Disclaimer: I don't own South Park and y'all can thank BratChild2 for this story. She screamed at me to write it and so, uh, here it is. Enjoy?

The Prince Frog

Chapter One: Trickery

Dead air filled his ears and Stan Marsh folded his arms across his chest to survey the scene. Closing his cerulean eyes, he pinched his nostrils shut; maybe if he steadied his breathing and opened his eyes again, the world would return to normal. Then his best friend would stand next to him and they'd be making fun of Cartman together. Not this, definitely not this.

Folding his legs beneath him, he sat and forced himself to glance down. A shudder ran through him and he had to pinch his nostrils again. Cartman was not down there with his best friend like they were lovers. It made no sense and even Kenny acknowledged it. So, the question became- how the hell did this happen? Moreover, how was he going to put a stop to it?

…

"This sucks, Cartman," Kyle growled in an undertone, green eyes flashing angrily. "Why the hell would you want to be pretend to be gay, anyway?"

The rotund fourteen year old smirked and wrapped a chubby arm around his "lover". Above, on the hill, Stan burned with jealousy and Cartman relished every second of it. It was just a delightful bonus to his brilliant plan. The truly sad thing was deep down, he wasn't entirely certain he was pretending. The thought scared him.

"Because, dumbass, no one cares if you're straight anymore. All the girls love gay boys and if I want Wendy, I have to act the part," he declared proudly, but not quite loud enough for Stan to hear them. He'd deliberately avoided mentioning his "brilliant plan" to anyone other than Kyle. Otherwise, someone might (a), figure out something fishy was going on and (b), realize Kyle was being blackmailed. He'd taken pictures of him in a compromising situation and altered them significantly. If Kyle opened his "big fat Jew mouth", he'd be humiliated.

"If you kiss me one more time, fatass, I swear to God I'm going to kick you in the balls and leave you rotting," Kyle muttered in response. His stomach clenched painfully. Cartman was always smiling after he tricked him into it and sometimes, he swore he licked his lips. Like Stan above, he shuddered. He didn't want to really think about it unless he liked vomiting.

"Then the whole town would see you and Stan-"

"Shut up, I'll do it," Kyle muttered, not for the first time. I hate you.

"Good," Cartman smirked. He yanked a stray curl out under his hat and then shoved it back in, surprisingly gentler than Kyle expected. He blinked, taken aback, until Cartman yet again insulted his religion. Just a fluke, he decided. Nothing more.

…

Free from the façade for another day, Eric Cartman paused over an old photograph of the four gathered together. His gloved finger unconsciously outlined Kyle's face and he grimaced, shoving the picture unceremoniously back and covering it in clothes. Once that was accomplished, he punched the drawer back into place. He honestly didn't know what the fuck was wrong with him.

Clyde Frog, trapped under another clothing pile, stared expressionlessly up at him. Years ago, he'd forced himself to stop talking to him unless it was a dire emergency. Too many times had others walked in "private therapy" and it led to far too many good opportunities for blackmail. Most notable was Butters, catching him a record seven times. He hadn't thought the blond boy was smart enough.

Yet despite being caught, he couldn't bring himself to be rid of him. Clyde represented security otherwise unattainable and brought him bizarre comfort. He knew his true self and would never betray him, no matter what. He never ripped on him because of his weight and always lent a sympathetic ear. In a sense, Clyde was his only friend.

Feh, he didn't need friends anyway. All he needed was money and Wendy. He didn't even need Kyle, but dating himself was too pathetic for even him to attempt. Girls dug sensitive emo bitches, especially ones making out with other emo whores. Wendy never even gave him the right time of day; surely she'd love him if she saw him necking Kyle. (Ah, Cartman logic).

Puffing his chest out proudly, he posed in front of the mirror. Unfortunately, the mirror happened to be on the back of his door and when his mother entered without knocking, it hit him right in the forehead. Rubbing his sore spot, he glared and stumbled out of the way before he became a flattened little cream puff. Goddamn it, he wasn't eight anymore. Why couldn't she knock?

"Oh, sorry, sweetie," Mrs. Cartman said absently, laying freshly laundered sheets on his bed. "Mommy's very busy lately."

"So that's why you slam a goddamn door in my face?" he retorted, hoping if he ranted enough, she'd dote on him like before. Since his mother found a new boyfriend (who hated kids, incidentally), she'd spent increasingly less time around her son and was almost never home. However, in the quiet mountain town of South Park, the chances of his coming to harm by being left home alone were slim, just about the same as if she was there. Things happened because of inattentive or absent parents and it didn't seem to matter which one happened.

The phone rang and Lianne Cartman darted out to answer, leaving Eric to glare in her absence. Why was it he found himself spoken to only in lieu of the telephone? What was so important about that guy, anyway? They shared open animosity and didn't care who knew it. Yet, despite their gripes, she pretended not to notice. It grated on his nerves- he was her son, he should have all the attention, not some stupid boytoy.

And he would get all the attention, just she waited. She might be able to ignore him now, but when he brought Kyle home as his boyfriend, all hell would break loose. Oh, what fun that would be.

…

Kyle Broflovski itched to pick up the phone and call Stan, but at the last split second, his fingers dropped the receiver instead. He'd never gone so long without speaking with his best friend and the separation killed him. But if he called him, he knew the first thing out of his mouth would be about him and Cartman and he'd have no choice but to tell him the truth. He was stuck and he hated every second of it.

Ike, now nine and muttering uncouth things about fourth grade, wandered past his foster brother and watched him interestedly. He'd grown accustomed to seeing Stan around- if Stan wasn't here, Kyle was almost always at his house. To see the two separated upset the natural order of things. He blinked at him.

"Aren't you going to call him?" Ike asked, glancing between the receiver and Kyle. Kyle, in an unconscious mimic of Stan, pinched his nostrils shut and clenched his eyes closed. He didn't answer his little brother but instead cast a contemptuous look at the offending electronic as though it had blackmailed him instead of Cartman.

Stomping upstairs, he muttered, "Stupid Cartman."

…

Kenny McCormick knew something was up. He always did. And, nine times out of ten, that something involved Cartman. Unfortunately, until he pinpointed what that something was, he knew better than to stick his nose where it didn't belong.

He sat on the steps of his rundown house and listened to his parents argue for the umpteenth time this week. While most children might have found this unsettling, he considered it good entertainment. They always ended up reconciling anyway. (Though that detracted from the entertainment value). Right now, the current issue was his father drinking away his life savings. Kenny, who hadn't known they had anything saved to begin with, wasn't terribly surprised.

Glancing up the street, he smirked. Despite his house being only slightly further than Cartman's, he'd never sojourned there unless someone forced him. If Stan and Kyle were supposed to be best friends, then where did that leave him with Cartman? Well, on the bright side, at least his thoughts weren't remotely similar to his. Otherwise, he might want to consider dying and staying that way.

Butters lived further down the road and he smirked at the thought. They might have aged, but some things never changed. Butters was still a pussy in their eyes and his parents, as far as Kenny knew, still invested in occasional disciplinary beatings. For some odd reason, while he enjoyed his parents' brawls, it pissed him off to hear Butters suffer.

He shrugged, stretching out his legs and settling in for the long run. This one looked like a particularly vicious argument and he didn't want to miss out because his mind wandered to another blond boy. He'd think about Butters later, when he was trying to block out his parents' make up sex. Ugh, old people sex ought to be outlawed.

…

Wendy Testaburger curled up on the couch and switched on her favorite movie. She had no idea what was going on in the mind of a disturbed adolescent and truthfully, had no interest at the moment. While Cartman occasionally flashed through her mind, it was usually accompanied by annoyance. Yet when she thought of kissing him in public in fourth grade, she couldn't force that emotion on it. She still smiled at the memory and then scolded herself afterwards for thinking of him as anything but a jerk.

Just look at the way he treats his so-called friends, she'd remind herself impatiently. Had she ever witnessed anything friendly between them? Well, no, but then again, boys weren't always easy to figure out. They'd spent a vast majority of their time teasing each other unmercifully. The only girls she knew like that were malicious and definitely not her friends.

Yet if she called those girls "bitches" and never associated with them and Cartman was similar, why the hell couldn't she stop thinking about him? Pounding the remote into a cushion, she wished she could focus on something else.

…

Stan Marsh waited for the call that never came. Though his fingers itched to dial Kyle's number and hear the familiar voice flood his ears, he decided if he wasn't going to let him, then why should he bother? Flinging a pillow at his cordless, he glared at the phone. Yards away, Kyle was doing the exact same thing.

…