Disclaimer: South Park belongs to Matt Stone and Trey Parker. I claim no ownership to anything other than this idea.

Chapter Six: It Ain't Over 'Til the Fat Author Sings

Wendy Testaburger glared at whoever had jostled her and opened her mouth to curse them off. How dare they ram into her! Her brown eyes fell upon Cartman and her ire rose higher. Typical Cartman to run into her and then never apologize. Typical Cartman to look up at her…like he was on the verge of tears. Okay…

"Are you okay?" she whispered. Haunted walnut eyes shimmered and, to her surprise, he flung himself at her. If she hadn't wrapped her arms around him at the last split second and dug her heel into the ground, she might have slammed against the wall.

From the safety of her bosom (Wendy would have immediately shoved him away if her feminine instinct and the look on his face hadn't stopped her), Cartman shook his head. He wasn't even himself enough to take advantage of where his face was. This must be pretty damn serious. Any other time, he'd be kneed in the balls by now.

"Did one of your stupid plans backfire?" She pressed, but besides a muffled howl, she received no other answer. Growing deeply concerned, she awkwardly maneuvered them to a more private place. People were stopping on the streets to gaze curiously. She had no idea what they made of this situation, but it couldn't be anything chaste.

Unfortunately, yanking him along proved harder than she thought. He was like a sack of leaden potatoes and weakly mewled in protest. She managed to cross the street before giving up, exhausted. Throughout, he clung to her and wrapped his arms around her waist. Now not only were they getting looks, people were stopping to watch.

"You have to stop eating so much junk food," she muttered, leaning against a lamppost. To her astonishment, he refrained from snapping at her or calling her a stupid bitch. When he glanced up at her again, tears brimmed in his eyes and his lower lip quivered.

Sighing heavily, pitying him too much to insult him any further, she tugged, yanked, and strained to her house, luckily empty. Once there, she collapsed on the couch and panted. Traversing half of South Park with a two hundred pound adolescent attached to your waist was definitely an exercise in something, though the experience was not one she wanted to repeat again. Yet throughout, he'd kept mum. He hadn't even groaned when she accidentally whacked him against the side of a store.

"Now, what the hell is wrong with…"

The words died on her lips; Cartman proceeded to bawl unabashed on her sofa. Of course, she'd heard him sob many times before, usually over material objects or because he was a spoiled brat. But these were different tears. These were the tears of a broken heart, bleeding onto the carpet and staining the rug.

Awkwardly, she removed his hat and stroked his hair. Cartman blinked and then laid his head against her shoulder. She breathed shallowly, afraid to ruin the moment by exhaling too hard or shifting position. Cartman was like porcelain and if she jostled him wrongly, he might snap again. Odd as it sounded, she preferred him like this- vulnerable. He showed a nasty face to the world and pretended he didn't care, but whatever had caused this he obviously cared deeply about or for.

"Kyle…" he murmured, the first word he'd said since flinging himself at her. There was no trace of hostility in his voice like she'd heard many times regarding the Jewish boy. All she caught was regret, sorrow, and poignant pain. She couldn't believe it, but she pitied him and she wanted to console him.

"Isn't he your boyfriend?" Wendy replied, unable to keep the bite out. Like a wounded animal, acidic agony sprouted in his chestnut eyes. Yet despite his pained expression, he never moved away. Wendy represented safety and sanctuary and he had no inclination to leave.

Besides, where would he go? Who would he tell? His mother was too busy with her boyfriend to notice him and Stan and Kyle were melting the snow. The only other person that left was Kenny, but he and the blond haired boy were hardly close. He couldn't imagine himself picking up a phone and telling him he'd lost the boy he'd fallen for. Well, he could, but the reaction was less than savory.

Haltingly, every word like another wrench in his heart, he whispered, "Kyle…is…Stan's…"

Wendy blinked, bewildered. Nonetheless, she stroked his hair and wrapped her arms around him. The boy silently accepted her actions, but was only slightly comforted. He wasn't certain what he wanted anymore, perhaps simply for the pain to stop. Make his feelings for Kyle go away…make Kyle mean nothing to him…regardless of whether he'd been crushing on him since he was eight…

"Kyle is Stan's what?" she said gently, the answer akin to a thorn buried in a bird's wing.

"Boyfriend," Cartman whispered and everything fell into place. She nodded, throat constricted peculiarly, and rocked him back and forth. Like the rest of the night's events, she never quite figured out why she refused to release him and why, when the night came, she fell asleep with him in her arms.

…

Stan shivered and rubbed his mittens along his sleeves. They'd made out for a full half hour until the temperature dropped too low to tolerate. Kyle's body heat had permitted him to ignore it, but now they started home. If they were going to be together, it should at least be in a place they weren't going to freeze their balls off.

No words were exchanged- their linked hands said everything anyone needed to know.

…

Butters awoke shivering and wondered why his parents had turned down the thermostat. More than likely, it was another punishment for a crime half remembered and so minor, most people would shrug it off. Then again, most people weren't his parents and most people didn't habitually hit their children. Secretly, he despised his parents, but that hatred buried itself deeply enough he never noticed.

Kenny noticed, though, and his eyes narrowed to slits at the thought of them. Then again, Kenny didn't hear their reasoning from the horse's mouths. He never tried desperately to impress his parents, arguing and throwing pots at each other. He never followed his father four years later to discover he continued to attend gay bars and whorehouses. He didn't bear the secret shame or the stigma of being the only person his parents could control, since they couldn't control themselves.

Sure enough, his hypothesis tested correctly. No sooner had Butters flung off the covers and shivered his way through dressing than his parents burst into the room and glowered at him. He innately hugged the closet doors and frowned, dreading their words. They were going to ask him where he was and how he got that hickey on his neck. Once they found out, they were never going to let him see Kenny again. His heart plummeted into his stomach at the thought.

"Where were you last night, Butters?" his father snapped and Butters intended to tell him the truth, no matter what it cost him. At least, that's what he originally planned, but his mouth had another agenda. It steered him clear of that path and towards another, the one with Kenny's lips over his and his hands rubbing his back.

"I-I was at the library studying," Butters replied, stunned at the ease with which the lie came forth. "Y-you're always telling me I need to study more, so I spent all night there."

Both stared, unable to think of a single counterargument. The ironic thing was it wasn't entirely lying, because Butters had shown up at the library for three seconds while Kenny checked out the Karma Sutra. That part of the story they wouldn't hear, however. He had no desire to be beaten again.

"Oh…" Mrs. Scotch said. Without another word, they left, shutting the door

Butters's head reeled, both from the lie he got away with and the victory over his parents. Thoughtless, he snatched the phone off its cradle and dialed Kenny's number. He was far too elated to care if his parents were listening in on the other line or if the whole town heard it.

"H-hey," he said shakily when Kenny's mother finally, after an earsplitting yell, handed the phone over.

"You wanna try out that book?"

If only it were a video phone…then he would have seen the grin that split Kenny's face into two.

…

Butters's parents were, however, not smiling in the slightest. Glaring at the receiver, Mrs. Scotch returned it to its cradle and turned to her husband. He sat agitatedly at the table and tapped his fingers. Charily, he scrutinized the expression ere inquiring. One never could be too careful.

Listening in on Butters's phone conversations had become more common as of late. They were seldom enough, but since his disappearance yesterday, they decided if he wasn't going to tell them, they'd find out on their own. Simply put, if the situation merited it, privacy flew out the window. Besides, they always knew better than him anyway.

"He's sneaking around behind our backs," she snapped like she was his girlfriend and he'd betrayed her. Sparks shot from her eyes and she gripped the microwave door tightly enough to leave nail marks.

"With that Raisins girl again?" he replied, a hint of a smile fleeting faster than it appeared. Her whole countenance exuded fury and extracting her fingers, they itched to snap at something or someone. He sighed, recognizing now was hardly the time for jest. Screwing around with a Raisins girl was not only unlikely at his age, but it wouldn't explain her reaction.

"With a boy," she hissed through gritted teeth. "Not just any boy, either. That little pervert, Kenny McCormick. He just called him."

"Now, honey, let's not jump to any conclusions…" he started but never finished. Her ire sufficiently quelled any objections and his rose in accordance. Footsteps echoed above them and she pivoted decisively. This problem must be dealt with now before it escalated.

She had no idea whether he knew what Kenny was or not, but the point was moot. Not only was he not suitable as a friend, but she would not tolerate another gay man in her house. Sure, her husband feigned heterosexuality, but he still snuck into those houses and once, exceedingly drunk, brought one home. If Butters was anything like his father…no, that thought was best left unfinished. She would nip this in the bud.

"Leopold Scotch!" she snapped when she heard him on the stairs. He halted and obediently, like the dogs she trained, headed towards the kitchen. A grin had blossomed on his face, one she wiped out with her next words. Sadistically, she relished the loss of happiness he suffered; she relished her power over him.

"You are not to see this Kenny McCormick now or ever again. Do you understand?" she said, voice dangerously low. Butters shifted uncomfortably and knocked his knuckles together.

"W-what if I don't?" he replied, surprising himself again with his insolence. His father's eyes widened but his mother growled like a dragon. Butters easily envisioned flames sprouting.

"Excuse me?"

"W-what if I see him again? W-what are you g-goin' to do?" he stammered.

"You are grounded, young man!" she replied and, wordlessly, he strode out of the kitchen and the house. The door slammed, resounding in their ears and hearts.

…