Through the Cracks

"Hey, kid! Are you crazy?" shouted Bud, leaning out the window. Mysterion ignored the yells, and he ignored the icy wind that buffeted him this way and that as he slowly scaled the bricks on the side of the house. Clinging to Mysterion was Butters, trying his best to stay still in the face of shock and terror. His soft blue robe hung loosely from his shoulders, doing precious little to shield him from the frigid mountain night. Bud made a grab for Mysterion's cape, but missed as the boys rose out of reach. Bud fell forward onto the windowsill, gashed again with the broken glass. "Get back in here!" he grunted.

He sounds pretty darn mad. Butters believed he was saying this out loud, but his teeth were chattering so hard that his mouth wouldn't work. Mysterion growled and grabbed at the edge of the roof, which was covered with a sheet of ice, and his hand slipped. His friend squeezed tighter for warmth, for fear of falling, and because several large icicles hung dangerously close to his face.

"Butters," Mysterion commanded, "Get me one of those icicles."

"T-t-t-t-t-t…"

"Do it!" Mysterion looked down to see Bud still staring up at them the way a cat stares at baby birds on the edge of a nest.

With one arm tightly wrapped around Mysterion's neck, Butters began to extend the other. I'm in too much trouble to go back now. I best do what King Mysterion says. The chill of the icicle bit into his bare skin, but he held on and pumped his arm until a crystal stiletto came loose in his hand. Mysterion took it and plunged it into the slab of ice on the roof, hauling the two of them up. Once there, the piling snow gave them some traction, but did nothing to keep Butters' body any warmer. Mysterion gazed over the rooftops, across the railroad tracks, to the McCormick house. It may have been a shoddy dwelling with no heat or food, but there was a spare, warm parka and the freedom from Uncle Bud.

"Listen. We have to get you out of here before your uncle catches us or you freeze to death." Butters was propped up against him, his eyes fluttering in an effort to stay open. The boy's robe still hung untied, leaving his body partially uncovered. Mysterion hurriedly pulled the robe tight and tied it, all business. My alter-ego might think that's funny, but not me. He turned Butters' face in the direction of the McCormick house. "See? I'm taking you to my… er, your friend Kenny's house. You'll be safe there."

"Uh-h-h-h-h-u-h-h," shivered Butters. In a moment, he was whisked away. Mysterion's gloved hand still held onto the icicle, using it to punch holes in the ice of the rooftops. They sailed over to the next house. From there, to the next house. Twice more Mysterion jumped and sliced through the ice in the roof to secure them. It was the final jump that failed to go smoothly.

Mysterion geared up and shot through the air, aiming for the McCormicks' roof. Although his gloves had slowed the icicle's melting, there was barely enough to sink into the ice when Mysterion landed. The roof itself was in such bad repair that it barely supported the ice and snow building up, much less the sudden weight of two boys. It creaked, and several slates broke loose. The boys clung tightly to the roof and each other until it seemed that everything had settled. Cautiously, Mysterion placed Butters at the top of the drainpipe. "We're going to –" Before Mysterion could instruct Butters to slide down, another loose tile careened directly at him, knocking Mysterion off the roof and the air from his lungs.

"N-n-n-no!" A scream broke through Butters' chattering teeth as Mysterion fell and dashed on the driveway. Butters opened his eyes. It looked bad. Blood was pooling on the pavement and splattered across the new fallen snow. Bone poked through flesh and fabric. In spite of this, Mysterion turned his head and moved an arm. Butters immediately wrapped his arms around the chilly drainpipe and slid down to the ground. His body felt the cold but didn't let him think about it as he bounced through the snow to Mysterion's side. "King Mysterion!" Butters didn't like to look at the blood; instead, he focused on Mysterion's hooded eyes. He tried carefully to embrace his hero, to hold onto his life. "You saved me. Why'd you haveta get hurt?"

Turning to look at Butters, Mysterion made an effort to hide his grimace. This hurts like hell. It always does. Most of his body was too mangled to be useful, but he had one good hand that he placed on Butters' shoulder. "Even… if I saved you… you were braver than… I was… tonight. I mean it."

At that, Butters sobbed openly. Out of harm's way at last, the pain from what Bud had done to him began to set in, the snowy wind seared his face, but most of all, the one person who listened to him was certain to die. "What can I do? I gotta save you somehow." Butters looked around frantically, but it was dark and late, and the streets were deserted.

"There is nothing you… need to do for me," choked Mysterion. Ever the hero, he was sure to choose his words carefully. If I told him there was nothing he could do, the waterworks would take over. He steadied his voice, "But there is something you must do for you. Go inside… put on the parka hanging in the closet. You have to… be… your own hero now. Go."

All Butters could do was give a shivery nod. He gave Mysterion a kiss on the forehead and bounded over the snow, then through the unlocked front door. With Butters safe at last, Mysterion's work was done. The gruff exterior melted away, and he felt like himself again, and pulled the hood of his cape tight around his face. (I hope he can take it from here. If anything happens to him while I'm gone…) The wind ate his words, and the snow piled over him. Kenny breathed his last.

Kenny was a regular up in heaven, and actually, a bit of a celebrity there. Saint Peter always ushered him to the front of the line through the pearly gates, and every once and again Archangel Michael would break out the golden PSP so Kenny could control heaven's fantasy football league. It was a nice change of pace from his life on Earth. Sometimes Kenny wished he could just stay dead and enjoy some of that heavenly peace he heard about in Christmas carols. Two things made him grateful to return when the time came: cute girls and good friends.

He missed his friends when he was in the afterlife - even Cartman sometimes - and he also worried about them. (They always get caught up in the weirdest shit, over and over.) He knew that he was no exception. Already, he was compelled to check on Butters. Another perk of heaven was the perfect view of anything anywhere on Earth. There were nights he abused the privilege by sneaking glimpses of ladies in the shower, but not this time. He peered right down on his own house. Sure enough, Butters had wrapped himself up in Kenny's parka and then wrapped himself up in Kenny's blanket. The boy was lying on his back, looking at the ceiling, so Kenny was looking straight into his eyes. (At least he's finally out of harm's way.)

Just to be sure, Kenny looked over at Butters' house. The first thing he noticed was Bud picking up the phone in the guest room. (Shit. Is he calling the cops? What if they find him?) Kenny's faith in South Park's boys in blue was not very high. (They'd probably hand him back to that perv.) Bud put the phone down and turned the TV on. Kenny was seething at Bud's arrogant calm, when movement in the hall suddenly caught his attention. The figure was obscured by shadows, but the body build was a dead giveaway. (What the… Cartman? What does he think he's doing?) Even the dim light was enough to make the rhinestone thong sparkle as Cartman bent over to remove his shoes.

He watched as Cartman crept towards the sliver of light escaping from under the guest room door. Lurking in the shadows, Cartman had a look of purpose on his face, and clearly had a reason for being there. Kenny pinned his hopes on the boy by the door, who looked ready to strike. (Well, that fat stripper's thong saved us from Chef turning pedo on us. Maybe Cartman's thong can save Butters. God help us all.)