Kenny was convinced Stan had a super power. He had been since the days of the Coon and Mysterion and Professor Chaos. But, he'd never known what it could possibly be... Just that there had to be a reason he was so fucking zen all the time. When interrogated, Stan claimed he was calm to offset his best friend's fiery temper. Kenny knew better.

The first hint at what his true power was came in sixth grade. It had been Eric's fault, honestly. Everybody knows you don't push Kyle during finals week or benchmark week. But no, Eric just had to keep going at the poor stressed-out-of-his mind redhead facing his very, very first finals. Eric just had to make that one last jab that made Kyle succumb to tears, crumpling to the ground and clutching his head in his hands.

Kenny felt bad, but really, he was glad it happened.

Eric had looked victorious for all of three seconds. Finally, after almost seven years, he'd made Kyle Broflovski cry. But, then, you could see it click. He didn't make Kyle cry. Stress made Kyle cry. And really, what sort of fucked-up asshole wants to hear Kyle cry? It sucks all the happiness out of the room.

Stan-god bless his soul, Kenny was too shocked to do anything-calmly set down his backpack, walked casually over to Eric, and stood there staring at him with a hard look in his eyes. Nobody could remember a time Stan had punched anybody, but there it was. So fast Eric didn't even see it, just felt the whiplash and the sharp spike of pain in his cheek, felt himself fall over backwards, watched Stan shake his fist out with a grimace as he wandered over to where his best friend was reciting the periodic table of elements in a futile effort to calm himself. Stanley Marsh punched Eric Cartman in the face.

Kenny scurried over to stand next to the obviously still pissed off sixth grader, a little weary of those fists making contact with his face next. He glanced over worriedly at Eric, who hadn't moved, and wondered how someone Stan's size (average sixth grader) could knock down someone Eric's size (average highschooler). Stan sighed, nudging Kyle with his foot and getting very little reaction, and, seemingly resigning himself to deal with the redhead's current fragile mental state, bent over to pick him up with absolutely no effort.

Kenny gaped. Kyle was the second largest kid in the group, at least two inches taller than Kenny, who was taller than Stan. (The coming years would reveal that Kyle stopped growing that year at a humiliating five foot one) And Stan just... Picked him up. Like he was nothing. Effortlessly shifting him about in his arms, he positioned the zoned-out redhead in his arms bridal style, then proceeded to pick up both his and Kyle's backpacks and start walking home, leaving Kenny to stare after them in shock for a moment before remembering that Eric still hadn't moved.

The next day, it was revealed that Stan actually broke his jaw.

Oh, yes. Kenny was convinced.


Kenny was always trying to get Stan to realize or at least show him the extent of his powers. But he never, ever did anything that required his strength, unless it involved Kyle, and even then it was just small enough to be considered a burst of strength.

Puberty, over the next couple years, was good to him. Strong legs almost a mile long supported his heavy-set torso and obviously powerful arms. He wasn't exactly ripped (much to the comic-book nerd deep within Kenny's heart's disappointment) but he was all-muscle and scarily strong, but only if you paid very close attention.

Because, of all things, Stan was a peace-loving, pacifistic hippie. He was even kicked off the football team because he was afraid to tackle the opposing teams.

As Stan grew, Kenny noted, so did his fear of fragile things. Probably for fear of breaking something, Stan tried to stick to sturdy people and objects, with the sole exception of itty-bitty, easily-bruised, nerdy Kyle Broflovski.

Eventually Kenny realized, as he watched Stan pick his little Super-Best Friend up with two careful, firm hands on his hips (like one might an infant), that Stan has no reason to use his strength except for when it came to his best friend. Therefore, the only way to unearth Stan's true powers is to threaten Kyle.

The question is, how could Kenny go about this without getting his head ripped off?


Kyle sighed, stepping out of the dark, silent Library with a tired, content smile as he pressed the beat-up copies of The Fellowship of the Ring and a collection of Shakespeare's work closer to his frail chest. Glancing up and down the silent, dark streets, he shuddered. He loved working in the library, yes, but he didn't like taking the last shift. Stan was the only one who knew he harbored a severe phobia of the dark (nyctophobia), though the jock was always quick to point out when it came up in conversation that he wasn't afraid of the dark, but rather the things in the dark, which led to an argument about whether or not there were things in the dark.

Kyle shook his head, locking up swiftly and beginning to sing Rise Against's Swing Life Away, a habit he picked up years ago when his dad started making him take out the trash at night. That way he couldn't hear the imagined footsteps... Or the real ones, as an unfortunate side effect.


Kenny blushed a little, uncomfortable with the way his Mysterion costume clung to his skin. It wasn't exactly constricting, no, but it was more than a little humiliating. He felt like a stalker, following his beloved best friend who was walking through the streets perfectly innocently, wearing his Library uniform (jeans and a dark blue button down that read South Park City Library on the right breast pocket), clutching his books to his chest and singing. Seriously, could he make this any more difficult on Kenny?

"I'll show you mine, if you show me yours first. We'll compare scars, I'll tell you who's is worse. Let's unwrite these pages and replace them with our own words..." Oh jeez. He's practically skipping. How do you kidnap somebody who's singing and bouncing and just trying to go home? Especially when they're Kyle.

Please, Kenny thought desperately, Don't cry.

The costumed blond's footsteps were absolutely silent as he crept up behind the oblivious librarian. Kenny paused, making sure his voice was Mysterion's, and placed his hands on the redhead's hips familiarly. Kyle froze in place, his breath catching. "Please." Mysterion rumbled, feeling a smirk rise to his face naturally as he fell into character. "Don't scream."


"Please... Don't scream." That voice seemed awful familiar, Kyle thought as he fell still and compliant and scared. Looking down at the gloved hands gripping his hips, he murmured in confusion, "Mysterion?"

"Hush, Kyle." The hands moved away from his hips to clasp over his eyes, meticulously and carefully tying a blind fold around his head, chuckling as he tied a bow in the back like a shoe-lace. Kyle shuddered, closing his eyes against the cloth and letting the flashback to his childhood take the books from his arms. He stayed obediently silent, harboring some amount of trust in the long forgotten hero, as he tied his wrists together behind his back.

"What're you-"

"Quiet." his voice was a little more commanding now, and Kyle decided to keep his questions to himself, allowing Mysterion to lead him forcefully away.

While Kyle was used to weird things going on in South Park, it was still a bit unnerving to be the one in distress-he couldn't remember the last time he'd been held hostage. Wait, was he being held hostage?


Kyle tried to keep track of where they were-honest, he did, but between Mysterion's purposeful misleadings and periodically picking him up and going in an undetermined direction, he'd completely lost his sense of direction by the time he felt his weight shifted from both arms to just one and heard the creak of an opening door.

This new place smelled musty and vaguely of oranges, for some odd reason. It was cold and the air settled on his skin heavily and almost stickily, as though it were humid. Mysterion hummed a little as he set Kyle down and began to shuffle about with a firm, "Stay put."

He listened to the long-forgotten hero bustle about, wondering what could have possibly warranted his return and why he was needed within his grasp. Heck, was Mysterion even still a hero? Was he the same person from before?

Experimentally, Kyle stepped back subtly towards where he figured the door should be, and the shuffling halted. A heavy silence filled the room, and, with a disapproving scowl, Kyle stepped back into his original position. The noise restarted. He tried again with the same results and sighed, ranting silently about paranoid batman wannabes.

"So..." the redhead drawled as he listened to the hooded man approach him once more. "What's going on?"

Mysterion barked out a laugh, ghosting gloved fingertips over his face and making him shiver. "Nothing to worry yourself over, sweetheart." he assured me. An angry blush burned the redhead's face as he half-glared, half-pouted at his assailant.

"Don't call me that." he muttered, shifting his weight nervously as his teeth began to chatter lightly. Damn it was cold. "What do you need me for?" he demanded, a scowl set firmly in place. "What is this all about?"

"You're bait." he informed the hostage bluntly. Kyle jumped a bit, having not expected an answer, causing the hero to chuckle a little before continuing, "This is about your little friends, Broflovski. And what they're capable of."

"... Failing English?" he asked sarcastically. Mysterion grimaced privately, remembering the test he had in said class Monday. "No." he snarled dangerously in the teen's ear, making him shudder in fear, "This is about the power they hold."

Kyle sighed long-sufferingly. "You mean Ken? I wouldn't call having tea with Satan every other week power, dude..."

Mysterion snorted in surprise. "Nevermind it, kid." he shook his head slightly, grabbing the teen by the arm and dragging him over to the pure steel trap door sitting open in the corner of the room.

"Wait." Kyle pled nervously, stumbling blindly to keep up, "What're you gonna do with me?"

Seeing his brilliant friend's fear, Kenny couldn't help but take advantage a bit. "I was thinking about raping you." he replied conversationally, inwardly laughing at the redhead's squeak.

"What?" he demanded, startled and pissed off. Mysterion laughed, but it cut off abruptly.

"Actually," he mused, "My goal is to piss the subject off..."

Halting his movement and jerking the silently panicking victim to a stop, the hero-villain?-slid a gloved hand into his hair, tightening his hold into a fist and gently tugging sideways to expose his neck. "Stay still." he commanded gruffly, making the redhead shiver anxiously, before pressing his lips to the vulnerable skin of the librarian's neck.

Both of them froze for a second. Kyle because his brain had quite inconveniently taken a leave of absence, and Mysterion because he fully expected to be murdered on the spot. When nothing happened, however, the long forgotten hero slowly parted his lips, nipping slightly at the skin there and pulling it into his mouth. Kyle gasped quietly as the stranger sucked strongly on his neck, staring into the dark cloth of his blindfold in shock.

After several agonizingly long moments, the hero let the skin go with a soft pop and leaned back to admire the ridiculously deep, obvious bruise he'd left on the side of the redhead's pale neck.

"Stairs." the quite satisfied pervert warned cheerfully as he carefully steered the shell-shocked teen towards the trap door.

Kyle sputtered angrily and tripped a little, but ultimately just fell into a frightened silence and allowed himself to be steered deeper into what seemed to be an over securitied labyrinth. As they passed through each door, Mysterion cheerfully announced what it was made off. "Solid iron. Nickel. I have no fucking clue but it looks tough. More iron, four inches thick. Iron bars this time. Damn, makes you wonder what was originally stored down here... Ah, finally, the crown jewel. Double-reinforced stainless steel. Completely seals the room up. Impressive, eh?"

The violated and frankly pissed off teen was shoved unceremoniously into the room. He yelped, falling to the floor, much to the hero/villain's amusement.

"Alright, hate to leave you hanging, Brof, but I've gotta go reel in the bad guys. The good guys. Fuck, I don't even know. The other guys, I guess. You've got about two hours of air in here if you breathe normally, so hang tight and don't panic, because I don't know when you'll be getting out of here."

And so begins the rise of super heroes... And villains, of course.


So anyway, I'd like to apologize for my inability to focus on one thing or another. I'm very easily distracted, and I have trouble focusing. And writer's block is almost a continuous thing-it really, seriously sucks.

I wrote this a while back-at the same time The McBroflarsh Residence was written.

I WOULD LIKE TO CLARIFY SOMETHING. Everything will get written and finished, I swear, it just might be a while. Please keep in mind that I am a thirteen year old kid, with friends and family and a boyfriend. In other words, a life. As much as I would love to spend more time on this, I just can't.

No hard feelings, right?