Authors Note: So I am posting the first three chapters because it doesn't really do anyone any good just to read the first. And I do have a few of these finished already so I'll try to post what I have finished that actually fits into the timeline I wanted. So enjoy some Kenny for now.

Chapter 2

Kenny

The darkness that surrounded me cleared as I feel my eyes struggling to open. I'm cringing at the light as it blinds me. I see the familiar stained ceiling, the largest brown stain leaking dark liquid through. There are cracks all over the place like it's about to fall in and off in the corner you can make out the section that has recently come loose, reveling a layer of insulation. I try to turn my head and I can make out the grungy carpet. I'm on the floor, curled up on my side against the wall in our living room. I wonder briefly how I got there but I make an effort to sit up and immediately feel a sense of dizzying nausea. I'm bleeding and though these aren't ideal conditions to wake up to I'm glad I'm not dead.

I attempt to stand up and steady myself against the wall so I don't fall over. The room is bright but empty. It took me a little while to remember why that would relieve me so much. But we'd been fighting, even if I had gotten amnesia I would still be able to see that much. The room is a complete mess the objects my step father threw at my mother earlier are all over the floor, and the couch is still upturned facing the ceiling.

That man is a special breed of monster, the bruises on my face can attest to that. And all I'd tried to do was step in before the man killed my poor drugged up mother. Things had been so much better before my old man left.

A few years back my mom and dad would fight nearly every night. The abuse went both ways but neither of them laid a hand on us kids. The drugs were awful, and of course having no food in the house and no parents around, usually because they were out getting high, was a form of abuse. But I realized even back then that it could be worse. They could beat us or scream at us. But no matter how drunk my dad was, or how mad he'd get he wouldn't actually try to kill us.

But then dad was arrested for drunk driving, yet again. And though the state should have done a bit more investigating, given that mom was in the car next to him shit faced too, they only arrested him. Stuart landed 5 years in prison, and apparently my mom wasn't willing to wait for him to get out. For a little while she seemed depressed. I was the one who started getting the food stamps out and did all the shopping when my loser older brother moved out to get away from them. I refused to buy her booze, or any of the other recreational drugs we couldn't afford. And in the end she had apparently turned to Eddy, a dealing scumbag who'd just gotten out of prison and needed a place to crash.

Nobody asked me my opinion, Eddy just moved in, bringing his own neglected kids into our already cramped house. I lost my bedroom and was forced to sleep on the floor next to my sister. If the situation itself wasn't so fucked up the universe had to put that extra icing of shit on the crap cake I call life. Eddy has a temper, and apparently he hates the fuck out of me.

For a little while I had been saving up money by working odd jobs around town. Anyplace that would hire a minor my age and would work around my school schedule. I just needed to get enough money to get out of the house, and take my little sister with me. I kept the money in a bank account, just so my parents wouldn't find it. My mom had been stealing my change out of my piggy bank for years before that I knew not to trust her. But one day I left my wallet at home and my step father somehow stole my fucking bank card and got all of the money out of my account. I didn't realize what had happened until I came home and found a bag of blow on the counter with my step dad passed out in front of it.

I fucking hate that ass hole. The fight we had after was the first time the man had laid his hands on me. He'd fucked up my nose but the rest of the bruises were easily hidden under a shirt. I tried to stay as far away from that prick since then. But tonight I just had enough of my mother's screams as Eddy fucked her up.

I leave the house without ceremony, not bothering to turn off the lights. I'm only halfway down the street before I realize I need a heavier coat on. My hoodie, a black and orange striped patchwork mess is thinning in age. I had gotten it from Good Will two years ago and it was already old at that point. I havn't had a good hoodie since my old orange one, but eventually even a small kid like me would grow out of that thing. I don't like how thin this one is but living the way we do I had to take what I could get. I probably don't have a warmer coat at home anymore anyway.

My step dad was having garage sales every weekend trying to shuck our pieces of shit to other people. He's been coming in my room and taking my things, even when I hide them. The only thing that's safe is a stereo I got for Christmas a few years back, Stan and Kyle pitched in for my gift and I used to keep it at home but I decided when Eddy came in to keep it in Kyle's garage. I could tell then that the asshole would steal it to pawn it off. By now he might have sold off my only coat for a nickel for all I know. The thing definitely isn't worth even that.

The cold's biting through the pathetic layer covering me and I quickly pull up my hoodie and pull the strings tight. Soon my bottom lip is covered and my eyes barely peeked through the top. My lip is bleeding all over my hoodie but the flow is already starting to stave off, probably due to the cold slowing my blood. My eyes are stinging and my left eye is swollen from a punch I received earlier thanks to my piece of shit step dad. I bend down to grab some snow with my bare hand and press it into a ball. I put it on my eye and feel a mix of relief and a sting of pain at the coldness. After crossing the tracks I looked down the street in both directions.

My head is spinning and I can't think fast enough. I know I want to go to Stan's but I'm getting this hazy feeling that I don't really know which way I was going. Last time I had a night like this I'd been on automatic, getting to Stan's house before I could even register leaving. This time I'm moving slowly down the familiar streets I've known since my childhood.

I always go to Stan's these days; there isn't any other place for me to go. When I was a kid I would frequent all of my friends' houses. I rarely spent a night at home in those days, but after a while I picked up on the fact that their parents really didn't want me there. And after a while I started to feel unwanted even by the kids. In middle school I stayed home every night, even when my friends did invite me to sleep overs I'd eventually come home. I didn't like the looks I got and I felt like they only invited me out of obligation.

In my first few years of high school when my mom was depressed all the time and different people would come barging into our house I'd leave and sleep outside. I'd pretend it was something fun, sometimes I'd bring a tent and get my sister to come with me so she wouldn't be at the mercy of those ass holes. But it wasn't fun, it was cold and shitty. And my sister would always cry herself to sleep and I would stay up trying to think of what I could do to stop this. I'd come home when I got hungry or we'd go to the rec center to shower. Actually we did that a lot anyway because our water or power or heat is always cut off. When I worked I'd try to pay those bills but I couldn't always keep up with it.

But even when I slept outside Stan knew my little secret and was the only person who would worry constantly unless I came over. Stan noticed the bruises that started appearing after Eddy came into our lives and if he found one after one of his violent bouts he'd kick me in the shins and tell me I should have come over. I didn't really understand this, Stan wasn't my best friend after all. But it was nice to have a place to run to. And even I have to admit to myself that I feel safe at Stan's house.

Lately I've been sneaking into his room, so as to not disturb Stan's parents. The Marsh's always wake up to find me eating breakfast with their son, and they give him a weird look every time but they don't mention that anything is out of the ordinary routine. They didn't seem to mind as much as most parents that the poor kid sometimes lived at their house. Mrs. Marsh always just smiles at me and offers for me to stay for dinner, which I usually accept.

I know Stan told them about the fights but neither of his parents ever asked me about it. I'm thankful but also a bit confused by that. As responsible adults; shouldn't they report it or something.

It's not like I want to be treated like a victim, I'm not a fucking pussy. It's just I expected someone to care, to butt in and try to take me away from my family. I've been in foster care once before, but even then it was only a half assed attempt to keep me and my baby sister safe. I don't care either way. I don't want to be put into some goody goody house hold with people who are out on a mission to save us from our horrible parents.

My parents aren't horrible.

Okay they are, but no one has the right to judge us.

I can take care of myself; I can work harder, maybe drop out of school or something and get another job. Hell even Eddy will be scared of me after tonight. I landed a few good punches, I didn't cry and pussy out when he was hitting my mom. I jumped his ass with an empty bottle and hit him over the head to get him to stop. He was just a bit quicker or something. But whatever, I won't let him do it again. And I'm not just going to abandon my mom or my sister. That's what losers do, and I'm not a loser.

I'm freezing, literally freezing and I start to wonder about freezing to death. I've heard about it, I've been cold enough before, back home on the nights the power was out for days and my house was barely better than being outside. I used to pile up blankets and bury under them until I could leave for school in the morning and finally get warm. The blankets, an inexplicable gift from Butters years ago at a Nascar race were hawked off by my step father last month for a few bucks. I've been freezing ever since.

I wonder if your blood can freeze solid. If I stood out here long enough would it happen. I remember years ago Eric tried to get me to freeze him so he could wake up after one week and get a Wii. Or was I supposed to go wake him up to thaw him out. I forget. He came back after only an hour and told us this stupid story about going to the future to fight atheism. He's just a stupid ass hole though, always lying and playing pretend. I don't think he even knows what is real and what he's just made up half the time.

I don't want to think about dying out here and I definitely don't want to think about fat ass Cartman. I'm at Stan's now anyway, and the lights are all off. His house is dark, no street lamps, not that I have those on my street either, but you tend to expect that sort of thing in the ghetto. But I sneak around his back yard and I climb the little shed his father built two years ago. It's sturdy, which makes it super easy to get up to Stan's window. His dad is kind of stupid sometimes, he definitely wasn't thinking about break-ins when he built this thing.

I'm standing on the shed looking into Stan's window just to make sure he's there. The window is unlocked, I pull it a bit but I stop distracted by him. He's just sitting there, staring at a wall. His little dolphin nightlight is the only source of light in the room but I can see him perfectly. He's still as can be, breathing at a slow steady pace. His whole face has fallen like he's the most depressed person in the whole world. I've seen him look like this a few times actually, Stan's always been on the emotional side, even if he is a loud mouthed jock. I watch him for a while, my mind is too slow right now but I can't stop wondering what's up. He looks heart broken.

Finally my fingers start to numb and I realize I've been gripping the cold metal of his frame for a few minutes now. I pull on the window and jump down into his room in one motion.

He jumps into the air, coming off his bed with speed I didn't realize he possessed. His eyes go wide and he just stares at me, no scream or anything else; just him jumping out of his fucking skin at the sight of me.

"What the fucking hell Kenny." He says, but it's not yelling like I expected. He still seems a bit out of it.

"Sorry, I just came in. Thought you'd be sitting there all night not noticing me up there." I try to smile but he's not really looking at me anymore. He's looking down, and I'd categorize the look on that face as embarrassment. That I caught him staring at his wall?

I walk over to his bed and sit down, the heat is good and bad, it instantly makes my swollen face throb and at the same time my body feels relaxed at not having to tense in the cold. The shakes come, but it's all part of thawing out.

"What are you doing here?" he asks and I barely meet his eyes before dropping mine.

I really don't want to explain this shit to him.

"Can I sleep here?" I ask and he nods his head. I don't explain, I don't even feel like bitching about it. I just want to go to sleep in a warm bed. But I am bleeding, my nose is leaking blood and I watch as some of it drips onto the floor. I pull up my shirt to catch it but I need something else.

"You got a tissue?" I ask frantically. And before I know it Stan has run across the room and is back with a tissue.

I press it to my face and I get this horrible unsettling feeling like I'm being stared at. Stan kneels in front of me and I back away, still holding the tissue to my nose. I ignore him and lean my head back, it helps stop the blood I think.

Stan's hand comes to my knee and I flinch badly enough to hear him mutter an "I'm sorry" to me. But he's still looking me over and I don't want to know what he sees.

"You need a few ice packs and some bandages, I'll be right back. Stay right there, or go to the bathroom if you start bleeding a lot. I'll be back" he says and I watch him go out of his room, closing the door on his way out.

I hope he's quiet enough not to wake his parents, it would suck if they ended up coming in here. Now I can't help but think about the way he just looked at me. Stan can get as excited as his dad when it comes to certain things, sure he's always been out to save the whales, or veal or something else gay like that. But it looked like he wanted to drag me off to a hospital, and I am not going to let myself become Stan's next faggy project. I don't need that in my life.

I wait for him to come back and he's already unzipping my hoodie and pulling it back to get a better look at my face. He grimaces which I take to mean that my handsome features are pretty fucked up right now.

He presses a towel to my face, right above my brow line and I realize I've been cut there. There was blood on my nose and chin and I assumed it was all coming out of my nose, but I guess he got me up top too, the bastard. Stan has brought in a bucket and I notice it has a few ice packs and dish towels and some band aids, maybe a first aid kit at the bottom. There's disinfectant in a small bottle and he pours it onto the towel for me.

"How do I look?" I ask stupidly. He frowns at me but keeps dabbing at the cut on my eyebrow, which stings like hell.

"You look about as good as I feel right now." And I can tell by the face he's making that whatever I noticed before, Stan's poor little broken heart shining through was definitely more than just my own imagination.