Have some more fic, guys. It's winter vacation--fic for EVERYONE.
Thank you to everyone who read, everyone who reviewed... I love hearing what you guys think and I hope you stick with it. I'm actually kind of way excited about this story.
Kenny McCormick had been the town's cautionary tale ever since he'd been caught fingering Red in the girl's bathroom when they were twelve. He'd been disregarded as trailer trash before that, so most parents had had trepidation about letting their kids hang out with him anyway, but that singular incident appeared to have 'sealed the deal' in so many words. Suddenly Kenny was 'that McCormick boy', that insatiable sex-fiend who'd impregnate your daughter as soon as he'd turn your son into rabid reefer fiend.
The rumors only got worse when he'd got caught sucking off some ninth grader the year after. A bunch of people thought he did it for money, because his type wasn't above doing whatever it took to get their hands on a little extra cash, even if it meant risking communicable diseases, reputation, and self-respect along the way. After that he was not only a slut, but a whore.
Butters knew different, though. With every new rumor that surfaced, every time Kenny's ear perked up when he heard his name mentioned, a secret sort of smile flittered across his face. Butters knew that smile, knew that face—it was that 'I-sucked-cock-and-liked-it' face. Butters knew that face, because he'd caught himself making it a time or two before. He'd never made it a point to go up to Kenny and, say, welcome him to 'the team' or even give him the 'I understand and I love you anyway' speech. They'd just made eye contact one day, Kenny smiling at him and Butters smiling back, and that had been that.
Of course, everything had changed, as things so often did, in their junior year of high school. Kenny's brother, Kevin, had gotten a job at a tattoo-and-piercings place in town and had started using Kenny as a test subject. First came an ear piercing, a single silver ring right through the lobe of his right ear. Then another right above that one, and soon another above that one. Next came a tattoo, the words 'Memento Mori' scrawled across his left shoulder blade. Then a quick succession of piercings—a ring through his right eyebrow, a stud just below his lower lip, and, Butters' personal favorite, a bar right through the middle of his tongue.
Just the thought of it gave Butters a permanent hard-on all through the school day, imagining what wonders that tongue could work if it was really as practiced as everyone said it was. Kenny had obviously caught onto these musings by the beginning of senior year, since there was absolutely no other rational reason on the planet Earth for why he'd started flashing Butters glimpses of his tongue every so often, clicking the shiny metal ball against his teeth as he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.
Butters hadn't lasted long after that. After all the warnings from his parents, all those 'don't turn out like that McCormick kid's, Butters caved one day and all but pushed Kenny into an abandoned custodian's closet on the fourth floor and shoved his tongue down his throat. Then he gave into Kenny's needy groans and breathy pleas and let him suck him off right there between third and fourth period.
Naturally, he'd decided to reciprocate the next day and everything had only escalated from there.
Pretty soon Butters had started lying to his parents—whether it was a science project or a new rehearsal at work, he always made sure he had a wholesome excuse to cover up the true reason for his absence… which was more often than not something along the lines of "I would rather get drilled into a mattress than have to sit in the same house as you two, so bye." Not exactly a contest, Butters figured, since he'd concluded that having his ass fucked was just about the highest form of euphoria one could experience, and to have Kenny doing the fucking was possibly Nirvana.
But then Kenny must have gotten bored. About a month and a half before they were due to graduate, he disappeared without a trace. The only one who appeared to have taken it harder than Butters had been Karen, and that had been understandable. Both she and Butters held onto the futile hope that Kenny would come back, preferably, in Butters' mind, before he had to leave for college that September.
He didn't, of course. In fact, if it hadn't been for his regular check-ups on Karen, Butters never would have even known that Kenny had even come back, let alone that he'd come back the day after Butters had left. Butters took it as the hint that he was sure had been intended and never called Kenny again. For the most part, things had worked out for him since then. He hadn't been back to South Park in four years (which was always a good thing), he'd managed to hold down a steady job since his freshman year, had done well in school, and he'd had a pretty sweet apartment with a relatively sane roommate.
He couldn't believe he'd been stupid enough to come home.
That had been the one thing he'd specifically told himself not to do as soon as he'd been on an airplane to California, and what had he done? He'd gotten a degree (and not a bullshit one either—a double in psychology and business), he'd graduated with honors, and come right back home right away because his parents needed a goddang house sitter.
Great idea, Butters, you've really outdone yourself this time.
He'd already been home for a few days and by now he knew this had been a mistake of the most horrible kind. His parents had obviously grown accustomed to having the house all to themselves, because if Butters had to watch them suck face or pinch each other's backsides one more time he was going to barf all over everything.
As it stood, they were leaving on vacation the next morning and Butters would have the house to himself for a whole month. All he had to do was make it through the next twelve hours, which was already looking pretty glum anyway since his dad wouldn't let him turn on the TV.
"You just came back from college," his dad said. "Didn't they teach you the benefits of reading?" he asked and shook his newspaper. Butters couldn't very well pick up the TV and shake it to signify its importance, so he just sunk low into the couch and folded his arms.
"I don't want to read for fun right now," he posed instead, but his dad refused to listen. Butters heaved a sigh and picked up a magazine off of the coffee table. He turned it over and almost paled when he saw the sexy, fierce face of Cameron Diaz staring back at him.
"I have a Field and Stream in here somewhere," his dad said, seeing just now what Butters was holding.
"No," Butters said a little too loudly. "Cosmo's fine."
"Butters—"
"It's fine," Butters insisted and looked at the cover. "Gotta learn about 'Sexy Summer Hair'."
"Oh," his dad said with a knowing smile on his face. "All right, you 'read it for the articles', I get it. Just make sure you make sure your mom gets it back."
By some divine miracle, Butters managed not to roll his eyes and just buried his nose in the magazine. He paused when he saw a picture of Kim Kardashian, feeling his gut stir a little bit, and crossed his legs away from his father. No matter how many men Butters slept with in his lifetime, even if he got married to one and had half a dozen kids, somehow Kim Kardashian would manage to reduce him to a panting, ravenous jungle beast. He'd finally managed to turn the page, eyes flitting pictures of women's vibrators that all looked more like torture devices than anything that could possibly be pleasurable, when his mom came down the stairs in what had to be the most hideous floral dress Butters had ever seen.
"What do you think?" she asked, posing at the bottom of the stairs like she was decked out in a diamond-studded gown.
"Honey," Stephen said very carefully. "Did you make that one yourself?"
"You bet!" she said proudly, giving a little twirl.
"Are you joining the Von Trapp Family Singers on their summer tour?" Butters asked, wincing only slightly when his dad wacked his newspaper over the back of his head.
"I thought I'd wear this on the plane tomorrow," she said and smoothed her hands over her hips. "It's nice and light and with a little sweater it should look fantastic."
"Honey, we're going to Florida," Stephen said and stood, moving to press a kiss to his wife's forehead. "A sweater in Florida at this time of year?"
"Floral prints before the age of seventy?" Butters muttered from behind the magazine. If his dad had heard him, he didn't make any indications of it.
"Oh, what do you two know?" Linda rolled her eyes just as a lithe Siamese cat sauntered down the stairs and stood at her feet, meowing very loudly. "Aw, see? Princess thinks I look beautiful." She said sweetly and scooped the cat up into her arms.
Butters narrowed his eyes at the cat over the top of the magazine. Not two weeks after Butters had been at school had his mother emailed him a picture of her and a kitten sleeping in the palm of her hands. Now here the cat was, fully grown and looking at Butters as she would a canary or a fish.
Ugh, Butters hated cats.
"Princess, why don't you go play with your brother while mommy gets ready for bed," said Linda as she set Princess down on the couch beside her son. Butters went rigid. Had his mom just referred to this beast as his sister? What the hell was wrong with people in this house?
"Relax, Butters," his dad chastised from the stairs. "She's a sweet cat, loves everybody. You two will get along just fine."
Butters didn't want to know why his dad was loosening his tie and running up the stairs like a man on a mission.
Well… okay, he knew why he was, but it was just much easier to pretend that his parents were too excited about Florida to put off sleep any longer. Any bumps or loud noises were to be ignored from here on out, drowned out by the absolutely fascinating information Cosmo had to offer.
For instance, he was absolutely fascinated by the article about what was allegedly supposed to extend the male orgasm. He wasn't entirely sure of what it was that made women think that any of this was the right way to go… then again, maybe it was different for straight guys than it was for gay guys. He was pretty sure if anyone (Kim Kardashian and a few other stunningly attractive ladies excluded) got up on him and started rubbing their naked lady bits all over him that he'd get sick all over the place.
He may have thrown down the magazine when he realized that it was his mother who must've dog-eared the article about having sex in a car and immediately gone into the kitchen to find something to distract himself from the repulsive thoughts of his parents having sex. He stopped cold when he saw a picture on the refrigerator of his mother, his father, and the cat all posed perfectly together in front of a Christmas tree. Beneath the picture where the big loopy words "Merry Christmas from the Stotches!" without a picture or mention of Butters in sight.
"You gotta be fuckin' kidding me," he muttered upon scanning the rest of the fridge. There were pictures of this cat everywhere, to the point where the only indication of Butters' existence was his fourth-grade school picture tucked away under a giant magnet. He looked over at Princess, who was still perched on the couch, and shook his head.
"Shoulda just got you twenty-one years ago and been done with it," he said and moved toward the front door. The cat hissed at him as he walked past; Butters may have hissed back. He wasn't sure he should be held responsible for his actions since this was about the single-most infuriating situation he could think to be in. He grabbed a coat in one hand, his key in the other, and left the house for what he wished could be forever.
It had been a bad idea to come home—he'd thought it once and he'd keep thinking it until it became a good idea, which would never happen, so… bad idea. Hey Butters, come home and housesit for us while we go on vacation. You can live here and eat here and it'll be… it'll be just grand. Fat fucking chance.
Butters walked all the way to the supermarket, because, judging by the way he'd seen the fridge and cabinets were stocked, his parents had apparently stopped eating food. He grabbed a cart and started down the first aisle he saw, which ended up backfiring since it wasn't even a food aisle. In fact, it was the pet food aisle, which only made Butters want to kick every single bag of Meow-Mix off of the shelf and run out of the store like a madman.
However, being that he hadn't been raised in a barn, he refrained and instead calmly proceeded to the next aisle over.
He kind of sighed when he realized that he wasn't in the aisle alone—there were a few older people browsing the oatmeal, and then there was definitely a woman with a baby at the end of the aisle, and… no. It wasn't, was it? Butters hid behind a display of breakfasty clearance items and snuck another peek out of the corner of his eye.
To be honest, Bebe Stevens had always kind of scared Butters. He really liked her and all, because she'd always been really nice to him and in spite of her beauty had actually remained very humble and kind, but she was just one of those people who did everything and did it so well that it just kind of pissed you off. She had graduated high school co-valedictorian with Wendy Testaburger, had applied to every pre-med program under the sun, and, last Butters had heard, was now attending medical school at Columbia in New York. Beauty, brains, and she'd managed to be the fiercest volley ball player Park County High had seen in decades because she was absolutely ruthless on the court… and also happened to stand at a monstrous five-foot ten in just her sneakers.
The best part about her, though, had been her refusal to touch her mane of curly blonde hair. No matter how many times people asked, she never gave into to their requests to straighten it. Even now, all decked out in her trendy boots and expensive-looking dark jeans and her red leather jacket, her hair was the same bushy gold tangle it had always been.
"Don't think I can't see you over there, Butters Stotch," she said, her voice as thick and smooth as ever, and turned to give him a smile. Butters smiled back and couldn't help but think that she sounded like… well, she sounded like a grown-up woman. It shouldn't have been so absurd—they were all kind of grown up now.
Bebe practically ran over to him and threw her arms around his neck. Butters was kind of glad he'd hit his last little growth spurt after he'd left for school, because now at least he could boast that he was about as tall as her, even in her boots.
"How are you, sweetheart?" she beamed and held him by the shoulders at arm's length, looking him up and down the way one always did when seeing someone after too long away. "Damn, you look good."
"You too," Butters smiled. Okay, it was actually kind of nice to see her. Out of anyone in South Park, he was glad she'd gotten to him before anyone else.
"What the hell are you doing back in town?" she asked, shoving her hands in the pockets of her jacket. "When you didn't come back after that first year I thought you were gone for good."
"Yeah, me too," Butters said in that polite way you were supposed to do when you were catching up with old friends. Butters knew—he'd heard his mother use that tone of voice all the time at church on Sundays. "Stuff happens, though. What about you? Thought you were off in med school bein' brilliant or somethin'."
"Uh, things have been pretty crazy the last few months," Bebe gave a nervous laugh and visibly sagged like someone who'd gone through too much in too short of time. Then Butters remembered that it was close to the end of her semester too and that she was probably as dead from finals as the rest of the college set. Butters got it—he'd only just started feeling marginally better the other day, and he'd been out of school for a while now.
"I'm actually only here until next week before I have to go back," Bebe said, appearing to be repeating herself if the way she was waving her hand in front of Butters' face was any indication.
"Aw dang," Butters frowned. "That kinda sucks. I guess we'll have t—"
He was interrupted by the distinct sound of a baby crying and Bebe's face falling like she was the one to blame. He did that sometimes too—after having spent an entire childhood as the class scapegoat, it was kind of hard not to think you were to blame for mishaps. Butters laughed anyway, about to make a mention of this little quirk of his, when he noticed the dark circles under Bebe's eyes and her smudged make-up. She was one of those people who never liked going out in a state of disarray, as a matter of pride more than anything, and this—
Oh.
Oh Jesus.
Butters looked just over Bebe's shoulder and saw a stroller sitting idly by where she'd been standing not a minute ago. Butters didn't wait for her to explain, didn't even wait for her to claim the baby as hers, just walked over to the stroller and crouched down beside it. Inside there was a baby. A real, live baby in a little blue onesie. He knew someone his age that had a baby.
Butters wouldn't even be twenty-two until September.
Bebe was only just twenty-two last month.
This baby was definitely not a month old.
Butters pointed at the crying bundle of baby and looked back at Bebe with a face he hoped conveyed just how much fuckery he felt was going on here.
"I told you things have been crazy," she said with a tired laugh as she rubbed at her temples. Now that Butters got an actual good look at her, she did look a little like she was close to falling over, more so than finals had ever warranted from anyone.
"I thought you were in school, woman!" Butters cried indignantly, only to frown when he realized that the baby had grabbed his finger and started tugging on it. He'd stopped crying, too, and even gave him a little toothless smile when Butters gave him a confused look. He seemed to be absolutely fascinated by Butters.
"I am in school," Bebe and walked over to crouch beside Butters. "I told you I'm going back next week, didn't I?"
"Then who the heck is takin' care of your baby?" Butters shot back. The baby had since brought Butters' finger to his mouth and started gnawing on it. "Aw, jeez!" he exclaimed and pulled his finger away. He looked at the baby, who was laughing happily at him, and gave him a chastising frown.
"You don't know where my fingers have been, mister," he said. "You're gonna end up gettin' sick if you're not careful."
Bebe laughed and put a hand on Butters' shoulder.
"He likes you," she said. "Consider yourself lucky—He usually just cries at other people."
"Yeah, well," Butters sighed and looked the baby right in his big hazel eyes. "Babies just like me, I guess. My cousin in Florida? She's got two babies, a-an' every time I see 'em they just go nuts over me. She only ever lets me babysit when we visit. Must be my charming personality."
"Must be," Bebe grinned and leaned her head against Butters' shoulder, bringing him into a one-armed hug. Butters looked over and noticed the odd mix of feelings on her face. He cleared his throat and brushed at a few of the baby's fine blond hairs.
"A baby?" he asked again and Bebe gave him a light punch on the shoulder. "You cart him around with you across the country, or are your parents takin' care of him while you're-?"
"Hey Bebe, I—oh, come on!" came an old, familiar voice that made Butters' blood run cold. "Dude, I told you not to let randoms just come up and touch hi—oh… Hey, Butters."
Butters wasn't going to look up. No, because if he looked up, that meant that he would see who he thought was talking, and since who he thought was talking would never, ever have a baby with Bebe Stevens (or anyone, for that matter), looking up and seeing him would cause a rift in the time-space continuum and send the universe into perpetual chaos.
Because Kenny McCormick was not standing over them with a pack of diapers and a look like he didn't know what to say. Sorry. Whatever God existed wouldn't have let something like this happen. Whatever this was, though… well, Butters wasn't entirely sure he wanted to stick around and find out.
"Gee, I-I'm real sorry," he stammered and stood. "I'd best be gettin' on my way. It was nice to see you, Bebe. You too, Kenny. Good luck with all this baby stuff, a-an' I s'pose I'll see you two around."
He practically ran down the aisle and out of the store, leaving his cart and all sense of reality behind him. He figured he'd get food tomorrow, when Kenny wasn't in the store and Bebe wasn't there telling him that, Jesus Christ goddamn it all, they had a baby together. Butters felt his eyes well up with those big fat tears that were absolutely impossible to keep yourself from crying, but he held strong. He took deep breaths in and out, just like they'd taught him to do back in therapy when he'd been a kid, and eventually made it back to his house. He didn't get any further than the couch before he flopped down and let himself go.
Kenny had a baby.
Kenny hadn't talked to him in four years,
And he had a baby.
Kenny had to have been with someone else for that to happen.
He had to have been with a girl for that to happen, for that matter.
Butters rolled over and stared at the ceiling above him. It was worse than he'd thought—Kenny hadn't been bored, he'd been flat-out not into him on a sexual level. He must've been so repulsed by just the thought of having to sleep with Butters that he just up and left. Because Kenny was too nice of a guy to break things off like that, for that reason. He'd even had a hard time telling Karen that she couldn't smoke pot and go see R-rated movies with them, and those were things he definitely hadn't wanted her to do.
Butters sat up and wiped at his eyes. He had no reason to be upset, really. Kenny was free to do as he pleased in the absence of a commitment to Butters (which they hadn't even had when they'd been fucking each other on the most-regular of bases), because Butters certainly had. He could name the few guys he'd been with over the last four years, in order, at the drop of a hat, by dick size, duration of the relationship and quality of the sex. That could have been because Butters had a tendency to organize the shit out of things that didn't need organizing, but still. A year and a half with Luke, seven-and-a-half inches, the mind-blowingly amazing master of fellatio that he'd been said that Butters shouldn't be upset that Kenny had had a fling with Bebe.
Except the only evidence left over from his relationship with Luke had been a boxful of his stupid thrift store clothes and a mix tape he'd made for Butters for their first Valentine's day together. A mix tape from Mr. I'm-too-much-of-an-asshat-for-an-iPod.
Kenny had a baby as a reminder that he'd… Butters twitched. He didn't ever think of himself as the jealous type, but he didn't even like thinking about it. Even so long after being at all intimate with him, Butters could still remember every single sound Kenny ever made, what spots tripped which reactions, what faces he made when you touched this or thrust against that. Butters sighed and grabbed himself through his jeans. The main reason he and Luke had broken it off had been because he'd slipped up and called him 'Kenny' on accident on more than one occasion.
And now apparently the guy who'd fueled every single one of his fantasies since high school was so turned off by the male form that he'd gone and gotten a girl pregnant just to prove it. Great.
Butters felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. A text message.
'my idiot bro told me he js saw you in the store… sorry i never told you. he kindof made me swear i wouldn't.'
Jesus Christ.
Karen.
She must have known too.
Now, Butters could understand Kenny not saying anything, but Karen? Four years out of South Park and he still talked to Karen at least twice a month. They were friends, after all, and even had been before all that nonsense had started between him and Kenny all those years ago. Butters used to let her take dance lessons for free at the studio in town, and hadn't even minded paying the few times he'd been caught coming up short at the end of the day. Why wouldn't she have told him at the very least?
Butters let out an uncomfortable 'oof' as Princess hopped onto his belly and started staring at him with her big blue eyes. For a second, he thought that she may knew he was feeling off, that she may have been offering her sympathy to him in this, the time of his deepest distress. He reached out to touch her, but she didn't react past a little twitch. Butters took it as a good sign and pet her in one, long stroke down her back.
When her teeth and claws sank down into his forearm Butters was hard-pressed to believe that this cat was not the incarnate of Satan himself. He threw her off of him (which only ended in her tearing a few holes in his jacket) and ran to the kitchen to wash the wound.
It wasn't too bad—in fact, the worst part about it was that he'd incurred this injury by way of foul-tempered cat rather than something cool.
As if to mock him, Princess hopped up on the counter and watched placidly as Butters took Bactine from the medicine cabinet and started cleaning up her handiwork. He looked at her for a moment before he presented her with his arm.
"See what you did?" he asked and then, like a crazy person, leaned down so that he was eye level with her and scowled. "I will have you, you miserable little bitch. You hear me?"
Butters only cursed when the cat, unwavering in her stoicism, reached up and scratched him right across the nose.
The only reason that cat wasn't sitting beheaded (by way of meat cleaver, Butters thought wistfully) on the counter was because his phone had started buzzing again. Butters held his phone up to Princess' face and raised his eyebrows.
"You can thank whoever this is for you living to see another day," he said. If cats could roll their eyes Butters imagined she would've done it just then, but being that they couldn't she just looked off to the side, determined to ignore Butters at all costs. Butters scowled and knocked her off the counter, just out of spite, and moved to answer the phone call.
"Hello," he answered as brightly as he'd allow himself.
"If you'd answer your text messages, you'd have known to prepare for company."
The reprimand was accompanied by a swift few knocks on the door. Butters sighed and walked through the living room in a few long strides. He opened the door to see none other than Karen McCormick standing on the other side, smile on her face and two beers in hand. Butters shut his phone and pulled her inside, all with a frown to make sure he absolutely did not approve of her behavior.
"What the heck are you doin' walkin' around town with beer in your hands like that's even the slightest bit legal?" he asked and took the bottles from her hands. Karen rolled her eyes and shoved her hands in the pockets of one of her old, threadbare sweatshirts that she saved for warmer months. She was nothing but skin and bones and there was absolutely no way she didn't need an extra sweater all the time. Underneath she was wearing a waitress's uniform and a pair of vivid fuchsia tights.
"Good Lord, girl, who let you into their place of business dressed like that?" he asked and went to put the beers in the fridge. Well, the one, at least. He popped the cap off of the other one with a bottle opener on his key ring.
"Fuck you," Karen laughed and followed him with a certain bounce to her step. "I brought those over so we could drink them together, you know."
"Yeah right," Butters replied. "And have to face the psychotic wrath of your brother? No thanks."
"Mm," Karen wrinkled her nose. "'my brother' doesn't have the same ring to it as 'your lover'. I liked him much better when you were afraid of the wrath of 'your lover' instead of 'my brother'."
"Fine," Butters agreed and sipped thoughtfully at the utter atrocity that was the beer Stuart McCormick had undoubtedly purchased. "But he's no longer my lover, so you're just gonna have to deal with him bein' your brother from now on."
"I know," Karen sighed and sat down at the kitchen table. She looked down at her fingernails, all chipped with bright green nail polish that she'd undoubtedly borrowed from Ruby or someone, and gave a frustrated huff. "Come on, you know I brought one for myself. Why are you being such a jerk?"
"Because you're eighteen and, like I said, I don't need any more of your brother tonight," Butters said, but went to grab the other beer anyway. He opened it and set it in front of her, even went so far as to clink the necks of their bottles together in a silent toast to something or other, before he sat down and took a long drink.
"I'm really sorry I didn't tell you," Karen said and looked wistfully at the bottle in her hands, like it was the best thing she'd tasted all night. "I'm not kidding when I said he made swear not to say anything to you. He's been really fucking weird about this whole thing."
"I reckon I would be too if I had a baby before my own damn soft spot closed up," Butters mumbled into his beer.
"Hey," Karen said pointedly, using her bottle to gesture, "You know when Kevin had his first kid?"
"When he was sevent—"
"When he was seventeen, exactly," Karen finished for him. "You know what it's like to be an auntie when you're only twelve?"
"Can't say that I do, no," Butters shook his head. Karen snorted and took a long pull off of her beer.
"You know Kevin got out three kids before Kenny even got out one?" she asked. "How fucking depressing is that?"
"Not as depressing as it would've been if you'd had three kids before Kenny," Butters shrugged. He was always an advocate for looking on the bright side of things. Karen just raised her bottle in a silent toast and Butters clinked with her again.
"How'd it happen?" Butters asked when Karen took another sip.
"Patrick?"
"Who?"
"The baby, dear, let's try to keep up with the rest of the class," Karen said very methodically. Butters flipped her off, but let her continue. "I don't even know. He just came home one day and told me that Bebe was pregnant, that she was having the baby, and that he was going to keep it."
"And that was that?" Butters asked.
"Well, no," Karen shook her head. "He took more hours at work so he could pay for her doctor's appointments and stuff. Bebe's parents eventually had to end up helping them… they're not too happy that Kenny insisted on keeping him. He's paying them back for everything, but they're still all over his nuts about whether or not he should have Patrick at all."
"Jesus," Butters frowned.
"Yeah," Karen sighed. "Bebe's tried to call them off on several occasions, but they're not having any of it. She doesn't even want to be a mom, you know? Kenny was the one who was all 'no, dude, keep it, it'll be fun'."
"He did not say that," Butters rolled his eyes.
"Well, no," Karen admitted, staring fixedly at the table. "He may as well have, though. I've never seen him want anything more, though, you know? Like, when he came home and told me that he was going to be a dad, it was like… the happiest I'd ever seen him. Except for when he was with you, of course."
Butters felt something odd settle in his chest. Kenny had wanted a kid? Something in the back of Butters' mind indicated that he knew this, that Kenny had made a passing mention of kids once, but that could just as easily have been something to do with never wanting kids. It was a toss-up—Butters could definitely hear him saying both. Maybe that was why he'd run away, knowing Butters couldn't give him what he wanted more than anything. Babies.
Babies, babies, babies.
Fuck, he'd had enough baby talk for one day.
"So what's all this," Butters gestured to Karen's uniform. She laughed and undid the bun on top of her head. She actually had very pretty hair when it wasn't all matted down by grease and grime.
"I got a new job," she squared her shoulders and smiled, like she was too proud of herself for words. "A waitress at a diner over in that new strip mall. It's a gimmicky place, with all these pictures of movie stars and crap from the fifties on the walls. Hence, the tremendously fashion-forward uniform."
"I was about to say," Butters could only see her skirt, light blue with white polka-dots, but could only imagine the horrors that were kitschy 1950s ploys. "Couldn't just wear some pants?"
"Ugh, I wish," Karen rolled her eyes. "The worst part is that I don't get nearly as many tips as anyone else because I don't have the fucking chest to fill this stupid thing."
"I can imagine that would be horrible," Butters nodded, falsely sympathetic, and laughed when Karen kicked him under the table.
"Whatever," she sighed and leaned forward on the table. She looked him over in the same way Kenny did when he knew you were hiding something. Karen wasn't quite as intuitive as Kenny—no one was, to Butters' knowledge—but she was pretty good at picking up on things regardless. "Did seeing him really hit you that hard?" she asked.
"No," Butters lied, picking at the label on the bottle with his fingernail.
"Wow," Karen whistled. "You really care about him that much still?"
"Heck no," Butters shot back with a little bit of a frown on his face. "Can't a guy just be fuckin' surprised about something? Jesus."
"Sure he can," Karen nodded. "Surprised that he's upset about his ex-lover having a child with someone else."
She always said the word 'lover' like they'd been having some torrid and steamy affair when they'd been together. Butters didn't have the heart to tell her that it was really just them locking themselves in Kenny's room and fucking until neither of them could see straight.
Sometimes they went out for pizza or saw a movie together.
"I'm not upset about that," Butters insisted. "Just surprised that someone I know has a baby is all."
"Whatever you say," Karen shrugged. "But just so you know, no one ever turned green with surprise."
Butters stared at her for a second—her cheeks were bright pink and her big brown eyes were glazed over with what was probably a fantastic buzz. She was only half a beer in, but she was the absolute definition of a lightweight. She was tall and thin like Kenny, only while Kenny had spent his youth building up a tolerance to drugs and alcohol, Karen had abstained until… Butters was assuming recently.
"You need a ride home, sweetheart?" he asked, setting his bottle, still half-way full, down on the table. Karen sighed and blew some of her light brown bangs off of her forehead, like Butters was infantilizing her by even daring to ask the question. Then she seemed to have a change of heart and buried her face in her hands.
"Yes, please."