Chapter Text
Cartman accepts he's evil; he never doubted it, never hid it behind a false mask of sympathy. He pretended to care about his friend's death to sell off fetuses. If that didn't scream "heartless!", then he didn't know what was. But Butters? Butters is as ugly as Eric, ugly inside, in a way only another crazy person would recognize.
Maybe it ran in the family. The entire Scotch family is crazy, his father was a pervert, his mother must be blind, or she pretended not to see the situation the family was in.
And Butters? He still tried to hide what he felt... He always agreed silently, kept what he felt to himself, having learned at eight that some things should be kept hidden, and certain lies should be told. Deep down, he harbored pent-up anger. So much anger that as a child he used to take it out dressed as Professor Chaos and participate in all of Eric's plans.
And it was strange, but he was never afraid to accept fighting for the wrong side.
He had his rotten side, buried deep in his heart, opened only by Eric.
And on that cold morning, amid the noise of the classroom's old air conditioning and pencils scraping against the paper, stood the substitute teacher. A young woman, but tired-looking. She stopped writing. The sound of chalk on the green board stopped when she heard the rustling of a bag of chips again.
"Eric, I've already asked three times, eating is at recess. If you keep going, you can go to Principal office—"
"Fuck it, I already go there almost every day anyway. If you want, I'll tell you said hi, you bitch," Eric says with a mouthful of Cheesy Poofs, an addiction since childhood.
Cartman had changed; he was tall, not as tall as Kyle, but certainly taller than most. He was still chubby, but not in a way that screamed obese like he was when he was a kid. Or at least that's what Butters thought . Burly, strong, with heavy hands, that always used to getting what it wants. Maybe it was Eric's destiny to wear glasses. Even after laser surgery or the transplant, he needed glasses again years later, but he always took them off when he could, using them only for reading or in class.
Butters watched him sitting a row away, watching the glasses rest on Eric's head as he spoke, spitting bran everywhere.
"Enough! Get out of the room now, Eric Cartman!" The woman sounded furious, slamming the eraser on the table, scattering chalk dust.
"Fuck you," he said, flipping the bird. "I can't eat when I'm hungry? What a shitty place we are. In a concentration camp? A dictatorship?"
The teacher looked horrified, the students already accustomed to Eric's words. The teacher's red face would be almost comical if it weren't for Cartman's actions.
"Enough... Please, someone get this kid out of here now!" Take him to the principal, the counselor, whatever the hell it is,” she says, looking at the students. Everyone looks away; no one wants this responsibility.
Kyle pretended to write. Stan didn't even try to pretend he wasn't interested, just poked his ear with his finger while Kenny chuckled in his parka. But someone stood up, a blond boy with a scar over his left eye and a shy, nervous look.
“I'll take him, Mrs. Abbot,” Butters says, his tone cracked by the changes of puberty. The teacher's gaze softens at the sight of the soft-looking boy. She nods as Eric leaves, and Butters follows. Their slow walk, the sound of their footsteps in the empty hallway.
“Damn, that teacher gets on my nerves,” Eric says, walking with long strides. It was always like that... as if walking ahead makes him superior.
"Eric, you should try not to get into trouble..." Butters says, trying to keep up.
"The worst they'll do is give me detention, so whatever, I'm not going to put up with that bitch disrespecting my authority!" He says, stopping in front of the counselor's office.
"Well, anyway—"
The counselor's door opened, and Counselor Mackey looked up in recognition upon seeing the young men.
"You guys again? Come in, and don't even think about starting a fight, m'kay?"