrari appeared to understand. 

“Of course! Right this way cutie.” You followed Ferrari close behind, pulling your parka hood down. She led you to a small table in the corner of the restaurant, one that gave you a full view of the entire scene. Despite being a school night, this place was packed with high-school and college-aged boys. It was a spectacle.  “Feel free to use our coat hangers next to your table to hang up your parka, scarf, or anything else you might want to shed! It got way hotter in here now that you’re here cutie.” She winked, and your face began to flush. Did she think you were a boy? As you sat down, you realized that your heavy parka, scarf up to your nose, beanie, and baggy jeans certainly didn’t do you any favors. “Your server will be right with you!” Ferrari skipped off. 

‘No harm no foul I guess. If I get better treatment if they think I’m a boy, I have no issue with that,’ you thought. ‘I wonder if I should keep this up for school. . .,’ you chuckled to yourself. There was no way you could pull that off once you took off your parka and scarf. ‘Actually, if I keep my hair tucked in my beanie, wear a face mask, and bind my chest, I could get away with it.’ You put your head against your hand, anchoring yourself to the table with your elbow. The thought passed your mind at your old school, albeit too late to put it into action. You shook your head. Best not to scheme on an empty stomach. You flipped open the menu, thumbing through the pages. ‘Chicken burgers, truffle fries, teriyaki wings, mocktails, these all look great. I don’t know what to get…” Your thoughts trailed off as you noticed a cheery Raisins girl with soft pink hair shuffling towards you with a writing pad. Her face noticeably was bare compared to Ferrari. 

“Hey cutie! I’m Heather and I’ll be your server today. Anything you need,” Heather put a hand on your shoulder, leaning next to your ear, “for such a cute guy like you.” You squeaked, flinching at the sudden touch and hot breath in your ear, Heather freaked, jumping back as soon as your body involuntarily reacted. She looked like she was going to cry. You shook your head, looking apologetic and  you rushed to grab your whiteboard. You wrote furiously, while Heather sniffled. You handed the board to Heather.

‘Sorry, I get startled easily when someone touches me. You couldn’t have known.’ As she read, you nodded your head frantically, waving your hands in front of you gesturing you were okay. Heather nodded back, wiping her tears with her free hand. She handed back your whiteboard, dejected. She leaned forward, so only you could hear.

“I’m new here, so I’m still getting used to working with various types of customers,” Heather placed her notepad on your table, and began picking at her nails. “I didn’t mean to startle you, I mean not that you can even hear what I’m saying.” She drops her head. Did…did she think you were deaf? She sat down next to you, continuing to ramble. “I only really got this job so I could make more money before college applications are due. Can you believe how expensive they are? One hundred dollars for one school, like do they even really need that much money from students? And there’s not even a guarantee that you’ll get into one! It’s like, a total scam if you think really hard about it.” 

You cocked your head at the strawberry-blonde, wondering what invited this info dump. 

“O.M.G., you can’t even understand what I’m saying! I’m so sorry, it’s just, well, it’s been a long day. It’s hard to keep the ‘Hi there cutie!’ Raisins schtick up all the time, haha,” Heather laughs dejectedly, as you look at her agape. “Well anyways,” she shot up from her chair, revitalized after venting for a few seconds and smiled. “What would you like to eat cutie? Just point to what you’d like!” You pointed to your favorite drink and meal, deciding not to correct Heather that you understood every word she said. She sauntered off, content with herself. 

‘Man did I forget how weird this town is.’ As you waited for your food, you decided to participate in your favorite pastime: people watching. Ferrari had sat you in the perfect corner to observe what everyone else in the restaurant was doing. While you were having your communication issues with Heather, the noise picked up in Raisins. You noticed the source–two groups of boys your age seated at opposite sides of the restaurant squabbling within their own groups, whilst shooting daggers at the other group. You were sat closer to the group of six: one was heavy with a stark blue eye, one with a green trapper hat that covered his ears, one with a blue chullo hat who looked stoic, one with a thick red letterman jacket with a giant ‘S’ on the front, another who sat between a pair of arm crutches, and the last boy dirty blonde hair with heavy piercings. You shimmied forward in your chair, sipping on water that a random Raisins girl dropped at your table, as you attempted to listen in to the argument. 

“That goddamn traitor has it coming for him,” the heavy boy said, shoveling a basket of barbeque wings into his mouth. “Kenny is going to eat my fucking shit next time I get my hands on him.” The boy in the green trapper hat held his head in his hands.

“Cartman, as much as I agree, don’t you think this has gone a bit too far?” The boy in the green hat replied, to the heavy boy who must be Cartman. “Don’t get me wrong, I think they’re being unreasonable but we shouldn’t have to split the franchise because of this. We can’t split every time you and Kenny have a disagreement.” Cartman scowled as he licked his fingers. 

“Kyle, I’m the fucking leader and whatever I say goes,” Cartman waved a french fry in Kyle’s face. “Once Kenny stops being a stuck-up poor piece of shit we won’t have to split the franchise anymore. Isn’t that right Douchebag?” Cartman leans over his basket of wings, leaning towards the boy at the other edge of the table with the shaggy hair and  heavy piercings. Douchebag raises an eyebrow and shrugs. “See? Even Butthole here agrees with me.” Kyle sighs, leaning his head against the backboard separating their table with another group.

“Just because Douchebag doesn’t talk doesn’t mean he always agrees with you,” Kyle smirked, “recall when he left your shitty ass kingdom to join mine?”

“That was eight years ago you stupid jew!” Cartman threw a fry at Kyle, landing between his eyebrows. “If we’re going off what happened in fourth grade then let’s remember when Clyde dug up Chef, turned him into a Nazi zombie, then when the pressure was too high fucking left the game.” The boy in the red letterman jacket, who was busy flirting with a Raisins server, darted his head in Cartman’s direction.

“I really thought that was taco bell sauce!” Clyde interjected. “What about when you two,” Clyde pointed at Kyle and Cartman, “got Craig deported to Peru! If I was Craig I’d still be upset about it.” 

“I am still upset about it,” the boy in the blue hat replied. His voice was monotone, nasally, and dry of emotion or wit. He stared at Cartman and Kyle, “I still want my hundred dollars.” Clyde nodded in agreement and returned to flirting with passing Raisins girls. 

“You’ll get your hundred dollars once Netflix picks up Coon and Friends,” Cartman said. Craig flipped him the bird in response. “Eyes on the prize till then.” He slipped Kyle’s basket of wings closer, and began devouring his share. 

“Keep your fingers to yourself fatass! If you want more, get them yourself!” Kyle swiped his wings basket back. “Screw this, Douchebag, switch spots with me.” Douchebag shrugged, switching spots with Kyle such that he’d be as far away from Cartman as possible. Disinterested, he began doing something on his cellphone. “We shouldn’t even be spending our time fighting over territory anyways. I have college applications due in a couple months and unlike the rest of you,” Kyle shot a glare at Cartman, “I want to get out of this town.” Cartman laughed.

“Of course a jew–” Kyle stood up, looming above Cartman.

“You better shut your fucking mouth Cartman!” Cartman stood up in response. He was much shorter than Kyle.

“Your people crucified Jesus because he spoke the truth.” 

“No they did fucking not!” Kyle brought back his arm, but before it could make contact, someone spoke up. 

“I’m applying,” Craig said. Kyle and Cartman stopped their arguing. The group looked confused at the sudden confession. “If I want to be an astronaut I can’t exactly NOT go to college.” Kyle sat down, appearing to be calmed by Craig’s admission. “And it would make me so happy if we figured out this Cartman-Kenny issue before I need to start filling out my applications.” Craig took a sip of his water. “Also Clyde is being recruited for football for college.” 

“You’re what!” Kyle turned to Clyde, who again, seemed in his own world. To you, it almost looked like he was under the spell of Raisins girls. You chuckled to yourself. You’ve never seen a boy so starstruck. 

“Yeah, I forgot to mention that,” Clyde nodded. “Not really good memories here, and football is really the only thing I’m good at. I don’t want to inherit my dad’s store.” Something mischievous came over him, “and I heard there are some pretty hot girls out of state!” Kyle wiped a hand over his face in defeat. 

“Jimmy? Douchebag?” Kyle asked. Jimmy, presumably the only boy who was yet to speak, answered first.

“P-p-p-probably not. Instead I was thinking of moving to N-n-n-new York. I’ll captivate the audience with my s-s-show,” Jimmy smiled, revealing silver braces. “The best prac-prac-practice I can get is watching the big guns.” He flexed his surprisingly built arms. Douchebag looked up from his phone game and nodded. You wondered if he was mute like you. 

Cartman scowled. “Aren’t you gonna ask me?”

“No.” 

“You fucker.”

“Let this be a reason you,” Kyle shoved his finger in Cartman’s chest, “should sort your shit out with Kenny. We can’t figure out how to keep South Park protected after we graduate if you two are too busy in a jerk-off competition.” You twirled your straw between your fingers. What on Earth are they talking about? South Park really hasn’t changed much since you left. Your focus changed to your food, that was now laid out in front of you. You smiled at Heather as she left your table. Listening to strangers talk about their lives was great entertainment. 

‘I wonder what they mean by territories, protecting South Park, and whatever Coon and Friends is. Maybe they’re masquerading as hidden vigilanties,’ you giggle as you shove food into your mouth, ‘that would be ironic, all things considered. I remember when I was in South Park, my friends and I had that halloween party where we all dressed up as our own superheroes. Looking back, I wish I had chosen a different name.’ You assumed Kenny must be part of the group of the other boys that were being glared at. As much as you were interested, you’d had enough peeking into other people's lives for one day–but it was a fun escape. 

After eating your fill, you laid back in your seat, rubbing your stomach. The food was delicious despite being from a gimmick restaurant. Nothing quite hits the spot after a long day of driving in a car with your parents and brother whilst staring off into the distance. You look down at your phone and jump at the time. It’s way too late–nearly midnight. You must’ve lost the time while you were eating, Raisins is nearly empty. 

‘Shit, I should pay and go home before my parents start wondering if I’ve become a flight risk,’ you pulled out cash from your wallet, leaving a substantial tip for Heather. ‘Time to head home and prepare for the first day of school tomorrow. No one seems to notice me when people think I’m a guy, I should have a binder somewhere in my room and I can say I get sick to avoid talking and cover myself with a face mask.’ You exit Raisins, waving the waitresses goodbye and they smile as you leave out into the cold. You pull your scarf back over your face, and tighten your parka hood around your face. Despite only being September, you’ve never dealt with the cold well. 

South Park notably never invested in street lamps. The only reason you were able to stay on the sidewalk toward the path home was the lights from various homes and shops that illuminated the street. ‘I can barely see two feet in front of me, thank God for Google Maps.’ You couldn’t recall the way home, so your only form of direction was through your phone, which was dangerously close to dying on you. ‘Ugh, which turn is it?’ You blindly followed your phone, missing a turn, retracing your steps, until your phone died and you somehow ended up back at Raisins.

‘Oh God fucking damn it!’ You kicked the nearest piece of trash across the road. ‘I can’t figure out these directions for shit.’ You shoved your dead phone into your pocket, and took a deep breath. ‘Pull yourself together (Y/N). If I can find City Hall, I can find where we moved to.’ Looking both ways, you crossed the street from Raisins and eyed out the dim lights of City Hall. There was a dark shortcut path through the light snow heading that direction. ‘Well, that’s a creepy pathway if I’ve ever seen one. Let’s just get this over with.’ 

You trudged along, your boots making contact with the muddy dirt below your feet, kicking up mud on your jeans. The only noise being the slush between your feet and the ground. You kept your hands in your pockets as you looked up at the night sky. ‘No stars tonight, despite the moon not being out. Disappointing.’ If there were even a single star you’d at least be able to see if you were going the right way. The lights of City Hall got brighter as you trotted closer, until you were in the middle of the square. You aimlessly watched the flag as it flapped in the wind as you recalled where to go from here. 

‘I think from here, I need to face away from City Hall, cross the street, then the fourth house on the left in front of the light brown house.’ You turn your back against City Hall, and as you do, you hear a twig crack from behind you. ‘What the hell–’ 

Before you finish your thought, someone grabs both of your arms and twists them behind your back. Their hands grip into the flesh of your arms, sending a burning sensation up your arms. ‘Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.’ They pull your arms back, causing your legs to stumble till your backpack hits their chest. 

“If you want to live, you better keep quiet,” the figure whispers into your ear. “Drop the backpack and you can go.” You nod slowly. “Good, I’ll release your arms, and you have five seconds before I put this in your back.” You feel something sharp against your side. ‘Of course he has a knife,’ you think to yourself. 

Your assailant loosens his grip on your arms, “one,” the pain remains of where they gripped you tightly, “two,” you begin to pull your backpack off your shoulders, “three,” you remain looking forward, “four,” your assailant’s voice begins to intensify, “five.” Your backpack hits the ground with a thud. You hear them lunge to the ground and throw your backpack over their shoulder. “Thanks for making this easy bitch.” You can hear his footsteps as he begins to walk off, not seeing you as a threat.

You turn around to face your assailant, grabbing a medium-sized rock from the ground and with pinpoint aim, land a shot right between his ass cheeks. He yelps in surprise, and turns around, furious. You have a clear picture of him now, a college-aged man with a blue headband tied around his forehead, and black handkerchief tied crudely around his face.  He leans in uncomfortably close to your face. You’d surely smell his breath if both of you didn’t have your mouths covered. 

“You got a death wish kid? I told you I’d let you off if you kept quiet.” You smiled. Technically, you did keep quiet. He never said you couldn’t retaliate. “And what’s a little highschooler like you going to do? Cry for your mommy and daddy?” The man laughs at your stern expression of resolve. You pull down your scarf and spit at his face.

“You little–you cunt!” The man lunges forward at you, reaching for your neck. Without your backpack you were agile, you were able to side-step his attack, sticking your right foot out to trip him as he fell forward without his target giving him balance. As he fell, you took this opportunity to grip your hand around one of the straps of your backpack and pull hard to get it off your assailant's shoulder. He never thought you’d retaliate so it wasn’t securely on him. 

‘Sweet! Time to get out of here!’ You swung your backpack around your shoulders in an instant, and bolted. You felt something tug at your hood, ‘fuck. Nevermind,’ hard. You were pulled backwards, and in an instant you felt someone's fist connecting with your cheek. The pain was immeasurable, it had been a while since you’ve been socked in the face. You fell backwards with the combined velocity of the punch and the man who pulled you backwards from your hood. Thankfully your backpack cushioned the blow. Your assailant looked down at you, rubbing his fist with his other hand. 

“I didn’t want to do this, but you gave me no choice,” he shook his head disapprovingly. “I’m getting that bag, you being conscious or unconscious doesn’t matter to me.” With that, he lifted his foot and landed a sharp blow onto your stomach with his steeltoed boot. You wanted to scream, you wanted to let out a noise, but you pursed your lips together for dear life. “Not gonna scream huh? Even though you were being awfully confident earlier with that damn rock.” His foot lifted again, and landed another blow to your stomach. Your mouth opened to scream, but no noise came out as you spat out saliva and blood. Your eyes began to well with tears.

‘I don’t have a choice. I have to, it’s either him or me,’ through your blurry vision, his boot lifted again, ‘goddamnit it is not the time to have a moral compass! I need to save myself!’ Before his boot met your stomach for a third time you opened your mouth, and screamed. An ear-piercing, heart-shattering, scream–a scream that could shatter glass, concentrated on your assailant. Grasping his ears in response, you could see blood rush between his fingers as he stumbled back away from your cry. You could see his mouth moving, as he began to cry from the pain. Then, he collapsed to the ground. 

‘Fuck,’ you stared back up at the sky, tears now drying. You finally let the pain settle in, and between the swelling on your cheek, the burn from where your assailant twisted your arms, and the pain that came from breathing from your stomach, you turned on your side and hurled your dinner onto the pavement. ‘I am not eating at Raisins again, for a very, very long time.’ The waterworks began again, as you lifted yourself up to a sitting position. You crudely wiped away remnants of vomit from your mouth on the sleeve of your jacket. ‘I need to get home and patch myself up,’ you pulled your scarf back over your face, attempting to make yourself presentable.

You shakily found your footing, and began walking off in the direction of where you thought your house was. You didn’t care to look back at the collapsed man, ‘Fuck ‘em. He tried to take my journal.’ Frankly you didn’t care about your backpack much, or your wallet, it could always be replaced. The journal however that you had been writing in sparingly since you were 10 was priceless. 

You successfully crossed the road before falling face-forward into the snow. 

‘Hahahaha, shit. Maybe mom and dad will finally pay attention to me if I don’t come home along with having mysterious injuries that I couldn’t have given myself.’ You breathed in the cool autumn snow. ‘Probably not. Wishful thinking never hurts anyone.’ You must’ve looked like a drunkard for anyone passing by at this late hour. With your huge parka covering your form, muddy jeans and boots, you’d probably get ignored by passerbys. So much for a good samaritan. While gathering your strength, you heard quick footsteps from your right. ‘Oh great. Someone else is going to try and mug me now.’ You felt two hands on your side, rolling you onto your back. You began to open your mouth–

“Hey, hey, hold on a second, don’t scream, I’m not here to hurt you.” It was a deep, gravelly, voice, and you opened your lidded eyes to see an odd sight. Looking down at you was a boy your age, wearing a black mask that covered his eyes and forehead. You could see blonde-hair peaking out from under his purple hood, with an interesting bright green question mark on the top of his head, lit up like a Christmas light. You scanned him up and down as best as you could, was he wearing white underpants over this purple bodysuit? You squinted your eyes at him. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get to you earlier civillian, there have been some disagreements on where I should be patrolling.” He cupped one arm around your back to have you sitting up, and he pulled a water bottle out of his pack. “Drink this, I’ll help you get home.” He unscrewed the cap and lifted the bottle to your lips. 

‘I must be seeing things. Maybe I’m entering heaven, wait, no, Purgatory. I think I deserve to go to at best Purgatory based on what I’ve done in my life. At least my guardian angel is good looking, the mask is a nice touch,’ you found yourself drifting off as the caped crusader helped you drink water. He noticed this, and lightly tapped the same cheek which had been punched. You jolted awake, pushing him away and consoling your hurt cheek. ‘Holy fuck OW!’ 

“Shi–are you injured?” You realize he hadn’t seen the spectacle you put on earlier. You didn’t know how long you had been lying out in the snow, but long enough that he hadn’t suspected you had gotten into a fight. It also must be dark enough that he can’t see the swelling slowly bruising up as he helped you hydrate. You smile at the mysterious crusader and shake your head. “Good. The streets haven’t been as safe as they used to be. You shouldn’t be out here by yourself, kid. It’s not safe for boys or girls.” You nod your head, agreeing. You truly hadn’t meant to stay out this late and in turn putting yourself in danger–wait–goddamnit he thought you were a boy!

“If you can stand up, let’s get you home before anyone creepy comes out.” He reaches his gloved hand out, which you graciously accept. As you lift your body from a sitting to upright position, you let out an unintentional groan of pain. You were not excited to see the damage when you got home. You nod your head as if to say thank you, and the crusader crouches in front of you. You cock your head to the side in confusion. “It’ll be quicker if you get on my back. I don’t normally carry around guys, but you seem pretty out of it.” You nod understandingly, and do your best to hop onto his back. Your arms wrap around his neck, and he slings each of his arms around your knees. 

‘God I hope he doesn’t feel my boobs. It’ll be super awkward since he’s assigned me male by superhero,’ you find something to chuckle about in all of this chaos. ‘How does he know where I live?’ 

“I know where everyone lives in this godforsaken town, so don’t sweat it. I’ve never seen you before, so you must be the college-guy who moved in behind the Tucker residence,” the crusader could read your mind. 

‘He thinks I’m Isaac, well, not entirely a bad assumption since I look like I had a bad night with a bottle of Jack. Not out of character for him.’

“You don’t talk much, do you, new kid?” You shake your head. “Great, another silent new kid. Must be an epidemic whenever new students move into this town. The last new kid we had around town finally started speaking after a year, but he still only does it when he wants to. It’s like he’s wanting to be some mysterious lover boy.” You chuckle to yourself.

‘This guy is one to talk. He’s like bootleg Batman without the charisma.’ You poke the crusader on the shoulder and he turns his head to look over at you. He has such stark violet eyes. You want to know his name, but it’s not like you can ask him. Instead, you point to his face, his question mark on his hood, and then wrap your arm around to point at the giant ‘M’ on his suit. His eyes widened.

“I am Mysterion, I dedicate my life to helping people. I’ve joined forces with other superheroes to keep South Park safe. The area around City Hall isn’t usually my territory to watch over, but those other lame-superheroes forced me to switch to a higher-crime area. With that in mind, stay away from this area if you can, you only die once.” You nod in response, feeling apologetic you got yourself into this mess.

“Huh, you really can’t talk, can you? You’re lucky I found you when I did New Kid, if you can’t scream, who’s to say what could’ve happened had someone else found you.” You again nodded in response, as you looked over Mysterion’s shoulder at South Park at night. You could see your new home within the distance–behind the light brown house. That must be the Tucker Residence. He walked up to your house, and leaned forward to let you down from his back. You wish you could thank him verbally, but for now, a head nod would have to suffice. 

“Stay safe out there New Kid.” Mysterion bowed forward, and disappeared into the darkness, leaving you with a light flush on your face. 

After stepping inside your new home, you noticed all of the boxes were unpacked. Your mom and dad must’ve gone clean crazy once you left, and once Isaac decided to take his numerous day naps. For now, you need to make it up to the bathroom on the second floor. Clutching the railing of the stairs, you pulled yourself up each step, and stumbled into the bathroom. You threw your backpack to the floor, and stared off into the bathroom mirror. You removed your parka, vomit covered scarf, shirt, boots, jeans, and socks, leaving you bare minus your underwear. 

‘I look like shit.’ You indeed, looked like shit. Your cheek was now black and blue, which extended to your lower eye socket. You lifted your arms, and there were red imprints where your assailant had grabbed you, but they shouldn’t bruise over. Onto your stomach, it was a deep black, with purple vein-like structures radiating from the center of each hit. You pressed your hands around your abdomen and chest–nothing felt broken, but things were definitely bruised up. ‘It’s the small wins in life, you know? I don’t know how I would explain to my health insurance if I got a broken rib. Wrapping up my stomach and face with some icepacks overnight should hopefully curb the bruising.’ You looked back up to the mirror. Your usual (E/C) were dull, the whites red, and your eyelids swollen from crying. You removed your beanie, letting your (H/C) down. You finally looked like a girl. You decided a shower, then icing your wounds, was all you needed before heading to bed. You smiled in the mirror. 

‘Tomorrow will be a new day.’ 

As you slept, Mysterion returned to where he found you. He was curious why you were headfirst in the snow, despite not a whiff of alcohol or weed on you. You flinched when he touched your cheek, not out of uncomfortableness, but pain. He bent down to the imprint you left, noticing traces of blood around your head area. You were hurt! But why did you decide to hide it? He was supposed to be a superhero, to protect all citizens of South Park. He decided he needed to retrace your steps. You were lying facedown south-bound from the City Hall, meaning you must’ve come from that area. He followed his suspicions, finding himself in front of City Hall, the U.S. and Colorado flag flapping softly in the wind. That’s when he found a man, incapacitated on the ground, clutching his ears.

Mysterion ran over to the man, placing two fingers against his neck. A pulse. Incapacitated, yet alive. Something bothered him though, he flipped the man over, taking a better look at the figure. He didn’t have a single visible scratch on him, aside from blood covering his hands. A closer inspection found that the blood was coming from his ear, not from a wound on him. Mysterion took out his phone, and began cataloging this to report back to the Freedom Pals. He patted the man down, finding a worn pocket knife, a list, and a small vial of a mysterious yellow substance. He held the vial between his fingers. 

“What the fuck?”

Chapter Text

As you lay in your bed fast asleep, you found yourself dreaming the same dream you had since you were nine. But with every year, you forget more and more. There were only bits and pieces. It was the same scene--halloween night. 

To curb the past years of ghost hauntings, witch hunts, and the occasional summoning of Satan himself, South Park Elementary decided to host trick-or-treating. At the time, you were obsessed with superheroes, and at the constant begging to your mother, she reluctantly gave in to create your costume. You joyfully held up a sketch of your character. 

“I wanna be Lady Bellbird! She’s a crime-fighting Olympic gymnast with the power to create sonic blasts with her voice,” you pointed to her bird-like mask and white feathers draping her black leather jacket, “and if she screams at the right frequency, she can even force people to listen to her!” Jumping up and down, you began doing small kung-fu moves in your pajamas. “Also, she’s a karate master after going on a trip to Japan once she discovered her powers. Please, please, please,” you pleaded, clasping your hands together. 

“Just this once, okay?” your mother said, laughing at your antics. “Next time, tell me sooner. I’m only saying yes because your brother doesn’t want a new costume this year.” You fist bumped into the air, then placed the sketch in your mom’s hands. You tucked yourself into bed, excited for Halloween. You had never had a homemade costume before, let alone of a character you came up with yourself. Your prior costumes were always hand-me-downs from Isaac: Darth Vader, Deathstroke, Lord Garmadon, and Zim.  

On Halloween night, your costume was ready. A black leather jacket, adorned with white feathers that made you look like an angel. Underneath, you wore an emerald green turtleneck, a black skirt that came down to your knees, complete with safety shorts with pockets. You stole your father’s brown driving gloves, and finished off the look with the bird-like mask that covered the upper half of your face. It came together at a point, hanging off your nose, which you began poking out of excitement. In the mirror, you looked like a superhero. You gave yourself a twirl, screaming in joy--you looked like a swan. You couldn’t wait to show your best friend. But, you couldn’t remember his name. 

Your parents couldn’t take you, so Isaac held your hand in his. He was always taller than you, and looking up at him, his eyes seemed so kind. He wasn’t dressed as anything this year. He was “too old” for trick-or-treating. Regardless, he wanted to keep you safe. 

Inside, the elementary school was decorated to the nine-yards. Fake cobwebs adorned the railings for the first and second floors, there were fake horns painted on the cow mascot, the lights were dimmed--with only purple UV fairy lights illuminating the main hall. Mr. Mackey must’ve invested in a smoke machine, you could barely see your shoes. Through the building, you could quietly hear Michael Jackson’s Thriller play. You clinged to your brother’s arm, clutching your pumpkin pail. He smiled down at you and gave your head a gentle pat. 

“Superheroes are brave, aren’t they?” Isaac asked you, as he began leading you through the building to the gymnasium. You meekly nodded. “Then you must be the bravest kid here.” 

“I-I guess so.” 

“I know so.” Isaac gave your hand two squeezes. That always meant, ‘I love you.’ You gave him two squeezes back. He opened the double doors to the gymnasium with his free arm, letting more smoke out into the hallway. Thriller began blasting in your ears.  “Let’s get us some candy (Y/N).” 

You recall spending the night going up to your teachers for more and more candy, sneaking a straw directly into the punch bowl, and watching the fifth and sixth graders grooving to the festive music. You recognized a couple of the kids from your class, but it was hard with all the mask-heavy costumes. A couple of other kids were superheroes. From what it appeared, it was a huge group, thirteen or so. You didn’t realize how popular a theme superhero would be. One looked like an overgrown mosquito, snacking on ketchup packets, two were holding hands with matching blue outfits with ‘S’ and ‘W’ on their chest, while a third kid held dual drills in his hands as he showed off the flashlight feature. They were gathered in a corner of the gym in a circle. 

You spotted Isaac across the gym, chatting to a fellow fifth grade girl. You were a superhero, you were brave. You decided tonight was the night. Tonight you were going to introduce yourself to a group of fellow superheroes. Pumpkin pail in hand, you walked up to the fellow vigilantes. You tapped the mosquito’s shoulder. 

In a blur, you were in the basement of the elementary school, with the thirteen other superhero-clad students. Fourteen pails of halloween candy covered the floor. You were holding onto someone’s hand, terrified. In front of you was a tall, slim, grey creature, eyes bugging in its head, hands outreached for you and your classmates. Its fingers were unnatural--too long to be human, tips thin to a point. Where there should’ve been a mouth was an empty black hole. As it stared into your eyes, its mouth expanded, slowly enveloping its whole face. You realize in your other hand, you were clutching a flask of vivid purple liquid. Your hand was shaking--no--the fluid within the flask was struggling to get out. It had a mind of its own. 

The last thing you can recall was the boy holding your hand grabbing the flask, and smashing it on the floor, enveloping you all in a purple haze. 

‘KE–!’ You jolted up in your bed, gripping your chest as it fell and rose. ‘That dream again…’ You dropped your head in your hands in front of you. ‘That was the last time anyone heard me speak.’ You can’t recall what happened after being surrounded in a haze. To your understanding, you were the only student hospitalized from the incident. Some type of gas leak. While you recovered, your parents received new job offers, and Isaac began going down the path to become the man he was today. When you tried speaking in the empty hospital room, you shattered every piece of glassware. From then on you refused to talk. The doctors said your vocal chords were fine, but that a mental block stopped you from being able to communicate verbally. You refused to learn sign language in desperate hope you could communicate normally one day.

You picked up your phone from your nightstand: 8AM. 

‘Time to take on the day.’ You pulled off your covers, and looked down. ‘I…forgot the day technically started with that,’ you stared at your wrapped stomach. Sitting up, you lifted your shirt to undo your wrappings, throwing the bandages and icepack on your floor. You assessed the damage. It looked better but not by much. You lifted your hand to your cheek--the swelling was down. A sigh of relief left your lips. Covering a bruise with makeup was easy to do. You checked your arms. Still faint remainders of the handprints from where you were grabbed. ‘This is manageable.’ You shuffled out of bed and made your way to the bathroom to get ready. 

‘Time to Twelfth Night this bitch,’ you cracked your knuckles as you stared into the mirror. You started by binding your chest with athlete’s tape. Not desirable, but what you had. Overtop you threw on a white and black striped long-sleeve turtleneck, then a graphic t-shirt. You turned to face sideways, ‘Sweet. Flat.’ You turned back to face forwards, ‘but I look like a box.’ You shook your head. The death of your figure would be a necessary sacrifice. You threw on a pair of cargo pants you used for hiking, then laced up your hiking boots, tucking the pants into your high-top shoes. The last piece for now would be your beanie, which you tucked your (H/C) hair underneath. You let some pieces stick out to frame your face. Some final touches needed to be done--like covering your bruise with some makeup. 

After finishing, you took a good look at yourself. The dark circles from last night's events really sold the whole, ‘borderline emo boy,’ look you unintentionally went for. ‘This is going to be a sitch.’ You finger-gunned yourself in the mirror. ‘Looking good (Y/N). I could pass for Isaac if I was a couple of inches taller, and if I had his jawline. I’m gonna eat something and head out before the bus leaves for school.’ You peaked out the bathroom door, the house was silent. Your mom, dad, and Isaac must’ve left earlier so they could tour where his classes are going to be. From your room, you shoved a laptop, your notebooks, and pens into your backpack, along with a medical face mask into your pocket. 

Breakfast was nothing interesting: oatmeal and orange juice. You couldn’t eat anything heavier after emptying your stomach last night. Time to head out. You pulled a different parka off the coat hanger, covered your face in the face mask, then wrapped your neck and lower-half of your face with a checkered scarf. Today would be your official return to South Park.

 South Park Elementary was now South Park School. Supposedly the incoming classes started getting smaller, so they decided it would be more cost-effective to fit all grades K-12 in the same building. It made finding your way around ten times easier. You were able to see Mr. Mackey for the first time in years. He didn’t recognize you, but he was still the same ‘ol guy as he was years ago. He handed you your class schedule, along with your assigned locker. You wouldn’t have a guide since you’ve been to the school before, but you were regretting not asking as you wandered the vaguely familiar halls. You eventually found your locker, ‘555’. 

Spinning the combination lock, you popped open your locker. As it swung open, something, no, someone fell out and onto the floor with a huge thud. You barely missed being caught in his trajectory. 

“Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit!” The boy’s body is sprawled, face-down, out on the floor. He has a head of spiky bright blonde hair, with a distinct disconnected undercut. He’s wearing a pale blue sweater on top of a white button up. He pushes himself to sit up, “oh hamburgers,” he utters, clutching his head. You look down at him, confused. Your hand is still on your locker door. 

‘How on Earth did he fit in there? Wait, why the hell was he in MY locker?’ The boy looks up at you, heat rising to his face. You point to the empty locker, then to him, as if to say, ‘Mind explaining?’ He rushes to his feet, brushing dust off his black slacks. He reaches his hand out to you.

“My name is Butters, I’m in the 12th grade. Nice to meet you,” you accepted Butters’ hand and shook it. “My locker is right next to yours, so I think the 11th graders mistook it for mine.” He nervously played with his hands, “I didn’t mean to end up in your locker, really.” You raised an eyebrow at him.

‘Is this a normal occurrence?’ 

“I’m usually good and making sure I end up in my own locker since I don’t want to bother anyone. I’ve been in this locker before, but I think they stopped after I ended up there for a whole weekend.” You noticed something off about Butters. His eyes were an ocean blue, but it looked like his right eye had a haze over the iris. He kept rambling about his weekend in your locker when you saw a faint horizontal line bisect his eyebrow, eye, and upper cheek. ‘What happened to this poor kid?’ 

“But anyways, that’s how I ended up getting grounded for a whole month,” Butters nervously smiled and scratched the back of his neck. “Wait a second, we’re locker neighbors! We should be friends.” You gave him a thumbs up. “Hooray!” He raised his right hand out, and in response, you gave him a high-five. “This locker's been vacant for a while, so it’s nice to have a neighbor! It means they can’t keep me in there without you coming to save me. Thanks ahead of time buddy.”

‘Oh, poor Butters. I didn’t know you could get bullied as a 12th grader from 11th graders. I thought there was a pecking order and technically we’re supposed to be at the top. It’s nice to have a friend, maybe me being around will keep him out of small spaces.’ 

“You don’t talk much, do you?” You nod, he sure talks a lot. It’s kind of nice though. You can’t recall the last time you were around someone so talkative. “You’re just like Douchebag! I should introduce you to him, when he first--wait, are you a new kid?” You nod again, and at the same time, raise a peace sign. As your time as someone of no words, you’ve adapted to supplement your lack of speech with hand signs and facial expressions when you didn’t have your white board out. 

“Neato! We haven’t had one of those in a while.”

‘Please don’t ask my name.’ 

“Maybe we have the same classes! Could I see your class schedule?” You handed over the paper that Mr. Mackey gave you--which also had your name on it. Butters trailed his finger over the paper, reading which classes and what classroom you had your classes in. 

“We have all our classes together! This is great!” Butters then took notice of your name at the top of the paper in bold font. “Man, you have a pretty girly name for a guy,” Butters laughed, “I remember when I was younger the guys once dressed me up as a girl named Marjorine to get into a girls sleepover over a paper fortune. I can tell you more about it later during recess. Mind if I keep calling you New Kid?” You shrugged, if it kept the facade, it kept up the facade. Butters excitedly slung his arm around yours. 

“Let’s go, New Kid!”

‘Wait, wait, wait, I didn’t get to put my stuff away,’ you whined to yourself as Butters whisked you off to your first class together. ‘Nooooooooooooooo…’ As much as you appreciated Butters’ friendliness, without a voice to ask him to slow down, he was like a missile of excitement. 

“Onwards!”

Having Butters with you wasn’t all too bad. It just might take a bit for you to get into the groove with him. For all of your classes, he introduced you as ‘New Kid,’ and explained that you were a guy of a few words. Followed by you putting up a peace sign to say hello. Everyone seems to be friendly to Butters, so you don’t understand who would bully him. Classes went off without a hitch, you caught a few of the girls staring at you, but nothing out of the ordinary. You found yourself doodling between the pages of your notebook as Mr. Garrison gave a lecture on different economic structures across the world. You kept doodling the same thing--Lady Bellbird. You’d been thinking about her since your dream this morning. A feeling mix of nostalgia, and fear. A flying ruler hitting the top of your head broke you out of your trance.

“New Kid, if you’re going to be drawing lesbian porn, wait for art class,” Mr. Garrison said. “But if you don’t want to learn about the intricacies of the economic inequality between the North and the South during the Civil War, at least put clothes on them.” 

‘Oh God,’ you lowered your head and slumped in your chair, scribbling all over the doodles of yourself as Lady Bellbird. If it wasn’t for your scarf and face mask, everyone could see your face turn ten shades of red. Mr. Garrison returned to the lecture, and you felt someone tap your shoulder. You turned to face them. It was a boy in an orange parka, zipped up to his nose and hood pulled tight so you could only see his violet eyes and eyebrows. You noticed an eyebrow piercing above his left eye. He passed you a piece of folded paper. Unravelling it, your eyes widened. 

“Damn dude, you must have some pretty big balls to draw some hot girl on girl action. Mind if I take a look?” You groaned. You scribbled down your response, and handed it back to the boy as you looked forward at Mr. Garrison. 

“Yes I fucking mind. And I wasn’t drawing lesbian porn.” The boy chuckled. You could hear him tear a new page out of his notebook, and his pencil scratching the page. You felt another tap on your shoulder, and he slid you a new piece of folded up paper.

“Sure man. Give her more massive titties next time,” as you read the note, you crumpled it up, and threw it back at him. You heard him laugh through his layers of clothing. The crumpled note found itself in your lap, presumably thrown back at you. Rolling your eyes, you uncrumpled the paper. A new couple of sentences was written on it. “Name’s Kenny. Glad you had Butters find you first, he’s a good guy. Feel free to eat lunch with us if you don’t have anyone to sit with yet. And again, if you draw more yuri action, send me a picture.’ Kenny signed the note with his phone number, and added a little winky face at the end. You pocketed the note as the bell rang. 

A chorus of twelfth-graders yelling, ‘lunch,’ filled the classroom. Everyone but Butters raced out of the classroom. He looked over at you from his desk. 

“Lesbian porn, huh?”

You pinched your fingers between your brows. ‘Fucking hell.’ 

You and Butters stood side by side with your trays of food from the lunch lady. Today was a breaded chicken cutlet covered in white gravy, brown rice, a side of soggy green beans, an assorted fruit cup, and a box of white milk. Lunch of champions. You didn’t spot Kenny, and neither did Butters, so you found an empty table in the corner of the cafeteria to eat. 

“So, uh, you met Kenny?” Butters asked, as he poked a straw into his milk. You nodded in response, followed by rolling your eyes. You pulled the note out from your pocket and handed it across and over the table to Butters. He scanned the half-sheet of paper. “Yeah that sounds like him! If you like a girl,” Butters leaned in close, “you should check if she’s been with Kenny before. I love him and he’s my best friend, but I think he might have syphilis.” 

‘I’m sorry what.’ 

“That was eight years ago so I don’t know how true that is anymore actually…” 

‘Syphilis at ten? This god forsaken town, I swear.’  

“But uh, always good to check!” You gave Butters a thumbs up. 

‘I don’t plan on getting romantically OR involved otherwise with anyone here, so I’m not going to worry about that.’ You pulled down your scarf, then your face mask, and began shoveling rice into your mouth. 

“Unless you don’t like girls, then you probably shouldn’t sleep with Kenny!” You projectile spat rice at Butters’ face. “Oh hamburgers…” You freak, and rush to grab a napkin. You lean over the table and begin wiping the mushy rice off of Butters’ face. “Oh, thanks New Kid.” You give him an apologetic look, placing a hand under his chin, while your other hand takes care in cleaning the area around his scarred eye. You feared you might’ve gotten rice in his good eye, but luckily you didn’t. 

‘I can’t catch a break today, can I,’ sighing, ‘I need another napkin. There should be some back where the cash register is.’ You motion to Butters to give you a second; half of his face is still covered in milk-rice. You grab a couple of napkins from the lunch line and walk back to finish cleaning Butters off. He could do it himself, but you felt bad. 

“I thought you outgrew being a gaywad Butters,” a voice snarked from a couple tables away. You recognized that voice from Raisins. It was nasally, yet whiny, like a stereotypical bully in a high-school movie. “New Kid’s first day and you’ve already started sucking his dick before noon.” You looked over to a heavy–oh, it’s that guy Cartman from Raisins. He looks uglier up close (even though he hadn’t moved from his spot at his table.) The same five boys from last night sat at his table.  

“Oh hey Eric!” Butters waved happily over to Cartman. “No, no, New Kid isn’t my boyfriend,” he looked dejected, as if this was commonplace. 

“Really? Cause from here it looks like you enjoyed being baby birded by your new fag,” Cartman laughed, echoing in the cafeteria. No one paid this exchange a second thought. “Hey femboy, how's Butters’ head?” Butters looked over to you--he looked uncomfortable, but not teary-eyed. He knew you wouldn’t say anything so all he had to do was take the obnoxious comments from Cartman. The silence was enough of a response for Cartman. He nudged the guy next to him, the boy with the green hat, Kyle. Kyle rolled his eyes at Cartman.

“Leave Butters alone fatass.” This didn’t stop Cartman.

“But Kyleeeeeee,” Cartman whined, saying Kyle’s name like it was a new kind of slur. “Butters’ head is so bad that it’s left the New Kid speechless. He probably got his tip bitten off.” 

‘Alright, that’s enough,’ you stood up from your seat, taking your tray over to Cartman. 

“Woah, New Kid, you don’t have to--” Butters interjected, but before he could finish, you dropped your entire lunch over Cartman’s head. To add insult to injury, you grabbed a fist full of fruit from his tray, ripped off his yellow-blue winter beanie and smushed it into his hair. Butters flinched as Cartman began turning red in anger. “--defend me.”

“You wanna throw down brah, I’ll fucking throw down,” Cartman stood up from his seat and faced you. Sitting down, he looked short, but now he stood a couple inches above you. He was heavy set, if it was muscle or fat, you really couldn’t tell. His heterochromatic eyes stared into your (E/C) ones. Cartman cracked his knuckles.

‘Yeah you fuck. I’ll throw down.’ You flipped him off with both hands. 

“Are you silent because you’re slow, or because you’re too much of a goddamn coward to do anything but devolve into petty elementary tactics to get revenge for your boyfriend.” He began shedding his sweater, oh fuck, he was muscle. 

‘I’m silent because I could blow your fucking head off if I wanted to.’ You threw a thumbs across your throat, followed by a thumbs down. You two got the attention of the entire cafeteria now. Butters was watching in horror, as his eyes darted between you and Cartman. 

“Fellas I don’t think this is a good idea--”

“Shut your fucking mouth Butters. If your boyfriend can’t put his money where his mouth is then he shouldn’t have ruined my goddamn lunch,” Cartman spat on your cheek. While continuing to make eye-contact, you wiped it away with your sleeve. Another good parka ruined with a form of mouth fluid. You’ve only known Butters for one day, but you’d gladly put up a fight for him. 

Cartman’s gang looked unamused, presumably used to these antics. None of them attempted to hold them back, all just sharing groans. Douchebag, the silent boy from yesterday, was busy tapping away on his phone playing a rhythm game. Cartman leaned in close. 

“Too scared New Kid?”

‘I am going to fucking destory you.’ In an instant your first made contact with Cartman’s face. His face recoils in the direction of your fist, and you hear a crack. 

“Fuck!” 

He grasps his nose in pain. Before Cartman is able to wind up his own punch, you grab his shoulders, and shove your knee into his crotch. 

“Bitc–” 

The wind is thrown out of him. You prepare to shove your elbow into the same cheek your fist made contact with. Unfortunately, Cartman catches it with his hand, uses his other hand to grip onto your pants, and throws you across the lunch table. You’d have more horizontal travel if you hadn’t crashed directly into one of his friends. The both of you fell onto the floor from your momentum, you fell on your side, and he was on his back.  

“I am going to fucking kill you Cartman.” The boy in the blue hat--who you recognized as Craig--stumbled to his feet. A murderous air surrounded the group. “I’m fine with you picking a fight with the New Kid, but all I wanted today was to eat my lunch without a serving of a whole-ass guy in it.”  Cartman, who was wiping his bloody nose with a napkin, swore under his breath. You also stumbled to your feet, clutching your abdomen. The lunch trays you ran into on your way across the table bumped against the wound from last night. 

“Woah, woah, woah, let’s not get too hasty huh, Craig?” Cartman smiled, trying to calm Craig down by palming the air in front of him. Craig stepped onto the table, then jumped down next to him. Craig looked down at the heavier boy. “I can always buy you another lunch.” Craig lifted Cartman into the air by his shirt collar. 

“Let’s not get too hasty, there’s still food left Craig,” Cartman pleaded. Blood was running down his face. “Craig? C’mon--” Craig socked Cartman on his other cheek, punching him to the ground.

A single voice cut the silence from across the cafeteria. “Gah! Oh my god Craig!” 

You scrambled off to Butters, and grabbed him by the hand, leading him to the door. You shot him a look. ‘Let’s get out of here!’ The last thing you wanted was to get detention on the first day, but you really should’ve thought of that before punching Cartman in the face. ‘I need to make this look like an accident somehow…’ You motioned to Butters to cover his ears, and he did. Grabbing a nearly-empty food tray, you prepared your throwing arm. You haven’t done this in a while, and it was a risk, but you needed to cover your own ass. With a deep breath in, focusing on a specific vocal pitch, you let out two words just above a whisper. 

“Food fight.” The cafeteria went quiet. You hurled a lunch tray at the nearest student, and as if under a trance, dozens of lunch trays began to fly into the fray from various students.

You took Butters’ hand in yours, then ran into the hallway. You immediately hear the cafeteria evolve into chaos, but you won’t be there to see it. Anyone getting injured wouldn’t be linked back to you if it was a food fight that got out of control. You stopped running once you got to your locker. Both you and Butters were out of breath. You dropped your hands to your knees, struggling to catch your breath. There were students in the hallway, seemingly moving between classes, gossiping to each other.

After a few moments, you open your eyes. You looked up at Butters, smiling at him. ‘Holy shit I’m fucking crazy. I-I don’t know why I did that. I could’ve seriously messed with everyone’s heads in there if I wasn’t careful. This place is messing with my head.’ You shook the thought away. You went to wipe sweat off your brow with your dominant-hand, but found it oddly heavy. You looked at it. You were still holding Butters’ hand. You looked at him. Back at your hand. Back at him, then felt your face heat up when it finally hit you. You quickly released him from your grip. In exhaustion, you slid your back against your locker and plopped on the ground. Butters, flustered as well, sat down next to you. You both sat there in silence.

Butters turned to you, “You didn’t have to do that you know.” You shrugged in response. You left your backpack in class, and you wanted to articulate yourself better to Butters, so you pulled out your phone. 

“I know, but I couldn’t just watch him harass you.” You flipped your phone to face Butters. His face lit up. You continued typing, adding, “It’s not exactly my idea of a fun pastime watching someone get bullied. Especially since you’ve been so kind to me today. Does Cartman usually say those kinds of things to you?”

“Oh, Eric? Yeah, he always has,” Butters said. You noticed he liked speaking with his hands too. “But, I feel like if he didn’t I wouldn’t have become as hardy as I am today.” You furrowed your brows. Butters elaborated, “like, I don’t think I would be able to deal with the other guys if Eric wasn’t as mean to me all the time. I feel like I’ve built up thick skin over the years.” 

“I guess that makes sense. But I still don’t like it.” 

“I do appreciate you worrying about me, New Kid. It’s like having my own guardian angel,” Butters smiled warmly. “Next time Eric says something to me, I’ll have something to say back. I promise.” Butters extended his pinky finger. Smiling, you wrapped your pinky around his. You could tell he felt better, at least compared to when Cartman was making him uncomfortable over lunch. Through the bonding moment, your stomach let out an egregiously loud groan. 

‘Not again…’ You didn't have a chance to dig into your lunch before pouring it all over Cartman. You held your arms around your stomach to curb the pain of hunger and from last night. 

“Oh!” Butters pulled out a fruit cup from his pocket, and handed it over to you. “I know it’s not much but--” You swiped the cup from his hands, ripped the lid, and ravenously downed the cup in a fraction of a second. He stared at you dumbstruck. “Woah.” Empty cup now in hand, you laughed nervously. “Gee, I wish I had something more for you…” You shake your head out of politeness. Food was food. 

“I was wondering, why’d you have me cover my ears?” You had a second to type up a lie. 

“I called Cartman a slur. A bad one. Like, expulsion level slur. Like, my parents would disown me if they heard that level of slur. I figured he’d get upset enough through the pain to start a food fight so we could get away. You wouldn’t know it.” You smiled through your lie, trying to convince Butters to not continue this line of questioning. 

“I guess that makes sense. I hope they’re all okay in there,” you heard Butters sigh for the first time. “Eric can be an ass, but he means the best deep down…,” he pauses, “. . . real deep down.” Your moment with Butters is halted as a booming voice is heard through the PA system.

“Would the entire cafeteria please come to the office? Now!” 

You and Butters can’t control the laugh that escapes from the both of you. 

The rest of the day goes without a hitch, especially since half the class is missing. You suspect the principal is trying to figure out how the food fight started. With the number of students in the room, the probability of him singling you out was slim. Even if Cartman and Craig identified you, it’d be their word against yours, and you had Butters to back you up. You kicked back in your chair, as the end of the day bell rang. You handed Butters a folded piece of paper with your number written in it before he ran off. He didn’t elaborate on what he needed to do, so you didn’t bother to ask. You two had already had an adventure for the day. 

You liked Butters. There was something about him that felt oddly familiar, but you couldn’t place your finger on it. You felt a bit bad getting the entire 12th grade involved in your fight with Cartman. But you would’ve felt worse having to explain to your parents how you picked a fight with a guy twice your size on your first day. You took the time to enter Kenny’s number in your phone--unsure if you would ever use it. What kind of guy asks for yuri the first time he meets another person? As you sat in the back of the bus to go home, you let the engine lull you to sleep. As you closed your eyes, you ignored the text notification buzz of your phone and let your mind rest. 

Meanwhile, Eric Cartman sat in detention. Him, along with Kyle, Craig, Clyde, Jimmy, Douchebag, and a dozen of other twelfth grade students. PC Principal couldn’t narrow down who exactly started the fight, so he decided to enact group punishment. Cartman swore it was that New Kid with the dumb beanie and and parka, but no one could corroborate his story. Craig scowled at him from across the room, despite Cartman bearing two swollen cheeks along with dried blood surrounding his nose. It wasn’t his fault Craig didn’t get his lunch. It was that damn New Kid. Cartman had been through this all before with Douchebag. However, Douchebag had never decided to be a white knight in shining armor for Butters. 

Under Mr. Mackey’s watchful eye, Kyle worked diligently on his homework, Clyde was kicked back in his chair, failing to spin a football on his finger. Jimmy was working on a new comedy sketch, and Douchebag was looking for a way to break out. Craig narrowed his eyes when Cartman made eye contact with him. Through the tension, each of the six boys’ watches lit up with a message. Noticing who it was from, Cartman’s face morphed into one of disgust, then to one of  curiosity. 

Mysteri0n: Emergency meeting at Tolkien’s house. 5PM after detention. We need to discuss how the fuck this is back. 

Mysteri0n: [Sent an attachment]

Cartman scoffed. He was above this. He has his eyes on the prize. Freedom pals could waste their time trying to pinpoint the origin of that--thing--but he had better things to do. He needed to get his franchise off the ground before Timmy did. But almost as if Mysterion read his mind...

Mysteri0n: You need to come too fatass. 

Chapter Text

You stirred awake in the midst of dusk. Letting out yawn as you stretched your arms.

‘Wait, why is it dark?!’ 

You jolted awake from your spot in the bus, wiping the drool from your chin, only to realize you were in the back parking lot of the school. 

‘I must’ve been more tired than I thought. I guess no one bothered to check back here either.’ You banged your head against the seat in front of you, cursing your stupidity. As you walked to the bus exit, you pulled your phone out of your pocket, noticing you had a few unread messages. A couple from your parents letting you know they were still in Denver with your brother but there was take-away in the fridge, and one from an unknown number. You opened the message. 

Unknown #: [Link]

You rolled your eyes. A completely non-suspicious link. You put your phone back in your pocket to pry the door of the bus open. The cold Colorado air slammed you in the face; you recoiled at the sudden temperature change. You were in the back lot of the school, meaning it would be a fifteen minute walk back home. You figured you’d kill the time investigating whatever this link was.

Clicking the link, it leads you to a home-page titled, ‘South Park Vigilante Watch.’ You read the introductory paragraph. 

We are the South Park Vigilante Watch. For the first time, eight years ago, thirteen identified vigilantes were spotted throughout South Park, Colorado. To this day, they continue to stay active. While the citizens of South Park appreciate their efforts to curb crime, we cannot condone their unregulated actions. However, we understand our police force is useless. To meet them halfway, we formed as a third-party source separate from the vigilantes and police force to maximize keeping South Park safe. Through the submission portal below, you can anonymously leave any tips about any misdoings or crimes, and we will guarantee someone will help you. Information about each of the vigilantes--biographies, territory location, and specialized area of help--can be found in the directory below. The website map is updated daily to keep the public aware of any vigilantic actions. Thank you for helping keep South Park safe.

A sudden pain jolted through your head. As soon as you felt it, it left. Then, you thought of 

Mysterion. You recall him telling you last night of how he was something of a protector for South Park. If he was part of these identified vigilantes, he should be on this site. You scrolled down to the directory, and there were thirteen hyperlinks total. A name, followed by a couple word description. You laughed at the childish names of some of these vigilanties: The Amazing Butthole, Tupperware, Captain Diabetes. You quickly shut up as your embarrassment set in--you named yourself Lady Bellbird. As in, an entire rip-off of Lady Blackhawk combined with your favorite animal from biology class the day prior.

You found Mysterion’s name, with the small description of, "The Immortal Netherborn.” You clicked the link, taking you to a page with a picture of Mysterion, un-obscured, jumping off what appeared to be City Hall. Now that you got a good look at him, you couldn’t lie to yourself. He was good-looking. The aforementioned messy, dirty blonde hair sticking out from over his mask and under his hood, traces of stubble, and a scar bisecting his jawline. He looked brooding in the picture. Not to mention, he wasn’t overly buff, but the lighting showed he was well-toned. . . 

‘WOAH, woah, not going there.’ You snapped yourself out of further ogling the caped crusader. You scrolled past the dynamic picture of Mysterion and to his background information. 

Mysterion, the Immortal Netherborn. He possesses power and knowledge man was not meant to have. After his parents' involvement with a local Cthulhuian-cult, he was born with the innate inability to die. An experienced hand-to-hand fighter, he also possesses the ability to manipulate shadows. He is only ever sent to high-risk incidents. The usual area of patrol is the far-east of South Park. Unfortunately, not much is known about Mysterion. As of 09/XX/XXXX, he is allied with the Freedom Pals faction. 

You scrolled up and down, was that really it? Surely there was more information if he had been around for eight years. To confirm your suspicions, you clicked to another page: “Toolshed: The 220V Gadgeteer.” The page was similar to Mysterion’s, a high-definition picture of Toolshed, followed by biographic information. It was three times the length of Mysterion’s. You had no clue who sent you this link, but they were sending you down a rabbit hole. You committed the rest of your walk home to reading through each page for each identified vigilante. 

Each vigilante felt oddly familiar. But, they became active once you left South Park, so there was no way you’d have had any overlap with them. Something didn’t feel right to you. You were now on the site on your laptop at home, lying on your stomach on your bed. You flipped through the photos of each vigilante. You especially scrutinized the photo of Professor Chaos. He felt more familiar than the rest, but it wasn’t the same feeling with the others. Groaning, you shut your laptop out of frustration and rolled onto your back. You closed your eyes, recounting the information you read--

You sat up. Split the Franchise. Territory. Coon and Friends. Protecting South Park. 

‘Those fuckers are the vigilanties! Cartman, Craig, uh, Kyle, those three other kids who were with Cartman and,… Kenny.’ You cringed realizing you may have thirsted over one of them. You thought back to when Kenny actively asked you for lesbian porn, when Cartman harassed Butters, and when Craig punched the lights out of Cartman. You started uncontrollably laughing. ‘There is NO way in hell they’re crime-fighting vigilantes. Or care about anything other than themselves for that matter.’  Your interest was piqued. You needed to see them in action. Back in our old hometown, it was like the world was boring and you were the main character. In South Park, the world around you was peculiar, and you were just a background character. And you knew the best disguise. 

The thoughts of studying for your quiz tomorrow left your mind. Your room was still stacked with unpacked boxes, and you had a few things that you were willing to spend the time unpacking to find. As the moon rose in the sky, items from various boxes were thrown around your room as you searched. 

You found your sewing machine in a mislabeled box, along with a roll of white leather, a bag of silver punk spikes, and miscellaneous sewing supplies. In another box was old clothes from your cousin--including a dance leotard, and knee fabric wraps. Three more things you needed were in Isaac’s room. He wasn’t home, so you crept into his decrepit room, and stuck your hand under his bed. That’s where he usually hid his motorcycle equipment: a pair of kneepads, elbowpads, and slide gloves. After a few seconds, you looped your finger on the side of the shoe box where he kept his things. You had everything. Lit by the moon peering through your window, you spent your lonely night hunched in front of your sewing machine and surrounded by boxes. 

The next morning, you had to drag yourself to school. You took your seat in front of Kenny’s spot, who noticeably, wasn’t present. Subtly looking around the room, you noticed a couple of familiar faces struggling to stay awake. Kyle was sipping on a large cup of coffee as he took notes with his other hand. You noticed Craig’s head twitching, his leg frantically bouncing as he kept his concentration on the derivative rules being written on the board. The kid--Clyde, you recalled--with the letterman jacket was sleeping headfirst on his desk. You swore you could hear a low snore. The rest of Cartman’s entourage was seated behind you, but you could hear someone tapping frantically on their phone. You tried peeking at Cartman, who was seated a few seats over to the left, but as you caught him in your peripheral, you made eye-contact. His arms were crossed.

Cartman narrowed his eyes, and slowly turned his head to face you. He crossed his thumb slowly across his throat. He was furious. You pulled your parka hood more forward, preventing any chance you’d make any more awkward eye-contact with the boy. You knew if you had to fight Cartman, you had a decent chance of winning, but this was before you found out he could be a superpowered vigilante. You had no clue what tricks he had up his thick sleeves. Whatever it was, you needed to prepare yourself for retaliation. You joined Craig in bouncing your leg as you waited till you could talk to Butters over lunch. You needed more information about Cartman, and someone to fill the silence that seemed to surround you. 

You spotted Butters sitting with Kenny after grabbing your lunch tray. You gave them both a friendly wave as you walked over to join. Kenny and Butters were sitting side by side, so you sat across the two. You tried to ignore the icy chill you felt down your back. 

“Heya New Kid! Did you get home safe yesterday?” Butters smiled. “Sorry I wasn’t able to walk you home, or show you around town,” he scratched his neck nervously. “Usually I’m more than happy to, but I had something come-up.” You remembered to bring a whiteboard with you to lunch. You kept a smaller version attached to a carabiner on your jeans. 

“No worries! I fell asleep on the bus so I had to walk home from school,” you responded.

“Oh jeez, where didja wake up?” 

“Just in the back parking lot of the school. That’s where they store the buses apparently,” you shrugged. 

“Mmmph mmmph mmph~,” Kenny smirked. You could only tell he smiled as his cheeks rose from under his zipped up snorkel orange parka. 

“Kenny!” Butters slapped his hand over Kenny’s mouth, as if it made it any less of what he said unintelligible. Kenny began to laugh hysterically at Butters’ freaked out reaction. 

“I have no clue what he just said,” you wrote out, showing the two before focusing on your food. Butters let go of his grasp over what you think would be Kenny’s mouth. 

“I kinda forgot that most people can’t understand him.” Butters took out something from his backpack and handed a brown paper bag over to Kenny. “Honestly, that’s probably for the best you can’t understand him, New Kid.” Kenny began to protest before Butters’ interrupted him. “He’s an acquired taste but he’s the closest friend I have … aside from you now!” 

Kenny zipped down his parka and pulled his hood down, revealing his whole face for the first time. Vivid purple eyes, barely noticeable freckles, that same eyebrow piercing you noticed yesterday, and short messy dirty blonde hair, wolfcut-style. He had his hair half up, half down, exposing more piercings on his ears. He had a couple light scars on his face. 

“I can give you an acquired–” You threw your pudding cup at Kenny. He caught it before it hit his face. You noticed he had his nails painted black. “Oh sweet, thanks.” You rolled your eyes. 

“Eat before I throw something else at you.” Kenny wiggled his eyebrows at you. 

“I wouldn’t mind that.” You had your eyes on him, you knew he was involved with the vigilantes around South Park. 

“EAT.” 

The three of you dug into your lunch. The brown paper bag that Butters had handed Kenny was a homemade lunch. You figured Butters had made it himself since it was a collection of random things you would find in a pantry. Kenny finished his lunch before you and Butters were halfway through. 

“Thanks Butters,” Kenny said. “I need to talk to Stan for a bit, so I gotta head out.” Kenny casually pointed over to another table in the cafeteria, where four boys were sitting. At least it wasn’t Cartman. You could still feel his icy cold stare against your back. Kenny took notice of the heavy boy delivering another one of his death glares. 

“Damn, Cartman is really staring at you huh? The fuck did you do?” You gritted your teeth in frustration. 

“Well, New Kid here might’ve dumped his lunch all over Eric yesterday when Eric started calling me a fag--”

“Oh fuck yeah.”

“Then when Eric tried to retaliate New Kid broke his nose--”

“Keep going Butters.”

“And kneed him in the balls--”

“I’m so close.”

“Eric threw New Kid across the table, crashing into Craig, and then Craig got super upset and punched out Eric.”

“Holy shittttttt,” Kenny chuckled, vibrating his whole body. “Metal shit New Kid. Only someone crazy would pull that kind of thing on Cartman.” Suddenly, he grabbed your shoulders, leaning in close. “Do it again.” You frantically shook your head. He laughed at your reaction. 

“You better text me if you ever plan to,” Kenny said, motioning an imaginary phone in his right hand against his ear, playfully sticking his tongue out. “See ya around New Kid, see ya Butters.” Kenny winked at you both before zipping his snorkel parka up, and pulling the hood over his head. You turned to Butters. 

“Kenny is straight..right?”

“I think so?” Butters shrugged. “He likes cross-dressing. Back when we were kids, there was one game where we were fighting over a magical stick, kind of like in the Lord of the Rings, and Kenny was the princess of the human kingdom. He looked really good!” Butters beamed. “If we ever play another game, you should join us! It’s been a while, but,” he looked down, dejected. “It’d be nice at least one more time before graduation.” Graduating from high school never really crossed your mind. You know it was only a matter of time your parents would be micromanaging your application process, but you hadn’t the faintest idea what you wanted to do. 

“What do you want to do after high-school?”

“Me? Oh, well, I was thinking about, maybe, social work? I’d have to go to college, and I’m hoping I’ll get into one,” he paused, “far from here.” The last part of his sentence seemed almost whimsical. There was an emotion you couldn’t place behind his eyes. “I have no clue if I’ll be any good at it though.” Butters tried to lighten the sudden dark mood. “I won’t know success till I fail, so I might as well try! What about you, New Kid?”

“Absolutely no clue.” You really had no idea. You had a couple of hobbies, likes, but nothing that felt like you wanted to do it for the rest of your life. “I’ll figure myself out someday.”

“I’m sure you will buddy,” Butters said. “I know I want to help people, and I went from there.” The bell rang, indicating lunch was over. You didn’t get the chance to ask Butters about the vigilantes around South Park. He was close to Kenny, so you figured there would be no way that he wouldn’t know anything. You walked back to class with Butters. You knew Cartman was planning some type of revenge, but you knew a secret of his if he ever tried anything. You sat down for history, losing your thoughts in space before the slamming of a packet of paper brought you back down to Earth.

‘Shit. The quiz.’ You slammed your head on your desk.

You left your last class of the day like Abraham Lincoln had personally decided to violate your brain. Before heading on the bus, there were a couple things you needed to grab from your locker. Your phone buzzed as you went through your things. 

Butters: Hey New Kid! I have some free time before I have to go home, would you like to get coffee with me? My treat!

Butters: Totally okay if you can/can’t. 

Free coffee? You couldn’t pass anyone up for that, let alone Butters. 

You: ofc! Just send me the address :) 

Butters: Yippee! Here’s the address: [Link] 

You slammed your locker shut and made your way over to Tweek Bros. Coffeehouse. Based on the Google Reviews, the coffee was supposed to be addictive. You couldn’t contain your excitement. It was a long walk, but you took it as an opportunity to get familiar with the town. You never had the opportunity to explore past the construction work for the mall. You popped your earbuds in, and set off to meet Butters for a warm cup of coffee. 

The smell coming from inside Tweek Bros. Coffeehouse was alluring. It was a cute coffeehouse, and there wasn’t much of a crowd. You spotted Butters typing into his phone frantically as he sat by himself in a booth near the end of the coffeehouse. You walked over, putting yourself in view. Butters’ eyes lit up. 

“Heya! Glad you could make it,” Butters smiled. “I wanted to thank you for yesterday,” he stood up, leaving his backpack at the booth. You dropped yours in the seat across from him. “So please, get anything you want,” the two of you walked to the front of the coffeehouse to get in line. “They have the best coffee and pastries in town. And if you don’t like coffee,” Butters pointed to the third item on the menu above, “they have hot chocolate! That’s what I usually get. Hot chocolate with banana bread.” You stared at the menu, contemplating what you should order. You knew you wanted coffee but didn’t know what kind; you were going to stay up late. You eventually decided on the special roast, served hot, and a slice of pound cake. You pulled out your whiteboard and began writing your order down right as you and Butters got to the front. 

“Hey Tweek! I didn’t know you were working today,” Butters chirped to the barista. You looked up from your whiteboard, to meet eyes with a frazzled looking guy around your age. His blonde hair was sticking up in all directions, he had dark circles under his green eyes, and light freckles that dotted his face. He was wearing a pale green flannel long sleeve rolled up to his elbows over top a white shirt and a white apron. He looked disheveled and you noticed his head twitched slightly. 

“Gah! Hi Butters. Yeah, my parents are out scouting another, uh, supplier for our specialty blonde espresso shots so it’s just me today,” Tweek explained. “Thankfully it’s not too busy this afternoon,” he sighed. “What can I get you?”

“Sixteen ounce hot chocolate with banana bread please!” Butters replied. Tweek pulled a sixteen ounce cup from next to the register and began writing Butters’ order down with a sharpie from his apron. His writing was frantic, and you noticed thin vein-like red scars on his hands. Butters turned to you, “What would you like, New Kid?” You turned your whiteboard over to Tweek, who read off the order and began writing on another cup. “You haven’t formally met New Kid yet, have you Tweek?” Tweek shook his head as he rang in both your orders into the register. “New Kid, Tweek. Tweek, New Kid!” You waved and gave a smile through your scarf and face mask. Tweek did the same.

“Nice to meet you,” Tweek said. He lowered his voice, “you’re the kid who started the fight yesterday, right?” Your eyes widened. You nodded as Butters handed over cash to Tweek. “Jesus Christ dude. Butters, didn’t you warn him about Cartman?!” Butters dropped his head. Tweek turned his head to speak to you. “Well, New Kid, if you ever want to pick another fight with him, I have a couple of friends who would be more than happy to pitch in. Not me though! I can’t handle that kind of pressure.” Tweek shook his head frantically. “I’ll bring these to you in a bit.”  You hear him whisper under his breath as you and Butters thank him, “and that gives me an excuse to beat up that shitty blue-hat traitor …”

You and Butters walk back to your booth, and he looks dejected. You feel bad for him. It wasn’t his responsibility to warn you about Cartman. You decided on your own to pick a fight with him. As the two of you sit in silence, you’re writing on your whiteboard. You slide it across the table to Butters.

“Butters, it’s really not your fault that I picked a fight with Cartman. I’ll deal with the consequences when they come, but please, don’t blame yourself for my decisions. I know Kenny and Tweek are trying to make it out to be your fault, but it isn’t. Even if I knew what the consequences would be beforehand, I would’ve done the same thing because you’re my friend.” You bring down your scarf and face mask to smile warmly at Butters as he reads your message. He’s your first friend in South Park, and admittedly, first friend in a while. There’s something about him that you can’t pin down, but you feel like you can trust him. You see him begin to tear up as he reads your message. You begin panicking, rushing to the front counter to grab napkins for Butters. You hand him a crumpled up pile; you were never great at dealing with other people's emotions. The act makes Butters laugh as he wipes his eyes.

“Thanks New Kid,” Butters says as he blows his nose into a napkin. “I know the guys are only saying it out of concern for you, but it gets to me.” He slides your whiteboard back over to you, where he’s wiped out a smiley face in your text. You lightly laugh at the gesture. You recall what you wanted to ask Butters about that you didn’t have the opportunity to during lunch. You wipe the whiteboard clear with your hand and ask Butters,

“Do you know anything about the South Park vigilantes? Mysterion, Toolshed, Mosquito, etc. I accidentally came across this webpage that claimed they’ve been around for over eight years now? But I haven’t heard anyone talk about them in school.” You felt bad for lying about how you found out about them, but you still didn’t know who sent you the link. As Butters reads the message, his eyes go wide. 

“T-the vigilantes around South Park? Gosh,” Butters nervously scratches his neck, “I don’t know much really.” You narrow your eyes at Butters unintentionally, and he folds under the pressure you didn’t mean to give. “I mean,” Butters’ eyes dart to the left, “I’ve seen them around and stuff. They started doing stuff when I was in 4th grade so everyone kinda has accepted them as another part of everyday life in South Park. That’s why no one really talks about them unless something big happens.” You write another message. 

“I want to see them.” Butters purses his lips and begins fidgeting with his hands. “This is a small town, you must’ve heard something.” He furrows his brows when you raise an eyebrow at him. Again, he folds. He leans in and lowers his voice so no one else can hear.

“Tonight, 11PM at U-Stor-It. I don’t know what’s going on, but I know most of them will be there,” Butters admits. “But,” he pauses, worry flashing across his face, “don’t go. You don’t know what you could get yourself into.” You put your hand on his shoulder as a way to comfort him. Butters digs out something from his bag. “If you decide to go, take this with you.” He holds out a piece of rounded plastic with a button in the center. “If you’re in danger, press that button. Someone will find a way to get you out of the situation.” You clasp your hands around Butters’ outstretched one, giving him a thankful look. You take the device, inspecting it for a bit before putting it in the pocket of your parka. You can tell Butters looks a bit relieved you took the device. As if right on cue, Tweek places yours and Butters’ orders down in front of you both. 

“Sixteen ounce hot chocolate and banana bread for Butters, and a special roast with a side of pound cake for you New Kid,” Tweek says. You begin to blow on the coffee cup in front of you before Butters interjects you.

“No need to do that! Tweek always makes the hot drinks at the perfect temperature.” Butters demonstrates by taking a chug out of his hot chocolate without a pained expression. You furrow your brows and bring the cup up to your lips and cautionally take a sip. The temperature was perfect, not too hot, not too cold. The taste was outstanding, a deep dark roast with undertones of chocolate. It was an addictive taste. Before you know it, you’ve downed the whole cup. 

You can see Butters chuckling at you when you stare at your empty cup. You playfully throw the empty cup at him, and he easily swats it away. In retaliation, he throws a piece of banana bread at you, which you catch in your mouth. You and Butters make eye contact, dumbfounded. The two of you then begin laughing uncontrollably as you spend the rest of your afternoon with Butters in Tweek Bros. Coffeehouse. You decide to part ways as the sun begins to set; you have to get ready for tonight. 

Your parents aren’t home again. They left you a voicemail while you were at the coffeehouse that they decided to stay the week with Isaac in Denver to get him settled into his dorm. You shrugged, back in your hometown they were either spending late nights at the office or talking with counselors about Isaac’s behavior. Luckily for you, the fridge was full with groceries that they decided to buy before they left. You put together a simple pot of chicken noodle soup that would tide you over a couple days, and would keep you warm as the seasons changed. You wouldn’t have to head out till 10:30PM, so you decided to work on homework till you needed to get ready. 

Your phone alarm resounded through your bedroom. It was time. You gathered up the pieces of your costume and shambled to the bathroom with your arms full. Staring into the bathroom mirror, at yourself, you let out a sigh. It was now or never. You let your day clothes fall to the floor, revealing your feminine form. You pulled off your beanie, letting your hair flow out to its natural length. You finally looked like yourself. 

Your costume comprised of a black bustier-leotard bodysuit with a sweetheart neckline that connected to a black choker with see-through black mesh, black knee and elbow wraps, Isaac’s slide gloves, knee pads, and elbowpads, finalized with a pair of steel-toed high-top converses. You used makeup to black out your eye area before putting on your once-thought lost bird mask, securing it with both bobby pins and cosmetic glue. It was a matte black, and came to the familiar point down your nose. You poked at the tip, giggling to yourself. The last piece of your costume was the cropped leather jacket which you fastened white leather-like feathers down the sleeves and across the back. Now put all together, you looked unrecognizable. You placed Butters’ button into one of the pockets of your jacket, grabbed a spare backpack with your civilian clothes, and snuck out of the house and to U-Stor-It. 

The lack of streetlamps made it easy to sneak to U-Stor-It without detection. South Park was notably dead during the night aside from the occasional homeless person. U-Stor-It was huge, and illuminated like a theme park. Huge string lights from storage container to storage container. You could hear a commotion inside, you just needed to find a way through the chain-link fence. Walking around the perimeter, you found a hole small enough to fit yourself through. You tucked your backpack in the husk of a dead tree before climbing through the fence. Your legs were exposed to the open air but oddly you weren’t shivering in the cold. 

You weaved between storage units, following the shouts. The noise eventually became comprehensible, but you were on the wrong side of the units to see who was saying what. 

“Chaos if you don’t show up in person and stop hiding like a big pussy I’m going to personally rip out your other eye!” You recognized that whiny voice. 

‘Cartman!’ You scanned the area around you for any way to gain height. ‘A ladder!’ You ran to the ladder and began scaling up the storage unit. As you got to the top, you stayed prone, crawling to the other side of the unit till you could make out the scene. Six figures stood in the center of U-Stor-It, yelling at a screen with a blonde figure with a striking steel helmet which revealed a portion of his face--a black eyepatch covered his right eye. You darted your eyes to the vigilantes, and it wasn’t hard to figure out which Cartman was. He had to be the heaviest boy out of the six of them. Cartman wore a pair of fuzzy cat-like ears, with a red cape, and hid his eyes with a raccoon-like mask. He was flipping the person off on the screen, each of his fingers revealed shiny silver claws. He looked stupid to you.

“Chaos, we know you’re fucking behind this,” Cartman pulled out his phone, showing the figure on the screen a picture of something, “so make it easy for us and come back with us.” The figure--Chaos-- on the screen cackled. 

“Really? You think I’m behind that, Coon friends? I learned my lesson teaming up with failures,” Chaos laughed. He crossed his arms, revealing his toned biceps. “I’m almost offended you thought I’d do anything of the sort.” Chaos scoffed, swaying back and forth on what you thought must be a swivel chair. 

“Mysterion told us--” Cartman started before Chaos began laughing maniacally. 

“Mysterion is an idiot. He’s always looking for the easiest answer.” Chaos snapped his fingers, sparking lightning between his fingers. A manila folder appeared between his fingers. He smiled and leaned closer to the screen. “Things have been boring though ever since the poor General left. This folder contains the name and address of every distributor of the cheese in the state from the past year. I’ll help you, but only if you entertain me.” You see Cartman turning to the rest of his group, meaning now you can turn your attention to the five other boys he’s with. 

You first look for any bright red hair, Kyle, and land on a boy with a matte-black flight helmet with a kite spray painted in teal on the top. You would spot that red hair anywhere, and it’s sticking out from beneath his helmet which is strapped around his chin. He’s wearing a matching dark teal flight suit, with shoulder and knee pads. What sticks out the most is the yellow and black striped kite strapped on his back, complete with a trailing tail with red bows. Your eyes dart to who must be Craig. He sports an open dark blue hoodie overtop a white t-shirt with a giant ‘S’ in red spray painted in the center. A blue mask obscures his real identity, but you’d recognize that blank expression. What terrified you was his two oversized black metallic gauntlets on each hand. 

That left the other three boys. You didn’t know his name but the boy with the crutches was easy to discern from the other two. He wore a pair of running goggles with lightning bolts on either side of his head, and he wore a yellow matching tunic with a lightning bolt across the center. The two of you shared matching knee and elbow pads. The second boy’s eyes were completely obscured with a pair of fly-like red goggles, and he sported a pair of matching wings on his back. They looked life-like. He sported a striped brown beanie, matching the color of his long-sleeve crewneck which was tucked into a pair of dark leather gloves. Oddly, strapped diagonally across his chest were blood bags. You swear you spotted an oversized syringe in his pack that was strapped to his hip. You squinted your eyes, he was stocky, but not as much as Cartman. That must be Clyde. 

The last boy stood out of place, as in, he looked like he was forced to be there. He stood further from the group, leaning against a storage unit disinterested. His face was entirely obscured with a dark red balaclava, over his eyes he wore a pair of black ski goggles, and where his nose and mouth should’ve been was a sleek black respirator. He was covered head to toe, sporting a dark teal turtle-neck long sleeve with matching red pants that were tucked into high-top stealth boots. By process of elimination, this must’ve been Douchebag. The demeanor matched. Cartman turned to Chaos after discussing his options.

“The Coon and Friends accept your deal Chaos,” Cartman yelled. Symbolically, he outstretched his clawed hand. “If you want entertainment, so be it fucker.” Chaos smiled satisfactorily. 

“Great!” Chaos clapped his hands together in child-like excitement. “If you manage to defeat my minions,” Chaos snapped his fingers again, causing storage units to open in response. Dozens of college-aged men with black masks and top hats poured out of the units. “I’ll deliver this manila envelope to you personally Coon.” The minions began to surround the group. “Oh! I must warn you, we’ve been trying out a new training regiment of these minions. Minions, defeat the Coon and Friends! Time for me to enjoy the show,” Chaos snapped his fingers again, manifesting a bucket of popcorn as he sat back and watched the chaos. 

The spectacle was astounding. Craig shook out each of his arms, knocked his gauntlets together, and sent two minions flying back into the storage units they came from with an astounding force. Cartman was picking a fight with the biggest minion there, leaving scratch marks in his wake. Clyde and Kyle could fly, somehow. Kyle was shooting red lasers out of his eyes, leaving minions scattering around the battlefield. Clyde picked up a minion, dropped him for a second, before kicking him with a force that flung him out of U-Stor-It. You had lost track of the kid with the crutches who was only a yellow blur leaving tripped minions in his wake. Douchebag was . . . farting on people? He was successfully farting on minions, knocking them back into Craig who seemed like he was built like a wall. Douchebag would knock him into Craig who would send them flying back to where they came from. 

You gripped harder onto the edge of the roof of the storage unit you were on, mindblown. They felt straight out of a comic-book. Clyde and Kyle were throwing minions between each other, where Kyle used his laserbeams to send them outside of U-Stor-It. Despite the teamwork, minions just kept on coming. As soon as the Coon and Friends would take down one minion, he would get replaced by three more. Chaos enjoyed the show, continuing to shovel popcorn into his mouth. You heard Kyle yell from the skies.

“Fuck! They just keep coming,” Kyle yelled between breaths. He sounded exhausted. “We need a different strategy or we’ll be outnumbered!” Craig threw off four minions that attempted to tackle him from behind.

“Thanks Captain Obvious,” Craig responded. He turned on his foot and grabbed a minion by the shirt and began to spin him, sending him into the air for Clyde to catch. He held the minion from underneath his shoulders.

“I’m running out of blood,” Clyde uttered, headbutting the minion in his hands before dropping him to the ground. “My head is getting woozy.” Clyde dropped a few feet vertically before catching himself and landing on the roof of a storage unit a few units down from you to drink the last blood bag from his chest pack. 

“Hold the fuck on!” Cartman yelled in response to his teammates. He lunged forward at a minion who had managed to catch Douchebag by the collar. Cartman dragged his claws against the assailant’s face, who collapsed in pain. Douchebag struck a thumbs up in thanks and returned to the fight, taking out a minion with a jumping kick. “Jesus Chaos what did you feed this fuckers?” Chaos, who was sucked into the action, chuckled. 

“Meth.”

“Where the fuck did you get that?” Kyle screamed. He swooped down to grab a minion that was about to strike the hero with the crutches with a metal pipe, and lasered his face. 

“I have my sources,” Chaos said. “Now less talking and more fighting! It’s time for the grand finale.” Chaos pulled out a plastic square with a button in the center. It looked oddly familiar. “Release the Hound!” He pressed the button, which set off a blaring alarm that echoed through the storage facility. All eyes turned to the largest unit as the door began to steadily open. The minions that were conscious on the battlefield looked terrified, and began running off into different directions despite Chaos’ protests. Kyle and Clyde rejoined the group on the ground, all six of the vigilantes huffing and puffing from the prior fight. 

With every step the creature took, the entire storage facility shook. Out from the darkness you began to make out the creature’s form. It wasn’t organic. In front of the Coon and Friends was a ginormous, metal, automaton dire wolf. It bared its teeth at the group, blowing steam out of its nostrils. Its tail stood up once it made eye contact with the group. Its red eyes narrowed as it began to circle the six boys who all bore terrified looks on their faces. You swore you could see Clyde grip Craig’s arm. They were exhausted. They were going to get eaten alive. You needed to do something.

Before you could think your actions through, your body moved. You jumped off the roof, alerting the group and Chaos of your presence, and rushed into the fray.

“Who the fuck are you?” Cartman interjected before you slapped him across the face. You put yourself between Coon and Friends and the machine. The other vigilantes were too confused to protest. Chaos leaned into the screen, interested at the new development. Physics was never your strongest subject, but from what you did remember was that theoretically, sound waves could break metal. You walked up to the dire wolf who began to let out a low growl and hunch its back. 

You, Lady Bellbird, let out the full-force of your cry. 

Chapter Text

Your screech reverberates through the metal dire wolf. As you hold your note, the joints of the wolf begin to shake. You know your voice alone won’t be enough to take down the automaton but you just need to weaken it enough for the others to step in. You give your screech one final push with the remainder of air left in your lungs--they felt like they were on fire. The dire wolf stumbles in its place, but it catches itself by digging its claws into the concrete floor. As you gasp for air, the wolf composes itself, and lunges at you. Screws pop out of its joints and it stumbles. Your eyes grow wide as the wolf misses you, but begins barreling straight for an unprepared Craig. 

‘Shit shit shit.’ You whip your head in the direction of the movement, take a deep breath in, and despite every cell in your body screaming at you, and screech again. This time, it’s a short burst, but powerful enough to knock the wolf off its course. It rolls a couple feet back, but regains its composure by curling its claws across the concrete. The sound it makes causes you to cover your ears. As it begins to prepare for another attack, you turn on your heel to face the six boys. In their beat up states, they stare at you in confusion and awe--except for Cartman who looked beyond upset. 

“Well isn’t this a real show!” Chaos’ voice echoes throughout the storage facility. “Aren’t you a cute thing,” he coos at you. You shake off the demeaning comment and try to knock some sense into the vigilantes. You needed to choose your next words carefully: no commands, no suggestions, or words that could be misinterpreted as a command. But something harsh enough to bring them back to Earth. The machine begins to roar softly, and you see it priming for attack out of the corner of your eye. 

“I can’t do this on my own you assholes!” You coughed, projecting blood onto the pavement as you spoke. You cough again, harder this time, and blood spews out of your mouth. 

‘I overdid it, just great…’ you wipe your mouth, and stare at the blood covering your hand. You’ve never used your powers this frequently before. Despite the pain coming from your throat, it seemed to do some good. Kyle snaps out of his trance by your display. 

“C’mon guys, let’s finish this.” Kyle puts a hand on Douchebag’s shoulder who in response, cracks his knuckles. With the boys now attentive, you step out of the cross-fire between the dire wolf and the Coon and Friends. The creature bares its teeth and arches its back, its tail waving in the wind. Its illuminated red eyes narrow as it internally decides who to go after first. The previously smooth movements of the automaton were replaced by sputtering-like motions. 

“That’s my line!” Cartman complains, stepping into the forefront. “I’m the leader of this group.” He pulls his arms back, readying his claws. He snarls back at the direwolf, baring two sharp canines. The dire wolf snarls back in return, blowing steam from its nostrils. His raccoon ears, which you originally thought were fake, laid low and flat against his light brown hair. You continued taking a few steps backward as the boys readied themselves for the incoming assault; the dire wolf kicked its front left leg into the ground, generating a grating noise with every kick. It was up to them now. “Coon and Friends, attack!”

The dire wolf lunged at the Coon and Friends, jaw open, oil slick against its teeth. Craig took the lead as the physically strongest of the group. He sprinted at the dire wolf, and caught the jaws of the animal with his gauntlets. He stood firm, but the momentum of the metal creature sent him back, his rubber soles scraping against the pavement. The speed change caused the hood of his hoodie to fall to his shoulders, exposing his trademark blue-chollo hat. You caught yourself wondering if Craig ever washed the thing. The smell of burnt rubber filled the air due to the friction marks caused by his shoes. You watched him in awe, sweat pouring from his forehead as he held the jaws of the creature open. The animal’s head thrashed as it tried to release itself from Craig’s grasp. 

While Craig held the creature’s jaws open as it thrashed violently, the ‘Flash’-like vigilante ran over to where you were hunched over, hands on your knees. 

“‘Scuse me miss,” he said, reaching behind you for the coiled water hose. He grabbed the open end, and in the blink of an eye, starting with the creature’s hind legs, he wrapped each of the creature’s legs multiple times with the hose. With slack still left, he threw the hose up to Clyde who was hovering over the dire wolf’s restricted jaws. Catching the end, Clyde flew circles around the jaw of the beast, wrapping it with the hose. In a second Craig removed his grasp of its jaw, and Clyde pulled the hose taut. The dire wolf fell to its side, struggling to get free. He flew over to the top of one of the storage units, and held the beast back like a cowboy. He was a bit overconfident as he beamed from his perch, letting the hose loosen, and the dire wolf regained its footing. 

“Ah shit,” Clyde cursed. He struggled with the hose, attempting to pull it as taut as before. Cartman and Douchebag exchanged glances with each other, and then Craig. 

With Craig’s hands now free, he turned in the opposite direction of the now-running Cartman and Douchebag. He knelt to the ground on one knee, outstretching his gauntlets, palm-up, at his sides. Cartman jumped into Craig’s left gauntlet, Douchebag in the other. In a single motion, Craig threw his arms forward, screaming as he catapulted the two boys into the air. With Cartman’s red cape flowing in the wind, you could convince yourself that he looked cool for a second. It was until he realized Craig had overshot his target--the dire wolf--by just a smidge, that to avoid flying straight into the wall, he extended his claws to dig into the back of the creature. 

Douchebag was more lucky, whose legs were straddled around the neck of the beast. He wound up both of his fists. They glowed red, before bursting into flames. He pummeled the back of the head of the beast, burning fists melting the metal hull. He reached into the head and began pulling out as many wires and scraps as he could. The dire wolf began bucking like crazy, futilely trying to knock him off. 

“Hurry it up guys,” Clyde panted. “I can’t hold on much longer!” Tears were falling from his eyes. The hose was slowly slipping from his hands. Rushing to his aid, Craig scaled the wall where Clyde was, and replaced his hands with his. The ‘Flash’ vigilante began running circles around the beast, confusing it. That left Cartman, who was not having a great time in his position. Despite the pain you were in, and that you could potentially become a dire wolf dinner, you found him comedic. 

Cartman was flailing on the back of the dire wolf like a drunk first-time college-student on a mechanical bull, one hand hooked into the metal hull by his claws. There was no way he could thrust his other claw into the back of the beast while it was bucking like crazy. Noticing this, Kyle, who was hovering in the sky, threw his kite like Captain America’s shield straight into the LED eyes. While it didn’t make a dent, it dazed the thing for a second. That second was long enough for Cartman to thrust his other hand into the back of the dire wolf. 

“Time to get a taste of the Coon.” Cartman knelt on the metal creature’s back, claws secure. He let loose a flurry of scratches, cutting through the metal of the beast like butter. The dire wolf let out a howl. Cartman continued his frenzy until something glowed red against his face. He focused on that area, carving out the hole, making it larger and larger. A rhythmic drum began resounding through the battlefield. This caused the dire wolf to go insane. It was bucking, howling, with steam pouring from its nostril and joints, and oil spilling onto the concrete. 

“Now Kite!” Douchebag screamed. His grip on the beast's neck was loosening by the second. 

“On it Butthole!” Kyle yelled back. He soared into the sky above the beast, staring straight down at the exposed heart. “My wrath will pound you with pillars of flames!” Kyle’s eyes glowed a bright red, and three points of the kite on his back a blue, yellow, and red, unleashing a blast straight into the heart of the beast. Unfortunately, it also sent Cartman and Douchebag flying in opposite directions. Clyde flew off to grab Cartman, while the ‘Flash’ vigilante slowed Douchebag’s fall through a man-made vortex. The dire wolf began vibrating uncontrollably, then broke into a thousand projectile metal fragments. 

You shielded your face from the debris with your arm, at the cost of the rest of your body. You felt multiple fragments tear through your legs, and one particularly large piece of shrapnel tear through your abdomen. The wound across your abdomen hurt substantially worse--you weren’t fully healed from when you got attacked on your first night in South Park. You lurched forward, clutching your stomach. You had seen enough for one night; you had done enough for one night. The vigilantes were busy catching their breaths, tending to their wounds, and high fiving each other at another successful mission. You took this as an opportunity to slowly back up into a small walkway between two storage units to make your escape. However, someone wasn’t going to let you go that easy. 

“Now where do you think you’re going?” Chaos, who was silently watching the scene, had spoken up. His attention was fully on you. With the sudden callout, the rest of the Coon and Friends also now had their eyes on you.

‘So much for a quiet escape,’ you silently cursed to yourself. You gave up on your escape and slowly walked back into view, hand over your stomach. Chaos leaned in closer to his camera, his face now occupying the entire monitor.

 “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around before,” Chaos chimed, “and I know everyone in this town.” He leaned forward, head resting in his hands. He gave a side-eye to Cartman. “You don’t happen to be a new member of Coon Friends, are you?”

“That’s Coon AND Friends, goddamnit Chaos!” Cartman frustratingly pulled at his hair, his raccoon ears standing straight up. “She’s NOT a member of Coon and Friends, AND I have no fucking idea who this chick is!” He turns his attention to you. Despite the ever growing pain, you stood up straight as Cartman approached you. Despite being beaten up himself, he stared down at you, this picture all too familiar to you now. The noses of your masks were nearly touching. He scrutinized your face, inspecting it from all angles. “Red? Heidi? Bebe?”

“Who knows,” you croaked, voice just above a whisper. “Does it really matter?” You shook your head while shrugging. 

“Yes it fucking matters! This town is our turf, no one else's!" Cartman poked you in the chest with a clawed finger. “And we definitely don’t let chicks in our group.” He narrows his eyes as he stares you down.

“C’mon Coon. She did just save our asses,” Kyle interjected. He pulled a whining Cartman away from you. “Human Kite, nice to meet you. Thanks for helping us out there.” He held his hand out, which you shook. As you made contact with his hand, a jolt of pain shocked through your head. As soon as it came, it left. Kyle didn’t seem to notice your eyes glaze over for half a second. 

“Lady Bellbird,” you responded, curtsying. You were humming to yourself. It had been ages since you last heard your own voice this much. You could see Cartman behind Kyle, crossing his arms and fuming. If life was a cartoon, he’d have steam emanating from his head. Clyde swooped in behind Kyle and stole your hand from him. He knelt down, looked up at you with hazel eyes, and pressed your hand to his lips. His wings were fluttering like crazy. 

“Mosquito at your service miss.” You flush involuntarily at the sudden display of affection. “I can tell by just looking at you,” he eyes you up and down, and you suddenly become insecure of your bare legs and open cleavage, “that your blood is sweeter than sugar,” Clyde buzzes. You laugh nervously and pull your hand away. You hope to yourself that he doesn’t actually drink blood. 

“Thanks?” you say, unsure if that was a compliment or not. Kyle takes notice of your wounds.

“Here, I’ll patch you up. It’s the least I can do.” Kyle clips off one of his side pouches which turns out to be a first-aid kit. He squats down in front of your legs and carefully removes the pieces of shrapnel from your wounds with tweezers. You wince in pain. “Sorry, I’m usually better at this.” You nod in acknowledgement as you bite your tongue. You try not to focus on Kyle as you turn your attention to Cartman arguing with Chaos over the monitor. 

“We entertained you, now give us the envelope!” Cartman yelled. Turns out he was turning his rage towards you to Chaos. Chaos pointed down to you. “What’s her name?” 

“What’s her name? Why the fuck does that matter? The agreement was if we entertained your lonely ass by fighting your minions you’d hand over the list.”

“She technically took down my machine.” Silence. 

“Bitch, what’s your name?” 

Kyle let out a sigh. “Her name is Lady Bellbird fatass!” 

“There, Lady Bellbird. Now give us the envelope,” Cartman laid his hand palm out in front of him. Chaos scoffed in disappointment.

“Deals a deal.” Chaos snapped his fingers, and a manila envelope appeared in Cartman’s outstretched hand. “You should keep her around Coon, your show was boring till she stepped in.” With Chaos’ final words, the screen went black. 

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?! Come back here you--UGH! Whatever.” Cartman’s frustration at Chaos waned as he began flipping through the pages within the manila folder. Mosquito is sitting criss-crossed next to you, staring intensely as Kyle finishes up wrapping each of your wounds with medical tape and gauze. 

“You should be good to go now,” Kyle says. He frowns, not entirely satisfied with his handiwork. “Almost forgot,” Kyle grabs a handful of cough-drop like candies out of his pocket. “Your power affects your throat, doesn’t it? I made these a while ago but never had anyone to try them on. They’re cough-drops, but ten times more potent.” You thank him, pop one into your mouth, and place the rest into the pocket of your jacket. Before Kyle puts away his supplies, you grab his hand, and reveal the large piece of shrapnel sticking out of your abdomen by pulling your jacket to the side.

 “O-oh.” You can see the blood rush to his cheeks. He inspects your wound, gently pressing around the shrapnel. “I’ll just be one second. This’ll hurt a lot more than the other ones, unfortunately, hold on…” He whispers something to Mosquito, who brings over a cardboard box that was displaced by the fight. You take a seat. Mosquito also brings over the rest of the group, minus Cartman.

“Bellbird, I’m going to need you to focus on the guys as I try to patch this up, okay? I ran out of my anesthesia shots, so I’m going to have to remove the shrapnel and suture this without numbing,” Kyle explained. He moves in closer than before, and kneels in front of your abdomen. You can hear him search through his kit, so you take this opportunity to shift your focus to the three boys that stood with him. Mosquito begins the introductions. You could tell who the social butterfly of the group was. 

“Lady Bellbird, meet Superdude,” Clyde motions to Craig.

“Hey.” Craig greets you by flipping you the bird. Confused, you flip him off in return. 

“Fastpass,” Clyde nudges the ‘Flash’-like vigilante. 

“P-pleasure to meet you,” Fastpass stutters. He gives you a kind smile revealing silver braces. How could you forget! His name was Jimmy! Clyde moves over to the final vigilante. 

“...and The Amazing Butthole!” Clyde introduces Douchebag with a carnival-like drawl. Douchebag pulls his ski-goggles up to his forehead and drops his respirator to hang around his neck. 

“Sup,” Douchebag shoots you a peace sign. Without his respirator and ski -goggles on, he’s a lot 

more recognizable due to his piercings: silver hoop snake bites, and symmetrical eyebrow piercings. You find his voice soothing, soft and airy. It doesn't really match his appearance, you note. Clyde put an arm around Douchebag’s shoulder and beamed. 

“With Human Kite, the Coon, and myself, together we’re the Coon and Friends! Who you saw tonight on the monitor up there,” Clyde nudged his head in the direction of the giant monitor above U-Stor-It, “was Professor Chaos. He’s been a real pain in the proboscis since we were kids. He’s usually causing petty crime around town, trying to sew chaos into the world. But he's been unusually quiet these past few weeks, so we thought he was up to something.” He lets out an uncontrollable buzz at the end of his sentence. “Coon will never say it but thanks for helping us out.”

“Anytime,” you say, wincing as you feel Kyle pull the shrapnel from your stomach. You put your hand in front of your mouth to bite down on your glove. ‘Fuuuuuuuck.’ Clyde, Craig, Jimmy and Douchebag exchange looks before Jimmy speaks up.

“You know, we could really use someone like you on our team,” Jimmy says. “If tonight is any indicator of how things have been, have been, have been, have been going.” Douchebag, Clyde, and Craig awkwardly nod in agreement. 

“Admittedly if it wasn’t for you I’d be wolf food,” Craig confesses, crossing his arms. He turns to the other boys. “But Coon won’t let her join, you know that.” 

“He’ll let her join if the rest of us demand it. He knows that we haven’t had the manpower to keep South Park safe for a while,” Kyle interrupts. You can feel the needle weaving in and out of your skin. “He might be an egotistical rat bastard but he’s not entirely stupid.” 

“Are you sure about that?” Craig raises an eyebrow at Kyle who chuckles for a second before returning to tend to your wound. 

“Yes. Unfortunately I know that asshole like the back of my hand sometimes.” You feel Kyle tying the knot on your last suture, and he flushes your wound one last time with water, patting it dry with gauze. “There, all finished. Those sutures should dissolve in a couple days, just try not to open them till they do,” he looks up at you and smiles. “Any other hidden wounds?” You shake your head. 

“Thank you, Kite,” you say. You look down at your abdomen. His sutures are clean, but it’s apparent you’ll need to repair your costume when you get home. You stood up, then your knees started wobbling. In the instant before your knees gave out, Jimmy looped your arm around his shoulder, and held you stable with an arm around your waist. 

“Easy there,” Jimmy said. “I got you.” You leaned into his shoulder as you breathed through the pain. You took advantage of using Jimmy as a crutch to slowly test how much pressure you could put on your feet before your legs began to wobble. The gashes on your legs weren’t deep, but with the number of them, it made any pressure going through them to cause you to wobble erratically. You sighed in frustration. Cartman finished flipping through the list of names and addresses and returned to the group. 

“We got what we came here for, let’s head out--What the fuck are you still doing here?” Cartman barked at you. He started listing things off on his fingers. “You’re not a part of the union, you’re not on Coonstagram, and you’re not a vigilante so get the hell out of here.” The rest of the Coon and Friends stood behind you and Jimmy, crossing their arms. “No. No way.” Cartman made an X with his arms. “She’s not fucking joining.” 

“You know we need her,” Kyle said. “We would’ve been flattened by Chaos’ machine if she wasn’t here.”

“We would’ve figured it out!” Cartman spat. 

“No we wouldn't,” Craig rolled his eyes. 

“Whatever would’ve happened, we wouldn’t have needed her help!” Douchebag laid a hand on Cartman’s shoulder, snapping him out of his fury.

“If we let her in, the Netflix executives will love the DEI-hire.” You could see imaginary dollar signs overlaid on Cartman’s eyes like a slot machine. 

“Ok fine,” Cartman relented. “But she needs to make a Coonstagram account. Give me your phone.” He outstretched his hand, and you handed him your unlocked phone. He began typing, each tap clicking audibly due to his claws. He handed it back to you with Coonstagram downloaded. “There, you’re officially a member of Coon and Friends. Congratulations,” he rolled his eyes. “Any time we need to contact you, it’ll be through there. We meet every weekday at 7PM at the address on your home page on your Coonstagram. Come alone in your costume, and make sure you’re not followed.” He turned towards the other Coon and Friends. “Happy now?”

“Yes,” Craig, Clyde, Jimmy, Kyle, and Douchebag said together. Somehow, you started your day wanting to see the vigilantes in South Park in-action, and now you were officially one. You didn’t know whether to be excited, terrified, anxious, or elated. You needed some time to clear your head. You removed yourself from Jimmy’s support, feeling secure on your two feet. 

“Welcome to the team Lady Bellbird!” Clyde exclaimed, giving you a huge hug, lifting you off your feet. His wings fluttered behind him ecstatically. You would cheer with him, but the pressure around your stomach made you groan. 

“AAAH! Mosquito! The stitches!” Kyle frantically tried to grab you from the buff boy’s grasp. Clyde let out a little whoops, and set you back on the ground. 

“Sorry, got a little carried away. The last time we got a new teammate was Buttlord over here eight years ago,” Clyde explained. He sheepishly laughed. 

“I appreciate the enthusiasm,” you thank Clyde for the gesture. “Happy to be a part of the team.” 

“Finally breaking up the sausage party,” Craig comments. Before you can hold it back, you shoot him a disgusted look. “It’s true.” He shrugs, unaffected by your face of disgust. 

“Fellas, what do you call a girl with some sausages on her head?” Jimmy asks the group. No one responds, not even Cartman. “A ba-, a ba-, a baaaa, . . . , a Barbie!” Silence. You feel a bit bad, so you let out a small laugh. Jimmy smiles, “I could tell you have a good sense of humor, Lady Bellbird.” 

“Anywayssssss,” Clyde responds, unamused, “I’m getting out of here. U-Stor-It gives me the heebie jeebies at night. See ya tomorrow guys!” He soars into the sky, waving goodbye before flying off into the night. Jimmy follows, becoming a yellow-blur as he heads home. 

“I’ll check on your sutures during our meetings. Make sure to keep them moist, usually a thin-layer of vaseline works well,,” Kyle explained. He notices you stressing over the gash in your costume. “Mosquito will talk to you tomorrow about making you a costume that’s reinforced for these kinds of situations. There’s a reason why the rest of us didn’t get torn apart by the shrapnel.” You nod, understanding. If it saved you the work of delicately sewing polyester, you would be thankful. “I’ll see you later, Bellbird. Message me if you have any concerns about your wounds.” He strapped his flight goggles over his eyes and flew off.

‘Man, I want to be able to fly…or have some form of super-speed,’ you internally cried. You were left with the walking-home vigilantes Cartman, Craig, and Douchebag. It was quiet, and you all made awkward eye-contact with each other, gesturing in different directions. You took your leave, tracing your way back to the hole in the chain-link fence you entered U-Stor-It from, and found your backpack with your civilian clothes. You tore off your mask which took some effort due to the glue you used, and rubbed off your eye makeup. You tucked your hair into a beanie, threw on your oversized parka over your costume, then struggled to put a pair of baggy sweatpants as they kept catching on your kneepads. You wrapped your scarf around your face and headed home, disguised as the New Kid. 

Before heading home, you made a stop at the Community Park. Whenever you had a rough day back in your old town, you’d walk to the park nearest to your parents’ apartment to waste time on the swings. You sit down on the swing in the empty park, wrapping your gloved hands around the chain links and begin swaying back and forth. You think back to Butters who insisted you not get involved, your heart panging at the thought. You pulled your phone out of your pocket, the screen illuminating your face as you stared at Butters’ contact; you can’t bring yourself to tell him what went down tonight. Disappointed in yourself, you swing up higher to hold back any sobs. 

The air against your face as you swung made you feel free. The cool air rushing against your face, the euphoric feeling of the pit in your stomach falling then rising as you fell and soared with the swing. You felt like a child again. You lost yourself in nostalgia, letting a genuine smile grace your face. You let your eyes shut, solely focusing on the movement of the air around your body. The memories of South Park from your childhood were sparse. No matter how much you shut your eyes and focused on the cool mountain air, your mind drew a blank. It frustrated you that you couldn’t even remember your best friend. You remembered he spoke funny, and that Butters reminded you so much of him. Any actual memories you had were written in your journal at home. Your reminiscing was interrupted by a mouse-like, soft voice echoing softly through the silence of the park.

“Um, excuse me sir?” You halted your swing to stare at the girl in front of you. She must’ve been a few years younger than you, but she was unusually short. Her caramel-colored hair was put into a half-up half down hairdo, decorated with a dark pink bow. She was shaking, her eyes darting from side to side, and fidgeting with her hands.“You wouldn’t have happened to spot a pink princess ragdoll around here? I lost it on the way to school today and I haven’t been able to find it,” she squeaked. You could see tears welling in her eyes. “It was a gift from my older brother when I was six, it means a lot to me.” 

You shake your head, and tears begin falling from her eyes. You jump off the swing and type into the notes app of your phone,

‘I’ll help you look for it.’ The girl’s tears waned and she smiled ecstatically.

“Thank you so much mister!” 

Armed with your phone flashlight, you search around the playground for the pink princess ragdoll. The girl helps as well, but she’s limited to where can search without a flashlight. You look behind the jungle gym, in the sand of the sandbox, and between the bushes. You search the perimeter of the bathrooms, and in a last ditch effort, point your flashlight up into the gutters of the building. You squint your eyes, spotting a flash of pink on the roof of the bathroom. You sigh in relief that you found the girl’s doll, but how on Earth did it get up there? How would you get up there? The pausing of your search must’ve alerted the girl that you found her dolly, as she rushed up to where you stood.

“Dolly!” She exclaimed. Then the realization hit her as well. “Oh…” You held your chin in your thumb and forefinger, thinking of a solution. The combined height of the both of you should be high enough to grab the doll. You tapped the girl on the shoulder and knelt over, motioning for her to try and stand on your shoulders. “Okay! I’ll try mister.” You felt her shoes along your back, and you wrapped your arms around her ankles as she made her way to your shoulders. She was surprisingly light. With a single motion, you stood up, holding the girl’s ankles firm in your grasp. “Almost there,” she groaned, extending her arm as far as she could, fingers brushing against her doll. You adjusted your footing so you were now standing on your tippy toes. “Gotcha!” The girl retrieved her doll, and you knelt back onto the ground to let her off. You turned to her, back against the bathroom wall, breathing heavily. Kyle’s sutures were stinging. 

“Thank you so much! I can’t thank you enough!” The girl nuzzled her face in her pink princess ragdoll, that had seen lots of love. You smiled at the heartfelt picture in front of you. “Um, is it okay if I join you on the swings for a bit?” That’s how you found yourself swinging on a swingset in the middle of the night in South Park with an unknown girl who thought you were a guy. She was quite the talker. 

“My name’s Karen by the way,” Karen introduced herself as she swung herself back and forth on the swing. “I’m in the ninth grade. High school has been…” she pauses awkwardly, unsure what to say, “…pretty scary so far, but my older brother and Guardian angel watches over me! What grade are you in mister?” You answer, making a ‘1’ and ‘2’ with your fingers. “12th? That’s the year my big brother is in! His name’s Kenny, it’s kinda hard to miss him with his orange parka,” Karen giggles. 

‘Her brother is Kenny? I never pegged him for the protective older brother type,’ you thought. ‘Especially with that foul mouth of his.’ You shudder at the thought. For a dirty-mouthed older brother, Karen was an angel.

“He’s never home anymore though,” Karen lowers her head. “He always says he's out working so he leaves me all alone…” She begins sniffling softly. “My dolly is the only thing that keeps me company nowadays, except when my Guardian angel visits.” 

‘Guardian angel? I don’t believe those actually exist.’ 

“He’s been watching over me since I was in the first grade. He actually was supposed to help me look for my dolly which is why I’m out so late at night, I don’t know why he didn’t show.” Your heart ached for Karen. You recall when you were a kid, sneaking into Isaac’s room clutching the duck plushie he won for you at a carnival when your parents weren’t home. Back then, you couldn’t sleep by yourself without nightmares. “He told me not to walk home by myself, so, thank you for waiting with me. He also tells me not to ask strangers, especially guys, for help. Luckily you don’t seem like a creep!” 

‘GAH!’ Karen’s final words hit you like a brick to your chest. It dawned upon you that while presenting as a male, you also carried the unfortunate societal downsides of being one. ‘C’mon, I swear I’m not a pedo, please, I’m just trying to help out.’ Your mortification must’ve been apparent across your face, as Karen started to laugh. 

“Sorry, sorry! I didn’t mean it like that, I promise,” Karen slowed her swing by dragging her feet across the ground. She seemed to come to a realization. “Oh! You must be the new kid Kenny’s been talking about, right? That’s why I haven’t seen you before! He’s been talking about you non-stop since Monday.” You raised your eyebrow. “Whenever he’s home, I like to put my ear up to his door to see what he’s doing. Last night after he got home from work he was rambling about how, ‘his vibe is off,’ and that, ‘something isn’t right.’ I’m not sure what he’s going on about, you seem just fine to me. You rescued my dolly after all. We should be friends!” Karen pulled out an old flip-phone, sending you straight back to the early 2000s. The two of you exchanged contact information. “Thanks New Kid!”

“Karen?” The two of you swung your heads in the direction of the gravelly voice. There in the dark, stood Mysterion. You scrutinized him harder now that you knew he must be someone in your class. The only thing you had to go off of was his blonde hair and violet eyes. You thought for a second that he could be Butters, but he had blue eyes. 

“My Guardian Angel!” Karen exclaimed, rushing off the swing, throwing herself into Mysterion’s outstretched arms. The two locked in an embrace, until Karen’s delight turned into frustration. She began playfully pounding her fists against Mysterion’s chest. “Where were you? If New Kid wasn’t here I would’ve been searching for my dolly all by myself!” Mysterion let her down, attempting to distance himself from her weak punches. 

“New Kid? Oh,” Mysterion said, finally noticing you sitting on the swing. You gave a shy wave from your spot on the swing. 

“Yeah! He helped me find my dolly and waited for you to show up with me so I wouldn’t have to be here by myself. Lotta help you are,” Karen complained, puffing out her cheeks and crossing her arms. Karen’s distress seemed to alarm Mysterion as he let out a slew of apologies. “Just kidding! I could never be mad at you.” You chuckled at their interactions, they argued like brother and sister.

‘Brother and sister…brother and sister…’ You tapped your finger on your lips. As Mysterion turned his head, you spotted a familiar scar across his jawline that you spotted on someone else earlier that day. Your eyes widened. ‘Kenny! Mysterion is Kenny! That’s why Mysterion is Karen’s Guardian Angel! Man these vigilantes suck at hiding their identities, if even after a few days I can piece out who is who. Wait, I thirsted over Kenny?! Nooooo!’ You had to stop yourself from throwing your hands over your face in embarrassment. ‘God this is mortifying.’ 

“Thanks for watching over Karen for me,” Mysterion said, pausing before finishing his sentence, “...New Kid.” You gave him a thumbs up from your swing. Karen took his hand in hers. “I owe you one. You should head home before someone less friendly than Karen shows up.” Karen enthusiastically waved goodbye as Mysterion--Kenny--walked her home.

“Thank you so much New Kid! Maybe I’ll see you at school tomorrow!” She shouted. You watched the brother and sister disappear into the night of South Park. You gathered your thoughts before heading home to your empty home, throwing your dirty costume onto the floor of your room, and sprawling onto your mattress. The moment your head hit the bed, you were fast asleep, unaware a presence was watching you from the tree outside your window. 

Chapter Text

“Man you look like shit,” Kenny noted, staring at your sullen form. You didn’t have the energy to protest. The exhaustive activities you participated in the past couple of nights really had begun taking a toll on your physical appearance. Aside from your general disheveled appearance, the dark circles under your eyes began making you look like a panda. Usually you’d use makeup to make it look like you had some sort of life in you; you thought against it when you got up that morning, justifying that guys don’t care about how they look and you figured looking like shit would keep you blended in. 

The three of you—you, Butters, and Kenny— stood in the lunch line, waiting to receive your daily sustenance. Butters found an extra $20 under his bed yesterday, allowing Kenny to eat the school’s food for the rest of the week. You were in a constant fight with your eyelids, which desperately wanted to close. Your brain had been on auto-pilot all day, drowning out Kenny and Butters’ comments on how awful you looked. You simply nodded in agreement to whatever they were saying; you followed them to an unfamiliar spot within the cafeteria and sat between the two. 

“New Kid…Earth to New Kid.” Kenny snapped his fingers in front of your face as you stared down at your bowl of corn chowder.

‘I wonder why they call it corn chowder,’ you thought as you dragged your spoon through the soup. ‘What even is a chowder….’ Kenny continued to snap his fingers until he flicked you on the nose. Your auto-pilot settings were finally put on manual. You blinked a couple times, trying to wipe the exhaustion from your eyes. You finally turned to look up at Kenny. Noticing you were finally sentient, he smiled. “There you are, jeez, I’ve never seen someone so out of it—I want to introduce you to the rest of the guys.”

‘Rest of the guys?’ You finally assessed your surroundings. You were sitting between Butters and Kenny, but in front of you were three unfamiliar faces. Technically, there were four boys sitting across from you but you recognized the one with unruly blonde hair from your study break with Butters; his name was Tweek. ‘I see…I guess I could do with more friends, all things considered. Especially since I have a target on my back.’ Whenever you were in view of Cartman, you could feel his icy glare go down your back. ‘But I don’t know how I’m going to match this level of,’ you paused, staring at the boys in front of you,‘testosterone.’ They all looked like they could easily break you into two—maybe except the boy in the wheelchair. If there were any sports at South Park, you figured they were all participating in at least one. 

“It’s great to finally meet you, New Kid. Name’s Tolkien.” Tolkien grinned, extending a closed fist across the table. He was well kept; a fresh pressed long-sleeve white button-up beneath a royal purple sweater vest embroidered with a small white pegasus. You returned the gesture by knocking your fist against his. “We wish we could’ve met you earlier but we’re all in alternate classes from you,” he laughed, “sorry Cartman had to be your first exposure to South Park. I swear the rest of us are normal.” The guy wearing a red-blue knit pom beanie stifled a laugh with his hand. It was obvious he hadn’t shaved in a couple days given the length of his stubble. Tolkien rolled his eyes in response. “Okay, mostly normal.” 

“Thanks Tolkien, that’ll definitely convince the New Kid to hang out with us,” the boy in the red-blue knit hat laughed. “I’m Stan by the way,” he took a swig from his water bottle. “Thank God you’re on our team, kid.” He fiddled with the stray hairs sticking out from under his hat. “We haven’t had a fresh face here in years, and Douchebag decided to stick with fatass over there.”

“Thank Butters,” Kenny pointed out. “Although, now that you mention it, it was kinda fate-like that you ended up with us.” He purred. It was your turn to roll your eyes at someone. He explained to the rest of the group about Butters’ locker incident despite the latter’s apparent embarrassment. He scooted himself closer to you, attempting to put you between everyone else who was intently listening to Kenny’s story. 

“Still Butters? I thought we taught them a lesson last time…” Stan’s words trailed off when Tweek shot him a nervous glance from across from Tolkien. You pretended you didn’t notice, instead centering your focus on your lunch. You pulled your mask and scarf down, and began scooping up spoonfuls of corn chowder into your mouth. 

“It’s really not a big deal fellas,” Butters persuaded. “It was the first time in a while, and I probably did something to piss off the 11th graders again.” You all looked at Butters, with varying expressions ranging from sadness to anger. He could feel the pressure of all eyes on him. “But look on the bright side! Now with New Kid’s locker next to mine, I’ll never be in one for long,” he gave a nervous laugh which fell on unhumoured ears. He decided it would be worth changing the subject. “So,” he paused, deciding which person to bring up that could get him out of the spotlight. He faced the boy in a wheelchair with strawberry blonde hair. “Timmy! How was your math olympiad trip? I heard you got first place!” 

“Timmy.”  Timmy narrowed his eyes at Butters. You had no idea what that meant, but you could tell he was unimpressed by Butters' attempt at redirection.

“Aw hamburgers,” Butters mumbled. He was now actively fidgeting with his hands, nervously picking at his cuticles. “I at least got to meet New Kid through it, so it’s not all entirely bad! In fact, maybe it was a good thing that they put me in there. He seems pretty cool, don’t y’all think?” Butters said, trying to justify the actions of his 11th grade bullies. Everyone let out a collective sigh. 

“We’re only upset because we care about you,” Kenny said with a frown on his face. “But it makes you feel better, you’re right that we wouldn’t have been blessed with New Kid’s presence at this table if it wasn’t for those assholes.” Kenny pretended to swoon, leaning all his body weight against you, and throwing the back of his hand over his forehead. “Men,” he turned his focus to everyone but you, “may we have a moment of silence to recognize the service of our brother in arms for doing what no man has dared.” You stared at Kenny confused. Fake tears began swelling in Stan, Tolkien, and Tweek’s eyes. “Serving a fresh can of whoop ass to Eric Cartman.” You nearly spat out your food at his words. 

Unable to articulate your feelings, you smacked Kenny upside the head with your spoon. He faked a groan of pain and chuckled at your weak attempt of retaliation. You grumbled and unclipped your whiteboard from its carabiner looped onto your cargo pants, preparing to write down an angry response. As the three boys joined Kenny in laughing at your pathetic attempt of protest, Timmy spoke up.

“Timmy, Timmy, Timmy.” Although Timmy appeared to be limited to only speaking his name, whatever he said, it caused the four boys to straighten their act in a second. You could only compare their faces to a form of shell-shock. Timmy went on, “Timmy, Timmy…Timmy.” Kenny, Tolkien, Tweek, and Stan hung their heads low as they nodded in agreement to whatever Timmy was saying. In your confusion, you automatically turned to Butters who was already looking at you. 

“Well, uh, are you sure you wanna know?” You nod, unsure. “Oh jeez, okay. Timmy’s saying that, basically, getting on Eric’s bad side is a near-death sentence nowadays. He’s scolding the fellas for making a joke out of what you did given the severity of the consequences. Eric’s been using more…violent conflict resolutions lately,” Butters said. Sensing your fear, he continues. “No one outside of our circle has stood up to him to the degree you have recently. He doesn’t mess with us too badly since, uh,” out of the corner of your eye, Tweek is giving Butters a side-eye, “we’ve been friends for so long.” You jump in your seat as you feel an arm wrap around your shoulder. You find that it belongs to Kenny, who's now pushed his entire body weight against you. You can feel his hot breath against the side of your face.

“But you’re one of us now, New Kid.” Kenny holds up a thumbs up. “The worst Cartman will do now is some temporary bodily harm. Anything worse and he knows he’d have to go through all of us.” You elbow Kenny in the ribs, and he lets his arm from around you go. You scowl at the thought that you’d have to exchange blows with the Coon at some point. You’d either get your ass kicked, or expose yourself as being Lady Bellbird—and a girl at that. 

“I think we have different definitions of temporary Kenny,” Stan comments. “Cartman would easily break New Kid in half, just look at him.” He gestures to your overall frame. Compared to the boys surrounding you, it wasn’t apparent that you had any muscles whatsoever. Kenny picks up one of your arms and wraps his hand around your bicep. His fingers nearly touch. “Yeah, I don’t think he’d make it against Cartman.” 

“Have you considered joining the football team New Kid? It’s not too late in the year, we only started a couple weeks ago,” Tolkien asked. “Its after-school drills alongside an elective weightlifting class. You’d be able to build up some muscle.” 

“Are you sure that’s safe with Cartman as linebacker?” Tweek said. “He’d take the first opportunity to abandon the play to tackle New Kid to a pulp. Gah!” He pulled on his blonde hair, with a worried expression on his face. 

“He could be a benchwarmer. We do have enough players to cover the field and backups if anyone gets hurt,” Stan suggested. “That way you get to hang out with us, bulk up a bit, and pass your elective class with an easy A this entire semester. Then next semester you could join us for baseball. We would need you to actually play in games then though, we’re down a player for that season due to basketball season overlap. My dad’s the coach for both sports, so he can waive your physical so you can start tomorrow.” Stan took another drink from his water bottle, wincing as he did. “How about it?” He smiled, his smile making its way up to his ocean blue eyes. 

You took a survey at the faces around you—Butters and Tweek both shared the same nervous face, Kenny appeared hopeful, grinning from ear to ear, Tolkien had a warm smile on his face, and Timmy had a perplexed look on his face. He also had his hand against the side of his head. It was subtle, you could barely pick it up but after losing your ability to speak freely, you spent so much time watching others that you could pick up small emotions in small facial expressions. You didn’t like how Timmy looked at you. You felt transparent under his gaze.

‘I can wear the football pads and jersey as much as possible around them, the cup will for sure help keep up the guy illusion, and during workouts I can keep wearing baggy clothes. I shouldn’t bind my chest then…maybe I can get away with two sports bras to keep everything flat. Or maybe they’ll just think I got a super buff chest but noodle arms. I think this can work. I need to workout anyways now that I’m active as Lady Bellbird. Okay, okay (Y/N), time to join the boys football team. This is the only way to keep me safe from Cartman.’  

Albeit hesitantly, you nodded in response to the boys’ proposal. Kenny, Stan, and Tolkien erupted into the loudest cheers, with Kenny physically shaking you with excitement. You couldn’t help but let out a laugh despite wincing in pain as he jostled your entire body, reminding you of last night’s events. Tweek gave you an awkward smile, with two thumbs up. Today he had numerous colored band-aids wrapped around each of his fingers. Butters’ expression of excitement was similar to Tweek’s. He gave you a light pat on your back while Kenny finished shaking you. Stan pulled out his phone and began texting who you assumed to be his dad before putting his phone away.

“Alright, dad’ll have your gear ready for you by next week. You can join us in the weightlifting room starting tomorrow though. We should do something small this weekend to celebrate—you moving to South Park and joining the Cows,” Stan commented. 

“Should we, uh, invite the rest of the team?” Tweek asked. You put two-and-two together and realized he must mean Cartman and his group of friends. You never actually formally introduced yourself to them outside of first-day introductions. You glanced over at Kenny who pursed his lips. You knew he was Mysterion, and that Cartman and by extension, the rest of Coon and Friends, was upset at him. You wondered if that unrest spread to being outside of costumes as well.

“Well, it would be rude not to if we’re making it a football thing,” Tolkien said. He pinched the space between his eyebrows. “But I don’t think I’m mentally ready to deal with any of them right now.”

“Let’s keep it on the down low that it’s a football-related event then,” Stan said. “We’ll just say it’s a New Kid welcome party. My dad won’t announce New Kid joining the team till Monday at practice anyways.” He leaned forward to the group and lowered his voice just above a whisper, “And also, don’t let anyone else know in case Cartman and his cronies decide to crash the party.” Butters raised a finger to gather everyone’s attention.

“Could we invite Douchebag?” Butters asked. He tapped his pointer fingers together nervously. “I know he’s Eric’s friend and all, but I swear he wouldn’t tell him!” 

“I know you were Douchebag’s first friend and all Butters, but right now he’s a, well, a fucking douchebag,” Kenny replied. He leaned forward on the lunch table, resting his chest on the table as his crossed arms were outstretched in front of him. Butters’ dropped his head in disappointment. “What about Scott instead? We haven’t been able to hang out with him in a while.” Butters chirped up in joy.

“That’d be great!”

“Sounds like a plan then. Us, and Scott.” Tolkien said. “Your place Stan? My parents are finalizing renovations on the indoor pool this week so we won’t be able to host at my place like usual.”

“Should be fine with my parents now that Shelley is out of the house.” Stan took another quick drink from his water bottle. “Saturday night, 5PM? I’ll bring pizza, and my old Xbox 360 still works so we could do a couple rounds of Guitar Hero and Call of Duty Black Ops Zombies. You okay with bringing your Switch for Smash Bros, Timmy?”

“Timmy!” The strawberry-blonde smiled in his wheelchair, “Timmy, Timmy, Timmy.” Butters whispered to you.

“Timmy is scary good at Rosalina and Luma. He says he’s gonna wipe the floor with us on Saturday. Pick Shulk if you end up against Timmy during the bracket matches.” You give Butters a warm smile at the advice. You draw a little heart on your white board and show it to him from under the table. He takes the whiteboard marker from you, and draws a little smile inside the heart. 

“I’ll bring chips and soda, along with any old board games I find lying around,” Tolkien said. 

“I’ve got cupcakes!” Tweek chimed. 

“Butters and I can team up on bringing some mixed drinks,” Kenny chuckles to himself. He pulls out a card from his jacket pocket. You can see the front clearly—a Colorado ID, a fake Colorado ID where Kenny’s name is Jared and he’s 25 from Boulder. You smack him again with your spoon. “You never know when one of these comes in handy, New Kid.”

“How did you even, GAH, afford that man?” Tweek asked. “Jesus Christ.”

“You don’t wanna know,” Kenny replies, humming, while staring off to the side. “Anyways, Bunny and I will be the ones who’ll really bring the party.” Your attention the moment Kenny mentioned alcohol has been focused on Tolkien who’s been glancing at Stan. Tolkien looks worried, his eyebrows scrunched, lips pursed. Stan seems none the wiser though. He’s eating away at his chowder happily listening to the conversation in front of him.

“Why do I have to be a part of this Kenny?” Butters whines. “I don’t wanna get arrested, or worse, grounded.” Kenny stands up to put his head affectionately on top of Butters’ head, resting his hands against the side of his head.  

“‘Cause you’re my partner in crime Bunny.” You turn your upper body to face the Kenny-Butters tower and raise an eyebrow at the nickname. “Don’t be jealous, New Kid. You’ll get a nickname soon enough.” With Kenny’s toothy grin, violet eyes, and general scarred and rugged-looking appearance, your face heats up involuntarily. You quickly pull your face mask and scarf up over your face. 

“Are you gonna plan on bringing something, New Kid?” Tolkien asks. “You don’t necessarily have to, since we’re inviting you.” You think for a second.

‘I guess if I don’t have to, then that frees up time for me to do other things. But on the other hand, I’d feel rude if I didn’t bring anything. Most of my games are still in boxes, and Isaac took our PS4 with him to Denver. Snacks are covered, main dish is covered, and so is dessert. What could I even bring that would be different?’ It must’ve been obvious that you were thinking hard, as Tweek speaks up.

“If you don’t wanna feel like you’re not contributing anything, would you be okay helping me with my cupcakes, New Kid?” Tweek asks. “Usually I have an extra pair of hands around the kitchen, so I’d really appreciate any help I can get.” 

‘One on one with Tweek…he seems pretty nice. I guess I’d be fine with that.’ You must’ve taken a bit longer than usual to think. 

“Uh, only if  you’re fine with that!” Tweek’s face contorts into mild panic, and the previously playful way he was running his hands through his blonde hair turned into light pulling. His face is flustered and he can’t make eye contact with you. You draw a little thumbs up on your whiteboard and slide it over to him so he won’t need to look in your vicinity. “GAH, great! Thanks New Kid.” Tweek takes three deep breaths, and removes his hands from his hair. “We should all exchange contact info before the end of lunch.” The group unanimously pulls out their phones, and you exchange your contact info with Tolkien, Stan, Timmy, and Tweek. “New Kid,” he turns to face you, “I’ll text you on Saturday morning with my address. I’ll have all the ingredients so no need to bring anything.” You hear a ping from your phone, noticing you’ve been added to a group chat.

“That’s the group chat between the six of us,” Tolkien explains. “Feel free to ask us for any help—South Park, classes, girls, you know the rest.” The end of lunch bell rings. “It was great to meet you, New Kid!” You, Kenny, and Butters walked off to class together as you waved goodbye to Tweek, Tolkien, Stan, and Timmy. 

* * *

The classes after lunch blurred together. While your hand was occupied taking notes, your headspace was occupied with worry of the beginning of your after-school activities. You were officially a Coon and Friend as of last night. And now as of this afternoon, you were a South Park Cow, despite never playing football before in your life. You questioned how you got yourself into this mess. There was something in the air, you just knew it. South Park was weird when you were a kid, but for some odd reason those memories faded once you left. Now that you were back, the oddity of the town began feeling more and more normal even after a few days. 

 You felt strange that Butters’ hadn’t asked you about your last night expedition, but then again, he seemed off his own little world today as well. You shrugged it off. You’d check in with him one-on-one next time he was free. For now, you’d continue on auto-pilot. You glanced up at the clock on the wall, waiting for the arms to dictate that you were free to go home and take a long nap. Blinking the exhaustion away from your eyes didn’t work, and you weren’t the only person who was struggling to stay awake. Clyde—Mosquito—was sound asleep on his desk, buzzing away, just like yesterday. You wondered how he kept his grades up with the two days straight he was leaving pools of drool on his desk. You silently wished you could be in his position. 

The end of the day bell freed you from your cement prison. You shut your notebook with an audible slam, and began packing up your things. You didn’t need to stop by your locker since Mr. Garrison was merciful enough not to assign any homework tonight that required your textbooks. All you really needed to do was read over the lab manual for the practical in biology tomorrow. With the change in elective, you no longer needed to do the homework for that class either. You figured Stan and his dad would deal with letting your teacher know. Butters appeared in front of your desk, hands wrapped around the straps of his messenger bag that was decorated with colorful pins. 

“I know you take the bus, but would you like to walk home with me today, New Kid?” Butters asked. “It’s not too cold out today and some of the snow melted! No pressure if you don’t want to though. Or if you’ve seen me too much this week.” You shake your head at Butters’ obvious anxiety. You scribbled a response to him and flipped your board to face him.

‘I’d gladly walk home with you Butters.’ 

“Yippee! Let’s head out then New Kid! There isn’t much to see on the way to my house, but I’ll try to make it entertaining, I swear.” Butters looped your arm in his. You were taken aback by the sudden gesture. You didn’t want to accidentally hurt Butters, so the only noises that came out of your mouth were akin to a murmuring babble. You let yourself be dragged out of the school and into the soft chill of the Colorado air. He was right—the weather was just right for September. You didn’t feel the need to pull up your hood over your face. Numerous students started their trek back home in the nice weather, but students still lined up for the buses to go home. You made eye contact with a girl with a short stature, with her caramel-colored hair pulled into two low ponytails decorated with magenta bows: Karen. When she recognized you, her dim eyes lit up, and she smiled. Like her brother, she was missing a tooth. 

“Hi New Kid!” Karen shouted, her voice drowning out amongst the sea of students. She waved her hand high in the air. Her gaze adjusted to lie on Butters, and it only made her smile more. “Hi Butters!” 

“Hey Karen!” Butters shouted back, as the two of you waved her off as she got onto the bus. He cupped his hands around his mouth. “I’ll be over tomorrow night to cook with you and Kenny!” Karen gave an excited squeal before rushing into the bus to grab an empty seat. As you waved goodbye to Karen as the bus drove by, Butters piped up as the two of you began your walk home. 

“How do you know Karen, New Kid?” You took the liberty of writing a response on your whiteboard, being careful not to trip over any of the rocks on the ground.

“I ran into her last night while I was killing time out at the playground. She was searching for her doll,” you wrote. Butters read over the message, and handed it back to you as you hummed to yourself. “Does Kenny know she’s out late? It’s not safe.” Oddly, Butters laughed at your concern before quickly shutting himself up by covering his mouth. You raised an eyebrow—he was hiding something. 

“Kenny actually has a tracking app on Karen’s phone. She doesn’t know about it, but I also have it just to make sure she’s safe.” Butters shows you an app on his smartphone, and sure enough, there’s a little icon following the bus route. “It’s not for anything weird I swear! Karen just has a bad habit of not telling anyone where she’s going when she’s carried away. She’s just like Kenny in that way.” You nod understandably. You could easily imagine Kenny—Mysterion—acting before thinking something through. 

“You got anyone else on that app?” You joked. 

“—NO!” Butters answered a bit too quickly. “I mean, no. No, I don’t. I don’t have any siblings. Kenny has tried uploading the app onto the other fellas’ phones but they usually find out pretty quick. Plus, if it’s anyone over 18 you need two-way consent.” You wonder if Kenny slipped the app onto your phone, you take it out and scroll through your recently downloaded apps. Nothing out of the ordinary seems to be on it. 

“Anyways, you were at the Community Park last night?” 

You nod, shoving your hands into your pockets. You deliberately faced away from Butters’ gaze, and slouched. 

“You saw them…didn’t you?”

You slowly nod, wincing in imaginary pain, anticipating the mouthful you’re going to get from Butters. 

“New Kid! I mean, I did tell you where and when to find them, but still! New Kid, why would you do that? No wonder you were so exhausted this morning. You could’ve gotten seriously hurt. They’re unpredictable, dangerous, and unstable. Who knows, you could’ve been caught in the crossfire, and could’ve died!” Butters reminds you of your mother, the way he’s scolding you for your bad behavior that to be fair, he instigated. He continues, “Thank Jesus you’re back in one piece!” He circles around you as the two of you walk down the street, staring at various areas of your body, as if looking for any damages. Luckily, Kyle did a decent job patching you up, and luckily, you didn’t lose any limbs. Satisfied that you seem okay, minus the sleep deprivation, he gives you some space. He lets out the breath that he was holding. “So, what exactly did you see?” 

You write out a paragraph on your whiteboard for Butters, explaining all of the details of last night, but leaving out the fact that you were Lady Bellbird. You spiced up a bit about how she looked, playing up the horny teenage boy act. After all, what teen boy wouldn’t be down bad for a Black Canary-esque superhero who could break giant metal dire wolves in her free time. Butters listened intently, hanging off your every word. He didn’t seem surprised when you mentioned the unknown vigilante, only nodding and humming at your words. His face flashed between awe, fear, and concern. When you finished your recount of the events, he pulled out his phone to type something out, then clapped his hands together.

“Well, then that settles that New Kid,” Butters said. You cock your head to the side, confused. He “No more going out hunting for vigilantes. No one knows anything about this, Lady Bellbird, right?” You nod. “Then you definitely shouldn’t be sticking your nose into this. Even if it looked like she’s for the good guys, who’s to say she won’t betray them and cause chaos in the town? Please, “ Butters pleaded, “I don’t want you to get hurt. Promise me, please.” 

You knew Butters would have an adverse reaction to your escapades, but it didn’t make it hurt any less. But you could technically agree to his terms—as New Kid. You hated lying to him, but you finally found a group of people who you didn’t fear using your voice around. Maybe they could figure out how to restore your voice back to the way it was before you got your powers. You needed to stay with the Coon and Friends. You needed to stay in the world of vigilantes. So, through your teeth, trying to hold your hands steady as you wrote out your lie.

“I promise.” 

“Thank you,” Butters let out a sigh of relief. “Things have been getting extra weird at night, I’m surprised Kenny lets Karen out at all honestly. You still have that button I gave you, right?” You nod, fiddling with the device in your parka pocket. “Though, I’d avoid going out at night at all…all things considered. Not that I don’t think you can defend yourself! You’re just a bit…”

“Scrawny?” You added a little sad face next to your words.

“Yeah…” Butters looked down at the ground, hands gripping the strap of his messenger bag. You let out a little chuckle. 

“It’s the truth. I know I am. Can’t avoid it. That’s why I said yes to joining the team.”

“I’m happy to have you on the team New Kid,” Butters said. “I’m the second scrawniest on the team—I only beat Jimmy because he’s our wide receiver so he needs to be lean. No one likes pairing up with me for exercises so it’ll be nice to have you around.” Butters wistfully stares off in front of him. You hum in agreement, enjoying the quietness of the suburbs. You spot your house a few yards ahead of you. 

“This one’s mine, I can walk the rest of the way. Thanks for coming with me Butters.” You point over to the small brown house across from Town Square. 

 “Anytime New Kid! I’m glad you’re okay after last night.” 

“By the way, how did you know where I live? You were walking ahead of me this whole time.”

“Uhhhh, well, uhhh,” Butters looked down at his phone, “oh hamburgers, I’m late! Sorry New Kid, I really gotta run. See you at school tomorrow!” Before you could question him further, Butters ran off past your house to an unknown location. You shrugged off his weird behavior and walked to your door, unlocked the door, and crashed on the couch. A few hours till 7PM, you had time to mend your costume and study for the lab practical. Your stomach let out a whale-like groan. Maybe you should eat something first. Tonight would be your first night as an official Coon Friend. 

Chapter Text

You paced anxiously outside of a neon green house, kicking up dirt from the ground. You had donned your costume—as requested by the Coon—but to walk from your house to this residence inconspicuously, you wrapped yourself in a long, black, winter coat. If anyone saw you, you wouldn’t have the faintest idea to explain why you were walking around in the beginning of fall in nothing but a leather jacket, body suit, and donning a strange mask. Your hand hovered above the door; this would be your fifth attempt to knock. It was getting close to 7PM; you didn’t want to be late on your first day. This time, your hand hovered in front of the doorknob, and you gave it a turn. You slowly pushed the door open, revealing a humble living room with a single brown couch across from a comically oversized TV, a cross on the wall, a couple bookshelves, and a picture frame of a mother and an overweight son hanging above the couch, whose faces were covered with black construction paper.

‘Well…this place looks normal enough. It’s strangely clean. I figured Cartman’s house would be messier considering what I know about him.’ After doing another once over of the living room, you cautiously step inside. Scrubbing your boots on the welcome mat, you pull up Coonstagram on your phone. The directions on your homepage say to go past the living room and take the first door on the right. When you reached the door, a password was needed for the keypad: Fuck You Mom. After every press, the keypad spoke out the word. 

‘Cartman must really hate his mom. Poor woman, having to live with such an asshole. She probably has to pick up after him all the time.’ The light above the basement door glowed green, and a small click resounded through the small hallway. You pushed the door open, pulled your winter coat off, and climbed down the stairs to join the handful of voices talking.

As you made it to the bottom of the basement stars, the room went silent. Six figures sat around a large table in the center of the room—Cartman, Kyle, Craig, Clyde, Jimmy, and Douchebag, all in their vigilante gear. Seeing them in costume, it was hard to distinguish them from their vigilante personas and their real selves. Your eyes darted straight to Superdude. His oversized black metallic gauntlets were resting on the table, nearly obscuring him from view of the others. He was kicked back in his chair, feet up on the table, and arms crossed. He was facing away from you, but the sound of your footsteps alerted you of his presence. He leaned his chair and head back, staring blankly at you from under his blue mask. 

“Coon was trying to put bets on whether or not you’d show,” Superdude said plainly. He side-eyed Cartman, “dick.” You sighed, and walked towards the group, admiring the decor around the Coon and Friends base: a small shop selling the Coon t-shirts, multiple white-boards with numerous faces and red strings between them, a giant board at the head of the room detailing some sort of three phase plan, a holding cell large enough for only one person, a high-tech looking computer system with a few screens, and a curtain labeled, ‘Danger Deck Prototype.’ 

“Snitch,” Coon spat back. He sat at the head of the table, and tapped a familiar manila folder onto the table. “Anyways, Lady Bellbird, take a seat so we can start the meeting,” he gritted. You could tell he was trying to be as polite as possible in front of you, but the act seemed to be causing him physical pain. The other members must’ve chewed him out before you arrived. You took a seat at the opposite end of the table to the Coon. You placed a few fingers on your throat—it still ached from last night. The medicine Human Kite gave you helped subside the pain during the day but you could tell they weren’t back to normal yet. Mosquito, who sat next to Superdude gave you a cheerful smile and wave, while intentionally facing away from the Coon. You returned the gesture. You wondered if you’d be able to safely speak today, given that your voice hadn’t recovered fully. 

“Great, now that everyone’s here, let’s recap our findings from yesterday,” the Coon said. His raccoon ears twitched. “Kite, start us off with the background report so the newbie isn’t entirely lost.” Kite straightened his posture in his chair after he was mentioned. He then pulled out a notepad from one of the pockets on his flight suit and flipped to a dog-eared page. 

“On Sunday night, Mysterion found a cheesing vial on an unconscious college student near City Hall,” Kite recited. “We don’t know why he was unconscious—but he had defensive and offensive wounds from attacking someone on the street before being knocked out himself.”

‘Oh fuck, I think that was me.’ You clutched your hands together in your lap, and shifted awkwardly in your seat. You attempted to avoid Kite’s gaze, but he faced you with a serious look on his face. 

 “But cheese doesn’t make people aggressive. It’s a non-traditional hallucinogen made from cat urine, so people usually just get stupid high. But the vial Mysterion found was different—there was something altered in the chemical makeup of the substance. It had ten times the concentration of normal cheese, and there was something extra that Mysterion couldn’t identify. Whatever it is, it’s making people high and aggressive.” Kite flipped to the next page of his notepad. 

“Chaos is in charge of regulating and tracking cheese distributors ever since things got out of hand a couple years ago. He’s a villain but he has access to resources we don’t have to monitor the activity of distributors. He’s supposed to notify us of any anomalies: large movements of product, new distributors, and most importantly, running randomized safety checks on distributed cheese. But now it’s obvious there’s been an oversight. We need to stop this distributor before things get out of hand. Chaos wasn’t too happy with us overstepping, but now we have a list of people to investigate.” Kite shut his notepad, and looked over at Superdude.

“There’s currently only two approved cheese distributors in South Park,” Superdude said to the group, holding up two fingers. “One, of course, is Towelie down at the Medicinal Fried Chicken.” 

“But Towelie’s been out of the country for the past six months,” Mosquito buzzed. “He’s in a custody battle with his ex-wife somewhere in France. I flew by his apartment before I came here; the place looked abandoned.” Superdude nodded along with Mosquito’s report.

“So that leaves only one option,” Superdude put up a single finger, flipping off the entire table. “An elderly lady by the name of Donna Dooby. According to Chaos’ list, she’s approved to distribute cheese to the patients at Shady Acres and Hell’s Pass Hospital for end of life services. The document Chaos gave us didn’t give us a current address for her, but he was stupid enough to forget to redact his username and password to his servers on the papers he gave us. This is what I found under her file.” He pulled out a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket, and passed it to the Coon. Coon uncrumpled the paper, and everyone stared as his eyes scanned the piece of paper. 

“What the actual fuck,” the Coon said. He passed Superdude’s finding around the table, each vigilante giving various reactions from confusion to disbelief to whatever was on the piece of paper. Butthole slid the paper over to you, pressing out the crumples in the paper as he did so. You stared down at the scene in front of you: a hidden camera shot of a stout, petite, elderly woman with short white hair hunched over a table covered in chemistry equipment. Her face and nearby equipment were illuminated in the dark room by a nearby bunsen burner. In one gloved hand, she held a vial of cheddar cheese-colored liquid, and in the other, a pipette of an unknown white substance. Behind her was a scraggly old cat suspended in the air in a hammock; a funnel was protruding out of the poor cats behind. You loved animals—you slid the paper back to Superdude with disgust. 

“That butt-fucking asshole had the audacity of hiding this shit from us,” the Coon said, his voice dripping with venom. He clutched his fists in anger. “I’m going to wring his neck the next time I see him.” 

“Cut Chaos some slack Coon,” Mosquito persuaded. He fiddled with his hands, rubbing them together then wiping some sweat off of his face with a handkerchief. “Crime is only now rising, so there was probably no reason for him to act without solid proof..” 

“He should’ve informed us the moment he had suspicions,” Kite said, slamming his hands on the table. The sudden jolt of the table caused Butthole to finally look up from his phone. “I don’t have fucking time this year to fool around. We need to nip things in the bud before they happen. Did you manage to find an address?” Turning to Superdude, he nodded, pulling out an even smaller piece of crumpled up paper from his pants pocket. He handed it over to the Coon. 

Rubbing out the creases, the Coon groaned, “Dude, I don’t want your shitty ass poetry.” For the first time, the usually stoic Superdude’s eyes widened in horror.

“Shit.” Superdude snatched the paper from over the table and handed the Coon a different piece of paper. 

“You need a better organization system man.” The Coon glanced at the address and hummed, unusually content with himself. He pushed himself away from the table, and began pacing back and forth. “Superdude, stay here to run facial recognition on that cat to see if it’s missing; maybe we can make some money out of this. Fastpass, Kite, you’re on patrol tonight. If you find any more tweakers, pat them down and see if you find any more rogue product.” Stroking his chin with his silver-clawed fingers, he stared down at you, Mosquito, and Butthole. “The three of you are breaking into Shady Acres tonight. We need to confirm if the old bag is genetically modifying the cheese she’s distributing before those Freedom fuckers.” 

“But before I dismiss you three,” the Coon pointed a finger at you from across the table, “you need to do a couple of things before we send you out into the field. You can’t exactly be a part of Coon and Friends without us knowing what your powers are, or whatever your backstory is. I can’t have a lame ass superhero tainting my franchise. We don’t know jack shit about you, and it’s my business to know everything, you know, cause I’m the leader.” You felt yourself shrink in your chair under his stare, your hands still curled up in your lap. 

‘Does losing all of my memories about my childhood in South Park except for fragments after a freak accident which also resulted in losing my voice as the consequence of either shattering people’s eardrums or commanding them to do something stupid count as tragic?’  

After what felt like an eternity, the Coon walked over to you and hesitantly hovered his hand above your shoulder. He gave you a couple of air pats. You looked up at him, confused, and you noticed his raccoon ears flattened against his terracotta colored hair. 

“Fine, you don’t have to tell everyone here your tragic backstory, just me. I’ll ask you again after everything else is sorted—Fastpass, you’re excused to start patrol. I need Kite for a bit.” 

“O-on it!” Fastpass gave a quick salute to the Coon, then to you. “C-catch up with you later Ms. Bellbird,” he slid down his running visor, then sped out of the basement in a yellow blur. The Coon turned to Butthole who returned to having his nose in his phone, tapping away at a mobile game. The Coon raised his lip at Butthole. 

“Butthole…continue to do whatever it is you do. At least take a look at this address and find a map of the building. Figure out a way to get in there without making a huge scene.” Coon handed him the slip of paper from Superdude. Butthole took a quick glance at it, nodded, and walked off to a desk with a single laptop, all while never failing to continue to tap away at his phone. 

“Kite, Mosquito, and Superdude, I need you three to help me out with this chick before we split up tonight. Kite, check her wounds while I ready the Danger Deck,” Coon motioned at Mosquito and Superdude, “c’mon,” who followed him to the computer and extended screens next to the curtained door. That left you and Kite sitting alone at the table. 

“How are you feeling today, Bellbird?” Kite asked, stepping out of his chair to move towards you. “Follow me, my station with my equipment is over there.” He pointed to a sectioned off white-tarped area hidden behind a folding screen next to where Butthole was now typing away at a laptop. You hesitate to reply, but bite the bullet. 

“I feel better,” you whisper, walking side by side with Kite. “The cough drops helped a ton, thank you.” Kite smiled as he pulled the folding screen to the side, motioning you inside before pulling the screen extended. You examined the small area, a single medical exam chair was in the center of the room on top of a white tarp. It didn’t look too different from your normal doctor appointment rooms—if anything, it simply looked like a lower budget version. There was a sink and everything.  

“I’m glad they helped. I’ll be able to do a lot more tonight now I have all of my equipment. I’ll have you feeling 100% in no time,” Kite said. “Before you take a seat, you’ll have to change into these,” he pulled out a folded shirt and boxers from one of the cabinets and handed it to you, avoiding eye-contact. He was staring down at the ground, a light flush covering his freckled cheeks. “I, uh, can’t examine your stomach wound in your current outfit.” You took the clothing from him, unfolding the shirt to chuckle to yourself noticing the large Terrance and Phillip graphic tee.

“Nice taste,” you grinned. The flush on Kite’s face deepened, mimicking the color of his bright red curls that stuck out from under his flight helmet. He tried to respond, but his voice caught in his throat. After a few coughs, he managed to compose himself. 

 “T-thanks. I, uh, promise I won’t look, scouts honor.” He raised his right hand with three fingers held up together, before turning away from you and covering his eyes with his hands. You held back another laugh as you slipped off your leather jacket and bodysuit, folding them neatly and placing them on the empty chair next to the sink. You threw on the Terrance and Phillip graphic tee, and boxer shorts. “You, uh, decent?” 

“Yup,” you answered, smoothing out the shirt Kite gave you. He turned around and removed his hands from over his eyes. He gave you a once over, noticing that the oversized shirt fell to your mid-thigh, hiding any record that you had on a pair of boxers. 

“You, uh, you have the shorts on, right?” Kite said. You nodded, lifting up the shirt slightly, exposing the boxer shorts Kite had handed you from earlier. “Oh.” He walked over to the sink, took off his leather aviation gloves and began washing his hands. “Take a seat on the chair there, it’ll just take a moment to heal up your stitches.” You took a small hop to sit on the medical chair, and swung your feet as you waited for Kite to finish washing his hands. He walked over to you and knelt down on a single knee to take a look at the cuts on your legs, “…hmmmmm.” 

Kite took out a pair of gloves from the box on the side of your chair and put them on with a snap of the latex. You took a deep breath in as you felt his cold hands examine each of the cuts on your legs. “These should scab up just fine in a day. Is it okay if I take a look at your stomach now?” You nod, and slowly lift your shirt up. The cold air hits your stomach, causing the hairs on your arm to stick up. You and Kite both take a look at the wound from last night’s expedition; his stitches are clean along the five inch diagonal gash that nearly bisects your belly button. The skin surrounding it is still red and upset. It itched like crazy. 

You wince looking at the wound. While you weren’t free from scars, you managed to avoid any as large as this one. You didn’t particularly have a strong sense of pride in your appearance, but the wound made you feel shy now that Kite’s face was only a mere six inches away from it. Everything in you wanted to throw the shirt back down. Your furrowed your eyebrows in dismay.

“It won’t scar—if that’s what you’re worried about,” Kite said. He stared up at you, his emerald green eyes shining. “And even if it did, I think it looks badass. Not everyone can attest to fighting an overgrown metal dire wolf and living.” His comforting words make you smile. “But it won’t scar, I’ll make sure of it.” He took a deep breath in, expanding his chest as he did so, and let out a gust of mini-wind across your wound. As the air hit your stitches, the dull pain subsided. You glanced down and saw the redness slowly fade away, the stitches magically absorbing into your skin as the gash healed up right in front of your eyes. You blinked your eyes twice, hard. You couldn’t believe what you were seeing. Kite stood up, and blew a final gust of mini-wind level with your throat. You swallowed, no longer feeling pain. 

“How? How did you—” You whispered, cutting yourself off before you said anything that could’ve influenced Kite. You felt around your stomach; there was no indication that you had ever had a wound. 

“That’s one of my powers. I can heal anyone with a gust of wind, or in this case, I can use my breath if there’s no wind around,” Kite explained. “The severity of the wound scales with the strength of wind I need. Coon says no major gusts in the base, but I didn’t need anything stronger than a couple miles per hour.” You let out an ‘oh’. “Is your voice okay? I noticed you’re still whispering.” He pulled off his gloves, throwing them into the trash. You sighed. It was a matter of time you’d have to explain yourself, and how could they help you if they didn’t know what the issue was? 

“It’s my power; I have to whisper,” you said. It was Kite’s turn to let out an ‘oh.’ “I can’t control it. I’ve never been able to.” You pulled your knees up to your chest, wrapped your arms around them, and rested your head against your knees. You unfocused on your eyes as you stared off at one of the Coon and Friends posters on a cabinet.

“Man, I’m sorry to hear that,” Kite said. He picked up your folded costume from the free chair in the room and sat down, holding the clothes in his lap. “I know it’s not much of a comfort, but when we all first joined Coon and Friends, none of us could control our powers. You can only imagine the number of mosquito bites we all had,” he laughed, shyly rubbing his arm.

“We’ve all injured each other at some point, and it really fucking hurt at the time, but we all came out better in the end. We can help you out. I know Coon can be a real asshole—believe me—but he helped us all out the most, despite his usual ulterior motives. I promise we’ll give you back your voice, Bellbird.” His hand, outreached, extended his pinky finger to you. You lifted your head off of your knees and smiled, looping the two of your pinkies together. A rustle of the screen being pulled open caused your hands to split. Mosquito, red-tinted goggles pulled down over his eyes, peaked his head through the opening. 

“You done in here Kite? Coon wants Bellbird fitted with her new costume before the three of us head out,” Mosquito interrupted, shifting his gaze between the two of you. 

“Cly—Mosquito! You can’t just burst in here!” Kite stood up and crossed his arms across his chest. “This is my medical ward, what if she was changing?” Mosquito stared at your form, compressed and compact sitting on the medical chair.

“Well, she’s not so… is she good to go?” 

“Goddamnit,” Kite pinched the area between his brows. “Yeah, she’s patched up.”

“Cool,” Mosquito stepped into the room, hauling a mannequin draped with a white cloth behind him. “Mind if I use this room, Kite? There isn’t anywhere else for her to change.” 

“Well since you’re already here, sure,” Kite said, sarcasm dripping from his words. His displeasure flew right over Mosquito’s head, who placed the draped mannequin next to where you were huddled up. He took a moment to fiddle with his hands, rubbing them together before grabbing the white cloth from the top of the covered mannequin. 

As he was about to pull the draping cloth off of the mannequin he turned to Kite, “Coon wants you outside by the way. Dunno why.” 

Kite let out an audible groan, “fine, just don’t try anything funny.” He stomped out of his makeshift medical ward, slamming the folding screen closed behind him. Mosquito chuckled to himself, which worried you. You pulled yourself closer while straightening yourself in your cradle-like position. 

“Now that it's just the two of us,” Mosquito said, “well, first, I won’t try anything funny. I’d never disrespect a fine lady such as yourself. And second, I take pride in presenting my work. I would never consider such a thing,” he made a big ‘X’ with his arms. “Anyways, I hope you’re excited as I’m happy to present to you your new and improved Coon and Friends costume!” He beamed, pulling off the white draping on the mannequin to reveal a nearly identical—but higher quality—copy of your own costume. Complete with the same black bodysuit and cropped leather jacket decorated with white leather feathers.

Your apparent confusion must’ve shown on your face as Mosquito’s bright eyed smile dropped. He began to reason with you, “I know it looks the same—I wasn’t given a lot of time to whip this up—but we’ll make creative changes the longer you’re with us but I promise it’s a huge upgrade! Just watch this.” He flew a few feet back, wings backed up against the folding screen and pulled out a small black pistol. Before you could react, he pointed the pistol in the direction of your costume and pulled the trigger three times.

You covered your mouth to prevent yourself from screaming as you jumped away from the mannequin. You took a rough tumble out of the medical chair, struggling to make a steady landing. You storm up to Mosquito who is too busy beaming with excitement to see the rage within your eyes. It takes everything within you to slap him across the face for firing a gun in such a small space. You aren’t the only person who’s upset. 

“Mosquito! Stop using your dad’s goddamn gun in the base! You’re gonna fucking shoot yourself in the foot again,” Coon yelled, his voice overlapping due to the echo of the basement. Mosquito’s shoulders dropped the moment Coon scolded him. He quickly put his father’s pistol away in his side pouch. 

“Sorry Coon,” Mosquito yelled back, the realization of his actions finally hitting. You let out a few deep breaths, calming yourself from the unexpected discharge of a firearm. Mosquito looked over to your slightly shaking form. “Shit, sorry Bellbird,” he apologized. “I don't tend to think before I do.” 

“Yeah, I can tell,” you grumbled. You crossed your arms across your chest and scowled. You were more annoyed now more than upset, tapping a single boot against the cold floor. 

“Hey!” It was Mosquito’s turn to cross his arms. “I’ll have you know it was for a very important reason. Look.” He pulled you over to look at the abdomen of your new costume on the mannequin. The two of you crouched in front of the abdominal area of the costume. You peered closer. Instead of three bullet holes, the fabric was untouched. Confused, you glance at Mosquito who was humming cheerfully to himself. You can see his eyes scrunched in happiness behind his red-tinted goggles. “Told you so.” 

Mosquito stood up, slung the new leather jacket over his shoulder and unzipped the bodysuit. He handed both to you and you outstretched arms sunk at the sudden difference in weight of the two pieces of clothing. He grinned.

“Kevlar. Entirely bullet-proof and generally life-proof. This way you won’t be getting any more nasty wounds. Feel free to keep using your elbow and kneepads, I don’t have the materials to make better ones yet,” Mosquito buzzed. You enjoyed listening to his slight nasally voice; it had an odd charm to it. “Oh and before I let you change, don’t worry about it fitting wrong. Mosquito never gets a measurement wrong! That’s a brand guarantee." 

“Thank you Mosquito, this was really kind,” you smiled, outstretching your arms to hug him around the neck. He yelped at the sudden contact, hesitantly returning the gesture, gently patting you on the back. He was warm, and soft like a huge teddy bear. You couldn’t recall the last time you’ve ever been this close to someone freely. Mosquito smelled like fresh laundry detergent with a hint of a new car smell. You turned your face to lean in close to his ear, “but if you ever discharge a gun next to me again, I will do unspeakable things.” 

“Y-yes ma’am!” You unwrapped your arms from around Mosquito’s neck. “I’ll let you change now, Mosquito away!” He opened the folding screen, turned around to face you, gave you a salute, then shut the screen closed with a loud thunk. You glanced down at the matching bodysuit and leather jacket being held in your hands and quickly changed into your new costume. The bodysuit felt firm against your body. You reused your elbow and kneepads before throwing on the new leather jacket—you felt more protected from before. The only thing you’d have to worry about were your legs, and your masked being ripped off. You did a quick twirl, before exiting Kite’s medical ward.

The Coon, Mosquito, and Superdude were huddled in front of the larger screen next to the curtain labeled ‘Danger Deck Prototype’, discussing something amongst each other. At the sound of your boots hitting the concrete floor, the three boys turned to look at you. The Coon stepped up first, ushering you by your shoulders into the curtained room. You took a look around, it was a small room sectioned off with white painters tape into many squares—on the ceiling, floor, and walls. There were two projectors on the ceiling, illuminating the room with a blue light. 

“Time is of the essence, Bellbird. Like I mentioned before, none of us know exactly what you can do, so before I send you out with Mosquito and Butthole, it’d benefit us all to be familiar with your powers,” Coon explained. He stood with his back at the curtain that separated you from the rest of the basement. “This is the Danger Deck Prototype. We’d have the full version if a certain butt fucking traitor would update our systems. We can’t simulate battles or any of that cool shit, but that’s a story for another time. What we can do however, is analyze your abilities after you spend a certain amount of time sparring with an already registered user of the Deck. Kite filled me in on your little…predicament. It’s a good starting off point for your tragic backstory for sure, but if you can’t learn to communicate during battle you’ll only hold us back. What use is a bird without its call? ”

“Superdude, get in here.” The Coon moved away from the curtain, where Superdude began peeking his head through. He stepped into the Danger Deck, gauntlets nowhere to be seen. You took a good look at him—he towered over Coon, along with all of the other members of Coon and Friends. He didn’t look buff in the traditional sense, but then again, you’ve never seen him without some form of jacket or hood on. Something about him though, whether it be his tall stature or the way he carried himself as he walked over to stand only a few feet away from you in the Danger Deck, exuded raw physical power. Before the Coon exited the Deck, he said, “okay, Bellbird. Beat up Superdude.”

“What?!” You protested, yet you could only watch as Superdude entered into a defensive stance. His knees bent, back straight, with his arms in front of him, hands open. “I refuse.” You tried to take a step forward to exit the Danger Deck, but Superdude matched your footing. You grumbled, and took a step back to your original position.

“You’re not going to hurt him,” Coon said, his voice now echoing over the projector speakers. “Dude is built like a goddamn brick wall. If you manage to even move him, I’ll give you ten bucks.” 

‘Ten bucks sounds kinda nice, not gonna lie,’ you thought, before shaking away the thought. ‘No! I don’t want to hurt Craig. I know we’re all superheroes or vigilanties or whatever here, but I could seriously fuck him up if I’m not careful.’

“Don’t be shy, just scream at him or throw him around or something. The Deck needs data to work off of,” the Coon continued. 

“Ugh, fine,” you relented. Rolling your eyes, you mimicked Superdude’s stance, planting your feet firm into the concrete ground, “whatever happens, I take no responsibility for it.” You lock eyes with Superdude—his amber eyes locking with your (e/c) ones. He was a man of few words, not so unlike yourself. You took a moment to take a deep breath in, and let out a destructive screech. Superdude winced at the sudden noise, but he stood firm. He struggled as he brought his hands to his ears. Your bellbird cry caused wind to pick up around him, blowing his hood straight off of his head. The walls of the Danger Deck began to waver and shake. One of the projectors crashed to the floor nearly landing straight on your head. You yelped, halting your screech. 

“Holy shit,” Superdude panted. He rested his hands on his knees, hunching his back forward. “I’m not taking another fucking hit from that Coon,” he shouted to the remaining projector. He stared down at the other projector that was now a pile of rubble next to you. “I don’t think the base can take another hit.” He stood back up straight and dusted off his dark blue jacket. He adjusted his blue chullo hat, pulling at the hanging ends which were decorated with yellow stars at the ends. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” the Coon said over the speakers. “No more bird cries, Bellbird. Now, just hit Superdude a bit so we can gather some info on your fighting style…unless you have any other powers. In that case, do it so you don’t destroy our ultra-million dollar base.” 

“If you say so,” you responded. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Superdude nodded. “Here goes nothing then.” Both you and Superdude assumed offensive positions—feet planted firmly on the ground, knees bent, and hands opened and raised. You charged at Superdude, winding up a kick to land straight across his abdomen. You thought you put enough force behind it; it felt like you had just kicked a steel beam. You groaned in pain, dropping your leg. You charged again, this time shoving your open hand upwards into Superdude’s face to smash his nose. Before you made impact, he grasped your wrist with a single hand preventing you from making your mark. You stumbled back. 

‘Goddamn it. I’m not going to win that ten bucks at this rate. Coon did say to use all my powers, didn’t he?’ You couldn’t be sure Coon would give you ten bucks, but a chance is a chance. You’d feel like a fool if you didn’t at least try. You hated using your mind control powers. But being transparent with this power could maybe end up with you being able to control it and use it for good. You locked eyes with Superdude again. You narrowed your eyes. 

“Step back,” you demanded. Superdude’s eyes widened as a force beyond his control began causing him to take a step backwards. You could see him struggle against the influence of your words, his body shaking, but he caved. He took an entire step back by just using your words. He looked down at his legs, betrayed. Once you could tell he was fine, you smiled gleefully. You stared up at the projector on the ceiling. The projector was silent. 

“Ten bucks…right?”