To the Count of Twenty

I absolutely loathe this chapter. Ack. It took me a while to get up, because... well... I hated writing it. ;; It mainly just connects chapter nine to chapter eleven, but bear through it. I promise some more Stan and Kyle in the next chapter (I've been neglecting those two).

And speaking of additional chapters... there is a lot more of this story to come, heh heh. I'm not going to say who wins the bet, but I will say it's close, and... well... Kenny's got a lot of lives to use up. XD

chapter ten

Kyle had left hours ago. In fact, by now, Kyle had probably gone to bed hours ago. But Stan was just staring at his ceiling blankly, saddled with a bad case of insomnia. Or maybe it was the empty churning in his stomach. In any case, he couldn't sleep, and he was annoyed at the fact.

He rolled onto his side, thinking with dread that he would have to talk to Wendy tomorrow. If he put it off, she was sure to get even more pissed at him, but on the other hand, he wasn't eager to try explaining why he'd moaned a boy's name into her mouth while the two were making out. It wasn't that he didn't have a good explanation; his was flawless. It was much more the fact that maybe he did l–

"No," he said firmly out loud before he could even think it. His nose started to sting. "No...." Oh god, what was the matter with him?

Maybe, he tried reasoning with himself, it was just that note that had worked him up. I mean, wasn't it plausible that his jealousy was just a result of the bitterness he felt towards Bebe? It wasn't that he... you know.... It was just that he didn't like the idea of some girl stealing away his best friend. Yeah. It was the fact that she made him act so immature. It made perfect sense.

You vomited.

"I was just shocked," he argued with himself, hoping no one was listening. His cheeks were flushed. "He doesn't even like her. He just thinks she's pretty." So why did he care? "It's superficial." So? Kyle was a teenage boy. "He...."

He's the reason you were blushing in the bathroom.

"No he wasn't," he moaned into his pillow, his stomach uncomfortably tight. "It was just an awkward situation."

It turned you on, didn't it?

"No!" he insisted, revolted. "I like Wendy!"

Liar.

"He's my best friend!"

Fag.

Stan leapt out of bed. He couldn't take this anymore. He walked quietly downstairs and grabbed some of his mom's blood-pressure medication out of the cabinet. He had school tomorrow. He needed to sleep. He swallowed a few of the bitter white pills and headed back upstairs. He really needed to sleep.

It was Thursday and lunchtime, and though Wendy hadn't had a class with Butters all day, she was taking twisted pleasure in watching him ("and so obviously" Bebe had commented) every time she did get a glimpse of him. And now that all the classes had filtered into the cafeteria (no one was eating outside as it had been freezing rain all day), it was making her job much easier. She'd put the thought of Stan out of her mind; ever since Bebe had mentioned it, she'd put all her effort into watching Lexi's lie unfold before her.

"You're obsessed," Bebe complained across from her, pointing her fork in her direction. "If I'd known you were going to be such a freak about it, I wouldn't have told you." Wendy stopped staring at Butters to glare at the curly-haired blonde.

"First, I'm not obsessed –" she'd gone back to watching Butters "– secondly, I'm not being a freak; the way he's acting, I'll bet everyone is watching –" no one was "– and thirdly, I can't help it if I'm a little satisfied at the fact that Lexi is so painfully wrong." Bebe rolled her eyes.

"Are you still hung up on her calling Stan gay?"

Wendy whipped around, her eyes slitted dangerously. "Listen, I –"

"Wendy?"

Kyle had approached the girls' table and was looking nervous. Wendy raised her eyebrows at him, shooting a sideways look at Bebe.

"You want something?" Her voice was poisonous; she hadn't forgotten whose name Stan had uttered last night.

"Yeah... can I sit down?" Wendy looked very tempted to say 'no,' but Bebe smiled and patted the seat next to her, offering him to join them. He gave her a grateful little nod before plopping down and eyeing Wendy with that same nervous expression. "I wanted to... uhm... talk to you about Stan." Wendy frowned at him as though he was mad, and shot a glance over him to the boys' table, where Stan was looking miserable and Cartman and Kenny were laughing.

"Why didn't he just come over here?"

Kyle pursed his lips, thinking of the best way to put it. "He wanted to, he just... ah... isn't the best with words... you know?"

"The chances of him puking on you are pretty good," Bebe added thoughtfully, fork in mouth. Wendy rolled her eyes and threw a grape at her.

"So what did you want to say, then?" Wendy asked shortly, obviously annoyed. Kyle was an awful red.

"He just... that whole... incident... well, I was on my way over, you know... I know it must have come off wrong, but he just saw me coming through the window." Wendy looked skeptical. "Come on, you ran into me on the way out of his house."

Wendy thought about that for a moment. Bebe tried not to laugh at her expression.

"So... I'm not his 'boyfriend'," he plowed on, going redder. "Stan... doesn't swing that way."

Oddly, Wendy smiled at this. "Oh, I know that," she replied breezily, spearing a tomato with her own fork. "I don't doubt it for a second." She glanced over her shoulder at Butters and slipped a wink to Bebe, who shook her head. Kyle looked floored, and opened his mouth to say something, but decided halfway through against it. He just stood up wordlessly, drifting dreamlike back to his table, utterly baffled at girls. But as Wendy watched him, she noticed that his table was shy two boys. Cartman and Kenny were gone.

Kenny looked as though he would like nothing more than to kill himself. Or maybe Cartman. That might work.

"– it's just that I heard he's, y'know, funny, and I'm concerned about his –"

"Oh, you are not," Kenny snapped at Cartman, who was speaking very rapidly to a giggling Lexi. "You know he's not gay." He turned to an underdressed Lexi and explained, "He's trying to win a bet and he wants your assistance." She raised an eyebrow and grinned at Cartman.

"You didn't mention a bet last night."

"Yeah, well...."

"So what's the deal?" she asked eagerly, leaning forward over her diet shake lunch. Her over-bright eyes were glittering even in the dim overhead lighting of the cafeteria. Kenny thought for a second that she and Cartman could be related. "What do you want from me, and what's my cut?"

Cartman blinked stupidly, and Kenny snorted. "What's your... cut?"

"Yeah." She took a sip from her drink. "Surely you weren't planning on stealing my assistance?"

Cartman huffed and waved his hands. "Of course not." But the look on his face – as though he'd just been punched in the gut – implied otherwise. Then she was giggling again. Kenny put his head in his hands. God, that laugh was annoying.

"Here's the scenario," Kenny finally decided to explain, because it was obvious Cartman wasn't going to. "Stan Marsh, weak-stomached football player, going out with Wendy Testaburger. You know her." Lexi gave a bitter cough. "Cartman's got a bet going with Kyle that, essentially, he's never gonna get laid. Fifty dollars. And the plan is to viciously break the two up, because somehow I'm sure this is moral as long as money is involved."

"And we heard that you had some speculation on Stan," Cartman added, shooting a glare at Kenny, whom he was considering murdering. "So...."

"Ten percent."

"But –"

"Oh, come on," Lexi pouted. "It's only five dollars. That's hardly enough to buy a decent tube of eyeliner. Besides, knowing Wendy, it's going to take a lot more than a little charm to convince her to leave that Marsh kid." Cartman still looked reluctant. "You're gonna be out fifty if you don't have a girl on your side. Contrary to male opinion, chilli dogs and oral sex will not win a girl over."

Kenny grinned broadly and nudged Cartman, who finally caved.

"... fine."

"Good!" Lexi chirped, finishing off her shake with a devious smile. "Come see me after the bell, sweetie, and we'll see what we can do."

"But if chilli dogs do the trick –"

"Then I'll gladly hand over my eyeliner."

Butters stepped out of the lunch line nervously, the heavy rain against the windows a cruel parallel to his mood. He'd just spent another algebra class without saying anything to him, but he was going to make amends. He had to thank him, at least. Yeah, he thought. I'll just go over and thank him. Nothing suspicious about that. The tremors in his hands, however, might have been a giveaway.

It only took a few seconds to spot him; he was sitting flush up against a window at the far end of a nearly empty lunch table, blonde hair in his eyes as he scribbled what might have been last minute answers to a homework assignment. Butters made up his mind and set off quickly to the table without giving himself a chance to back out.

The surprise in Pip's eyes as Butters set down his tray across from his was obvious. Butters smiled sheepishly in response to the startled look and asked softly, "D'you mind if I sit here?"

"Oh, no," Pip replied apologetically. "Go right ahead. I'm sorry; I was just a bit surprised." That someone might want to sit with you? Butters forced down an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach.

"Listen... I-I just wanted to uh... thank you. For Tuesday." Pip looked as though the idea of anyone thanking him was completely alien.

"Thank me? Whatever for?" Pip had put down his pencil and tilted his hat upwards to get a better look at the boy he was convinced was playing a practical joke on him.

"W-what for?" Couldn't he remember? "For sticking up for me after... oh, I-I forgot... you got –"

"Knocked out, yes," Pip finished with a strange sort of smile, as though the memory was funny. "Well you're welcome, I suppose, but really, it wasn't your fault." Butters loved the way that sounded.

"Yeah...." He speared a bit of carrot onto his fork to fill up the awkward silence. Pip picked up the pencil again and resumed his rapid writing. Butters grinned at the concentration in his eyes. "What are you working on?"

Pip looked up and flipped the paper around so he could see. "It's a personal narrative for my English class. The rough draft is due today, but I, er... I didn't have time to finish it last night." The blush on his face suggested that he wasn't telling the whole truth, but Butters didn't want to pry. It was enough that he was talking to him at all.

"Could I have a look?"

Pip went a dark pink and lifted his hands off the paper. "Oh, go ahead... it's rubbish though, don't expect much...." He rummaged around in his lunch bag to find something to eat that would keep himself from examining Butters for signs of disapproval. But there was nothing of the sort on his face.

Pip had always been a bit of a mystery to everyone, and Butters knew from firsthand experience that a constantly cheery front is only ever that – a front. So maybe he'd been expecting something out of the ordinary. But how could someone with such a beautiful smile write... this?

... earth shook, I could feel it in my bones, to the very marrow. An internal rumbling, like the cough of your heart, and it was consuming me. I worried that I might hack out blood, that my blood vessels might burst with pressure, and the way my capillaries were throbbing he didn't doubt it either. The ground was pulsing with insect life, I could feel the pressure of flesh as my fingers dug deeper into soil, expecting any minute to implode. And he watched with amusement. He smiled as tears dripped down my dirt-stained face...

Butters stopped reading and wrenched his eyes away from the paper. Pip was sipping at an iced tea, glancing over at him calmly, wondering if he was done. Butters' pulse was rapid; how could Pip write so impassively about... about whatever the hell that was? Pip's brows were cocked slightly.

"What do you think?" he asked curiously, still pink but not nearly as pink as he should've been. "Any good?" Butters nodded slowly, shoving the paper back to Pip's side of the table, as though it was contaminated with some sort of disease.

"Y-yeah... y-yeah, it's r-real good...."

"Do you think so?" Pip took hold of the paper and examined it as though it were an essay. When he finally seemed satisfied with it, he shot a smile at Butters. "No one's ever liked my writing before, you know."

"R-really...?"

"Yeah." He'd gone back to writing, and though Butters thought the polite thing to do would be to finish eating instead of staring, he didn't think his stomach could handle it. He'd been sitting behind this boy for months... months of this.... How could he not have noticed? How could he never have said anything? He nervously nibbled at the end of his pizza, begging his stomach to keep it down. "Say... Butters...." He jumped a little. Pip had finished writing. "You know... there's a football game tomorrow...."

"Yeah?" He couldn't see where Pip was going with this.

"Well I've never... never really been to one of the games, you know. Do you think you might like to go with me? You don't have to," he added quickly at the stunned look on Butters face. "But... if you want...."

"No," Butters replied too-suddenly, afraid to miss this opportunity. Was Pip actually asking him out somewhere? Mary, mother of Jesus.... "N-no, no I'd love to go!" Did he sound too eager? In any case, Pip was beaming at him.

"Oh, splendid!" He grabbed his paper and slipped it into his backpack. "I've never had someone to go to... I mean, Amanda never wants to –"

"Amanda?" Butters choked. Pip nodded.

"My girlfriend."

"O-oh."

Fuck.

He opened his mouth to say something more intelligent, but a sharp ringing cut him off. He glanced instinctively to the clock. Twelve.

"Well, there's the bell," Pip commented cheerfully, oblivious to the bitter look on Butters' face. "Here's my phone number." He jotted it down quickly on a spare tissue in his pocket and handed it to Butters. "If we don't see each other tomorrow." He slung his backpack over his shoulder and stood up. "Until Friday!"

Butters just watched him leave, hand clutching numbly to the tissue, wondering how anyone who'd spent their lunchtime writing about burst capillaries could possibly smile like that.

By the end of the day the rain had slowed to a drizzle, but most of the students pouring out of the school were still holding umbrellas tentatively above them, concentrating too hard on not slipping on the icy ground to worry about getting wet.

Kenny McCormick, however, was far beyond the point of caring.

"You sure you know what you're doing, honey?" Lexi ventured cautiously from the passenger seat of her older sister's car. Her sister, Alex, was muttering profanities under her breath that Cartman – from the backseat – could only assume were directed to her broken-down car.

"Yeah," Kenny replied, shrugging her off. "I spend about half my life fixing my dad's car, I can't imagine this one is too much different." He was busy tinkering under the hood of the car, trying to figure out why it wouldn't start.

"Well hurry up," Cartman whined, annoyed enough that he was having to spend half an hour at Lexi's home without spending another half waiting in her car.

"I'm trying, fatass." His eyes were screwed up in concentration and he was beginning to perspire under his damp hoodie. "I've just gotta –"

"Hey, Kenny!" called a voice from the front of the school. Cartman and Kenny both whipped around to see who it was. In horror, they realized at the same time that it was Kyle. "Come on or you're gonna miss the bus! Stan's already – what are you doing?" His face went blank as he glanced from a grease-stained Kenny to the backseat of the car he was working on. "Cartman?"

"Floor it!" Cartman demanded without thinking, and in a moment of temporary shock, Alex did.

And, because god works in mysterious ways, the car decided that it was due time to start moving again. It gave a violent start and lurched forward.

THUNK.

Lexi gave a horrified scream. "Oh my god!" she cried, pink-nailed hands clutching her heart. "Oh my god!" Kyle, too, was staring in shock at the mess of flesh and bodily fluid on the pavement that was Kenny. Cartman, however, looked out the window and sighed with no more than impatience.

"Well... that's five."

Lexi turned around to stare at him.