Chapter Text
“Are you guys still naked?” Kyle yelled into the locker room. “Hurry up, it’s snowing!”
Kyle was standing with Butters on one side of the entryway to Snowy Peak High’s visiting team’s locker room. Tweek and Jimmy stood on the other. The two pairs had mostly avoided eye contact with each other, but Kyle glanced in Jimmy and Tweek’s direction to see if there would be any concessions on their side. He only received two scowls in return, Tweek’s particularly strong, so he rolled his eyes.
The four of them had experienced the football game from the stands. Jimmy’s arms were powerful from his crutches, but he didn’t have the mobility to play most team sports. Kyle, Butters, and Tweek, like many kids in Colorado, had grown up pretending to be on the Broncos. However, by the time they reached high school, it was clear their physiques weren’t ideal for the game. Kyle and Butters were wispy beanpoles, and Tweek was soft. Jimmy preferred weightlifting, Kyle preferred basketball, and Tweek and Butters preferred no sports at all, so they didn’t mind cheering from the sidelines. They often sat together, and had done so that day until things went south.
After various other players and the coach exited the locker room, Craig, Clyde, and Token finally marched out.
“Sorry, honey,” Craig said to Tweek. “Coach wanted to talk to us.” He added this last part while shooting daggers at Kyle and Butters as if it were their fault, even though they weren’t on the team. Kyle narrowed his eyes right on back.
As Craig and his friends headed to Token’s luxe SUV in the parking lot, Stan, Cartman, and Kenny finally emerged, dressed in their post-game attire of ratty tracksuits (Kenny’s with the addition of a pink tulle skirt).
“Hey, fellas,” Butters said, rubbing his gloved knuckles together, “I hope you’re not in too much trouble.”
“It’s bullshit,” Cartman snapped, leading the way to his mom’s old minivan. “We didn’t do anything wrong.”
“And we’re not in trouble,” Stan said, zipping up his puffy blue jacket against the cold. “Coach only lectured us to make it ‘fair.’ My dad’s an embarrassing asshole, but he wasn’t wrong today.”
Randy Marsh’s embarrassing assholism for the day had been a long, screamed speech:
“What are you going to do? What are you going to do? You can’t throw them out! You can’t throw them out! You can’t throw out your best quarterback and left tackle and you fucking know it! That’s my goddamn son and Jack fucking Tenorman’s son! You throw them out it’ll be your funeral! Oh, I can’t say that? I’m sorry, I thought this was America! Do you know who I am? I’m Randy Marsh of Tegridy Farms, asshole! I thought this was America!”
He’d been asked to leave.
The parking lot was almost empty of cars, filling up with snow instead. Spectators, parents, and most of the other players had already gone. As Cartman, Stan, and Kenny threw their gear into the van, Token’s SUV drove away, Craig flipping them off from a window.
“Asshole,” growled Cartman.
“It’s not like any of us were really on our best behavior today,” Kyle admitted, hauling the passenger door open.
“Oh, come on, Kyle,” Stan said, climbing into the van behind him. “You’re going to side with Craig and those guys?”
“No, because Craig and Clyde definitely started it. Fuck them both. But what you did wasn’t great.”
“What the hell was I supposed to do?” Stan snapped. “Just let him attack Cartman? And you jumped in from the stands.”
“I know, I know,” sighed Kyle, buckling his seat belt. “But honestly, what was Clyde going to achieve by shoving Cartman anyway? He might as well have shoved a brick wall. If you hadn’t done anything, Clyde would have at most hurt himself before being thrown out. Then you and Cartman would have still been in and the Cows would have won.”
Even the van sounded angry as it roared to life, the windshield wipers irritably tossing away the snow that had accumulated.
“Maybe, maybe not,” Stan said, “with how shitty Defense was today. And don’t act like you weren’t about to clock Craig after you jumped onto the field.”
Kyle did have to concede that he’d gone full Jersey on Craig. He’d been up in the other boy’s face shouting, angrily gesturing, and ready to start throwing punches before Kenny pulled him away.
“What he said pissed me off and I lost my cool," Kyle admitted. "But, I didn’t ultimately hit him, and I’m not the quarterback, or even a player. You’re the captain, Stan. You’re supposed to be setting a good example.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Stan said as Cartman drove the van out of Snowy Peak High's parking lot.
“I mean, you threw Clyde to the ground!” Kyle said.
“He pushed my left tackle!” Stan shouted for the umpteenth time that day, as if he were citing a well-known, legally enshrined loophole that allowed you to forcefully introduce someone to the ground.
“Aw, Stan, we know you didn’t mean it,” Butters said from his usual place in the furthest back row by himself. “Everyone’s emotions were running high, and then Craig got all bent out of shape because of Stan passing to Aaron so much, and then Clyde said some stuff he shouldn’t of, and Eric—”
“We know, Butters, we were there!” Cartman snapped.
His throat hurt, probably from screaming at the top of his lungs, “Oh, really Clyde? YOU’RE gonna talk to ME about absent parents? YOU’RE gonna bring that up? Didn’t think that one through, didja, buddy?”
“Look, let’s stop talking about this,” said Stan. “It’s bumming me out. Can we put on some real music, please?”
“Stan,” Cartman said, “I love you, man. You’re way more of a brother to me than my actual brother. And you threw down for me today, and I appreciate that, but we are absolutely never playing your death metal in my car.”
“Aw, come on,” Stan whined. “Let’s take a vote. Who actually wants to keep listening to Lady Gaga instead of metal?”
Kenny, Kyle, Butters, and Cartman all raised their hands.
Stan dramatically slumped against his seat. “Really, Butters and Kenny? You played in Crimson Dawn with me. Traitors.”
Cartman cranked up “You and I” in response. He, Kenny, and Butters were singing about Nebraska dive bars when his phone rang in the cupholder. “Ugh,” he said after glancing at the screen. “Kenny, hit ignore.”
“Jack?” Stan asked sympathetically.
“Yeah.”
Despite Cartman’s exceptionally morbid childhood fantasies about killing his uninvolved father, cooking him into chili, and then feeding him to his half-brother, in reality the Tenormans had simply moved to Denver, where Jack Tenorman had gotten a job as a sports commentator on the news. Cartman had no contact with the man until middle school, when his paternity had become public in just about the worst way possible: a furious, rambling social media post from Jack Tenorman’s wife announcing their impending divorce and listing his multiple affairs, including the time he “knocked up a PORNSTAR (classy!!!) while our son was in KINDERGARTEN.” It only took a few hours for internet sleuths to figure out what the adults of South Park had banded together to hide.
After that, Cartman had sporadic phone calls and visits with his father, whose interest picked up immensely when he started football, and even more so when he wound up also playing tackle, and being very good at it.
“Every single game,” Cartman complained. “He wants me to walk through every move I made so he can critique it.”
“Should I answer it and tell him to fuck off?” Kenny asked.
“Nah, just decline it. I’ll deal later.”
Kyle looked out at the growing storm. “It’s getting bad out here. Maybe Stan should drive.”
Cartman scoffed. “You don’t think I can drive in some fucking snow?”
“No, but Stan’s been driving the longest,” Kyle pointed out. “You’ve only had your license for four months. And you’re not actually supposed to be driving people under 21 yet anyway.”
“It’s not Cartman’s fault he’s the baby of the group,” Kenny said, pinching his friend’s round cheek.
Cartman batted his hand away. “I got my permit at 15. This isn’t my first rodeo. I’m probably the best driver here.”
Awhile later, they were trudging through the snow on the shoulder of the road, heading back in the direction they came.
“Shut up, Ginger.”
“I didn’t say anything, Secret Ginger.”
Cartman and Kyle had stopped with the “Jew” and “fatass” stuff years earlier as part of a never-discussed mutual agreement. Instead, they focused their personal insults on the next best thing: the fact that Kyle had red hair and Cartman carried the gene for red hair.
“I can hear your side-eye from here. It’s not my fault that there wasn’t a guardrail,” Cartman complained.
A bit earlier, several of their parents had called to tell them that due to the storm, highway patrol had closed a section of the road they needed to get home. Liane and the McCormicks had just made it through. The boys would need to find a place to spend the night. Because they had passed a rest stop with a motel about a half mile back, Cartman made an illegal three-point turn. Or tried to.
The minivan ended up going over the edge of the road, down an embankment, and into a snowdrift. There was no hope of retrieving it while the storm raged on. The football players gathered their gear, Kyle booked them a room at the Alpine Heights Inn on his phone, and they started walking.
“Stan, do you have your meds?” Kyle asked anxiously as they hiked through the snow, the wind whipping at their faces.
“Yeah, I always have two days’ worth in my bag.”
“This might be fun, fellas,” Butters said. “It’ll be like a slumber party.”
“Remember when our parents made us have a sleepover at Kenny’s so we’d all get chickenpox?” Cartman asked.
“No,” said Butters morosely. “I wasn’t there.”
“I remember your lame Urkel sleeping bag,” Kyle told Cartman.
“Hey, Urkel was cool!”
“That sleeping bag would probably give you major hipster cred now,” Stan said. “I wonder where my Terrance and Phillip sleeping bag is. I hope my mom didn’t get rid of it when we moved.”
“Fuck!” Kenny yelled suddenly.
He’d stepped in a deep patch of snow, and when he yanked his foot out, his boot—a hand-me-down from his brother, previously patched with duct tape—had ripped open at the sole. He held up his leg, showing his exposed sock.
“God damn it, Kenny,” sighed Cartman. “Does anyone have a plastic bag and some tape? We could put that over his boot.”
But nobody did. Kenny had his cleats from the game, but those wouldn’t keep the snow out. So he ended up riding piggyback on a 6’3” steed.
“I hate you, Kenny,” said Cartman.
“Shut up, horsie,” mocked Kenny through his orange scarf, his arms wrapped tight around his friend’s broad shoulders. “You should be proud to be the princess’s royal mount.”
“I will drop you and your tutu in the snow.”
A familiar flashy vehicle pulled up alongside them. The front passenger window rolled down to reveal Craig. It was the last group of people they wanted to see, but perhaps they would be able to get a lift to the motel.
“What are you idiots doing?” Craig asked.
“The van went off the road and got stuck,” said Cartman, “due to poor infrastructure. Honestly, I should sue.”
“Is anyone hurt?” called Token from the driver’s seat.
“No, but Kenny’s boot broke. We’re headed to the Alpine Heights Inn over there,” Kyle said, pointing to the rest stop in the distance.
“Oh,” said Craig. “We’re driving to a luxury chalet Token booked on AirBnB. Have fun, assholes.”
Craig flipped them off as the SUV pulled away, splattering the five with dirty slush.
“Screw you guys!” shouted Cartman.
“And screw that broken elevator!” Cartman added a while later when they had finally made it to the motel, checked in, and climbed three flights of stairs to reach their room.
Kyle had booked them the largest room that had been available, which was the “Friends and Family Deluxe Room.” It consisted of two queen beds, a sleeper sofa, and a sitting area with two chairs and a small table. The carpet was old and worn, bathroom tiles were chipped, and the air smelled stale. It was definitely not a luxury chalet, but after walking through a snowstorm along the side of a highway, it felt like heaven. Stan and Kyle claimed one bed, Cartman and Kenny the other, all immediately pulling the blankets around themselves and taking out their phones.
“You have the sofa,” Cartman said when Butters tried to join them.
“Don’t be an asshole,” Kenny said. “He can sleep there tonight and warm up with us now.”
“Fine.” Cartman scooted over to make room.
“Aw, thanks, fellas,” said Butters, joining the huddle. “My nose and toes and ears are frozen stiff.”
“Ok, everyone, proof of life pic,” said Kyle.
He put his phone camera in selfie mode and snapped a pic of him and Stan with the other three in the background. After sending it to all their parents (minus Jack) and ignoring the slew of replies from their moms (“<3 <3 <3” “Thank goodness our babies are safe!!!” “Our 5 handsome boys <3”) he posted it on his social media, tagging them all.
Didn’t make it home to South Park because of the storm, but we’re safe, he wrote as a caption.
“Oh, no,” Stan said, looking at his own phone.
“What?” asked Kyle.
“Some Snowy Peak kid filmed our fight and put it online.”
Cartman, Kenny, and Butters immediately left their bed for Stan and Kyle’s, gathering around to watch.
The video was taken from the stands, so very little of the dialogue could be understood. The gist of what had happened, however, was pretty clear. At that point in the game, the Park County High Cows had been slightly ahead, despite several big missteps from their Defense. It was Offense’s turn to mess up, though, as the Cows had just lost the ball. When the recording started, wide receiver Craig had already taken off his helmet and was yelling at Stan for never passing the ball to him. Stan and Cartman were angrily refuting this. Then Clyde and Token, both Defense, had gotten off the bench and come to back up their Offense friend. There was a lot of arguing back and forth when Cartman could heard shouting something mostly unintelligible (“Oh, really Clyde? YOU’RE gonna talk to ME about absent parents? YOU’RE gonna bring that up? Didn’t think that one through, didja, buddy?”), at which point Clyde rammed himself futilely against Cartman and was promptly tossed to the turf by Stan.
“Holy shit,” the person taking the video said. “That was Jack Tenorman’s son that guy hit, and the other guy ended him. Damn.”
After that, things really went to hell. Token—usually one of the most level-headed players—began what was basically a shove fight with Stan, with Cartman and Craig immediately joining in. Kyle and Tweek could be seen as they hurried toward the field, initially seeming to try and calm everyone down. However, Craig then yelled something (“Fuck off, you fat fuck and you depressed emo loser!”) which set Kyle off, and he jumped the fence and charged up into Craig’s face, spitting fire even though the other boy probably had at least 30 pounds of muscle on him.
“Holy shit,” the videographer said again, laughing as Kenny dragged Kyle away from Craig. “these Park County hicks don’t fuck around. Is every game like this? Damn.”
The video ended there.
Stan buried his face in his hands. Just because he felt his actions were justified didn't mean he wanted them all over the internet. “Great. The fact that that’s out there for every college recruiter is just super.”
“You were defending your friend,” Kenny said. “They’ll understand. Actually, Cartman’s your defense on the field, and you were defending him, so it’s like self-defense, which is legal.”
“It’s not like college football coaches aren’t used to some tussles,” said Cartman. “If they ask you about it, you pull a Kyle and go, ‘You know, I really learned something that day…blah, blah, blah, insert trite lesson here.’”
“Besides,” Kyle added, rolling his eyes at Cartman’s imitation of him, “who’s even going to see it?”
“Oh, hamburgers!” exclaimed Butters, “there’s an edit by Nathan going around.”
Nathan’s edited clip started with Clyde shoving Cartman, then went to slow motion once Stan retaliated, at which point The Lonely Island’s song “Threw It On The Ground” began to play as the throw was replayed over and over, Clyde repeatedly smashing into the snow-dusted field to the accompaniment of Andy Samberg’s vocals.
Cartman and Kenny practically died laughing while Stan burrowed under the cheap, scratchy motel blankets in embarrassment. He just hoped it wouldn't go viral.