Weeks passed, his funeral happened. Everyone was crying, except for Butters. He sat in his black suit, next to Wendyl, who was openly crying. He said very little, his friends spoke about him, and more tears ensued. Still, Butters didn't shed a single tear for Raven.
He didn't feel anything.
A counselor had been appointed to the school, everyone was required to go, it being a small town. He said nothing to the woman, though she generally seemed to care, but Butters just sat there, not saying a word. Eventually, she allowed him to return to class, a sad look on her face.
He got himself a job, in construction, like Raven had had. The work was hard, physical, but he enjoyed it. After work, he would go sit at Tweek Bros, gazing across at the Goth kids that were always there. Raven's old friends. He idly wondered if they noticed him staring, even if they did, they never mentioned it to him. Though he wanted to talk to them, he wasn't sure where to begin. It wasn't like he blamed them, like some people in town did, he just wanted to talk to them about Raven. Maybe, to become their friend too.

For now, he still waited to approach them, instead spending most of his time working. He was rarely home, if his parents were worried, he didn't notice. With the money he made, he bought hair dye, new clothes, and was working on getting tattoos and paying someone to buy him alcohol.
He dyed his hair black, messily spiked it, and changed his wardrobe to clothes more like what Raven had worn, black jeans and shirts, the occasional Edgar Allen Poe reference.
He got his license and drove himself to Denver to get his tattoos, the place did good work and looked the other way as he was still underage, he paid them well and they didn't ask questions. He cried as they worked, but they didn't mention that either. Both his upper arms had half-sleeves now. He planned on more once he got out of highschool.
Eventually, three months later, he worked up the courage to join the Goth kids in their booth. They said nothing, Henrietta scooted over to allow him room. They sat in somber silence, sipping their coffee. He drank his black, just like they mostly did.
Firckle was the first to speak.

"What do you want?"

"To talk to you guys. Maybe, become your friend."

"I thought you thought we were a bunch of pussies?" Firckle spat.

"Nah..., I was a kid then. I've grown up. I think I see the world how you do now. All of this shit, and no one does a damned thing about it. Fucking conformist bastards," the last word a growl, Butters promptly shut his mouth and looked away, radiating anger.

Firckle looked ready to spew more but Pete lightly laid a hand on his shoulder and shook his head.

Michael chose then to speak up, "If you'd like then, you're more than welcome to join us. Clearly, you're not one of them any more."

Butters barely inclined his head to let them know he had heard.
Slowly, their conversation started up again, and Butters listened, offering little.
Eventually, they dispersed, and he walked home with his hands jammed into the pocket of his hoody. He wondered what he could do, he had a six pack of alcohol waiting for him in his room. With a small smile, he walked a little faster.
As usual his parents were waiting for him, but his smile vanished and he ignored them, going straight to his room. He took his boots off and then his hoody, tossing it on to his computer chair. With the door locked, he stripped off his shirt and pants, leaving him in his boxers. It was slightly cold, but he didn't mind. He strode to the closet and dug around in the corner, finally, he came away with the six pack. He took one out and sat on his bed, he drank as he read a thick novel by one of his favorite authors in recent times.
He felt like he was on fire from the inside, but he didn't mind, a smile on his lips as he continued to read. He had work tomorrow, but he could sleep this off in like six hours and then be fine to go. Too soon or was it too late? He didn't know or care, but he was out of alcohol and had to piss. He put the bookmark in his book and set it on the nightstand before getting up. He swayed unsteadily a moment before going to the bathroom down the hall.
The house was quiet, and so he attempted to be too. He collapsed on to his bed, barely noting the time as being just passed five. He checked that his alarm would go off and then promptly, passed out.

Too soon, he heard his alarm. He turned it off and found clean clothes. With them in his arms, he walked to the bathroom, a quick shower and a breakfast of toast and scrambled eggs, Butters grabbed his lunch bag from the fridge and drove to the parking lot designated for their cars only.
He had a slight hangover, but nothing he wasn't used to after a night like that. But he didn't let himself think about that, instead he crossed to the site and set his lunch with the others and got his assignment for the day.
He got teased pretty regularly, but he was quickly becoming one of them, more muscular, good at the easy work. When he worked, he could forget.
Not that he tried to remember, but the memories would surface anyway. He never cried over the memories, but over tats, he did. He was considering getting a few piercings too. His job didn't mind piercings or tattoos and he figured he could just do construction while he went to college, if he went.
As he worked, he contemplated what piercings he wanted. He toyed with different ideas, dismissing some, gradually accepting others as possibilities. He wouldn't be able to go back to Denver until next week, so he had plenty of time to decide.

The work day ended and he drove home, going to shower before finding himself dinner and then going to Tweek Bros. He slid into the booth with the Goths and sipped his coffee, listening to their conversation and adding a little, here and there. He noticed a few changed among the group, Pete had gotten spider bites, Firckle was sporting snake bites, Henrietta had gotten herself angel bites, and Michael had two eye brow rings over his left eyebrow. He raised an eyebrow at them and Pete explained, "In memory of Raven. He had always wanted to get piercings but couldn't decide what he wanted."
Butters immediately looked down at the table and said nothing more, leaving earlier than usual. He arrived home and his parents were quietly watching tv. He dimly heard his father demand to know where he'd been.
"Out," was all he offered, before going back up the stairs.

He sat on his bed, holding the little pamphlet from the funeral, a picture of a smiling Raven on it. He gazed at it sadly, his thumb lightly rubbing over the picture. He felt the tears welling up, but he held them back. He wouldn't cry. Not for him. He didn't want him to cry for him. He wasn't sure how long he sat there, gazing at that picture, but eventually, he must have fallen asleep because he awoke the next morning, having been tucked in, like when he was little, the little pamphlet back where it usually sat. He sat up, his chest heavy. He sat there a while, before remembering he had work that day, earlier than usual. He checked his phone, it needed charged but he still had a couple of hours. He plugged it in and then laid back down, his arms folded behind his head.