Chapter 10- Under my Blanket.

She was still as a statue, back straight, hands placed neatly on her desktop, and eyes frozen to the plain, round clock hanging above the chalkboard.

Tick, tick, tick…

It was driving her mad. But, she didn't dare look away, didn't dare move. If she did, she would snap again. She had never had detention before. She was a good student, an "A" student. She was student council. She was student of the month. She was on the honor roll.

And it had all been spoiled by one conscience impaired asshole.

She tried not to listen to him playing with the tiny figurines he had hidden in his desk. Tried not to look at him, even though she felt his eyes on her every five to seven seconds. Those warm brown eyes, same color as the chocolate chips in a fresh cookie. It was deceiving. Those eyes were better suited for someone with a caring heart, deep emotions and a lot of passion. Those eyes were better suited for someone like Stan.

At the moment, she couldn't remember what she ever liked about Eric Cartman. The sad, unbearable truth was that she had liked him. Starting with a small infatuation in the fourth grade that soon posed as a threat to her relationship with Stan. The reality of it was, after she kissed Cartman to relieve "Sexual tension", as Bebe so thoughtfully worded it, her feelings for him hadn't gone away like she told him they had. In fact, they quadrupled. She was never very good at ignoring things she didn't like. She tried her damnedest to ignore her rapidly evolving emotions, but she was only kidding herself. Eventually, her attraction to Cartman became too unbearable, and she had no choice but to break it off with Stan. She used the excuse that he never spent enough time with her, and actually, he hadn't. But, the full truth was that she didn't want him anymore. She wanted Eric Cartman, and hell would freeze over before she would ever admit that out loud. And so, she had dated different boys, trying to satisfy her craving.

They all failed.

Now, as he made his tiny figurines argue and fight, she could almost slap herself for being so stupid. There was nothing good about the sack of worthless shit. He was cold and unfeeling, selfish and arrogant. Everything she despised. She felt nothing for him anymore. In fact, she had forgotten completely what it was she had ever seen in him.

If she told herself that long enough, eventually she would believe it, too.

"You know that a pigs orgasm lasts for thirty minutes?" He asked suddenly, still playing with his toys as he spoke, as if that were the most normal thing a person could possibly announce at random.

Wendy gawked at him, completely mortified. She swore she wouldn't speak to him, but really, how the hell do you just ignore something like that?

"That's disgusting!" She wailed.

"Oh, so you do still have your voice box." He observed. "I was beginning to think you damaged it with one too many deep throaters, you being the undefined ho you are."

"Where did you hear that garbage?"

He snorted. "Everyone knows you're a ho, Wendy. I mean, damn…"

"Not that!" She exclaimed. "About the pigs."

"Oh." He considered this, looking as if he were thinking back a long time ago. "One day, I was watching T.V, and I was hungry, so I asked my mom to make me something to eat. I said, "Muuuum, will you make me pancakes and powdered donuts?" And she told me no, Goddamnit, because I have to do everything around there."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Hold on, I'm getting to it." He snapped, making one plastic army man blast another into oblivion. "So, I got up and got the bag of cheesy poofs. My mom must have left the door unlocked again, because Kenny had wandered inside and was in my spot. I said, "No, Kenny, that's a bad Kenny!" And I smacked him with the remote, because he's an asshole. His head changed the channel, to national geographic, and they were talking about…different farm animals and things, and then Kenny told me that a pigs orgasm lasts for thirty minutes. Isn't that cool?"

She blinked at the conclusion of his rather pointless and strange story. "Why would he tell you something like that?"

These "creatures" known as "boys" fascinated her sometimes, they really did. They were just so stupid and random.

"I don't know, because he's a dirty little bastard." Cartman answered nonchalantly.

"If he's such a dirty little bastard, why are you friends with him?"

"It's not his fault," He declared. "You would be, too, if you lived off ramen noodles in the ghetto." He now had one toy figure pointed at her as he promised this. "And I don't hate Kenny, I hate Stan and Kyle."

Her eyebrows furrowed. "They haven't done anything to you."

"Yes they have," He argued, looking frustrated himself. "They piss me off all the time. Whenever I have an idea that's totally tits, they always give me a gay ass speech about morals and crap, and if I don't do what they say, they screw things up for me."

"They're only looking out for you. They're being good friends, something you know nothing about." She accused.

"Aye! Those assholes would be lost without me!"

She rolled her eyes exasperatedly, and leaned her cheek against her hand.

"You think I'm lying!" He shouted.

"You always lie!" She exploded right back, her hands springing up to emphasize her point. "I don't think one truthful thing has ever come out of that foul mouth of yours!"

"It's true when I tell Stan and Kyle I hate them!" He amended.

"It wasn't true when you were teasing Stan about his sexuality!"

"Oh, here we go again. Jesus crap, you are blind as hell. I only thought that happened if you masturbated too much, not if you're a ho that gives too many blowjobs!"

She growled in pure hatred, ready to kick his ass to kingdom come when miss Brown walked back in. "Okay, children, you're free, free as birds." She exclaimed on a sigh, waving her hand toward the door to shoo them out.

"Thank god!" Wendy exclaimed, immediately grabbing her notebook and stomping out the door.

"Wendy!" He shouted after her before the door slammed shut.

She ignored it all the way down the hall, and only made it to the middle of the schoolyard before he actually caught up with her, huffing for breath as he grabbed her hand and yanked her around to face him.

"What?" She spit out venomously.

"God… damnit… Wendy…" He spoke between gulps of breath. "You stupid… ho…"

She ripped her hand from his grasp and whirled around to complete her task of getting the hell away from him.

"Don't get all pissy again!" He shouted after her. "Son of a bitch." He cursed to himself as he started chasing after her again. "This is such… bullcrap!" He crashed into her when she came to a dead stop and faced him once again.

"What do you want?" She demanded, crossing her arms tight.

"I want… you to stop… running, Goddamnit!" He answered.

She continued to watch him as his breath caught up with him, crystal eyes frozen on the chocolate brown of his. "Well?" She pried after a few moments.

"You want to come with me to-"

She interrupted him with a heartless laugh. "I don't want to be within a hundred yards of you! don't you get it? I hate you! I want you to leave me the hell alone! Stop talking to me and stop following me around! And, for the love of God, don't save me a seat on the bus anymore!"

"Oh, excuse me!" He snapped. "If that's how you want it, you can just sit with some fag like Craig or Pip."

"Maybe I will!" She announced. "It's certainly an improvement over you!"

"Why the hell do you hate me so much?" Desperateness was beginning to take over the anger. "Would it kill you to give me a chance?"

She shook her head at his stupidity. "If your own friends can't even trust you, why should I?"

"Because I like you, you stupid skank," He blurted. "I don't give a crap about those guys!"

"I do!" She reminded him. "And I don't give a crap about assholes like you!"

This time when she left, he let her go, too consumed by the flames of rejection to move.


It was always safe under your blanket.

No, that was a lie. But, it always felt safe under your blanket. No one could see you, no one could touch you. It was your own world and no one else's. You were hiding… hiding from whatever it was that scared you. It could be the belly-button eating, axe murderer from Starks Pond, the sweater under your bed you thought was a monster, or your best friend. The point was that you didn't have to face them. The point, was that you could breathe.

The lump under the blue blanket, formally known as Stan, trembled softly. Was it really possible to still be this embarrassed about what had happened earlier? It wasn't that bad, was it? Sure, he had been walking around with what felt like a power tool in his pants all damn day because of Kyle and his voice, but…

He felt his stomach flip-flop at the thought. Apparently it was possible to still be this embarrassed. He shook more violently, literally making his entire bed quake. He was afraid of Kyle. He was afraid of himself, and the feeling deep in his stomach that seemed to have made a permanent home there. What was happening to him? He had completely lost control over his own body.

Everything seemed to be a great mess of swirls deep within himself. He couldn't make sense of anything he was feeling or thinking. It was like a goddamned knot that refused to untangle, from his mind or heart. And what made it unbearable was the fact that the person he always ran to for help was the person making him crazy with emotions he would rather not think about, even though he couldn't stop thinking of them. He could always go to Chef, and he almost did. Something stopped him in the nick of time. Something told him he shouldn't. One reason being that Kyle talked to Chef, and Chef had a way of letting things slip. So, he was alone. Terribly alone to face a problem he didn't know how to deal with. A problem he never had to deal with before.

The familiar sting of tears bit at his eyes. Cartman was right, he was a pussy.

The sound of the doorbell chiming made him turn his head quickly toward his bedroom door, which was futile considering the blanket perched over his head and face. He pulled it off quickly, further messing up his already bemused hair, wiped away premature tears with a sniff and dashed to the front door. It was late, Goddamnit! If whoever it was woke up his parents, or worse, Shelly, he was in for a pretty fucked up day tomorrow.

He opened the door quickly, already pissed off when he came face to face with a downright depressed looking Butters. "What the hell are you doing here?"

His eyes never left the ground even as he spoke. "My parents locked me out a-again."

"They locked you out?" Stan repeated, still sounding stern.

"Yeah. They always lock me out if I-I'm not home by seven." He explained, shamefully digging the toe of his foot into the porch.

"What the hell kind of sick weirdo's are they?" Stan hissed, getting angrier by the moment and not knowing why.

"W-well, I'm not real sure what kind," Butters answered seriously. "I didn't even know there were different kinds."

"Butters, Goddamnit." Stan cursed with exasperation. "Get inside." He sidestepped the door to allow the unfortunate child in and clicked it closed when he entered fully. "Follow me." He ordered, stomping quietly up the stairs.

Butters obliged without a word, smiling despite Stan's obvious annoyance. It didn't matter to him whether or not Stan actually wanted him there, the point was that he actually invited him in. His smile faltered momentarily when he entered Stan's room and was hit with a sleeping bag.

"You sleep there." Stan pointed at the floor as he climbed into bed and turned to face the wall.

Butters looked from the boy he admired to the floor, and finally the sleeping bag he clutched. A smile broke across his face. "Gee, Stan. That's awful nice of you to let me stay in your room."

"Yeah." Stan snapped.

"A-and use your sleeping bag."

"Yeah."

"Just letting' me in at all."

"Yeah."

"Are you sure you really wanna-"

"Butters, yes, I am sure. Now will you do me a favor?"

"Heck, of course I will."

"Shut the hell up."

His smile faltered for the second time in five minutes, but it returned as quick as it had gone, and he happily smoothed the sleeping bag across the carpet and slipped inside. With a satisfied sigh, he smiled, taking in his surroundings. There wasn't a place in the world he would rather be. For once, he was actually glad his parents had locked him out. Normally he would take shelter in the abandon tree house Stan and Kyle had built two years ago. Stan had always made him feel safe for some reason, and the thought of being protected by something he had built had always been comforting. But, this… this was beyond compare. To actually be in Stan's room, with the blue eyed angel in the bed right beside him, was a feeling so unbelievable he never wanted it to end.

"Stan?" Butters voice cut through the silence once again.

"Hmm." came the almost inaudible grunt.

"Thanks for bein' my friend today."

"I've always been your friend, Butters." His tone clearly emphasized what he really wanted to say; "God, Butters, you're such a Melvin."

Butters bit his lower lip before deciding to elaborate. "Well, no, not really. Only when you guys needed me for somthin'. I mean thanks for acting like a real friend, hanging out with me and such. I get awful lonely sometimes."

Stan's eyes opened as he became more interested in what his would-be friend was saying. "You do?"

"Well, sure. It aint no fun bein' all by yourself all the time, and havin' everyone else saying you can't play with them because you're a pussy." He blinked a few times before continuing. "I've never told anyone this before, but sometimes I wonder why I was born at all. Even my parents would like it better if I weren't around."

Stan frowned deeply as his eyes scanned the wall. He was a bit stunned, but was able to persuade himself to speak what he felt in fact to be the truth. "That's not true."

Butter's smiled. This time, it completely lacked happiness. He knew he should just leave it at that. But, something in Stan's voice compelled him to proceed. Something told him that for once, it was okay to let his real feelings out. Stan wouldn't judge him harshly. Stan would listen. Stan… was his friend.

"I wish I could believe you." He droned. "One time they sold me, and a-another time my mom tried to kill me. I don't know if anyone could ever truly love me, if even my parents can't. Sometimes I get so sad I cry myself to sleep." He paused, giving a small laugh at his own expense. "I know it's too much to ask, with me not bein' cool or nothin', but all I've ever wanted was a friend."

Unable to stomach the nauseating feeling consuming him, Stan sat up and peered down at the blonde sympathetically. "Butters,"

"Oh, but that's alright, I'm used to it by now." He quickly interrupted. "I just wanted you to know how much I appreciate what you did. No one's ever done nothin' that nice for me before." He snuggled down into the sleeping bag a little deeper, and with a smile added, "Goodnight, Stan."

He stared down at Butters' happy expression, feeling like the lowest, filthiest scum on earth. He was right, none of them had ever really been a friend to him. And Stan could recall all the times they didn't include him because he wasn't cool enough. All he ever wanted was a friend, and they were too heartless to even give him that. They were too close- minded, too judgmental. They were everything that was scaring Stan into pushing Kyle away.

There were only two things he was certain about at the moment; He didn't want to be inconsiderate anymore, and he didn't hate Butters. He never had. The kid was just so blonde, mentally speaking, that it was hard to tolerate sometimes.

"Butters?"

His eyes opened slowly, reluctantly. "You w-want me ta leave, huh?"

Stan's expression of sorrow deepened. "No." He answered softly, hurt that the other boys' opinion of him was so low. He paused to study Butters worried eyes, hating himself for putting it there. "You don't have to sleep on the floor."

He looked confused and a bit hopeful, but it quickly dissolved. "I'm okay down here. Y-you've already done so much and-"

"Please," Stan cut in, sounding almost desperate. "I'd feel better if you did."

It was the truth, it just wasn't all of it. What he didn't admit to Butters or to himself, was that he felt so lonely himself, the added company would make him feel just a little bit normal again. Just a little less alone in the world.

Butters smiled. "Okay, then." He got up from the floor and crawled into bed. After they were settled and Stan gave up part of his blanket, he gave a content sigh. "You're the nicest person in the whole world. I sure am lucky I know you."

Stan's eyebrows were knit in distress as he watched the other boy, still smiling as he began to drift off to sleep. It made him almost sick to think about the things Butters had just confessed. He couldn't even begin to imagine how much it must hurt to be rejected by everyone around you, including your own parents. Parents were suppose to love their kids no matter what. Weren't they? They were suppose to be there to love and protect, not mentally abuse. And physically, if the purple, finger mark bruises on his arm were any indication.

"Butters?" It was Stan's turn to half whisper into the semi-dark room.

"W-what is it?" His eyes were opened again, only part way this time from the sleep tugging at them.

"Where…" He let his voice trail off on a sigh. He shouldn't ask, he shouldn't, but, "Where did you get those… those bruises?" He ran a finger lightly over the flawed skin to prove what he meant.

"O-oh, that," Butters stated, rubbing it nervously out of habit. "Sometimes that happens when my dad gets mad, a-and he grabs my arm so he can beat me when I'm bad."

"He beats you?"

"Yeah. Otherwise I-I won't learn my lesson." He repeated what his parents had obviously told him.

Stan turned this new piece of information over in his head a few times, examining it from every angle. Obviously the "beatings" couldn't be too bad, or they would have noticed other marks before.

Right?

"What does he do?" Stan pressed, swallowing back the quiver in his voice. God, he was being such a pussy today. Even more than usual.

"Mostly he just takes a belt to my behind." Butters answered, sounding more angry about it than afraid.

Stan relaxed slightly. "He doesn't whip your back, or try to choke you or anything, right?"

"No, nothin' like that." Butters assured with a small laugh. "You don't have ta worry about me."

Silence fell heavy like a woolen blanket as each drifted into separate thoughts. Butters taped all ten fingers against each other as he looked repeatedly from Stan to the ceiling. "W-why are you mad at Kyle?"

Stan turned his head quickly, and found himself staring into the wide, curious eyes beside him. "I'm not mad at Kyle."

A cricket chirped off in the distance, intensifying the second round of silence. Butters was the first to break it, "Sure seems like it. You wouldn't talk to him or- or nothin'. 'N after lunch, I saw Kenny huggin' him. He looked sad, Stan."

Stan looked away, frown deepening. He never figured ignoring Kyle would upset him. Piss him off, sure. It was easy to piss Kyle off. That's why he was Cartman's favorite target, because he stressed out about everything. But, to be upset enough to allow Kenny, the groper, to hug him…

He felt his heart stop, and begin again in painfully slow, hard pulses. He could feel this new emotion, jealousy, pump throughout his entire body, making the pit of his stomach ache. Why was Kyle hanging around Kenny so much today?

Butters next words froze him in place.

"Did you guys break up?"

He whipped his head around again. God, damn Butters must be an expert at giving whiplash. He should really team up with a big shot lawyer and make themselves some cases. "We were never together to break up." He informed, eyes narrowed at the innocent question.

"Friends with benefits?"

"What?"

"That's what Kenny told me. H-he says it's alright for friends to fool around with each other. Friends with benefits is- is what he called it."

Stan shook his head. "That's pretty fucked up."

"How come?"

"Dude," Stan whined, hand placed to his forehead in exasperation. "It sounds like Kenny was just trying to get some action from you. Yeah, people do have… friends with benefits. But in the end it fucks things up. Haven't you ever seen Jerry Springer?"

Butters shook his head indolently. "My mom says daytime television is evil, a-and if I watch it I'll wake up, bleedin' out my eyeballs."

Stan kept his eyes focused upward, expression blank. "Do you ever have nightmares?" He wondered aloud.

"Heck, I-I have 'em all the time." He declared. "I'm not real sure why, though."

He had no choice but to bite his tongue, cover his eyes with his hand, and shake his head. "Goodnight, Butters."

That easy smile graced his features again. "Goodnight, Stan." He shifted beneath the blue blanket that covered the both of them, and settled closer to Stan, just enough to feel body heat, but not enough to get thrown out of bed and onto the floor again.

Stan hardly even noticed. His mind had already drifted back to his best friend. Not even anything in particular, just him. His eyes, his smile, his… voice.

He felt goose bumps wash over him seconds before the now-familiar tingling sensation started in his lower stomach.

Christ, not again. Not with Butters here…

Liquid heartache filled his eyes. Only one thing stopped him from sobbing manically, and that was the fact that he wasn't alone anymore. At least there was someone else with him, hiding from the world under his blanket.

When Butters breathing at long last became deep and even, indicating he had fallen into a peaceful sleep, Stan turned to his side, placed his arm across Butters, buried his face in the crook of his neck, and allowed his mind to wander toward Kyle as he softly cried himself to sleep.


-BratChild3 (Lisha)