EranthyaeNoire: Hello, FanFiction community! It's been a while huh? I have no excuse other than after my computer crashed and I lost everything, I became terribly lazy. But I hope to redeem myself and my horrid laziness by presenting to you, the community, with a token of my affection; a new story. Within the time I've been away, I've taken writing classes in school and worked on the Literary Magazine. I hope that these experiences have improved my writing capabilities, and pleases you, the FanFiction Community. And now for the disclaimer:
I, EranthyaeNoire, have in no way, shape, or form ownership of South Park. The likes of which, including setting, characters, and any specific events mentioned in this fanfiction belong to the likes of Matt Stone and Trey Parker. I, personally, own only this fanfiction and any OCs, or Original Characters, that may take part in this fanfiction. Once again, I repeat that I do not own South Park.
Series: South Park
Rating: M for Mature. Such reasons include language, dark and/or suggestive themes, violence/gore, character death, and adult-like scenarios/concepts. Reader's discretion is advised.
Pairing: DamienxPip
Phillip 'Pip' Pirrup never thought that he would ever see the Anti-Christ for a second time. After he tossed their friendship aside and lit Pip on fire at Eric Cartman's birthday party, all for the sake of acceptance from the other boys, Damien seemed to have disappeared from South Park.
At first he hoped that Damien would come back. He didn't need an apology from him, he didn't even want it. He could forgive, he could try to forget. He wanted to be able to have someone to talk to at lunch, spend time with on the playground, or even (dare he be fortunate enough) have over at his house one day. But Damien never came back.
Within a week after he realized that Damien would not ever come back to South Park, Pip felt a maelstrom of emotions to this realization.
He felt resentful, for his only friend up and left him within such a short time of being together.
He felt melancholic, for being abandoned and left with all these unkind folk who looked down on him for his nationality, even if they got it wrong almost all of the time.
He felt lonesome, for there was no one to play with him at recess or share lunch with in the cafeteria.
And he felt a hate. Not towards Damien, no, but towards himself. He could not deny that in the deepest, darkest parts of his heart and soul he could not wonder that, had maybe he been a better friend toward Damien, maybe he wouldn't have left. Maybe, just maybe, it was his fault Damien left.
In time these emotions of his were locked away and forgotten, and Pip went on with his normal life. He did his homework, helped with his chores; he even got the South Park Elementary dodge ball team all the way to the world finals against China and won. But this accomplishment went unnoticed.
He had moved on from Damien, Son of Satan and Anti-Christ. And he fancied himself to be doing just fine. And then it all came crashing down into a million miniscule pieces, like a shattered mirror that had fallen from its place.
It was a Tuesday; in the second term of fourth grade. It was recess, and the other children had grown tired of spitting on his face and aiming for his eyes. Today they had grown bored of that activity rather early. And usually, when they have left Pip by himself to go play with others elsewhere, Pip would either on walks around the playground, or go and sit by the brick fence and watch the cars go by. Which ever one that would keep him out of the way of the other children better.
He wiped the spit from his face and hair with his sleeve, and then wiped the sleeve along the side of his jacket and finally straightened his newsboy cap. He looked around the playground.
He saw a group of girls on the swing set, a large group of boys and girls playing a game of freeze tag in the open area behind the playground, Stan Marsh and his friends arguing yet again with Craig Tucker and his friends, Bebe Stevens and Wendy Testaburger chatting away on the stairs, Damien standing just beyond the brick fence-
What?
He took a second glance towards the brick fence, making sure to pay attention this time. There was nothing, No Damien to be seen anywhere. Aside from a rusty-red Sudan driving by, nothing was behind the brick fence.
Pip stood there dumbfounded. Did he really see Damien, or was it no more than a trick of his imagination? He assumed the latter of the two, as he couldn't see the darkly-clad Anti-Christ anywhere. His mind registered the sound of the bell ringing, breaking his thoughts away from whether or not he had actually seen Damien.
Recess was over. Now it was time for him to get back to class. He walked toward the school, ascended the stairs and roamed the halls. He made no effort to go towards his locker or make a trip to the bathroom. He went straight to Mr. Garrison's room, straight to his desk, sat down and stared.
After recess, Mr. Garrison's class had reading. And in Mr. Garrison's class he always had the class read books far above their grade level. He had them read The Old Man and the Sea and The Catcher in the Rye earlier in the year. Recently he had the class reading a novel by C.S. Lewis. Till We Have Faces, a parody of an old Greek myth. For The most part, Pip enjoyed the book greatly. The plot was captivating and he could find some sympathies towards the main character. And he usually had no trouble paying attention in class.
But the image of what could have been Damien beyond the brick fence was imprinted in his mind. Did he really see Damien, or was it a figment of his imagination? And if it was nothing more than a figment of his imagination, why would he be imagining such things now after coping for so long? And, in the case that it wasn't a figment of his imagination, and Damien really did come back, why now after all this time? And most of all, why would he not try to make contact with Pip? They were friends, right? One usually tries to make contact with a friend after not seeing them for a long time, right?
"Pip! For the love of God, pay attention, you European piece of crap!" The sound of these angry words being directed towards him brought him out of the depths of his thoughts and back to the classroom. He recognized faces decorated with looks of annoyance and disdain. The back of his neck and the tips of his ears felt hot with embarrassment.
"I-I'm sorry, Mr. Garrison." he stammered, "I'm not feeling all too well today. May I please go to the Nurse's office?" He lied. He really wasn't feeling sick at all. He was as healthy as healthy could be. But a quick excuse to leave class would do them all good. He could get his thoughts together and overcome the embarrassment, and the class could overcome the brief annoyance they felt towards him. A win-win situation, Pip thought.
And, fortunately for him, Mr. Garrison seemed to think the same way. Or he simply agreed to having him out of his class. It was probably the latter of the two, but Pip could always think that it could possibly be the former. He rose from his desk and walked up to Mr. Garrison's desk, taking the hall pass from the teacher and making his way out of the room.
It wasn't two steps away from the almost closed door when he heard from beyond said door, "Damn Frenchie."
He felt his blood boil. His hands clenched, teeth gritted, body going stiff with oncoming blind rage. It was a bit strange, honestly. He could take punches and spit and any other kind of abuse they could throw at him. He could withstand the ignorance and almost all the name calling, with the exception of that one word.
Frenchie.
He wasn't French. He hated the French. And to be associated with them made something deep inside the usually docile, forgiving Pip snap. He looked around, and grabbed the first thing he could get his hands on. This time it was a trash can. Within his fit of rage he picked it up and threw it across the hall.
He breathed deep, trying to maintain some gentlemanly composure in the midst of this sudden outburst of rage. Pip forced himself to momentarily calm down, and realized just what he had done. He had made a terrible mess in this small outburst. Assortments of trash had been strewn about the hallway, with the trash can at the end of it with the top removed from the lower half.
It would be horribly unfortunate if someone saw this. So, naturally, Pip stooped down to the floor and began picking up the trash. He had better hurry before someone saw this mess and figured out just what he had done. This effort, unfortunately for Pip, was in vain.
He could hear the distinct sound of slow, loud clapping from behind. Someone saw what he had done. Oh dear, he was for sure going to be in trouble. He looked over his shoulder, ready to apologize for his behavior and the mess that he had made, and to reassure that he was going to clean it all up-
But there was no one there.
He knew he heard the sound of slow clapping. It nearly gave him a heart attack in the process. But there was no one. No one and nothing but Pip and his mess. He sat there for a moment, staring into the depths of the hallways, searching for some other sign of life aside from himself. First he imagined Damien from beyond the brick fence. Now he was imagining some unknown person applauding a destructive act of suppressed rage.
Goodness, was this what madness was like? It wasn't the least bit pleasant. In fact, Pip found it to be a tad bit nerve-racking. He took in his breath and exhaled slowly, and turned back to clean up his mess. Once the trash was back in the trash can, and said trash can back upright in its correct place with the top reconnected with its bottom half, Pip made his way down to the nurse's office.
Maybe there really was something wrong with him today.
He made an effort to reach the nurse's office as quick as he could. Upon his arrival, he noticed the nurse sitting in her chair, legs-crossed, reading the latest issue of Cosmopolitan and shaking a bottle of water. There was a box of weight-loss powder mix on the desk next to her. She glanced up from her magazine and briefly looked at Pip, eyes glazed over with apathy and boredom. She laid down her magazine and motioned her hand in a "come here" fashion. And, like so, Pip came to her.
"What's wrong with you?" she said halfheartedly.
"I haven't been feeling all that well today, ma'am." he said. He wondered if he should have told her about the hallucinations. Mr. Mackey was probably more suited for such things, but it wouldn't hurt to ask for a medical professional's input before concerning that of a psychological professional. Just as he was about to speak up, the nurse rose up from her seat and grabbed hold of an electronic thermometer and placed it in Pip's mouth. She scowled.
"Damn it, the batteries died." she muttered under her breath, albeit unsuccessfully. She shifted through the drawers of the desk, and scowled again. "And no working batteries, just my damn luck. You stay here and sit down. I'm going to make a trip to the office and get some new batteries. Sit still and don't touch anything."
"Yes ma'am." Pip answered obediently. The nurse left, and Pip was once again by himself. He took a look around, trying to pass the time quickly. There were multiple posters promoting exercise and eating healthy, the various systems of the human body and how to prevent one from getting sick. There was an assortment of bottles and boxes, filled with many things and unidentifiable liquids, all which decorated the counters next to the Nurse's desk. The floor was a dull brown, almost gray, and it matched the ceiling up above. The walls were a beige-like color, slightly discolored in some places. There was a distinct smell of rubbing alcohol; it stung his nostrils and made staying in the room a tad unbearable. It felt a bit hot in the small room, and seemed to have been getting warmer and warmer.
It was quiet. The kind of quiet that lingered in the room, filled up your ears and reminded you of just how alone you were. Pip usually didn't mind. He tended to enjoy peace and quiet. He found it comforting in a way. In still silence he could not be rejected or accused, mocked or ridiculed, ostracized or revolted. Silence accepted all and let it be. But this, this kind of silence made even him the least bit nervous. It rang in his ears and brought a bout of uneasiness. He felt fundamentally on edge; he fidgeted, glanced about, played with the cuffs of his jacket and kicked his feet to and fro.
In this silence, Pip couldn't shake the feeling of, well, being watched. It could have just been the paranoia from earlier today. He was hoping it was just that, and that it would mull over soon. He glanced out the window on the door, hoping to buy some time by monitoring anything that may have happened outside of the room.
There was nothing.
There was still nothing. Wait, the faint sound of upcoming footsteps. The nurse was probably coming back with new batteries for the electronic thermometer. They came closer and closer, and as they came closer, Pip noticed they sounded nothing like the high heels the Nurse was wearing. They scuffled and sounded mostly firm. Flat shoes, most likely. So it wasn't the nurse, but rather a student or another member of the faculty. He glanced again.
The brisk view of jet black hair and a puckish, almost dark smile caught his eye, and then, as quickly as it came, it was gone. He had seen a similar smile once before, on the face of a friend who had been gone for some time now. It was that same friend he had been imagining all day. Damien.
He couldn't really be back, could he?
His thoughts were short lived, and he nearly jumped out of his own skin, as the Nurse came back into the room. She shut the door with a distinct slam, picked the thermometer off the desk and opened the cartridge in the back. She took out the old batteries, threw them away in the trash, and put in the new ones. She pressed a button and then turned back to Pip.
"Open up," she said briskly, and likewise Pip obliged. He waited for a moment with the thermometer under his tongue before the thermometer let out an elongated beep. The Nurse took the thermometer from Pip's mouth and looked at it. "You've got a fever, it would seem. Go ahead and go home. I don't want any of your European germs getting around to the rest of the kids."
"Yes ma'am." Pip answered, before getting up.
"Name please." she said, pen and early release permission slip in hand.
"Phillip Pirrup, ma'am. But everyone calls me Pip because they hate me." he replied.
"Pip Pirrup, got it," she muttered, tearing the piece of paper out and handing it to Pip, "Now go on home." Pip thanked her for her time and assistance, and then left. He made his way back to the classroom and gave the slip to Mr. Garrison. Mr. Garrison, seemingly glad to have the boy leave his class for the rest of the day, gave Pip his assignments, let him collect his things and exit the class.
Pip could hear the sounds of exasperated sighs of relief when he left the classroom. And he couldn't help but feel a little bit hurt. He made his way through the halls, and that feeling of hurt welled up inside. It was times like this Pip was glad he lived within walking distance to school; he could walk it out until he was home and then let it go without having to worry about any of his classmates seeing a sign of weakness.
That was last of what he needed; letting the rest of South Park Elementary know that there was something inside Pip aside from his kind, forgiving nature and that bottled rage he locked away. If they could see that he could feel hurt and even shed the tiniest of tears, it would all the more give them the incentive to continue. For children at this age are cruel and unforgiving creatures, who will stop at nothing to find ways to entertain themselves. Even if the means include berating and tearing down one another. So Pip walked fast. He walked fast to the office, where he called his foster mother to tell her that he wasn't feeling well and was going home and to sign himself out, he walked fast through the doors and to the sidewalk, and he walked fast across the street to trek two blocks down and one block across to his house. He stared at his feet, making his way home swiftly, albeit blindly.
And, had Pip not been staring at his feet, he would have known about the upcoming figure walking towards him. He would have known to have stepped aside to avoid contact. But, alas, he didn't and the two of them brushed against each other, shoulder against shoulder. Pip looked up and turned around, ready to apologize for bumping into the other, but once he saw who it was his words died in his throat.
Damien. There and in the flesh. There was no doubt about it. There before him was the Anti-Christ, clad in his trademark black clothes and hands in his pockets, staring back at Pip with nonchalant eyes. They seemed to go right through him, and Pip could help but feel the least bit disturbed.
"Hello, Pip." he said. Pip's mind was blank. He couldn't think of anything to say, much less grasp the idea that Damien was standing there talking to him after being away for so long. "Not going to talk to me? I'm almost hurt. Especially sense I went through all that trouble of getting you out of school just to talk to you. Do you know how tiresome and irritating to affect the health of a perfectly healthy person? Especially for something as minor as a high temperature?" There was a lingering mock in the way he spoke. He probably knew Pip was stunned to see him after all this time, and was poking fun at the fact for the sake of his own amusement. Such was the Anti-Christ, one could assume. "Sit down. I want to talk to you about something before we both go our separate ways."
They both sat on a bus bench. Pip had laid his book bag by his feet, sitting upright with his hands on his knees. His joints were almost stiff, his back straight and his mind still dazed. Damien, however, was a picture of relaxation. He sat back, one of his legs crossed over the other in a lax manner, and arms resting on the back of the bench. His head lay back, staring up at the cloudy skies overhead with that devilish smirk and half-lidded eyes.
"Pip, it is important that you listen to what I say. Am I understood?" Pip nodded. "Good. Now, Pip, what you could call a long-upheld deal between two feuding parties has been broken, and the consequences may be quite treacherous. Very soon a bunch of shady characters are going to be coming to South Park. They could already be here, I don't know. But whatever you do, you don't trust them, you don't listen to them, you don't believe anything they say. I want you to be my eyes and ears for South Park, okay? If you meet anyone who mentions the name Micah to you, you will inform me immediately."
"If you don't mind me asking, why?" Pip finally managed to speak out, although faintly. His voice felt like it was going away.
"You don't need to know all the details, but let's just say they, especially Micah, have been causing some trouble for me recently. But seriously, Pip, if you ever do begin to believe what they say, something terrible may happen."
Pip was scared. Damien was warning him of something awful, and he even seemed a bit scared himself. Pip could hear it in the way he spoke. And the idea of Damien, the Anti-Christ, being scared about something, wasn't the least bit comforting.
"W-What is it that could happen?" he asked. Damien turned his head from the sky toward Pip, his piercing gaze making Pip all the more frightened.
"As much as I would love it to be, South Park could very well be destroyed, and in the process many people in South Park will die. You will be one of those people who will die, Pip."
And with that said, within the time it would have taken for one to blink, Damien vanished, leaving Pip in the depths of fear, frozen to the bus bench.
So, how's that for a first start? Rate, review, all that Jazz. I'll try to get chapter two up soon.