FicWad

Warnings ;; Boy love. Use of characters, places, and things I don't own. Fluffy Butters x Kenny time. Not much angst because... well... its Butters. Some melodramatic drama from Kenny. Some swearing, nothing bad.

Info ;; Just a crack fic, I suppose. I can't see Kenny and Butters in any other kind of relationship. May be more chapters, if you like it. Reviews are greatly appreciated. Enjoy the story!

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Sunlight filters through the pale white blinds, casting a warm morning glow over the sleeping bundle beneath a Hello Kitty comforter. His hand snakes out, drapes across the bed lazily. The blanket slips down from his boyish face, freeing his wispy blonde hair. Tilting to the side, mouth open, the teen slumbers peacefully after a night of hard studying. His papers lay neatly across his desk, each pile a different class. He fell asleep sometime around three in the morning, to the relaxing sounds of Children’s Nursery Rhymes, a compilation CD his father had given him when he was six. His classmates will call him a pussy, but no one at school needs to know. He still sleeps with Hello Kitty sheets, he still brushes his teeth with silly character tubes of toothpaste, he still eats sugary cereal for breakfast.

All his friends have grown up, and he still wakes up to the Candy Mountain song dressed in his Terrence and Phillip pajamas every morning.

A slender hand reaches up to scratch at his face as he turns away from the light, smacking his lips in response to whatever dream he’s having. A rock taps against his window, and he jumps but doesn’t wake. Another rock, louder and larger, cracks into the pane of glass. Thrashing under the covers, the falls onto the floor with a heavy thud, uttering a shout of surprise. He extracts himself from the mess, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he moves closer to the window. He doesn’t look at the clock, but the light of day tells him it’s past the time he needed to wake up, which also means his father is downstairs and he’s late for school.

Spotting the blonde bombshell standing on the snowy lawn, snug in her winter best, he scratches the back of his neck and waves down at her. She threw her hands up, trudging across the snow to the mostly clear sidewalk. In the hours since he’s been asleep, a light layering of snow has graced the ground. He takes note of this as he gathers his papers, shoving everything into his black messenger bag. He’d gotten rid of the Hello Kitty bag after the hundredth time of being called a fag. He hates that word, and hates being called it more.

He tosses his pajamas aside, dressing in black pants and a light blue shirt with Smile! printed on it. Sneaking a look at the alarm, he nearly cries out in surprise. Twenty minutes past the start of first period. If ever he were in trouble, it is now. All the times he’s been grounded doesn’t begin to compare to this exact moment. He knows, right now, his father is sitting at the table in the kitchen, waiting for him to come down the stairs.

Leopold “Butters” Stotch is notoriously on-time for almost everything. He is scatterbrained, he is often naive, sometimes innocent to the point of bomb-shelter sheltered, but he is never late for school and he never misses a party. Today is a complete work of chance. He doesn’t often spend nights studying, and he suspects that has played a part in his disastrous mistake. As he rushes through his morning routine, he continuously checks the clock, timing himself. On a good day, he gets out the door in ten minutes, including a bite to eat. He’s making good time today, and is downstairs in less than three minutes.

School bag over his shoulder, he stops dead at the bottom of the stairs and watches his father. The old man is sitting at the table, hidden from view by the unfolded newspaper he is unnecessarily holding up. Butters holds his breath, his bright eyes hopeful for a quick getaway.

“Late to school, are we?” Steven Stotch asks casually, flicking the newspaper down and folding it neatly on the table.

“Aw, yeah, Dad, my alarm clock didn’t go off,” he explains sheepishly. He quickly follows with, “But don’t worry, I can walk to school myself today.”

Grunting, his father lifts the paper from the table, pulling it open slowly.

Assuming the end of the conversation has happened, the blonde moves quickly. Raiding the cupboards, he discovers they’ve run out of food. Not surprising, not anymore. Finding a poptart hiding behind a can of beans, he snatches it up, tossing it in his book bag before his father can see it. Since his mother left them, they have not been the same. If it is for the better, Butters has yet to tell. His father has not seemed happy for the last few weeks, and he can only imagine why. The circumstances surrounding Linda’s leave are uncomfortable, and he still has not told anyone at school. Despite himself, he lies every day someone asks him about his mother.

He opens the kitchen closet, pulling out his black bomber jacket and slipping one arm into it. Some of his clothing is remarkably adult, while the rest of him plays with the idea of staying a child forever.

“She called this morning,” Steven says, almost demanding the attention of his son.

“H-how is she doing?” Butters asks, his stammer coming back abruptly.

“She’s doing fine. Her doctors say she’s almost well enough to come home.”

Wincing, only a bit, Butters puts on a fake smile of gratitude. “That’s g-great. I’ll see you tonight, Dad. Have a good d-day at work.” Without a second glance, Butters leaves the awkward atmosphere, closing the doors behind him as he goes. His day is not looking up, and he thinks he should curl up under his covers and sleep it away.

The impatient blonde on the sidewalk assures him this would not be a possibility. She stomps her foot before he gets onto the sidewalk, a stern look on her face. “Leopold Butters Stotch!” she scolds firmly. “Why aren’t you at school yet? Our project is due today.”

Looking firmly at the ground, Butters scuffs the toe of his shoe against the pavement. “I’m sorry, Bebe, I was sleepin’ in - my clock didn’t go off and, I mean...”

Bebe scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Well, we have to turn it in. Do you have it ready?” she demands in irritation.

Butters pats his bag confidently. Perhaps the only thing he’s ever confident about is his school work, and that suits him just fine. He knows what two and two is, and he knows his way around biology, believe it or not. “I finished it last night. That’s why I couldn’t sleep, I was up all night doin’ homework. Thanks for coming over to wake me up. You’re a real pal, Bebe.”

Bebe looks at him strangely, frowning. “You’re weird,” she says. “You’re going to turn it in when you get to school, right?” She flips her blonde hair back, looking at her lab partner. She has a way of talking that charms anyone into being her friend. She always has, but it became a perfected art when she hit high school. The moment she’s with her friends, however, it all changes. She wont think twice to rip someone apart like a piece of string cheese around her friends.

Fortunately for Butters, despite his mediocre home troubles of late, remains woefully oblivious to the darker sides of life, as long as they don’t involve his father’s gay bars, his mother’s schizophrenic disorder, or his own very suppressed memories. “Well, yeah, of course I’m turning it in. You’re my lab buddy, I can’t let you down,” he answers happily, flashing his familiar boyish grin. He can’t understand what has Bebe so upset, so he decides to ignore it. They are so close to the school, and making her happy again wont take long. When she is happy, Butters is happy. It isn’t often that he has someone to sit by at lunch, but sometimes, just sometimes, Bebe offers him a spot at her table. Such times come by more frequently at the end of the semester, during finals. Butters never keeps track. He considers the blonde, large-chested woman a friend, and he will do anything for a friend.

The sound of a vehicle approaching makes him turn around, looking for the source. A beat up old truck rumbles around the corner, no doubt the very one Eric Cartman bought before he even got his license. Since Kenny’s re-resurrection, Cartman hasn’t had as much time for Butters, which suits the meek blonde just fine. He is tired of Cartman’s cruel pranks and foul jokes. A break is just what he needs.

Sitting in the passenger seat is Kenny McCormick, his orange hood tight around his face to protect against the harsh winter. Butters raises a hand in a cheerful wave, but disappointment crosses his face as Kenny stares straight ahead. Cartman has spotted them, and he slows down enough to honk the horn and flip the walkers off. Laughing behind the wheel, he slams on the gas, his tires squeel, and he speeds towards the school. Black smoke billows from the exhaust, and the truck backfires, shaking violently from the carbureted sneeze.

Butters smiles. “They’re running late,” he observes thoughtfully.

Bebe hurries her steps, sighing. “You’re something else, Butters.”

//--

Cartman’s truck is sitting half off the curb, the rest of it over beautiful green landscaping Horticulture 101 has planted. Deep ruts in the dirt suggest this is not the first time he has parked here, yet no one has yet reprimanded him. Butters takes note of the poor park job, figuring he will tell his friend about it so Cartman has the chance to fix his mistake. Filing away his mental note, he pushes his way into the high school with Bebe, holding the door open. Once inside school grounds, he doesn’t exist to the high-class blonde. She hones in on Wendy Testaburger and the group of people she calls friends, leaving Butters behind to close the door.

Shrugging it off as usual, Butters waves to the girl’s back. “I’ll turn in the paper! See you later, Bebe!”

He’s made it to school just after first period, meaning his next class is a free class. As long as he makes no disturbances, he can do anything he wants to. A content smile on his face, he strolls down to the science room, knocking before pushing the door open. He may not possess common sense, but he does know a thing or two about science. After his fall-out with religion, it is easy enough to breathe in Science as a second nature. It makes sense to him, and he’s good at it. Most of his class fight to be his partner in labs, and he never knows how to choose one. Usually, the teacher does it for him.

He stops at her desk and waits patiently for her to look up. Interrupting is rude, and he never wants to seem rude. Except on special occasions, and usually only to Cartman. When the teacher finally looks up from grading papers, she arches a slender red eyebrow.

“Yes, Leopold?” she asks.

“I’m here to turn in mine and Bebe’s term paper,” he explains, fishing the correct documents out of his bag and putting them on the desk. “Sorry I wasn’t here for first period, there were some family things.” He fidgets with his hands, a habit when he knows he isn’t telling the straight truth. Anyone can read him like an open book, because he is one.

Pursing her lips tightly, the teacher takes the paper, looking it over with little sounds as punctuation to her thoughts. Flipping to the last page, she looks up. “Did Miss Stevens help you with this paper?” she asks.

Butters finches at the question. He is loathe to lie, but Bebe is his lab partner, and darn it if he’s going to be part of another accountabilibuddy accident. “Of course, Mrs. Withers. She stopped by last night and helped me revise it,” he answers shakily.

Doubtful, Mrs. Withers places the papers in her bin. “You’re a very kind boy, Leopold. I’ll be grading presentations tomorrow. You need to be here or I’ll be forced to give you a failing grade for the semester.”

He grins widely, giving the teacher a thumbs up. “I’ll be here Mrs. Withers. Thanks a lot. See you in the morning!” As he leaves her room, he finds himself whistling cheerfully. A few straggling students give him passing glances, though it doesn’t bother him today. With the next hour free, he doesn’t know what he’s going to do. Sometimes, he finds Kenny in the cafeteria, sitting in the corner, quietly playing his beat up PSP. Deciding he needs company rather than more studying, the happily whistling teen strolls to the cafeteria. Just as Butters suspects, Kenny is sitting in the corner of the room, playing his PSP, his hood hanging down his back to adhere to school dress policy.

Butters sits in the seat next to the quiet blonde, leaning over slightly to see what game is playing. Nothing he recognizes, so he sits back in his chair, hands gripping the seat as he sways lightly side to side. Not nearly as bad as Tweak Tweek, yet the innocent blonde still feels the need to keep moving. Staying still is never an option when he’s thinking about everything and anything all at once. It takes Kenny a moment to acknowledge his existence. Only after putting the game system in his pocket does he look at the nervous blonde next to him.

“Hey, Butters. Sorry about Cartman,” he says offhandedly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Butters says curiously, tilting his head to the side.

“This morning... he... when he drove by....” Kenny shrugs, blowing air out his nose. It is painfully obvious Butters still hasn’t grown up. “Well, whatever. What’s up?”

Butters smiles. “It’s free period so I thought I’d come see what you were doing.”

“Anything interesting?”

Pausing, the boy thinks about it. “No, not really,” he answers.

“Not usually, either,” Kenny replies, leaning his seat back on two legs and setting his feet on the table. “How’s your mum?”

“Oh, y-you know...” Butters pauses, looking at the white tiled floor. Lying to his friends is the hardest part, but he has to. “She’s great.”

“Are you just saying that to say it, Butters?”

He looks up defensively, upset someone would call him on a lie. “No,” he says defiantly.

Kenny shrugs. “Whatever, dude. You don’t have to lie to me. Not like I’d tell someone.”

“What about Kyle? Or Stan?” Butters asks.

Kenny looks at him, his crystal blue eyes searching for the answers while trying to hide his own. Finally, he sighs and looks at the clock. “You know those two. Kyle’s all about school and Stan’s tearing himself apart between being the star quarterback and keeping up with Kyle in grades. No time for someone like me, not anymore.”

Butters’ face shows concern for his friend as he listens, shaking his head sadly. He may not be world-wise, but he knows when people are down and out. Kenny is a perfect example of someone on their way out the door. He’s been dying since the day he was born, and more so than the rest of them. Butters doesn’t remember a school year that the death-prone South Park resident hasn’t died. “It sound like you need a hug,” he observes after a thoughtful pause.

“Are you running a hug business now, too?” Kenny jokes, a smile crossing his lips.

“No,” Butters protests. “I was just saying...”

“I know, I know.” Kenny drops his feet to the floor, looking back at the clock. “I’m goin’ out for a smoke. You can stay in here if you want, or you can come out with me,” he offers.

“I don’t smoke,” Butters says cautiously.

“But you do listen,” Kenny points out. “I could use someone to listen for a minute.”

If Butters understood what Kenny was asking, he would have agreed with him. He’s been dealing with all the pressures at home by himself if not only because he doesn’t know another way, then because he doesn’t have anyone to talk to about it. “Well, sure, Kenny. I’d love to listen. What do you want to talk about?” he asks innocently, his curiosity piquing as he gets up from the table.

“Some stuff,” Kenny replies, leading the way to the gymnasium doors. He and Craig had learned, in eighth grade, that holding the bar to the emergency door down and sneaking out back didn’t cause the alarm to go off. He shows Butters this trick, but knows the air-headed blonde won’t remember it. Once safely outside, they sit against the west wall of the school, looking to the darker sky. The parts morning hasn’t fallen upon quite yet. Taking out a cigarette, Kenny lights it with a fake zippo lighter.

“Are you ready to talk? I’m ready to listen,” Butters says eagerly, watching Kenny’s every move.

Kenny chuckles, smoke rolling from his lips as he gives Butters a sideways glance. “Give me a minute, dude. It’s a lot to talk about. I’ve never done this before.”

“Smoked?”

“Told someone my problems,” Kenny corrects.

“Oh, thats what I’m listening to?”

“You don’t have to.”

“Its okay. If I help, that’s good, right?” Butters asks.

Kenny can’t help the short laugh that escapes him. “Yeah, Butters, that’s good.”