((A/N: Heya guys, it's been ages! I decided to have a brief break from Fanfiction to refresh my mind, so now I'm finally back with a three chapter Bunny fic about detention and an über up close and personal look at the workings of Kenny's mind!
First time writing Bunny, so if you like what you see, please read and review, as any feedback (good or bad) is excellent feedback!
I also know that South Park has changed a lot as a show and that a plot like this may not fly in the newer seasons of the program. But I'm totally going for it, so let's party like it's 2005 people! (Take me back to 'Going Native'!)
Once again, I still don't own South Park, because this wonderful show belongs to the amazing Matt and Trey, but maybe if we all band together and write shit tons of Bunny fanfiction, it might become canon like Creek, so yeah!
Before I begin, I'd like to warn everyone that there will (100%) be SEXUAL CONTENT and MATURE LANGUAGE (basically all the good stuff) in this fic, so proceed with caution if that's not your thing.
But aside from all that, buckle up, buckaroos!
Enjoy guys! Read and review!
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"I've about had it with you!" Scolded Mackey, arms folded across his chest as he marched down one of the many school hallways. His voice was near incomprehensible, his trademark prolonged drawl low and unaffected. Not too much unlike the kid that accompanied him, swaddled in a bright orange parka. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, his unflinching glare trained dead ahead. "I'm telling you McCormick, this is the last fucking time!"
The kid rolled his eyes. He hated it when adults thought they were tough shit when the finally crumbled and pulled out the big guns. There were worse things in this world than a few curse words. Like sure, the guy had lost all sense of cool a few years back and now donned the mouth of a sailor, but Kenny had never been all that clear on why grown ups thought it was intimidating when they started swearing. His Mom and Dad did it at home all the time, whether that was at each other or at him. He'd grown far too accustomed to it for it to have any affect on him.
Mackey of all people should've known that too, considering the guy knew so much about his personal life. He was basically an honorary member of the family. Not that that was some huge honour or anything. More like he'd stepped in shit and managed to get his other shoe dirty too when he'd tried to clean the first one.
Really, he wished he'd just piss off and leave him be.
Let him do his own thing.
But today, he clearly had the opposite in mind, stuck to his side like glue, a buzzing, irritating fly, his voice scratching at his ears like nails on a chalkboard as he went on and on, a soundless, unceasing mess of words. Whatever life advice the guy was trying to give him was only going to fall on deaf ears.
To be honest, he didn't know why he tried.
Garrison and Victoria had given up long ago, even the likes of teachers long gone like Choksondick when he was just a kid, so why start trying now?
Kenny could credit Mackey with being persistent, but he wasn't very smart.
Kids like him didn't learn from their mistakes, they just kept making them, bigger and better and more spectacular than the last. It was no use giving him an earful now after sixteen years worth of fuck ups.
He tried to distance himself from him, focusing his mind into imagining him covering his ears with his hands, which, if he did for real, he'd knew he'd get an earful for, maybe even a yank on his collar.
He tried not to think of the room at the end of this long, seemingly endless hallway that would serve as his prison for the next few hours once again, or the mammoth amount of time spent in what would no doubt become crippling, gnawing boredom after the first ten minutes. After he'd seen to his long time tradition of graffiti-ing on whatever poor piece of unsuspecting furniture that managed to capture his attention first, of course.
As unbelievable as it sounded, he was getting kind of sick of drawing tits.
Maybe it was time to move onto bigger and better things, like dicks or ufos, or something.
But whatever. It's not like he was some amazing artist or anything. And besides, whatever previous masterpieces he had drawn, he'd had to remove himself with a magic sponge whilst Garrison bitched and moaned in his ear.
He pushed the thought from his mind with a roll of his shoulders, tugging on the brown scarf that covered his face, the one his brother had likened to dog shit. It was an item Kevin had managed to find in the trash that he'd decided to hand over to him, going on about how he'd rather be caught dead then wearing something so hideous and not because, you know, Kenny was his younger brother.
His loss really, the scarf had managed to save him from many a cold. It was a welcome change from the constant fevers and chesty coughs Kenny had become quite used to, seeing as he only wore a threadbare, once-upon-a-time-pearly-white-now-stained singlet beneath his parka.
Passed down from Kevin.
Who never showered.
But yeah.
Like he said, it was totally his gain. Especially taking in mind that it covered up any cold sores he'd managed to acquire throughout the week, which Kevin couldn't really say the same for himself. Girls pretty much ran away flailing their arms and screaming whenever Kevin showed his scabby mug. Kenny couldn't blame them. Kevin never had much going for him, especially not his looks.
But seriously, fuck Kevin.
He didn't know why he was even giving him the time of day and thinking about him, but he guessed pre-detention jitters just did that to you. Made you insane and think of unsavoury things. Maybe he already was insane, and he just didn't know it yet.
And looking back on his life and the shit he'd been putting up with for as long as he could remember, it'd be a miracle if he wasn't.
He didn't think of himself as being particularly crazy, just screwed over and dealt the worst hand possible. Damaged, he guessed. He was sure some sicko somewhere was getting a kick out of his misfortune, the ultimate walking talking pain game, watching him through a monitor like jigsaw, rubbing his or her hands together in glee as he toddled blindly towards the next trap that'd no doubt leave him incapacitated.
But kookoo bananas or not, if he wasn't already teetering on the edge of the abyss of madness, detention would be the shove that'd send him tumbling in.
Kenny granted himself leniency as the thoughts slipped from his mind, washing away like water. Slipping a hand from his pocket and rubbing at his cheek, he realized he'd tuned out for a while, Mackey still chatting away, but more to himself from what he could gather. His words sounded hurried and fragmented as he hissed under his breath, his fists clenched as he stomped along.
Lifting his gaze and peering down the hall, Kenny couldn't tell how far away from their destination they were. Even though he'd made the trip a million times, after five years of ghosting around this high school, everything just seemed to meld together. Things became indistinguishable and nameless after a while, usually after any given student's first six weeks here. Give or take.
But for real, he'd felt like they'd been walking for hours. He guessed death row kind of felt the same. The walk to the electric chair always seeming to take a hell of a lot longer than it actually should, knowing what awaited you at the end of your journey.
Kenny's hand made it's way over to his eye, the one Eric Cartman had stolen when they were kids, his fingers scratching at it through the tan, cotton fabric of his glove, too lazy to take it off.
Had he seriously compared detention to getting fried in an electric chair just now?
God, he was spending way too much time with Craig and Clyde lately.
If South Park held an event for County's Biggest Drama Queen, it'd no doubt be a harrowing, neck-and-neck competition between those two.
And speaking of Craig and Clyde, maybe one of them would be there.
Tucker, Donovan and McCormick, bringing business to detention since 2001. South Park High's repeat offenders, committing the most scandalous, horrific crimes the school had ever seen.
Confronting local high school untouchable Eric Cartman after he'd made your boyfriend cry over a game of dodge ball and then proceeding to kick the absolute shit out of him when he refused to step down?
A million bucks you'd wake up to Craig's scrawny figure, hunched over his desk as he texted Tweek frantically, a middle finger strategically pointed in your direction.
Lacing the cafeteria salt and pepper shakers with high calibre viagra for shits and giggles and then getting a taste of your own medicine because you'd somehow forgotten it was Taco Tuesday and black pepper is the cook's secret ingredient, but hey, tacos, am I right?
Cue Clyde stumbling into detention, hands over his crotch, crying his eyes out.
Turning up to school carnival day dressed up as a stripper complete with a full face of a make up, a mini skirt and a pole prop made out of Styrofoam painted silver?
You could bet your ass you'd be seeing McCormick in that room when you walked down the hall between fourth and fifth periods later.
But in reality, Kenny was just feeding his ego.
They were just the ones that got caught.
Stan and Kyle had managed some pretty crazy feats, found themselves in some pretty deep shit, but somehow, those two had never even seen the inside of detention. He kind of narrowed it down to Kyle being a star pupil, studious and crazy smart, he and Wendy the only students in history who turned out right in all of South Park High's History.
Also not to mention, Kyle's Dad was a fucking lawyer.
As for Stan, he managed to catch a break with his depression and alcoholism, always let off with a light tap on the wrist and a warning whenever someone had managed to walk in on him chugging down a massive bottle of scotch, his parents forever rushing to his aid, insisting he couldn't help it.
Kenny got Stan was depressed, that wasn't the part of it that pissed him off. It was the alcoholism thing, and how everyone pandered to it, Stan included, who'd once bitched severely about his Dad having the same fucking issue when he was just a kid.
Maybe it was his own experience with having to live with an alcoholic every single day of his life that made him feel this way, but if Stan could claim his dependency on grog as a result of his depression, why couldn't he and Craig point fingers at their 'need for weed' on feeling like shit too?
But in any case, he had bigger problems to deal with. Like hoping someone else had stuffed up as much as he had today. Like sure, any reasonable person would tell you that it was wrong to wish someone had done something awful enough to land in detention for the sole purpose of keeping you company. But solitary was better in pairs, made for a few kicks even.
If he had to choose who he'd prefer, Kenny found himself wishing it was Craig.
No offense to Clyde or anything.
Craig, for the most part, was pretty unaffected. He was unbiased and surprisingly understanding when it came to certain topics, certain issues. He'd also gotten along a lot better with the guy, had known him before he could talk and done things with him that they had inadvertently bonded over through the years.
It was hard to call someone a stranger when you'd done so much crazy, stupid shit together over the course of your adolescent life.
Illegal shit, like blowing up trash in the junk yard that skirted the edge of town with tnt you'd acquired from a pretty sketchy looking guy, who'd so 'happened' to be passing through town, and not because you actually wanted to blow stuff up, but just because you were bored and could.
Petty shit, like making a pact to get revenge on your Dads for being assholes by the end of the week in insane ways and showing up to school the next day covered in bruises, but grinning like idiots.
Intimate shit, like racing back to Craig's house through a sudden downpour and ending up tangled together on the sofa in front of the fire before you could make sense of it, wet flesh against wet flesh, Craig's mouth on his, fingers knotted in damp hair and clothes lying forgotten on the floor.
Kenny blinked, trying to quell the surge of heat that raced through his body. Now was possibly the worst time to get a hard on, and he was already in enough trouble as it was. He didn't need to land himself in more.
And in any case, those times were long since over now. Craig had been with Tweek for over a year, and he was happy. And not just because he was finally with someone who understood him and treated him right, but genuinely fucking happy for the first time in his life.
Relationships were far from Kenny's style, but that didn't mean he couldn't be happy for him, even if it hurt a little. Kenny was yet to experience falling in love with someone, but a small part of him missed fooling around with Craig, even though there was nothing to miss. They'd never actually been together. It was more of a no strings attached kind of a thing. Satisfying hungry, desperate teenage desires whenever the time so called for it. Nothing more.
But hey, Tweek was a cool dude, and seeing that they'd recently become friends, Kenny knew that for a fact. He was a little rough around the edges, but a nice guy. He also had the biggest puppy dog eyes and craziest blonde hair he'd ever seen. The kid was full of personality and quite the character, loyal to a fault and unbelievably generous. Kinda cute too. He could see why Craig was drawn to him.
But yeah, in hindsight, Kenny couldn't have seen anyone other than Craig having been his fuck buddy. Especially for so long, and especially not Clyde.
Whilst he'd messed around with both of them before, Craig seemed so much more willing to pull down his pants and just get on with it, whereas Clyde seemed to have a new set of dos and don'ts every time and something new he hated about his body every week.
Craig for the most part took it quietly, groaning under his breath into his hand when he bottomed, and grunting into his shirt when he topped, his fingers knotted in Kenny's hair, pulling harder as he pushed deeper.
Clyde was a little different.
And by that he meant the complete opposite.
Clyde cried, every time without fail, tears falling down his cheeks and dropping off his chin onto the desk he was shoved over below, moaning and sobbing, whimpering about how much it hurt one moment and begging him to fuck him up the next.
But don't get him wrong. Kenny wasn't complaining. It was kinda pretty hot.
It just didn't make for very stealthy sex when the class you'd just ditched sat next door getting an earful.
Besides, he didn't really get the vibe that Clyde enjoyed partaking in the same sex as he and Craig did, or at least not to the extent they did. Only in it for the sex, to change up the usual bed routine and not because he found guys 'appealing' like they did. Lately, he also seemed to be particularly uninterested, very unmotivated.
It could've been a few things, but Kenny had narrowed it down to three options.
One, anal sex took too much prep and he didn't want to be spending twenty minutes getting himself ready for something that was seemed to hurt every single time. (The dude seriously needed to learn how to relax.)
Two, he was still salty over the last time they'd done the deed and Kenny had been too rough, Clyde wincing every time he sat down for a week.
Or three, and most likely, Clyde had decided to give up the game entirely after very recently going around with Bebe for what felt like the thousandth time after almost a year apart. Kenny had been there when it happened, Bebe in all her glorious goddess like beauty, approaching their table during lunch break in the cafeteria, her flowing blonde hair rippling around her head like a halo, her cherry red lips smiling down at Clyde, Clyde on the verge of tears as she agreed to finally take him back.
It was a sweet turn of events for Clyde, he guessed. After nearly a whole year of bitching and consuming copious amounts of ice cream, it looked like his luck was finally starting to turn.
It was just too bad he was so blinded by her awesome rack to realize her uncanny timing in at last dating him once again two days after his Dad reopened the 'Donovan Shoe Shop'.
If Kenny was being honest, he didn't really know what Clyde saw in her. Aside from being astoundingly pretty and unbelievably good looking, the only time Bebe showed an ounce of personality was when she was around Wendy. And as much as Clyde hated to hear about her sexual experience, Kenny knew first hand that she wasn't exactly a good fuck either.
Clyde was, and always had been, the definition of pussy whipped.
Yet another tragic loss, truly.
But back to Tucker.
Or should he say Tucker. Blessed with being incredibly gifted with both his hands and his mouth, a master of all trades. He wasn't sure how he and Tweek went about sex, but whatever they were getting up to behind closed doors, Kenny couldn't deny Tweek was one very lucky guy.
There were few things in life that were holy grail, and having Craig Tucker relieve you of your virginity was one of them, in his opinion, at least.
It was almost unfair to be so criminally good at everything, a talented tease and a master of dirty words.
But if Craig so happened to be put away for the day too, he wondered what it'd take to talk him into sucking him off.
Craig didn't need a lot of convincing, but he loved to play hard to get, which was either because of his relatively shit personality, or because it seriously got him off. He'd take whatever he could, he'd much rather spending the afternoon getting his dick wet than seated behind a desk with a tissue and some lube from his personal stash from home.
Like he didn't know what Mackey was expecting. Teenagers were horny. If you looked up 'adolescent' in the dictionary, he was sure you'd find 'sex crazed' under synonyms. But whether Craig was out of the question or not, if he was seriously expecting him to spend the next couple of hours away from watchful eyes without touching himself at least once, he had a whole other thing coming.
Call it a normal high school experience or whatever, Kenny being a teenage boy and him constantly getting into mischief (if that was even the right word for it), but it was hardly 'normal' he'd been finding himself locked away in a room with nothing but a chalkboard and some desks to keep him company for as long as he could remember. And try as he might, he couldn't pin his antics that landed him in detention in the first place down to 'normal', considering the only reason Kenny hadn't been expelled yet, was because Principal Victoria knew she'd have a lawsuit on her ass when Mr and Mrs McCormick went running to Mr Broflovski.
And not out of concern for their son either.
More in pursuit of a possible pay check, because, you know, the only reason they'd had children in the first place was in the hope they'd bring in some money when they fucked up. Stuart and Carol regularly encouraged failure and, considering what Kenny had gotten up to today, they'd sure as hell be rejoicing, as fucked up as that was.
Yep, the McCormick kids were born welfare babies. Nothing more. Nothing less. School life was well and truly fucked (and that was a fact), but home life was no better. Like, he wasn't denying that all kids who'd been unfortunate enough to been born in South Park had pretty shitty and unorthodox upbringings, but Kenny had ended up particularly unlucky, just so happened to draw the wrong card having been born a McCormick, the poorest family in this godless mountain town, never having been able to get a foot in the front door, let alone even coming close to tasting normal.
Normal.
For some reason or another, that word seemed particularly prominent in his mind today, manifesting over and over again as he and Mackey rounded yet another corner, the hallway guiding them on to what looked to be another endless stretch of white.
If Kenny was being honest, he did not lead a 'normal' life. He'd never even had the chance to live one. Broke as shit and living in the ass end of no where, thin as a stick, frowned upon, forced into attending the shittiest (and only) high school in all of South Park after cries of outrage from parents who demanded one be built so their kids could stay in their isolated, crackhead, weirdo town to raise the next generation of doomed youth.
Oh, and not to mention fucking Cthulhu powers. Powers that had been bestowed upon him at birth, making his life a living misery. So yeah, let's not forget that one.
Really, no one in South Park was normal. He'd like to say that the people who came out of the mountain town were bred different. Tougher. Thicker skin. But having the privilege of Eric Cartman in his life quickly quelled any hope of the Park county residents having anything going for them.
He was drawn from his thoughts as Mackey huffed a gust of hot breath, fiddling heatedly with his tie as he steered towards the right. He cursed under his breath as his elbow rammed into some kid's locker that had been left open.
Upon sneaking a glimpse, a mixture between a cringe and a grin painted itself across Kenny's face (because if he was being honest, it was kinda awesome), trying not to laugh as they passed what seemed to be days worth of mouldy mac and cheese and lettuce and cucumber sandwiches from the cafeteria, spilling out in a yellow and green grotesque lump.
If he knew the kids at South Park High, and he did, he'd bet ten bucks, that he didn't have, straight up that it'd been Cartman. That guy was undeniably an asshole (and he meant asshole), but he was also petty and conniving as shit, with some pretty surprising brains to boot. It was actually pretty funny sometimes, good for kicks, when some seriously unfortunate kid walked into the boys' locker room to find jelly everywhere and all the soap bars replaced with urinal cakes, or when some girl got tricked into cutting years worth of hair off (not as hilarious, rest in peace Wendy, or should be say Cartman).
Yeah, crazy times.
All fun and games, as long as you weren't on the receiving end, though.
Mackey cursed again and Kenny's eyes were drawn up to his mouth, marked permanently with a sour scowl. He watched as he retrieved a handkerchief from his lower left pants pocket and rubbed his arm viciously, a plethora of colourful words leaving his lips as what had been a smear quickly enveloped the once neatly ironed, light blue material of his sleeve.
It was as if he had eyes on the side of his head, his brow furrowing into a deep and angry frown. "Not a word." He grunted, his eyes meeting Kenny's, flashing angrily.
Kenny snapped his jaw shut, not realizing his mouth had fallen open. His eyes burnt up into Mackey's indignantly, almost challengingly. He hadn't even planned on saying anything and this guy was already telling him to shut up. But such was the nature of pretty much every adult Kenny had had the pleasure of meeting in South Park.
Mackey's eyes darted around his face, not that there was much to see anyways, considering Kenny was always donned in a thick, fur hood. It was almost like he was looking for something, a minor detail that'd betray him. Cause him to slip up. Something to nit pick, even though Kenny was absolutely sure there was nothing.
He suppressed the sudden burning desire to pull back his hood and tug his scarf down his throat. To summon forward his chestiest cough and spit in front of Mackey, hoping it'd land on his squeaky clean, polished shoes.
But if he pulled that kind of shit now, he'd be in serious trouble. It was one thing for the school to phone home once today, but twice?
He might as well start digging his own grave.
Like sure, he'd said his parents had a taste for failure, but he never said failure went unpunished. And a second call home meant worsening what he already knew awaited him in the form of a belt a thousand fold. It was better to just suck it up, as bad as it tasted sometimes, especially when you wanted nothing more than to shove it in someone else's face for once. But there were times when it was easier all round to just let it go, to take it on the chin. And considering the ass whooping that he was already getting after school, this was one of those times.
It felt like an eternity, but miraculously, Mackey dropped his glare. He fiddled with the now filthy handkerchief, clutched tightly in his hands as he went to move his arm, his fingers inching towards his pants as if he was going to put oily fabric away. He seemed to change his mind, suddenly focusing on a trash can filled to the brim a little ways ahead. He lifted his arms over his head as he tossed the material across the room. Kenny watched in surprise as the handkerchief flung across the hallway and landed almost expertly on what looked to be a discarded, half-eaten plate of curry, right in the middle of the can.
Sure, it was a useless talent, but it was kind of awesome.
He guessed thirty plus years at school must eventually count for something.
Kenny whistled before he could stop himself. "Nice throw, Mr M." Mackey was the warden and he was the prisoner, but that can had been a considerable distance away. He hadn't known Mackey had even been able to see that far out of his dangerously outdated glasses. He couldn't deny that was kind of impressive.
The moment he'd said it, he expected some jib out of him. Some salty remark, a bark of orders requesting he kindly shut up. But he didn't, and Kenny put it down to him silently basking in what was no doubt the shoot of the century, squinting at the can.
It didn't last long, Mackey turning back to him, his face sour. But whatever. He'd been expecting far worse. "Can it, McCormick." He grunted, towelling his hands off on his pants.
Kenny raised an eyebrow, his head tilting to one side. "Was that a pun?" He'd heard from both Stan and Kyle's Dads that Mackey had once admitted in front of a bunch of people that he was a little gay at some meteor shower party some eight years ago, but he'd never considered Mackey to be the comedic type.
Mackey couldn't have reinforced it more, far from amused. He shot Kenny what he could've only described as his most filthy look. "I mean it, m'kay." The tic was back and that meant he was mad. Kenny sighed. So much for trying to lighten the mood. Kenny followed his finger as he motioned down what was left of the rest of the hallway, his body tense but his face unreadable. "We're almost there, and I don't want to hear nothing more out of you until we get there, alright?"
He knew it was a rhetoric question, but Kenny gave an incline of his head.
Pretending to agree with him was probably about as close as he would get today in pleasing Mackey, who made a sound of impatience as he resumed his previous crazy fast pace, his legs long and thin like a crane's.
It didn't take a genius to know that Mackey had been gunning for detention ever since he'd pulled him out of class half an hour ago, marching him to the principal's office. Mackey always got stuck with these disciplinary jobs and anyone with more than half a brain could tell you how much he hated it. But South Park High was understaffed and the teacher's were overworked. Mackey was the only one passive enough to be coerced into doing these shitty jobs.
It sure beat having to deal with Garrison though.
The guy had almost been arrested after leaving a kid with a black eye and bloodied nose. Something about 'murdering' the beloved class pet, Lemmiwinks, and by that, he meant the kid forgetting to feed him once and the little rat bastard kicking the bucket.
Kenny should know, he was that kid.
And as terrible as Mackey was, at least he wasn't the nightmare that Garrison was.
But still, the guy had no patience for kids and zero love for dealing with them.
The sooner Kenny was off his hands, the better.
Kenny lowered his head, burying his face in his scarf, inhaling the scent of communal fabric softener from the dry cleaners five minutes into town.
He wasn't the only one.
As much as it sucked serious balls that he was headed to solitary confinement for the rest of the day, at least Kenny wasn't having to face going back into a classroom for the next however many hours trying to teach a bunch of ungrateful kids who hadn't even passed fifth grade maths that were more preoccupied with notions of making out and organising spontaneous fuck sessions after school.
Ah yes, nothing quite like banging someone you'd accidentally made two seconds of eye contact with across the hall behind the cafeteria building in a frenzy like you were in heat. Kenny had partaken in many of these sessions, and the birth of this ritual could be traced back to him, now in it's third year.
Not that teachers needed to know it was his fault or anything.
They knew it was happening, but they didn't know who'd perpetrated it, and Kenny wanted to keep it that way. Especially considering it was more or less the reason he was headed to detention in the first place, give or take.
But back to Mackey. Kenny couldn't think of anything worse than being a teacher. He wasn't an idiot, he knew teaching was a tough gig. The most thankless of thankless jobs, spending day in and day out underpaid, underappreciated and shit all over by kids and teachers alike. He kind of got the feeling that it was because of kids like him, knocking down whatever walls teachers like Mackey tried to build up, that made his life a living hell.
But even if he wasn't getting the respect he thought he deserved, teachers were supposed to be someone you could trust. Someone you could take your problems to. At least pretend they cared.
But Mackey didn't care.
He'd never cared.
Blue collars like Mackey didn't like kids like him. Kids who fell outside of your average, American middle class circle. Kids like resident white trash, Kenneth McCormick, who rarely meant good news. Kids with little to offer, and in turn, kids with little to receive, born into a vicious cycle. Kids who were destined to grow up lost and forgotten, unguided and found curled up in gutters like garbage, broken and used. Kids who'd grow up to do bad things, whether for kicks or survival. Who did bad things now, today, just because, because being sixteen and stuck in high school made you want to do bad things.
Kenny's sneakers squeaked on the floor as they approached the end of the hall, his pace slowing as a heavy, wooden door came into view. Upon closer inspection, he took in the sight of an elaborately carved silver plaque, baring a single word.
Detention.
He was sure any other kid, except for a small handful of regulars, would've been shitting themselves by now. Begging anyone who would listen not to tell their parents, even though the worse thing that faced them at home was a less than a day's worth of grounding, tops. But walking towards the door, Kenny felt more at home then he'd ever had at his own house at the end of the abandoned railway, a sense of familiarity washing over him and bringing the promise of staying untouched for the next few hours.
Familiar as it was, looking back on everything that had happened after home room, today could've seriously gone better. It's not like this was the first time too. He was a repeat offender. Sick in the head. Unable to move on. Doing the same thing over and over. Knowing full well the things he insisted on doing would only land him in trouble and end with a brand new collection of bruises, yellow and purple, imprinted on his torso, arms and thighs in the shape of his Dad's fists.
But previous groundings, getting screamed at and disciplining aside, Kenny was sure he'd also have a nice set of blue handprints marking his throat after tonight's dinner.
If there was any.
He had no idea how he was going to dig himself out of this one.
Thankfully, he didn't have to think about it long, Mackey's voice breaking through his muddled thoughts like a rackety, broken siren. "Now, in lieu of what has happened this morning, Principal Victoria has assigned you some three hours of detention, m'kay." He pulled himself up straight as he spoke, impossibly tall and impossibly thin, probably to seem more authoritative, but Kenny couldn't help but think he kind of looked like the flagpole out the front of the school. Mackey continued, his voice stern. "Even though I believe there should be harsher disciplines in place for these kind of," he paused, making a show of racking his mind. "Situations," he decided. "The school has decided not to make a big deal out of it and keep what should be an isolated event between you and your parents." His shoulders slumped, as if standing sentry had suddenly become too tiring, but his eyes danced with the vigour his body lacked, shimmering with a disgusting, filthy mirth that ignited a fire in Kenny. "M'kay?"
Kenny bit his lip in an effort to stop the words from spilling over, but they just kind of did. Growing up, his friends had always told him he'd had a big mouth. "You mean you don't want Kyle's Dad to know." He whispered, a part of him taken about by how vicious he sounded, his voice like acid.
He had no idea what he'd wanted to achieve by opportunistically stirring the pot, but whatever his intention had been, he'd been damn successful.
Mackey's face fell, the smug look that had painted his features collapsing into nothingness, his expression blank. But it didn't last long, his face becoming a riot of colour, deeply flushed with scarlet.
You got used to certain faces and details when you'd spent your whole life being shoved around by the bodies and mouths that were attached to them, and if anyone knew Mackey, it was Kenny. He knew the guy like the back of his hand. And if Kenny knew one thing, anything at all, when any colour made it's way into Mackey's chalky cheeks, that meant one thing and one thing only.
Mackey was mad.
And not like blow up at you mad, screaming and shouting and losing his temper.
But quiet anger. Anger that resided deep within the corners of his mind, horrible and conniving and a million times worse.
The thing that Kenny had come to know best about Mackey in all his years at South Park, was that Mackey was dangerously passive aggressive, and the guy could've seriously given local hooligans a run for their money. This was the guy who'd spiked a school board executor's coffee with vodka and subsequently gotten him fired because he'd forgotten his name. This was the very man who'd snuck a pinch of rat poisoning into Lemmipig's, the class guinea pig's, cage with his morning pellets, all because the little guy wouldn't stop spontaneously pissing all over the classroom whenever it was time to let him out.
But these crimes had never been traced back to Mackey, and as far as Principal Victoria knew, the true culprits were still on the loose, whittling the real perpetrators down to students and delinquents, pretty much handing Mackey a get out of jail free card.
He wasn't sure if Victoria knew and just refused to believe it, especially seeing that Mackey was one of the few original staff who'd chosen to remain in South Park. Sometimes, Kenny even got the inkling that he may have threatened her. Or that perhaps she'd already caught on and was too afraid to do anything, having already been fired once from her job and going to any length needed to ensure it didn't happen again.
Or maybe they were fucking, a theory of Kenny's as old as time, but it still didn't explain why Mackey got certain privileges. Kenny didn't like Victoria, but he knew she was smarter than that. Sucking his dick or not, she would've surely said something by now.
But one thing was for sure, Cartman liked to think he was the school mastermind, and maybe he had been at one point, but it was Mackey you had to look out for, with an artillery of clever, double bladed words and a master of the game. He could put words in your mouth quicker than you could say 'Yahtzee', offer you one hand and hit you with the other.
He guessed what he was trying to say, was that if you could avoid shirt fronting Mackey under any circumstance, the best point of call was to count your losses and book it to the nearest exit.
Of course, Kenny was never one to take his own advice, and, after one too many close calls, he should've seriously considered taking a leaf out of his own book.
But it was too late now, far too late, and if he managed to reach the end of today without sustaining some mysterious injury or ailment, it'd be a fucking miracle.
Kenny felt his heart quicken as Mackey's eyes narrowed, his breath catching in his throat as he shortened the distance between them in two short strides.
He sucked in a shallow breath, forcing himself to meet Mackey's glare, his pulse pounding in his neck.
It's not that he was scared.
No, that wasn't it.
But you'd have to be a real fucking idiot not to feel something when you found yourself standing in Mackey's personal space, close enough to kiss him.
Kenny squared his shoulders, stretching out his scrawny figure as he drew up to his full height, a habit he'd picked up at the tender age of five, some h addict asshole friend of his Mom's telling him that if you at least looked tough, then the battle was already half won.
Sage advice that was, because it didn't really make much of a difference. Mackey was still considerably taller than him, Kenny's chin barely reaching his collarbone.
Even though he knew he wouldn't, if Mackey was to go him now, it'd be over in seconds. Kenny had seen many a fight, but any asshole could tell you that unless you were crazy fast, the bigger you were, the bigger the advantage you had. As fast as Kenny was, Mackey's arms looked freakishly long enough to encase his tiny body twice over. And although Mackey was slender, Kenny knew he'd have no chance in landing a critical enough hit on him, having almost zero muscle mass to show.
It wasn't the first time Kenny had seriously considered fighting a teacher, and it was definitely not the first time Kenny had considered fighting Mackey.
He could feel the adrenaline coursing through him like electricity, iron hot and making his skin prickle, goose bumps all over.
He clenched his fists as Mackey approached, drawing even closer. All the oxygen seemed to leave him as it ballooned in his lungs, bated and waiting as Mackey's disgusting breath washed over him, smelling of black coffee and tooth decay.
"Not a word to Mr Broflovski." He spoke at last, his words so oddly sounding and foreign that at first Kenny wasn't sure if he'd said anything at all. Redirecting all his focus away from his hands and back to his brain, Kenny studied his face, almost reeling with the sick realization that Mackey was smiling. The fucker looked elated. "I'm sure you wouldn't want your friend Kyle to have such a low opinion of you after today, m'kay?"
He knew it was meant to be the final nail in the coffin, to use his friends as blackmail in a bid to subdue him into behaving for once in his life. But to Kenny, Mackey had thrown fuel into the fire.
And that fire was burning.
He said he wouldn't, but his hand were on his hood before he could stop himself, pulling it free from his head, yanking on his scarf with a single finger until it fell like a ribbon around his neck. He had no idea what kind of expression donned his face, but it couldn't have been anything good, Mackey reeling at the sight of his eyes, dark and ringed by circles from many sleepless nights, lips chapped and white, hair fanning his sallow face, dirty blonde and tickling his skin.
Mackey opened his mouth as if to speak, or maybe it was out of shock.
Kenny didn't care.
He was long past the point of caring.
The dipshit had said more than enough, it was his turn to speak.
"He was in the classroom with me. Everyone was." His voice was quiet, so quiet he could practically hear Mackey straining to listen, the only part of him that wasn't frozen bending at the knees, straining to get a little closer. He had no idea about the intense battle Kenny was having with himself as he fought the urge to kick him in the shin. To deliver blow after blow until he was nothing but pulp. "The whole year knows," he continued, his voice shaking as he tried to keep his words calm. "But that's alright." He raised his eyes, emotionless and gleaming.
He'd had it with being his punching bag, he'd always singled him out and treated him differently long before he'd started taking out his anger on the other students.
It was time to let someone else suffer for once.
He stared into Mackey's eyes, an unexplainable and sudden sensation of euphoria and rage crashing over him, making him dizzy. "At least nobody knows I'm a hideous old fucker who's going to beat it to my underage dick when he's home alone tonight."
He didn't speak the words, he spat them.
Spat them with every ounce of hatred, rage and unbridled frustration that riddled his being, finally crumbling not under Mackey's weight, but his own.
Finally folding under all the bullshit that'd accumulated from the year, over his lifetime.
It was a resounding 'fuck you', and he couldn't have gotten his point across clearer if he tried.
Not a shred of joy passed through Kenny, and he felt far from liberated. In fact, he seemed to be feeling nothing at all. A pleasantly odd and ghostly feeling, his mind a phantom and his body still, despite the fact his legs were shaking so bad he was sure he was going to pass out any second now.
He felt nothing, even as Mackey's hands snared around his lower arms, yanking his body towards his, Kenny tripping over his own feet, his entire body weight held up by his wrists.
He felt nothing as Mackey's brow crashed against his, the dull flames of pain starting up in his temples and forehead, but strangely residual and fleeting, as if someone had toned his perception of sensation down.
Mackey was saying something now, yelling. The world had faded into silence, switched to mute, but Kenny was sure that the whole school could hear him, but no one came to his aid.
Someone coming to his aid?
Like anyone ever had.
This time would end like every other time, it'd be no different. Mackey would probably trip any second now and incidentally crush his windpipe, his body returned to his parents all oddly angled and crumped like paper.
This time would be like any other time in his life.
This time would be no different.
And then, with a gasp, the world came crashing back, starting with his heart thudding in his chest, depriving him of oxygen and making him choke. It could've been the blunt force of air singeing his lungs again, or perhaps it was Mackey's hand clenched tight around his arm, but for the briefest of moments, he'd sworn to God it had felt like he was drowning, and he knew what that felt like firsthand.
He felt himself wince as Mackey's bony fingers pressed tightly into his flesh, Kenny's skin throbbing at the vice like grip on his arm, even with the added cushioning of his parka. He struggled beneath his touch, reminded of a thousand times before in a different time and a different place when these same events had come to haunt him, a fist to the nose, a jab to the gut.
If Mackey was going to go him, so fucking be it.
As queasy as he felt at the notion of taking on a guy when he wasn't at one hundred percent, the asshole had underestimated him in every other element of his life.
And it was time to teach him that hard lesson now, to rip off that band aid, and for him to finally realize that he was making the biggest mistake of his life.
But the heat of the moment passed within seconds, Mackey relinquishing his iron hand on Kenny and instead grabbing him by his parka hoodie. He threw open the door to Detention and, kneeing him in the back of his leg as he could, sent him tumbling into the room.
Even in the chaos and whirlwind of his thoughts as he stumbled in, Kenny couldn't help thinking bitterly that it hadn't counted for shit. Mackey had already done the damage, already put his foot in it. Principal Victoria was going to be hearing about it from him first thing tomorrow, as hard as it was going to be for her to see from out under her desk with Mackey's dick in her face.
"Consider this the last time you'll ever be my fucking problem, McCormick." Came Mackey's voice, distorted and distant.
And then the door slammed shut.
By the time Kenny had found his feet, Mackey had gone, whirling around wildly on his heels, fists clenched as if anything could happen at any moment. For a moment there, he'd seriously considered it could have. But he was met with nothing but the door. No grey pair of eyes to take the full heat of his fiery glare. No flesh to mark. And hit. And kick.
Just the door.
Just detention.
Kenny let his hands fall to his sides but his arms remained tense, fingers knotting and unknotting over his belt, his knuckles white.
He stared at the door, gaze piercing and unfaltering, straining his ears to listen for any sounds of life, but the hallway and the outside world was nothing short of silent.
He couldn't put a finger on why, but Kenny's heart was pounding so sporadically in his chest he was sure it would leap out at any moment, a pulsing, red mess on the floor, stilling as it gave it's final beat.
Yeah, at least that'd be a new one.
He squeezed the fabric of his parka, his skin yellow and tightly stretched, like a canvas drawn too tight.
Still pissed to the core and unable to take it any more, Kenny started to pace, back and forward before the door frame, his pace quickening with each complete loop, his head and his heart seeming to race more and more by the second.
Mackey, motherfucking Mackey.
Mackey, who'd nothing short of head butted him. Mackey, who'd grabbed his arm and held him up by his wrists, his grip tight enough to break his honeycomb bones. Mackey, who made his blood boil and feel like he was going to go into cardiac arrest. Mackey, who he'd dealt with him time and time again and he'd vowed to give him a taste of his own medicine, but just hadn't found the time or the means to do it yet.
Mackey.
Kenny stopped mid step, directly in front of the door. He stared up into a view hole in the shape of a gold ring, smack in the middle of the oak.
What had Mackey had the cheek to say?
Some bullshit about him no longer being on his hands after today?
Maybe he'd meant to sound ominous, reckless. To make himself out to be like he could be anywhere. Could do anything.
Kenny had always been high on Mackey's hit list. A lost cause. A troublemaker. But today he'd made the shit list, and that meant one thing and one thing only. He probably wasn't going to make it through the rest of the week alive, especially considering his truly tragic talent at dying.
Now was probably the time to start thinking of something, some kind of revenge, a way to get back at Mackey, perhaps even stooping as low as implementing Cartman-style tactics for once. Few people crossed Kenny McCormick. Anyone could tell you that he could give you a fight that gave you your full money's worth. But fighting wasn't the answer, Mackey had put a pin in that pretty quickly. He'd have to find some other way, tap into the school's Wi-Fi and get creative with a web of possibilities at his disposal.
And what better time to do that than now, during unsupervised solitude?
He was so going to regret it after today.
Everything.
You could only push someone so fucking far before something came around to bite you on the ass.
Kenny turned his back to the door, breathing in a deep breath to steady himself, not realizing how bad he'd been shaking. Giving his shoulders a shrug and lifting up the bottom lip of his parka, Kenny reached around to his left rear jeans pocket, fingers splayed and searching for his run of the mill, preowned by at least five other people Blackberry, grunting in frustration when he grabbed nothing but air.
He tried again, bending his arm so that it hung lower this time, his hand still coming up with zilch.
Weird. Maybe he had put it in his right pocket, even though he'd always made it a habit to store anything important in his left, considering the right usually housed miscellaneous items like cigarettes and chewing gum.
Not even bothering to reach inside, Kenny patted his right side unceremoniously, stiffening when he yet again came up with nada.
He froze, sure that if his skin wasn't already chalk white, he would've struck up a pretty uncanny resemblance to a ghost.
Had he lost his phone?
The one he'd saved up over a year to buy?
Not even giving himself time to think, Kenny threw himself on the floor, knees aching as he slammed onto the fraying carpet that no doubt covered a concrete floor beneath. He retracted his arms from his jacket sleeves and slipped his parka out over his head, still buttoned up and zipped. He cast it onto the floor, yanking up his singlet that had already snuck it's way up past his navel, and tugged it up to his chest. He twisted his torso, searching his jeans frantically, thanking God that being flexible came in handy in more ways than one.
But it was too late.
He felt his heart sink to his stomach in despair, his blood draining from his face and pooling at his feet.
He wasn't sure if it was his imagination, but the room seemed to spin for a moment there.
But he couldn't deny the facts.
His phone, hand made felt zelda trinket made by Karen and all, was gone.
And it wasn't only the fact that it was the most expensive purchase and thing he'd owned too. All of his weed dealers, desperate midnight messages to Craig, photos of his various gruesome injures over the years and personal details were on that phone.
And not to mention porn.
Very obscure and unconventional porn.
Disregarding the fact that his phone had a passcode on it, it wouldn't take a genius to break the code (a classic birthday combination), and if someone did, he was going to be in a world of trouble.
But it didn't make any sense. Kenny watched his phone like a hawk. Any of his friends could tell you that. The rules were set in stone and no one, and he meant no one, was allowed under any circumstances to touch his precious device. Unless he gave someone explicit permission, which had probably only happened about twice in the three years he'd owned it, you could bet your ass you'd be stumbling home with a few less teeth if your dirty mits so much as hovered near it.
He couldn't recall the precise time he'd last had it, but he knew it had been sometime this morning, when he'd logged onto tumblr and pulled up a chair beside Clyde, bonding over gay porn. After that, school had commenced and he'd met Karen in the upstairs foyer to walk her to class before looping back down the stairs to ground floor to make his way back down the hall. Then shit had gone down, Mackey had showed up and assaulted him and kicked his ass into detention.
Kenny felt himself stiffen, his hands clamped around his singlet, freezing mid tug as he went to pull it back down.
Mackey.
It had all fallen into place.
Had the son of a bitch seriously snagged his phone?
But when? When was the fucking question. He hadn't confiscated it at any time during his escort and it wasn't like Kenny had handed it over to him willy nilly. That would've been a far cry. He must've taken it from him when he'd grabbed him, a ruse and an excuse to get rough with him while snatching his phone at the same time.
Was there no fucking end to his evil?
Kenny rose to his feet, his vision blurring from the sudden, aggravated movement, not bothering to grab his parka, lying forgotten on the floor. Not even caring where he was going, Kenny stomped across the room, away from the door and towards where he knew the long abandoned classroom's whiteboard would be, accompanied by a trash can, tiny in size and filled to the boondocks.
Humiliating him and trying to turn his friends against him and turn any already shit situation infinitely worse? Sure, up until an extent, he could deal with that.
But taking a man's phone without any real reason?
Final straw, big time.
It was such a tiny thing, such a miniscule thing to send him over the edge, to prod and poke and prompt him into full blown rage mode.
He'd spent all morning dancing around the edge and now he was falling.
The words seemed to bubble over, loud and angry and chaotic. "Mother fucker!" He hissed, aiming a swift kick at the trash can. He couldn't have cared less about the sting of pain that shot through his toes thereafter. The dull throb that started up in his ankle, billowing beneath his skin and washing over him like waves. In fact, he seriously couldn't have given less of a shit if his foot had broken right now.
So Mackey wanted to push him, Mackey wanted to see the worst of him, huh?
He shot out a hand, his fingers clamping around a green white board marker laying lidless in front of him. He slammed it down, felt first, onto the board, his arm sweeping fitfully as he started to draw. His grip was like iron, as iron as Mackey's grip had been on his wrist, his skin already paling and starting to turn yellow as he drew his masterpiece of stick figures and circles of all kinds of sizes. It didn't take long, less than five minutes before the board was covered in green, Kenny stumbling back, his legs feeling as if they were about to give way any moment, pen still in hand, admiring his work.
Kenny had never been all that adept at the fine arts, but his message couldn't have been clearer. A chaotic portrait of him and Mackey, Mackey looming over him, a camera pointed directly at his stick figure crotch, and stick figure Kenny, with his tell tale freckles and scars, looking half amused, half horrified, looking up into the camera, his claw like hands gripping a massive dick.
To anyone else, he knew it would've seldom made sense. It would've been something to laugh at, to take a photo of and pour over with friends behind a book propped open during science, flicking the screen shut when the teacher started to approach, face donned in curiosity.
But to Mackey, who so desired to see nothing less than the worst of him, to Mackey who had seen today's events unfold and been forced to bare the brunt of it, to Mackey, who'd walk through those doors at two and it'd be the first thing he'd see, it'd mean everything.
Unable to find the cap, Kenny tossed the pen into the trash can, still tipped over with paper scraps and used tissues spilling everywhere, it landing carelessly on a crumped up test paper marked in red. His eyes lingered on the picture, part of him wishing he still had his phone on him so he could take a photo and look back on what was possibly one of the better things he'd ever drawn when he lay awake at night curled up on his threadbare, filthy mattress next to Karen, shivering in the cold. It was by no means a masterpiece, let alone worth considering as being conventionally 'good', but he'd be damned if it didn't at least spark something within him, an alien kind of feeling, something akin to victory, perhaps triumph.
With a final lingering look, Kenny backed away from the board, and found himself face to face with what was no doubt a teacher's desk sitting before him. It was probably a multi functional, communal desk used by whatever unfortunate teacher or faculty member had been assigned to detention duty, reserved for whoever was supposed to be acting supervisor for whatever day.
Whoever it'd been today clearly hadn't shown up, the desk empty, the room deserted. They'd probably opted to play hooky and skip out in turn for a more favourable past time, sipping coffee or wandering down the road to do a lunch run for the teacher's lounge at City Wok.
Kenny couldn't blame them. Of all the kids who'd made their way through detention, and for some reason or another almost everyone did, he was considered one of the more trying. Sometimes he didn't know why he acted the way he did, swearing and carrying on, insinuating violence and making sexual comments. Maybe he hoped to get a rise out of people. Maybe he was just bored and didn't necessarily enjoy taking out his boredom on others but knew of no other way to combat the issue.
In a way, Kenny was kind of glad no one had shown up. Supervisors made for a serious pain in his ass. Like they didn't pull the same shit he did on the regular now when they were younger. Nobody was perfect yet every single teacher in this godforsaken school claimed to be an angel, untainted. He scoffed. He found that incredibly hard to fucking believe. His Dad had shown him photos from when he was a kid that involved several of them as background participants smoking pot and making out. Nothing worse than a holier than thou attitude in his opinion.
Kenny's eyes swept over the desk, watchful and searching. He felt he was looking for something, but he didn't know what. Something of interest. Something to capture his attention and bring him down from his high. To soothe his racing heart and banish the rage that filled his body. A distraction, perhaps.
He found it in the form of a laptop, perched neatly upon the desk beside a photo frame of Mr Adler. He stood next a woman, who he couldn't deny as being anything other than gorgeous, her long sandy hair encasing her trim figure, ocean blue eyes looking up at him jovially. The two of them were smiling, arms wrapped around one another, Mr Adler laughing as if she'd told him some joke. Kenny couldn't remember the last time he'd ever seen Mr Adler smile, a man of few words and a short fuse, only ever really breaking out of his dreary demeanour to utter a brief 'quit screwing around.' But happy or not, it wasn't Mr Adler that'd sparked his attention.
Kenny looked back at the laptop, silver and closed shut. At a first glance, it looked shiny and new, untouched and kept in pristine condition, clearly bought as a status symbol instead of for practicality. Something to brag about with the other teachers, a big ticket item. The illusion was quickly shattered when Kenny rounded the desk, propping it open with a finger. He watched incredulously as the top screen, scratched up to high hell, threatened to come away from the keypad, which seemed to be missing about a dozen keys, not to mention, it was filthy. As a whole, the laptop looked as if it had had coffee spilt on it one too many times, decorated with dark coloured stains and mysterious sticky spots that were probably caused by donuts or other sweets. He didn't consider for a second that the laptop belonged to Mackey, the guy so obsessed with clean and tidy he was sure he had some form of OCD.
This had to be Mr Adler's computer, and it was a disgrace.
The whole guy's life was a mess, but holy shit.
Kenny couldn't help but cringe looking at it.
He guessed that's the way it was when you had money to burn, though. He couldn't even begin to imagine having such a privileged lifestyle to just up and wreck expensive electronics. Here he was losing his mind over his phone whilst Adler was probably trashing a computer a week. He shuddered at the very thought.
Not really thinking about it, Kenny pressed a thumb to the power button, blinking in surprise when the laptop started to boot up, a three tone welcoming sound effect tinkling disappointingly. He watched as the screen lit up, the picture muddled in the top left corner by what appeared to be a large crack, a million small squares of different shades of blue and purple occupying the laptop's name brand company logo. It didn't really matter, Kenny still able to read the opening message that had thankfully sprung up in the middle of the screen, requesting a password be entered into a slim rectangular box.
Password?
Now he was out of ideas.
There was no way in hell Kenny would be able to guess Adler's password. The guy was a chronic mind changer, scatterbrained and had mood swings as violent as an electric storm. Even with all that aside, Kenny had never been the best at guessing number combinations, let alone alphabetical ones. He could spend the rest of his time locked away pouring over the computer and still not come any closer to cracking the code.
He also didn't have the patience for it, so go figure.
Kenny sighed, his eyes dropping from the screen. He tried to ignore the piercing curiosity that gnawed at his mind, to forget the mystery of what could possibly be on Adler's computer that would require a password. But no such luck. He was well and truly intrigued.
He'd have to at least try.
He started weighing his options, thinking about his clues. If he knew Adler, and he did, the guy was so forgetful he must've left a reminder somewhere. A scrap of paper, perhaps? A folded up detention slip stuffed away in some folder somewhere, maybe?
With a quick observation of the desk, Kenny's best bet was the drawers lying next to the swivel chair, a set of three, hopefully unlocked. Kenny reached out a hand, releasing a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and gave the top drawer a swift tug. It opened like a charm, a half eaten pack of Skittles rolling around it's contents of what looked to be enough loose sheets of paper to write at least ten books over, a yellow sticky note catching his eye.
His fingers snagged around it and he brought it closer to his face. He turned it over to reveal a string of messy cursive writing, Kenny just able to make out a name amidst the many extravagant loops and circles that patterned the page.
"Pam." Kenny read aloud to himself, raising an eyebrow in confusion.
Weird, but he'd take his chances.
Fingers on the keyboard, Kenny tapped away at the keys. He spelt the name out loud to himself as he wrote, P-a-m, and hit enter with an eager finger as he drummed in the last letter.
It worked a treat, the laptop making a second pathetic noise before directing him to a blue and green home screen of clear skies and rolling hills. Honestly, he hadn't been expecting to achieve shit, but this was Adler he was talking about, and Adler was a simple man. He still had no idea who the fuck Pam was, but he supposed she was the woman in the photo frame. As far as he knew, Adler was single. Maybe she'd been an ex girlfriend or an ex-wife, even though Kenny couldn't imagine Alder ever getting so lucky.
But Adler's previous romantic implications and dating history aside, he was in. Now it was time to snoop around and poke his nose where it didn't belong. And he needed to get to it right away because he was sure he had little time. He wasn't sure when Adler was to return, and he sure as hell didn't want him to catch him with his pants down.
So to speak.
From the looks of it, Adler's pc background was pretty boring, an eternity of blank space taking up the majority of his home screen, dotted only with a single folder labelled 'Students.' Kenny leant in closer towards the screen, as if that might unveil the mystery of the folder somehow. It wasn't the subject that was baffling him. No, it really wasn't that unusual that a teacher had deets on his students. Grade point averages, copies of report cards from previous semesters, maybe. It was the picture that accompanied the file that was sending him into a head spin and sending alarm bells screeching.
A clown.
And not just one clown.
Three of them.
All painted in elaborate rainbow make up and glaring up at him as if they could see him through the screen, taunting and knowing. Disregarding the fact that opting to have a clown as your welcoming photo being insanely creepy, something about this folder felt all too personalized, like it was directed at him, or something. That he was meant to find it. Kenny couldn't place the feeling, but he felt like he'd seen those made up faces before, sometime long ago, perhaps in a different lifetime. He couldn't recall if he'd ever been murdered by a clown. No. He'd died too many times to remember every detail of every time he'd made his way over to the other side. But still, he had an itch and it needed to be scratched. An inkling, tickling at his mind as if he was on the edge of some great discovery. He found himself thinking back to his childhood, of the very rare family outings to town carnivals and fairs, but something still seemed out of place.
But now was not the time to be thinking about such things. Especially not on borrowed time. Kenny shook his head, as if to clear it, clicking on the file and it redirecting him to a white web page immediately. He waited with bated breath as a minute hour glass spun before him, unsure of why he felt so on edge as he watched it fill up with sand and deposit it into the second half of the glass below, seeming to take an eternity. It was about two minutes before he was sent to a save file with a single sub title printed below, the words above it highlighted in black reading, 'Potential Candidates.'
Kenny clicked on the link without question, in way too deep now to call it a day and cower with his tail between his legs in what he might come face to face with in just a few moments. Kenny would like to say he had been raised better, he really would've. But Kenny hadn't had that luxury. No one had raised him at all. He'd had to become an adult all on his own, to skip over the cotton candy wonderland of childhood and take care of himself.
So yeah, maybe his perception of good and bad was kind of jaded.
He couldn't really blame himself, it was, after all, a fine line. He had to look at his options here, all of them. He'd come across what was possibly the creepiest looking teacher's file he'd ever seen in his brief career of computer related crime (starting today) and stumbled across an uncannily ambiguously titled Word file.
But hey, he was totally in the wrong by messing around with a teacher's stuff, right?
Wrong.
Fuck that, he was totally looking.
The page loaded, and Kenny's world seemed to stop spinning, coming to a grinding halt. He felt all the breath leave his chest, his heart seeming to stop entirely. His hands clutched the edge of the desk as if he might fall if he let go. His mind was blank, empty. He couldn't make sense of it, no matter how hard he tried. Even after he drank in the sight of the photo and the box of text below a fifth time, it was like he was viewing some kind of material from another planet.
But of one thing he could make sense.
Karen McCormick.
A case file.
Details from before she'd even enrolled at South Park Elementary.
Tibits of information about her home life that not even Kenny had known, dated back to two weeks before she'd started high school.
Kenny's finger seemed to move on it's own, fingering the mouse as he scrolled down the page. It seemed to go on forever, an endless wall of text, a second picture only breaking up a mammoth paragraph in tiny writing around the seventh page. And this wasn't just any photo. It was a photo of Karen, her eyes red from crying, her shoulders slumped and her face miserable. It was an aftermath photo, the caption below it reading, 'August 2017 – Bully Tactics. Perpetrator, unknown. Victim – Karen McCormick.'
Kenny couldn't believe what he was seeing.
It couldn't be real.
Someone had fucked around with Karen and no one had told him?
His eyes swept over the photo fitfully, taking in every detail, looking for any signs of trauma or feature that might be out of place, but there didn't seem to be any.
So Karen hadn't been hit, but what had happened?
And more importantly, why hadn't she told him?
He'd always made sure Karen had felt welcome to come to him with her problems, that there was nothing they couldn't fix together no matter how great the adversity.
Why hadn't she come to him?
Had she felt like she couldn't?
That she hadn't wanted to bother him?
To pester him with her problems?
Had she been scared?
Frightened that whatever had happened might happen again if she sought help, because God fucking forbid the teachers actually stood up for once and did their job.
A deep sense of dread shot through Kenny, almost grief like in nature.
He felt hurt.
But more than anything he felt angry.
His little sister had suffered in silence for two months and he hadn't done shit about it.
They hadn't done shit about it.
It all seemed to hit him at once, crashing over into a massive wave of rage. Kenny's hands swept over the desk, sending the photo frame crashing to the floor. He stomped it into dust when it failed to break upon impact with the carpet, Mr Adler and the blonde woman smiling up at him pleasantly as glass crunched under his boot. His attention turned to the laptop, the screen still open and glaring up at him, sitting haphazardly on a filthy red place mat the size of a tea towel. He yanked the place mat out from underneath it, sending the laptop spinning, screeching across the oaken table. He watched it as it spun, whirling across the table wildly, what was left of it's anti-slip pads desperately trying to cling to something, anything as it neared the table's edge, before sailing off the desk and falling in two pieces onto the carpet below, broken.
Kenny huffed, each breath shorter than the last.
There were only a handful of times in his life when he'd ever felt this mad and he was seeing red.
And he'd thought he'd been mad at Mackey.
Whoever that shit stain was that had dared to touched her was going to pay.
He must've been going crazy, he must've.
Sixteen years later and this was finally it, because for a second there amongst all the anger and sadness and confusion Kenny had sworn something had brushed his shoulder, something that'd felt like a hand.
No.
Definitely fingers.
Kenny whipped around, hands raised and balled into fists.
He stopped in his tracks as he heard a squeal. "Kenny, relax!" Squeaked a familiar voice. "It's me!"
Kenny froze, his body wobbling like jelly.
What was going on?
And then, all of the sudden, he came swimming into view.
A pair of black Ray Ban glasses perched on his nose, his sparkling blue eyes looking up at him riddled with emotion from his round, childish face. He held himself cautiously, his tiny, thin figure draped in a turquoise turtle neck, accompanied by deep blue jeans tucked into combat boots
There was only one person in all of South Park High who dared to show up to school dressed so provocatively.
The name tumbled off his lips before he could stop himself, his eyes burning into his. "Butters?" Kenny heard himself mummer, as if from a distance.
The boy nodded, shuffling his feet. "Hey, Ken." He greeted with a small smile.
OoOoOoOoOo
((Okay guys, that marks the end of part one!
A few notes before I continue:
- If you're confused right now, good! All is explained in later chapters!
-Mr Adler's live action future wife never had an official name but was played by Pam Brady, hence me naming her 'Pam' (member season 3, yeah I member!)
-Count this as a slight Au for ages and my describing and tweaking of the teacher's personalities. If you had to spend over 10 years teaching South Park kids, you'd lose your shit too.
-This piece is littered with my fave moments from the older seasons of 'South Park', so check it out!
And with all that aside, thank you to everybody that read this! I spent a really long time writing this and appreciate you guys' putting in the effort to read it!
Seeing as this is also my first Kenny and Butters centric fanfic, I really wanted to do these guys justice (the most underrated of the underrated), so if you're feelin' generous, drop me some feedback below and it'd make me a very happy writer!
As for everyone that's eagerly awaiting 'Closeted', your prayers are about to be answered... (hint - I'm writing it as we speak!) So look forward to it!
See you guys soon, please read and review! – forever your white trash, red neck, mountain town friend ~ KennBoKenn.))