Alrighty then, my name is Fallen. This is meant as a stress-reliever and a time-killer... and hopefully a joy-bringer. I want ideas for cute habits and scenes, you get me? Onward!
Prologue: My Own Battles
How to Protect Kenny
Step One: Admit That Kenny Needs Protecting...
"It's fine." Kenny mumbled, a blush rising to his cheeks as he tightened his hood to hide the bruise across his jaw. It was dark blue and purple, like an angry storm. He stared out at Stark's pond absently, not meeting Kyle's eyes.
"It's not nothing, jackass. It's a fuckin' bruise." Cartman scoffed, punching Kenny's parka-clad arm. Kenny hissed, yanking his arm back and sending Eric a baleful glare.
Stan's voice wobbled with restrained anger and grief. He hated when people hurt his friends (and honestly didn't handle it very well). "Your arm... Is h-hurt. Where else, Kenny?"
Subconsciously, Kenny pressed a mitten-clad palm gingerly against his stomach. Quickly, Eric grasped his wrists in a way that wasn't really forceful but had the potential to force easily; Kenny relented, allowing his hands to be drawn away from his body.
Stan unzipped the parka while Kenny watched on in apathy, used to physical interrogations like this. (Once, he'd ended up walking home in his boxers and one sock, but that's another story.) Kyle pulled up his shirt and Kenny shut his eyes against his friends' shocked gasps. Eric swore violently under his breath.
Horrific, impossible, swollen bruises throbbed as they met the cool fall air.
"Kenny, I swear to god, if you even TRY to get up for school tomorrow, I'll ductape you to the bed." Stan threatened, not looking up to see his reaction.
Kyle sighed tiredly. "Ike's gone to smart kid school for a week, some TIP meeting thing for the ACT. Go... Go sleep in his room. We'll be there in an hour."
Kenny's fingers fluttered about in the air for a moment, unsure as to how to react to being ordered to go to bed. However, at the sight of Eric's warning glare, he consented and stood, zipping up his parka and reassuring himself that he wasn't following orders... He was just tired and humoring his friends.
Kenny huffed and pouted and was on his way, limp showing slightly in his angry stalk. The trio stared after him quietly, silent for several moments after Kenny had disappeared.
"That's the most fucked up kid I know." Eric muttered scornfully. "He needs help."
"Well," Stan replied brightly, standing up and brushing non-existent dirt off his pants, "We're the only ones who care enough to, so that's our job." Kyle snorted. "Yay. I'm now officially the caretaker and guardian of a fourteen year old basketcase."
Eric promptly cuffed him over the back of his head. "You kidding me? I've been pounding bullies for him for years now. Join the club. I gotta go pick of Sarah, guys, from preschool. So, screw you guys, I'm getting my baby."
So, flipping the Super-Best Friends off over his shoulder, Cartman left as well.
"Sometimes I wonder if he's a good friend or a horrible one."
...And Decide You're the Guy for the Job
Step Two: Let Your Charge Know He Needs You...
Kenny kept his eyes trained diligently on his beat-up sneakers as he tried to make it away from the school in time. In his haste, he ran headlong into precisely what he was running from. Such was the fate of an ill-fated soul, he supposed.
Moaning in displeasure, Kenny rose his eyes slowly to peer into the coffee-colored irises staring threateningly down at him.
"Thought you could run, Parka-Boy? What are you hiding under that hood, anyway? Green skin? Warts and boils? Scars from your mummy and daddy beating you?" he sneered his usual insults, nothing was ever original with him. Kenny winced, recalling that, indeed, there was a fading scar just below his eye from his mother's wedding ring.
"Well, brat, you can't run from me." Predictably, Kenny was shoved against the wall harshly, smacking his head against the wall with a thump. The smaller male groaned, lifting a hand to gingerly touch the point of impact. There was blood on his fingertips when he brought them close for inspection, but Kenny didn't worry.
Head-wounds always bleed a lot.
The jock's fist collided with his jaw abruptly, and with a yelp of pain, Kenny wondered what, exactly, he done to piss the older male off.
"Come on, Tommy..." Kenny murmured, voice muffled, "I don't want to fight."
"Oh, but I do." Tommy growled, pressing closer and drawing his fist back again. Kenny could smell traces of alcohol on his breath and vaguely wondered what he was doing drunk at two thirty in the afternoon at school.
Instead of landing another punch, the coffee-eyed boy tugged his hood down and Kenny cowered back in shame.
Tommy snorted. "You're pretty. Like some sort of girl. Like a fag. You some sort of broad, bitch?"
"That's funny..." Kenny nearly melted in his relief. Never before had he been so happy to hear Eric's scathing drawl. "I thought 'broad' was a '50s term. You some sort of greaser?"
Tommy spun around, one hand still pressed against Kenny's sternum, the other still poised to punch. "What are you blabbering about, fatass?"
Eric smirked. "You've even got your hair greased back. Perfect. Unfortunately for you, I happen to be a Soc. And you know what happens when a greaser messes with a Soc's friend, don't you?"
Tommy let Kenny go, turning towards Eric with mock curiosity in his eyes. "Oh? No, I don't. Care to fill me in, fatass?"
Snap.
Tommy and Kenny froze in shock. Eric casually relaxed his fist and shoved his hand in his pocket. Tommy, head snapped painfully to the side, raised a trembling hand to his bloodied nose, before shrieking in pain and rage.
"You broke my nose, motherfucker!"
Eric, taking advantage of Tommy's shock, stepped around him to grab Kenny by the arm, tugging him away unhurriedly.
...
Eric, following the Sarah's-First-Word incident, had vowed to become the best big brother in the world. And honestly, he was making damn-good progress. But it wasn't something he could consciously switch on and off. It still unnerved the other three boys in the quartet when Eric went full-on big brother mode on them.
Quietly, Kenny admitted to himself that he liked the attention. Kevin had never tried to care for him this way.
Eric was all-business when he pulled his smaller friend into a quiet alley.
"You're bleeding..." he murmured, walking behind Kenny. He jumped as Eric's cold fingers met the back of his head, tenderly parting long golden locks to examine the split skin on his scalp.
Spinning Kenny around, Eric examined the blossoming bruise on his jaw. Smirking, the larger of the two leaned back. "You'll live."
"Oh, good. I was worried." Kenny replied sarcastically, yawning. "And really? The Outsiders?"
Eric grinned crookedly and nodded contently. "Of course. I gotta go get Sweetheart-I mean, JoJo. Go to Stan's and let him and the Jew go all mother-hen on you."
Eric paused, smiling quietly at Kenny. "You know, he was right. You get prettier every time I see you without your hood, man. You could pass for a girl. However..." His expression grew serious, "That might be the gayest thing I've ever said, and if you tell anybody I said it, I'll kill you."
"Got it. I can fight my own battles, though. You don't need to save me."
Eric smirked. "Sure you can."
...But Let Him Think He Doesn't
Step Three: Heal His Wounds and Clean Him Up...
Kenny snorted angrily and flipped his hood up, mumbling about fatasses poking their noses where they most certainly don't belong, unconsciously following said fatass's orders and directing himself to Stan's house, tromping diligently through the fresh two inches of snow.
Kenny brought his fingers back up to the needing cut on his scalp and cursed. There was a ridiculous amount of blood coming out... Nothing serious, but it would scare the shit out of Stan.
He continued to feel around the somewhat-deep, non-fatal wound as he approached the doorstep, raising his unoccupied hand to the sturdy wood and knocking three times.
Absently, Kenny removed his hand from the bleeding wound to inspect the smeared, half drying and half new blood. The blond loosened his hood to expose most of his face as the lock clicked, instinctively beginning to lick the blood away as he stared up expectantly to where his friends should appear.
...
Kyle opened the door, an automatic friendly smile forming on his face, only to have his prepared polite greeting to die on his suddenly dry tongue.
Kenny was staring up at him, bright blue eyes peering through long lashes, small, tempting pink tongue lapping away at his fingers, blood smearing across his cold-reddened lips and holy motherfucking shit-
Stan inhaled sharply beside him.
"Kenny, don't do that! You look like some sort of-of... Like something out of a perverse Porno! Wait, is that blood? Oh my god, you're bleeding!" Stan screeched, ever the over-honest over-dramatizer. Kenny, to his credit, stopped immediately, a thick blush rising to his bruised cheeks.
"S'not that bad, head wounds-ack!" Kenny cut himself off with a startled yelp as he was tugged into the house, half-dragged to Stan's room, and forced to sit on the bed as Kyle pulled off his Parka.
Kyle moaned unhappily and Stan gasped as they took in the blood-matted hair. Kenny figured they were over-reacting. It had even almost stopped bleeding.
Stan grabbed the smaller blond's wrist and tugged him into the bathroom, Kyle trailing behind them anxiously.
"It's stopped bleeding." Kenny supplied quietly. "Head wounds bleed a ridiculous amount."
Kyle chuckled bemusedly. "Your hair is matted, dude."
Kenny offered a lopsided, cheerful grin. Stan huffed, reaching over to turn on the shower, and began to tug his own shirt off. Kyle gave him a weird look and Kenny looked mildly frightened.
"What are... What are you doing?" Kenny asked uncertainly. Stan snorted. "I'm helping you get that blood out of your hair."
Kenny sent an infuriatingly amused Kyle a pleading glance. "You want me to... Get in the shower with you?" Kenny checked, sending Kyle into a bout of laughter.
Stan sighed. "I'm not asking you to get naked, Kenny. Keep your boxers on, and I will too, okay?"
Kenny had the most mortified expression on his face. "But... But... You're gay!"
Stan, apparently, was in one of his moods. Now standing in his boxers, he pressed his fists on his hips and glared. "Would it make you feel better if I made Kyle get in, too?"
Kyle stopped laughing.
Kenny shook his head, blood rising to his cheeks, a hot blush spreading down to his chest.
Stan face palmed, eyeing the copious amount of blood drying in Kenny's thick locks. "You'll need help getting that out. You know that, right? Especially now that it's dried in. Kyle, you stay in the room and make sure I don't rape Kenny." he demanded teasingly, invasively beginning to tug on the bottom of Kenny's oversized long sleeve T-shirt.
"Wait.. what are you... I can... Hey!" Kenny whined, mortified, as Stan tugged his shirt unceremoniously and insistantly.
With a small noise of protest and a harsh glare directed at a decidedly unhelpful Kyle, Kenny allowed the clothing to be pulled over his head. Stan and Kyle winced. 'They always wince.' Kenny thought bitterly, crossing his arms to hide the protruding bones and yellowing bruises, an ashamed blush reddening his face.
"It's not your fault, man." Kyle muttered, awkwardly patting his shoulder in an infuriatingly gentle, hesitant manner. "I won't break!" Kenny snapped, standing and facing away from his friends as he undid his jeans (before Stan could decide to remove those for him as well) and, after a moments debate, slipped them down his thighs to reveal the pale, bare flesh of his skinny legs contrasting with his dark blue boxers, which, to Kyle's ever-growing amusement, were tightened dramatically at the waist by the strings and came down past his knees.
Stan tested the water and Kyle hopped up on the counter, leering discreetly at his best friend. Deeming the spray an appropriate temperature, the dark-haired male tugged his smaller friend with him into the shower, not bothering to close the door.
Steered by Stan's firm hands on his shoulders, Kenny stood beneath the warm, soothing spray, relaxing infinitely. Stan mumbled curses under his breath. "I expected at least SOME of it to come out..." he grumbled.
"Blood... Dried... Like friggin' impossible." Kenny mumbled distractedly, waving his hands about in vague gestures. Kyle laughed, trying not to make his staring obvious.
Stan tugged the happy blond out from under the spray, ignoring his unhappy whine in favor of filling his cupped hand with sweet-smelling shampoo. "This might sting a little." he warned, burying his hands unceremoniously into the blood-covered locks. Kenny hissed at the initial contact of soap in his wound but quickly relaxed with a contented sigh, rubbing almost cat-like against Stan's skillful massaging hands.
"This is the gayest thing I've ever experienced..." Kenny moaned, bracing himself against one wall. "'Cept for maybe fatass telling me I'm pretty."
Kyle and Stan exchanged bemused glances above Kenny's head. Kenny giggled. "I'm freaking EXHAUSTED, man. Kevin and Karen get so loud..."
Kyle gagged and Stan balked, looking disgusted. "That's sick! There's what, a five year age difference? And she's like, eleven? And they're siblings! That's just wrong, man..."
Kenny gave Kyle a half-delirious serious look. "No, what's 'just wrong' is that dad video tapes it, Mom joins in when she's high and Kevin keeps asking me to join in. Never Google Redneck Incest 3." he warned as Stan guided him forward under the water again, making a satisfied noise as the water and bubbles racing for the drain turned pink. While Kyle tried to wrap his mind around Kevin and Karen and squash down the same morbid curiosity that made him Google 'blue waffle', '4chan /b' and '2girls1cup', Stan continued to run his fingers through Kenny's clean locks.
"Toss me a comb, Kyle." Stan requested, catching said item carefully.
Kenny groaned discontentedly as Stan drew him away (again!) from the warmth of the water. The liquid that was rubbed into his scalp this time was much slicker and less soapy. "What is that?" he asked, eyes closed and half asleep.
"Conditioner." Stan replied shortly, beginning to gently untangle Kenny's hair.
"Aw, man. You're making my hair all gay and girly, too."
Stan giggled and they lapsed into a surprisingly comfortable silence. Soon enough, the dark haired boy, seemingly satisfied with his work, guided his friend forward once more to rinse out the conditioner, combing it with one hand and smoothing it out with the other.
"Oh, man." Stan called to a diligently watching Kyle, "His hair is insanely soft. Feel this."
Obediently, the redhead leaned forward to trail his fingers through the warm, wet, cascading locks. "It is soft." he murmured in surprise. He smiled, ducking his head to peer into the blond's face. "Awh, he passed out. How cute."
"Wonder why Cartman was telling him he's pretty?" Stan half-asked, shutting off the water and smoothing liquid out of Kenny's hair. Kyle shrugged. "I dunno, but I'm calling him out on it."
"Don't go looking for fights. Help me dry this poor child off."
Several minutes later, Kenny was wrapped in towels, sprawled out on Stan's bed and still wearing damp boxers. The two Super-Best Friends sat on either side of him.
"... Stan?"
"Yeah, buddy?"
"I'm gay."
"Oh."
"Yeah."
Silence.
"Seriously?"
"Yeah."
Silence.
"Kyle?"
"Yeah?"
"I like you."
"I like you too."
"Go out with me on Friday?"
"Hell yes."
... Even if He Doesn't Want You To
Step Four: Support Him...
Kyle, Stan, and Eric all sat around Stark's pond, worried expressions evident.
Eric was the first to voice the issue.
"Kenny won't be able to stay in that trailer forever."
Stan and Kyle nodded in agreement.
"He has no money what-so-ever to support himself when he has to leave."
Agreeable noises.
"We can turn his life around when the time comes... But we'll need cash."
"But how?" Stan demanded. "We're almost fourteen. Where will we get enough money to support a person?"
Eric sighed. "He can migrate between our houses. We can get at least one set of parents to take custody over him when the time comes. As for cash... You guys usually have change in your pockets at the end of the day, yeah?"
The other two nodded.
"Just put all the cash that doesn't have a purpose, change and misfit ones and such, in a jar. Once a week, we'll give it all to Stan to keep in that safe of his. Money will accumulate."
"That could work."
"Mom adores Kenny."
"I bet Ike would chip in."
Eric smiled. "We can get jobs once we turn fourteen. We can put tips and such in our jars, too."
And so the Kenny Trust Fund was born.
... And Take Care of Him (Even Preemptively)
Step Five: Love Him...
..?
REVIEW PLEASE! I'M TAKING REQUESTS AND SUCH (IF I LIKE THEM, ANYWAY)