Not sure where this is going. It could just be a one-shot, if I'm feeling inspired later on, it may continue. Continue to what? I haven't the slightest clue. This edges toward Bunny, but there's really no telling what could happen if I keep on it. I hope you enjoy it all the same.
South Park does not belong to me.
Butters often lost himself to daydreams. While in class, while sitting on the bus, while he waited out his father's fits over silly nonsense in the relative safety of his room. By the time he started high school he was practically a professional daydreamer, and while his English teacher praised his highly imaginative mind, everyone else he knew only seemed frustrated by his constant flights of fancy. His mother was worried by it, his father enraged, and in both cases Butters felt guilty. He made a conscious effort to keep himself firmly rooted in reality, but unless his father's wrath put enough of the fear of god into him to snap him out of his imagining, Butters was as good as lost to the real world. The therapist his mother had briefly sent him to had called it a "coping mechanism."
The few times throughout the school day that people actually made an effort to talk to him usually went to waste. While his classmates stood by, chatting away, Butters drifted away into distant dreams where he could barely hear them. They'd get fed up with him, walk away, decide not to bother with him anymore. Butters had never been especially good at making friends anyway, so his lack of company at school was no great change of pace. But the isolation was hardly good for him, and though he was usually content to live in his dreamlike state, an occasional trip back to reality where he could be met by a friendly face might be nice.
.
Seated in the furthest corner of the school library, staring blankly at a computer screen currently displaying information on the 14th Amendment while his classmates quietly conversed about anything but their assignment all around him, Butters was lost in yet another daydream. He had started out thinking about the range of civil liberties offered and expected in America and somehow, heck if he knew what path his brain had taken, had ended up on a fantastical desert planet, thinking up a story for a particularly clever and cunning princess character he'd grown fond of over his years of imagining. Lips pursed, brow furrowed, he stared, unseeing, at the text in front of him and imagined how the princess would tear the fabric at the hem of her dress to make a bandage for her wounded new friend. Yes, and she would laugh and say that she didn't need all that fabric weighing her down anyway- they were on a mission after all.
Someone was standing behind him, Butters could tell. He ignored them in favor of the princess. He imagined her helping up her friend, probably a boy a few years younger than her, a prankster with a good heart, and starting out across the hot stretch of sand to reach the palace and find help.
"Hey, Butters…"
A soft voice, close behind him. There was nothing pressing in its tone, just an effort to be noticed.
The princess would soldier on, hiking up her skirt, pausing only to tie her hair back up in a bun when it fell out of place and stuck to the back of her neck with sweat- she was a tough princess and she would get through this.
"Butters? Yo, Butters?"
She might stumble a little along the way, but she and her injured friend would make it through. They'd reach the gates of the palace by dark, just as the chill of the desert night set in, and the guards would shine the light of their torches down from their post to inspect them, see if they were bandits or spies.
"Butters."
The voice was a little more demanding now, and on instinct Butters made a soft "hm" noise, pretending that he was paying attention, even as he squinted his eyes in an effort to remain focused on the princess and her journey. She was almost done with it- this adventure was almost over. The guards were realizing who she was, apologizing for the wait, opening the gates-
"Leo?"
Butters snapped out of the daydream, shoulders tensing. He hesitated for a few seconds before turning around to face the person who'd been talking to him. Horribly messy hair, an amused, slightly weary smile, a smattering of freckles- Kenny McCormick.
Butters opened his mouth and meant to say "sorry," same as he always did when someone finally managed to drag him out of a daydream, but instead he said, "Hu…wha-what did you call me?"
Kenny's smile stretched slightly, showing the slightest flash of teeth that were all shifted just a little too far to the right, " S'your name, isn't it?"
Butters nodded dumbly, leaned back with the expectation of meeting the back of his chair and winced when his spine connected with the edge of the desk instead.
"Or do you prefer the nickname?" Kenny asked, perhaps misinterpreting Butters' expression as one of annoyance.
"Uh, no, no, it's not-"
"Want another nickname instead?" Kenny suggested, keeping his voice low, and Butters realized that he was just teasing him, "How 'bout Butterball? Butterscotch? Stotch-guard?"
Butters blinked, too confused to awkwardly laugh as he normally would. He held his tongue, expecting more variations of his stupid name, but stuttered back into the conversation when he realized that Kenny was done, "U-uh, um, no. No, Leo's fine. Actually, I, uh, I kinda like it better."
Kenny nodded, a thoughtful look on his face, as if he were appraising the name. He tucked his hands into his pockets (Butters remembered his father saying that it was rude to talk to someone with your hands in your pockets, but he didn't much mind Kenny doing it,) and said, "A'right. Anyway, the guys told me to ask if you wanted to help us break into the mayor's office tonight. Stan's trying to free the baby seals or some shit. We need an extra pair of hands and you're a hell of a lot easier to lift through a window than any of the other guys." Kenny glanced to the left, to the right, mock-conspiratorially, "You in?"
Butters considered for a moment, but it was just for show. In Stan, Kyle, Kenny and Eric's language, asking if someone wanted to help them do something meant they were dragging you along no matter what you said.
"Well, sure." Butters said with a smile. He didn't mind helping out, even if they were doing something illegal and probably dangerous. At least he was being included.
"Sweet." Kenny grinned for a half a second, then turned around to walk back to his friends, hands still in his pockets.
Butters turned his attention back to the computer. He still couldn't focus on the 14th Amendment, but the princess and her heroic tale had left his mind for the moment. Instead, the sound of Kenny's voice played and replayed in his head, "Leo?" "Leo?" "Leo?"
Butters smiled like a fool for the rest of the period, only broken from his dreaming when Eric whacked him lightly upside the head, telling him that class was over.
Questions? Comments? Requests? Send me your thoughts in a review.