Title: An Illuminating Anchor

Author: ohmyrainbow

Pairing: Kenny/Butters

Warnings: Slash

Kenny POV:

There's something strangely pleasant about wandering mindlessly in the dead of night. The fact that I'm admitting that without worry might be, well, weird—but people have called me worse than that. Really not a big deal, if you know what I mean.

I stuff my hands in my pockets and walk off the weathered curb, feeling pavement through the soles of my ratty, torn apart sneakers. The sky is pitch black tonight, but the white stars that are sprinkled across the dark canvas make everything seem a little brighter. They help, but the only reason I can see where I'm going is the fluorescent glow from the grimy lamps that line the street. The ones that are not already broken flicker like a dying flame.

They should probably be fixed soon. Bad things happen in the dark, at night; just last week, two women were attacked and mugged, right in the middle of the street. One of them died, only having enough time to leave a chalk outline and a bloodstain to her name. I remember walking home from the bus stop and seeing the lights of police cars and the gleam of yellow tape. I kept walking, of course.

No one's going to fix those lights, I remind myself wearily. I take a seat on a rickety, poorly painted bench to take a load off. It's big enough to sit four people during the day, and possibly let two homeless people sleep at night. But I'm not sharing it with anyone—there's no one around; if I were a stranger, I could be stepping into a ghost town. The differences that are brought about by night and day are unbelievable.

What am I doing out here at this hour, anyway?

My parents don't know that I'm here; I snuck out through the window of my room a while ago. I'm not sure they would do much if they found out I had left anyway, so I'm okay with running my risks. Call it teenage rebellion, call it pure insolence—either way, I'm here because I'm for a reason. I'm here because I'm waiting for someone.

I'm waiting for my mom, my dad, Cartman, Stan, Kyle, someone, anyone—I'm waiting for all of them, any of them. I want to see how long it will take for them to even realize I'm gone—it is probably the first time that I have ever wished that I could afford a watch. This entire thing is like one of those experiments we do in school, now that I think about it. Do I care about the outcome? I know I can swallow the unfortunate truth and still smile the next day when someone opens the door for me. Honest. I'm not worried, just curious.

Curiosity has always been one of my best and worst attributes, is all. Will they come looking for me? When will they find out? How will they find me? Did someone see me walking out at this hour? Who are they? How do they know my parents? Why didn't they say something? I don't know the answer to any of those questions. That's why I'm here—alone and in the dark. In case you were wondering.

My shoes are lazily kicking fumes of dust out from under the bench, and into the cool air—turning it foggy. It's getting later and later. I don't have a watch with me at the moment, but I know that the fifty-cent clock hanging on the wall at home is ticking ever so faithfully. The only method I have of telling time is by quantifying how difficult it is to keep my eyes open and how close my body feels to the weight of a boulder. It's too bad that I suck at math, just like every other subject I take, otherwise I might not have lost track of time or dozed off in the middle of nowhere. Maybe.

Probably not.

Usually when I fall asleep, all I see is a lot of black and nothing. Or at least I think that's what I see. I don't remember my dreams very often, and when I do all I have to remember are bits and pieces of an enormous puzzle. Sometimes it's so obvious what they mean and sometimes I'm convinced dreams don't mean anything at all.

I remember one dream from first grade; I was at a Chinese take-out place, and I opened a fortune cookie that said, "You should smile more. Make someone else happy." After that, Cartman snatched that tiny slip of paper and the broken shells of the cookie from my hand and ate both like a monster. I tried smiling like the cookie told me to. Didn't work.

Another dream I had when I was in fifth grade took place in an unimaginably beautiful garden that looked like Heaven. If I remember correctly, it had a rainbow coming in from the clouds. I put one foot on it—it was solid. I think I ran up all the way to the very top and yelled for joy that I accomplished climbing a rainbow. A second later, I realized that it had disappeared from beneath my shoes and that I was falling head first towards the ground. I woke up an inch before I hit.

That's the weird thing about dreams, I guess. You never think there's something wrong when you're in it, but once you wake up you have no idea what just happened. It's not a bad thing; I find it kind of fascinating. What's up with people when they're asleep?

The dream I'm having right now is one of those types of dreams, I guess. In my dream, the sky has a huge, white moon glaring at me from above. It illuminates the entire city with a palette that only ranges from black to white and faded colors. Everything's sharper.

I'm sitting on a bench, apparently. My head is turned down, staring at the pebbles scattered on the side of the road between small tufts of dried grass. It's not particularly interesting—no, strike that, it's not interesting at all. But I don't stop looking.

Until I see a bright white sneaker step on the very pebbles I was describing, that is. I slowly turn my gaze upwards to see a blond kid with a worried expression on his face, one hand holding up a list of scribbled words and the other carrying a cheap plastic bag that has something resembling a Walmart logo on it. He's wearing a turquoise shirt—in the dream, it looks blindingly vibrant and colorful in contrast to all the muted colors of the town.

"Butters?" The boy turns around and looks down and—ah, yes, it is him. Normally he's smiling or cheerfully singing or something dumb like that—but now, he looks kind of distressed and worried. I'm not really all that concerned, but I ask anyway just because. "Butters, what're you doing out? Kind of late for your bedtime, isn't it?"

"Gosh, darn right it is! Can you believe my parents jus' locked me out of the house like that?" I raise an eyebrow, as in yeah I can. I think he ignores it though, because he just continues indigently, "Just came back from a party all woozy and touchy feely—then said I had to pick up this here list of groceries while they do their super important taxes and kicked me out! Ain't that jus' horrible? Their taxes! They don't care about that!"

"Butters…you…" First thing I think is that I don't think he quite gets what his parents are doing. Part of me wants to break it to him because it would be funny to see him squirm, but I decide that it would suck to be the one to have to deal with the emotional break down at the realization your parents do it. Butters probably doesn't even know what that means, anyway. Whatever.

I agree with him just to make him happy. "That blows. Hey, you should spend all the money they gave you to buy stuff on beer and pornos—that'll get 'em good!"

It was intended to make him laugh, but he frowns even deeper than before. Almost to the point it makes him look like he has wrinkles. "I had to pay for the stuff with my month's allowance, darn it all."

"Oh, right." Knowing what little I do of Butters, I probably should have guessed something like that. I decide that I've learned enough about Butter's lovely family life, and try to change the subject. "Well, you had better start heading back right? It's like—what time is it?"

Butters looks down at the digital watch on his wrist. "It's two o' clock in the mornin'," he reads. He gives me a curious look all of a sudden. "Hey, Kenny, why are you out here at this time? Your parents kick you out, too?"

"Uh…not exactly, Butters." Kind of the opposite, to be honest. But the question surprises me—why was I out there, again? Something about an experiment I think? I shake my head to clear those thoughts away—no, it probably wasn't very important. That and my head feels rather foggy right now, so thinking is kind of beyond me at this point. I just do what's simplest—divert the answer and change the subject. "Hey, we should probably start heading back home, right? We'll go together since we live in the same direction, then split up. Yeah."

Butters nods obediently, eyes wide and shining. "Uh, yeah, sure we could do that!"

We stand there in horribly awkward silence, as if waiting for the other to start walking or to say something. I send Butters an expectant look, just to see how he would react or if he'd do anything at all.

His blue eyes meet mine for a second, and then dart back to the ground, back and forth between one place and another, as if they're frantically searching for something. His mouth is open, ready to say something—I roll my eyes and decide to save him the trouble.

"Okay, let's go then," I mumble before walking past him. It's not long before he's caught up, only a step behind me. I can hear that plastic bag swinging behind me, and faint footsteps trying to maintain a steady pace. It feels so weird, because I think it's almost pleasant having Butters around. I'm not as alone as I was a couple of hours ago. But Butters, of all people. Maybe it's just because he's not talking.

The minute I think that, I am reintroduced to the very familiar idea that nothing good lasts long. From behind, he says, breathlessly, "Kenny, you sure do walk fast, don't cha? Sure are in a hurry!"

"Well, yeah, Butters. It's like the dead of night. Aren't you, like, afraid of the dark?"

I can hear surprise in his voice. "What? No I'm not! Why would you think that?"

I shrug. "I don't know. You just seem like the type, I guess."

"Well I'm not afraid of the dark," he replies confidently. He stumbles a little bit behind me when I speed up even more. "K-Kenny, it seems like you're kind of scared. You're walkin' really fast, I mean!" Maybe in an attempt to get away from you, I think to myself bitterly.

"Butters, I swear to God—If you don't stop talking right now, I'm going to—"

"Kenny, you wouldn't do anything," he interrupts. We walk around the corner, and before I get the chance to yell at him to tell him he knows nothing about me, he cheers, "Hey! Look! My house! Wow, that was one of the quickest trips to the grocery store I've ever been on! Kenny, you should try out for running or track or something, you'd be real good at it."

As he's talking, I walk behind him and begin pushing him roughly towards his house. I'm already pretty irritated, and I'm trying to keep my cool as best as I can. I grind my teeth and, in an obviously controlled voice, say, "Sure, Butters, sure. I'll try out for running. Sure I'm afraid of the dark. Sure, sure, whatever you say. Just keep walking, for fuck's sake."

When we finally get to his doorstep, I'm so relieved that this little trip will be over. The windows have a warm, yellow glow that light the nice little house I always imagined he'd live in—a typical, regular one. I walk Butters to his door, because if I don't he'd probably manage to get lost on the way there. Then, he turns around and smiles brightly, as if I saved him from a disaster or monster or something. I feel the overwhelming need to say something so that this serene quietness doesn't eat me alive.

I cough a little bit, clearly uncomfortable. "Well, okay Butters. That was real. I guess I'll catch you tomorrow in school."

I turn away from the house, my vision turning towards the dark, when I feel hands grabbing me by the shoulder and spinning me back around. My eyes open wide in surprise—it takes me a whole moment to realize that the person who just roughly manhandled me was Butters. Since when could he even pick up a twig of leaves?

My initial surprise doesn't last long, though. In a simple matter of seconds, it is replaced with absolute shock; somehow, the hood of my parka was pulled down without my knowing, and there are fingers on the back of my head, in my messy (and probably dirty) hair. I feel something soft and wet press lightly against my cheek—however, the sensation is fleeting. It is gone so quickly I'm not sure it ever happened. I'm completely bewildered by all of this.

Butters pulls back and stops standing on his toes, resting his weight back on the soles of his feet. His grin is even wider than before and his eyes are twinkling like tiny stars. There's a slight blush on his cheeks, but he doesn't look shy or timid or like he regrets it at all—he looks ecstatic, probably partially because I haven't punched him or lashed out or anything. Truth be told, he was right when I first threatened him. I wasn't going to do anything before and I'm not going to do anything now.

He chooses that as an okay to lean in, and I can feel his breath on my ear. Now all I can see is a head of light blond hair on my shoulder. I listen avidly as he whispers, some-what deviously, "Kenny, guess what? You'll never guess. I'll just tell you, then, I guess. My parents didn't tell me to go anywhere, tonight. There was no party and no taxes and no grocery list. If you didn't notice, I threw out that bag a couple blocks back. My parents didn't get drunk and I don't even get allowance."

There's a deathly silence and I don't want to spoil it, but that curiosity gets a hold of me again. I think about trying to sound angry or irritated at him about lying, but it's just not worth it right now. I lamely mumble back, "What were you doing out there, then?"

At that instant, I can feel his lips turn upwards against my neck and he laughs. Then, he calmly murmurs, "I came to get you, of course!"

The clear blue-eyed boy takes a step back through the open door, still smiling that white, cheerful smile, very different in comparison to the utterly astounded expression on my face. My eyes are wide and my jaw dropped a while back. This seems to amuse him a little. He waves goodbye. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow, then, Kenny! Seeya!"

The door shuts in my face. A million questions and thoughts are running through my head, it would take months just to sort them all out. The most prominent question is how did he know and why did he…? He's so weird—that was all so weird, even for Butters standards.

I bring fingertips to my cheek, and it feels a little tingly and warm. I look up at the moon, and it's hanging in the sky and smiling down at me like it knows something that I don't. I've felt that way a lot, tonight. Because of Butters—what was he thinking?

All I know is that it didn't feel bad—it felt strange. Foreign, almost. I never figured Butters would be so forward like that to me of all people, and that I could feel even just a little bit happy about having Butters around. Peoples' lives take them strange places, I guess. I know I never expected myself to be caught up in this situation.

Well, I guess I got my answer to my experiment. If I remember correctly, it took approximately two hours and thirty-five minutes for one Kenny McCormick to be found by one Leopold "Butters" Stotch. Go figure—I guess that's just the funniness of good ol' fate. It's not supposed to make sense—just like how dreams are not supposed to make any sense.

Dreams…That's right…

~*~*~

The harsh rays of sunlight wake me up from my messy bed. It is cluttered with dirty laundry and prehistoric comic books, on it and under it. It's a miracle that I ever have any room to actually sleep.

I sit up and rub my eyes awake. It's weird how the first thing on my mind is Butters for some reason. I think that maybe I should say hello to him or something, even though sometimes he can be kind of annoying. I can't understand him at all—it's because we're too different, I guess. Besides, what would Cartman or Kyle say if they saw me hanging out with that naïve little kid like that? It would be endless ridicule, at the very least. I don't think a hello will hurt my reputation, hopefully.

I get up; I usually open my window during the summer. I keep it closed during the night because you just don't leave your windows open in this town when it's dark out. What can happen is surprising, but leaning more towards horrifying.

You know what's really weird though? Today, when I look over towards my window, it has already been propped up open with a stick. The gaudy old curtains that usually block out sunlight have apparently been tied together to form some sort of rope, then tied to the foot of my closet and thrown out the window as a ladder.

I bring my fingertips to a spot on my cheek, and it tingles.

A million questions race through my mind. I only say one out loud, though.

"What in the world?"

Read and review! Please tell me what you think and what I can do better. I'd really appreciate that!

Anon Review Response:

3ninjafan- I appreciate your opinion. What did you not like about it? I understand that you didn't like it, but can you give me any useful tips or ways to improve? Thanks for taking the time to send a review, even though you copy and pasted the same thing to several different stories. =) Please tell me your thoughts, anyhow.