When The Hurricanes Came

Chapter One

By: Jondy Macmillan

A/N: Here, have some k squared.

Lights black; heads bang. You're my drug, we live it. You're drunk, you need it. Real love, I'll give it. So we're bound to linger on. We drink the fatal drop. Then love until we bleed. Then fall apart in parts. You wasted your time on my heart, you've burned. And if bridges gotta fall, then you'll fall too.

-Until We Bleed by Kleerup ft. Lykke Li-

Life is funny. Life is fucking hilarious.

When it wants to be.

Let me tell you a story.

In my mind's eye, I'm imagining myself decked out like Will Smith in the Fresh Prince of Bel Air. I'm rockin' the neon tee and the baggy jeans and the baseball cap tilted at the funkiest angle; man, in my mind's eye, I'm the hottest shit this town has ever seen. This is a story all about how my life got twisted, turned upside down.

Except I'm not Will Smith, South Park isn't Bel Air, and I'm convinced that the amount of faggotry in this thing would never make it past TV censors.

Still, man, it's an unfuckingbelievable story. It's got drama, it's got action, and it's even got a romantic kiss sequence, or two. If you'd told me a year ago that I'd be a part of something like this, I would have told you to stick it where the sun don't shine, if you catch my drift.

The place it started at, if you'll fucking believe it, is the middle of the woods. Okay, that's not quite right. I guess since the joint kind of served as a catalyst for all heaven and hell raining down on my head, I should give it a proper description. Here goes; everything really began in a tiny little house of logs on the top of a mountain in the one place that always made me feel like king of the world.

Let me elaborate. When you drive up the mountains to Jimbo Kern's cabin, it's like reality just falls away. Everything gets eerily dark on the winding roads, but the lights of South Park twinkle below like Christmas bulbs strung out across the landscape. Between the shadows of skeletal trees, the lights are like a breadcrumb path reminding me that home's only a little ways away.

Sometimes I'd sit on Jimbo's porch and wish to God that I could extinguish all those tiny lights. Of course, I went up there to forget all about home.

It was kind of a yearly tradition of my friends'; no matter how much we'd drifted apart through the seasons, right before the New Year rolled in, we'd meet up at Jimbo's cabin. At first we did it so we could have somewhere to fool around during college, outside the watchful eyes of our suddenly too-clingy parents. They all suffered empty-nest syndrome like whoa.

Then, once academia came to an end, it became something more. It turned into a way to get to know each other once more. We'd all drifted apart that fucking much.

Of course, the drift was kind of on purpose.

I have to backtrack here. I have to tell you about myself, and my three friends. These guys and I have been Siamese quadruplets since birth. I don't think any of us could remember a time the others didn't exist. The best part about it is that our closeness is enforced by everyone we know; our parents, our siblings, our other friends, and even random strangers in town.

Why is that the best thing?

Ha! 'Cause none of us even like each other that much, now.

I'll get to that shit though. Introduction time.

First we have Kyle.

He gets to be first, because he's first in everything. He was the captain of our high school b-ball team, he was the motherfucking valedictorian, and it doesn't hurt that he's not half bad looking.

Kyle, hell. There's more to say about him than I could stick in one of those fancy schmancy college psych books. He went through university on an acid trip, I swear. He outfoxed us all; while we were rooting for him to graduate summa cum laude, he turned into an artsy fartsy type. You know, ganja and Pink Floyd and a deep love of incense? It shocked the fuck out of all of us, because Kyle had always been the straitlaced one- if you didn't get that from my whole first in everything spiel. He was the one most likely to go Wall Street.

Anyway, he did end up getting his shit together real quick the second he figured out his semesters were coming to a close and his parents were going to leave him standing with all those tuition checks. Post college he was back to being the future nine to fiver we always thought he would be, only some of the incense wafts off his suit every now and then.

He ditched the lifestyle, but he didn't ditch his fucking commune; if that's what you want to call it. It's an apartment he shared with some kids we went to high school with, real like minded individuals.

If I were him I wouldn't have come back to South Park at all, but then he couldn't suckle off mommy's tit for free handouts and home cooked meals.

Truth be told, I never liked Kyle much. He's kind of a douche.

Second is Stan. Stan's one of those ridiculously awesome people; you know, one of the rarest breed. A generally good guy, nice to everybody, but only actually hands out his attention to one or two chosen few. Kyle used to be chosen.

Man, he was like the one dude in all the world that could pull Stan out of his head long enough to actually have some fuckin' fun.

The operative word here? Was.

Somewhere around the time Kyle decided to go through his artistic-hippie phase in college, he and Stan split ways.

This might be because Stan matured faster. He'd done his drink and smoke and fuck thing back in high school, when he was playing hockey and hoping for a shot at the big leagues. Once he blew out his knee 'round our junior year, it became obvious he was going to have to do something different with his life. Problem was, he struggled with what.

Still, he walked through fire and survived, man. Now he'd turned into- get this, a kindergarten teacher. Every day from eight to three, he was playing babysitter to a horde of snot nosed brats. Weirdest thing was, he likes it.

I couldn't be around that many children. Swear, it gives me hives just thinking about it.

Anyway, salary man versus sweetheart teacher; sounds like some romantic movie in the making. Played out like that too. Stan couldn't stand being in the same room with Kyle and his vulgarity but meanwhile, Kyle developed this huge boner for his ex best friend.

I'll get back to that in a second. Let's talk about me.

It's my favorite subject.

I went to state school and got a degree in liberal arts, which is kind of like saying I got a degree in partying like a frat boy. Don't mean shit to all those prospective employers. So right at the beginning of our story? Yeah, I was working at the Park County mall. It's kind of like hell, if hell smelled vaguely of Cinnabun and was populated by tiny, screaming children and people gone off their bi-polar meds. Twenty four seven, man.

Sometimes I thought about wandering into a dark nightclub where some famous guy was singing. He'd meet my eyes across the room and realize I was the one for-

Wait. Unbelievable. You guys aren't actually falling for this crock, are you?

Let me set that record straight right now; I'm male.

I may be gay, but I'm not a fuckin' pansy. Even back before this all started, I wasn't lying in wait like some damsel in distress for my knight in shining whatever. Ideally, the only thing that would've been shining when my future guy got to me was my cock, after he spitshi- oh, hey.

Guess I'm getting slight graphic here, but then I am Kenny McCormick. The only rating I have is NC-17.

And I am gay. I just want to say that right now. Otherwise you might start wondering when I get to describing this last fucker.

His name's Cartman. Eric Cartman.

And at the beginning of our story, back at the cabin, I was head over heels in love with him.

So do you want to take a gander at how I went from that to where I am right this damn second?

Oh wait, you don't know where I am. Guess what?

I'm going to tell you how this ends right now.

I'm staring down the barrel of a gun, and for the first time in my life, I feel complete.

A/N: Um, okay, explanation time. This fic is based off a concept I've been throwing around in my head for a few weeks. It is going to be multi-chaptered, but very short in comparison to everything else I'm doing. It IS k squared. There are going to be mentions of Kenny/Cartman (is there a name for that?) and style, but this WILL end k squared. And I'm pretty sure the guys are going to be consistent d-bags throughout, so I wouldn't go looking for this to get deep. There will be prolific cursing, there will be gayness, and there will probably be slight messing up of tenses, since I'm not used to switching back and forth. I'm pretty sure I already messed that up in this chapter. Anyway, reviews are appreciated- they get me to update and, as an added bonus, make me happy. So, uh, pretty please?