Authors Note: Well then. Read my profile and my name change from 2 to 3 will make sense, as well as the reposting of this. I'll submit a chapter or two every week. :) Plz Review.
Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.
In the dead of winter one particular morning, flakes of snow danced and glided through the air, gently brushing against the cheeks of the two boys waiting at the bus stop. One smiled pleasantly and breathed deep the fresh mountain air, while the other's anger seemed to increase with each white puff that clung to him. He bared his clenched teeth as his eyes followed one that wafted down and gently pinged against his nose.
"God damn snow! My mom made me shovel the whole driveway before I left this morning!" Cartman exploded.
His company was broken from his pleasant thoughts and immediately scowled. "Shut the hell up, fat ass! Snow is about the only cool thing that happens around here anymore."
As if his anger hadn't already reached the boiling point. "Aye! Don't call me fat ass, Jew boy!"
Kyle's green mittens curled into angry fists. If that stupid son of a slut spouted one more insult toward his religion, he would find himself the piñata at his little brother Ike's next birthday party. The bastard certainly had enough candy stuffed inside.
His eyes shifted from Cartman's head to a stick lying on the ground. He was mulling over the idea of trying out the party game now, when two of his more pleasant and considerate friends came into sight. He grinned brightly, clearly happy to see them. But his smile was short lived, immediately evaporating into a concerned frown as he took note of the slight tremors that wrecked his very best friend.
"What's wrong with you?" He asked.
Stan's teeth chattered as he spoke. "It's f-freezing balls, if you haven't n-noticed." His fists were balled and tucked tightly under his chin in futile attempt to keep a little warmer.
Kyle and Cartman cast each other confused glances.
"What the hell are you talking about?" Cartman blurted.
"Dude, it's not cold." Kyle pointed out. "It feels exactly the same as it feels everyday in this screwed up, icebox town."
"Yeah, that's what I told him." Kenny mumbled his agreement beneath his orange hood.
Stan's breath came out in large puffs of visible steam as he rubbed his hands up and down his arms. "I th-think I'm catching a c-cold."
"Or maybe you're just a pussy." Cartman amended.
Kenny mumbled his opinion, pointing out the previous day.
Kyle considered it a moment. "Hey… Yeah, Kenny's right." He mused before pointing a finger at Cartman. "It's all your fault he's getting sick!"
The accused was caught of guard only a moment before regaining his composure and his defenses. "It's not my fault he's a fucking pussy!"
"You're the one who told him he was going to get sick!" Kyle amended. "What the hell did you do, Cartman, expose him to one of your old, used tissues you've been saving as a form of revenge?"
"God damn, Kyle. You're a fucking mental case when it comes your precious Stanie-pooh." Cartman indicted.
His scowl only deepened. "You've had it out for him for weeks, ever since he kicked your ass for making Butters cry!"
"So what? I already used his tooth brush to wipe my ass and scrub the toilet. I wouldn't spread my germs too, I'm not an asshole." He was met for a moment by two completely mortified stares.
The ill-feeling party never even noticed the alleged confession as his stomach grew queasier from the pounding in his head. It felt like someone was using his brain for bongo practice. With an ever suffering moan, he rested his arm across his best friends left shoulder and let his head fall into the bend of his elbow.
Kyle glanced down at him and quickly back to Cartman. "You still told him he'd get sick!"
"I did not, I said I had a dream he was puking his guts out. It's not like he doesn't do that all the time anyway."
Stan pushed away from Kyle and began coughing uncontrollably, falling back into the snow from the force. Kenny helped him up as the other two boys pondered the situation.
"Hey, maybe I'm psychotic!" Cartman exclaimed.
"I think you mean psychic." Kenny corrected, still holding Stan balanced.
"Right, I meant psychic."
Kyle snorted sarcastically and crossed his arms. "You had it right the first time."
Cartman bared his teeth for the second time that morning. "Kyle, if you don't shut the hell up right now, I'm going to predict something really bad on your ass!"
"You can't even predict how god damn stupid you sound!"
"That's it you stupid piece of crap! You are going down." Kyle rolled his eyes as Cartman rubbed his chin thoughtfully and pondered what kind of ill fate he'd place upon the irritated boy. Stan's explosive sneeze caught his attention. His eyes then shifted to Kyle's increasingly concerned expression. A smirk crossed his face.
"Okay Kyle, I predict Stan will end up in your loving embrace before school's out."
Surprise snapped across Kyle's face before his brow furrowed angrily. "What the hell kind of sick prediction is that?"
"A prediction that you're not only a filthy Jew, but a gay-ass filthy Jew!"
"Up yours, Cartman!" He hissed, a small blush staining his cheeks.
Too achy to care and wishing to God they would stop their arguing, Stan placed his gloved hands to his throbbing temples and followed Kenny up the bus steps. His foot slid across the icy second step, sending him toppling backward. Kyle's arms shot out immediately to break his friend's fall. Stan sighed in relief, leaning his weight back and allowing his weak body the support of sturdy arms.
"Thanks, Dude." He spoke tiredly.
"Are you okay?" Kyle asked.
A quiet moan escaped his lips. "I feel like dog shit."
"You look like it, too." Kyle agreed, holding him steady as he re-gained his balance. "You should cut school today. Go home and tell your Mom you're too sick to even get on the bus."
Without argument, Stan waved his hand in response and sauntered through the snow toward his home.
"I sure hope he knows where he's going." Kyle spoke out loud.
"Well, well, well," Cartman's sugar-coated voice got his attention. "Looks like Stan ended up in your loving, Jewish embrace. You owe me twenty dollars."
"We never bet any money, ass wipe!"
"Damnit!" He cursed. "Fine, but you're still a gay little pussy!"
"What the hell was I suppose to do, let him fall? He's my best friend!" Kyle defended himself.
"Is he, Kyle? Is he?" Cartman asked as he boarded the bus.
Kyle tensed noticeably, casting one last contemplating glance at the stick he'd like to use on the inconsiderate bastard, and another foreboding glance in the direction Stan had gone. With a heavy sigh, he carefully climbed the metal steps.