Chapter 13: Come On You Little Fighter (Get Back Up Again)
Everything changes the moment he comes home from the hospital, and suddenly he feels like he's nine-years-old again. His parents talk down to him, but in the way they normally do. They go from frustration to outright patronizing in a matter of seconds. Everything that could be used as a means to take his own life is kept under safe lock and key. They locked up the cleaning supplies, all the razors, even the kitchen utensils. They make Butters eat off of plastic plates with brightly colored plastic forks that were clearly made for children.
"Honey, if you didn't give us such a scare, we wouldn't have to go through this," his mom reminds him. "Now, eat your spinach. You need to build up your strength again."
They've been force-feeding him all these iron-rich foods for days—steak, potatoes, spinach… anymore red meat and Butters is convinced he's going to have a heart attack.
The one thing that's different is that he's been absolved from his chores. Even when he goes to wash his plate after he eats, his mom will usually step in and do it for him, or sometimes his dad will. It appears that they don't want to do anything that could send him spiraling again, which is surprising. He's allowed to do a lot more things, like watch TV when he wants or get candy bars at the store whenever he wants and his parents don't say anything about it.
He's hardly ever alone, though, unless he's sleeping. His parents don't like him spending time by himself in his room, even though they've removed everything he could conceivably hurt himself with. He's allowed to have visitors, except for Kenny. He doesn't know how exactly they pieced together that there's something going on between them, but not only have they banned Kenny from the house, they've also refused to talk to Butters about it.
Stan comes to visit him, though. His parents can't think of a good reason not to let him stay—he plays football, and his parents somehow missed that guys who play football can also be raging homosexuals. Butters absolutely relishes in this, since Stan more often than not comes over to talk about how much he and Kyle have been screwing around.
As much as he appreciates the company, Butters can only take so much of Stan's loving, wistful descriptions of Kyle's cock.
"How're you doing, though, dude?" Stan asks. Butters has absolutely has no answer for that, so he just turns into Stan and lets him hold him for a while on the bed. He's seen a therapist twice already this week, and both times he's been pretty vague and not entirely responsive to it. He'd much rather talk to Kenny than some strange guy in a sweater vest who has one too many books about 'family values' on his shelf.
He does know, however, that he has tucked up against him the only other person he knows that's gone through depression, and still struggles with it.
"Has every single part of you ever just… hurt?" Butters finally murmurs against Stan's chest. Stan shifts.
"What, like your arms or something?" he asks. "I thought they gave you painkillers for that."
"Not just my arms," Butters sniffs, "It's everything. My chest, my stomach, my eyes… even my brain just feels sore. But not the kinda sore I can do anything about. I feel like I jumped off a building and lived."
There's a moment that passes before Stan kisses him on the top of the head and hugs him close. "Yeah, I do, dude," he replies. "And I know you're gonna want to curb stomp me for saying this, but things will get better. Trust me, if anyone told me that when I was at my lowest, I'd have… I don't know, pissed on them or something—"
"Well, that's different," Butters figures, more to himself than to Stan.
"—but you've gotta believe it, dude," he finishes and runs his fingers through the fuzz on Butters' temple. "Somewhere in there is a kid who once told me he was happy to be sad, because that made him realize how happy he must have been before if something could make him that sad now."
Butters doesn't think Stan meant to make him cry, but that's exactly what happens. He curls further into Stan and holds on tight as these body-wracking sobs overtake him, trying to muffle them as best he can so his parents don't walk in on him cuddled up to another boy. If Stan's not allowed over here either, he doesn't know what he'll do with himself.
"Oh, fuck," Stan mutters and starts petting his hand over Butters' hair in earnest. "Fuck, I didn't mean it like that… that was a really fucking dumb thing for me to say, don't listen to me."
But Butters can't be angry, because that's what he can't figure out: when has he ever been happy proportionate to the amount of sadness and utter despair that made him want to kill himself. More than anything, though, he wants to know what happened to the sweet kid who said that to begin with, and why, of all the possibilities, he turned into this.
Stan stays until he calms down, watches the first thirty minutes of Stepford Wives with him on Netflix before Butters is almost asleep.
"I'll see you tomorrow at school, dude," Stan says softly, pecks him on the lips, and heads out.
School. At least Butters had that to look forward to. When his parents had asked the therapist about it, he'd given his only helpful piece of advice and suggested that not returning to school and normalcy would only hinder the healing process.
Mostly Butters just wants to get out of the house without a parental escort.
He gets through a rather fitful night of sleep, an even worse morning of his parents not saying anything, encouraging or otherwise, so by the time he gets to school he's just so happy to be away from his house and his parents that he almost forgets the reason for all the coddling in the first place.
"Did you hear? He tried to kill himself."
"I heard he took a bunch of pills and passed out in his bathroom."
"No, stupid, look at his arms. They're all covered up."
"Are you sure they didn't find him with a gun? I swore they found him with a gun."
He doesn't even get to his locker before he realizes that coming back to school was possibly the worst idea he's ever had. Everyone's staring at him, talking about him like he's not even there, and
Butters is back to feeling disgusting and alone and just plain shitty.
Without another thought, he turns right around and all but sprints toward the front of the school. He can't stay here, not with everyone looking at him like he's a ticking bomb just waiting to explode. He'll ask someone to pick up his homework and he'll just go hang out… somewhere. He doesn't care where, he just needs to be somewhere, anywhere that's not school.
He trudges through the parking lot, eyes fixed firmly on the pavement, and almost walks right into a moving car. In fact, the only reason he doesn't is because someone grabs the back of his coat and pulls him back against them.
"Butters, what the hell? I've been calling your name for, like, five minutes."
It's Kenny. Of course it's Kenny. Butters doesn't even have to turn around to know. That voice just crashes over him and swathes him in every safe feeling he can ever remember having. He turns around, not crying, but not far off, and looks at Kenny. He hasn't seen him in about a week, even if they've talked on the phone a few times, and Butters can't help but think he looks a little taller.
"I don't wanna go back in there, Kenny," Butters says softly and, without thinking, steps forward to nestle himself against Kenny's chest.
"Fuck, I know, baby," Kenny replies softly. Butters may actually start crying at that—they're not exactly at boyfriend status, mostly because they've had other concerns that have taken precedence over relationship status, but this makes Butters feel like they might be something. And if not, it's still nice. "School's shit, but…" Kenny falters and runs his gloved hands over Butters' hair. "Sometimes you've just gotta push through it, right?"
Butters moans and hides his face in Kenny's neck, holding tight to the front of Kenny's parka. They stand there for a few moments before Kenny wriggles and pulls a set of keys out of his pocket.
"Kevin's got the flu, so I get the truck today," he says warmly into Butters' ear. "Wanna hang out for a bit?"
Butters nods, and Kenny slips their fingers together as he pulls him along to the back of the parking lot. They crawl into the bed of the truck, even though it's freezing cold, and Kenny pulls Butters down so that they're in a tight, warm embrace.
Kenny kisses him, and for a brief flicker of a moment, Butters feels okay. He wishes they were in his bedroom, or Kenny's, stretched out on a bed and lazily making out like normal kids get to do. Instead, they're in the back of a truck, and Kenny isn't allowed in his house because he's a 'corruptive influence'.
"You don't think people will see us?" Butters asks.
"Eh, not unless anyone looks for us, I don't think," Kenny shrugs. Butters hums and turns into him, glad to be held by Kenny again. Kenny smells like his menthol cigarettes and cheap soap and it's making Butters' head spin. He kisses Kenny's jaw and his neck, feeling a little clingy but not finding it in himself to care. And Kenny indulges him, which is nice. Butters' desire for sex has been close to nil for about two weeks, but kissing is usually always nice.
They lie in the bed of the truck even past when they hear the warning bell ring.
"You want me to take you home?" Kenny asks, and Butters immediately shakes his head.
"Heck no," he shakes his head. "We'll be lucky if I ever go back at all."
"Well, I'd offer up my bed, but my room gets too drafty at night, so," Kenny says, not pushing Butters into saying anything else (which he's eternally grateful for). They just stay there, absolutely still and looking up at the wintery sky above them, until Kenny speaks up again, "You're one warm motherfucker. You know that?"
"Am I," Butters states more than asks.
"Son, you're cuddly as shit," Kenny nods, and okay, that gets Butters to smile a bit. That gets Kenny to loosen up, to settle further into holding Butters and kiss the top of his head. "So, what do you want to do?" he asks. "You just tell me, and we'll do it, okay? Even if that means getting the fuck out of this shit town."
Butters smiles and turns further into Kenny's chest, "How about Disneyland?"
Kenny shifts so he can look at Butters, and very seriously, says, "No shit dude, I would drive you to Disneyland right now. No fucking question. I mean, we'd have to siphon gas out of unsuspecting cars, and the tickets are probably expensive as shit, but—"
"Okay, okay," Butters chuckles, and it feels foreign and strange that he can make a sound like that, or feel anything that isn't just… crap. "I believe you."
"Good," Kenny insists, "Because I mean it."
And it's overwhelming, because Butters knows that Kenny means it and he just plain does not understand why, so he sits up and tells himself not to start crying.
"Butters," Kenny says softly and sits up with him, running his hand over his back. "Talk to me, dude."
Butters pulls his legs up to his chest and shifts, sniffling and resting his chin on his knees as he fixes his eyes on his shoes. He hasn't looked his parents in the eye really since he got back, won't look at his therapist hardly at all, had Stan cuddle him so he didn't have time to notice that Butters didn't want to look at him, and now Kenny… if people look at him, they'll know how upset he still is, how broken everything feels, what a fucking mess he's made of himself.
"I just want to not be upset anymore," Butters says softly. "But a-all I am is sad, a-an' I don't want everyone in there to sit there an' talk about me like I'm not even there."
"Hah," Kenny gives a laugh. "Anyone talks shit about you at all and their asses are grass…es."
Butters snorts, but doesn't respond past that.
"Okay, see, fucker?" Kenny says and wraps his arm around Butters, pulling him close enough so he can peck a kiss on his cheek. "You're laughing, which means you're not done yet, all right? It's hard as fuck, coming back after all the shit you've gone through, but you know what? You're the biggest, baddest, toughest motherfucker I know. And I know shit's fucked, but you've gotta fucking get through it, dude. That's the only way it gets better."
Butters hugs his legs closer to his body and shakes his head. "All those people in there," he starts, "Everyone starin' at me… Kenny, what if someone asks me what happened?"
"You know they won't," Kenny says very frankly. "Those cocks all think they know the story already anyway."
"I'm gonna throw up if I go back in there," Butters interjects, feeling a little queasy now that he's thinking about it.
"You're psyching yourself out, dude," Kenny shakes his head. "It's just school. Six months from now we're never gonna see these one horse town hicks again. Go in there and let them think whatever—fuck that, let them think you just got back from juvy or something. Fuck those people."
Butters doesn't care to point out the irony of Kenny don't-kiss-me-in-public McCormick telling him that what people think doesn't matter. He's getting overwhelmed, so much so that he'd rather burrow into a bank of snow and die a slow and miserable death of hypothermia than do anything else.
"Uh, sorry," Kenny says finally after a few moments. "I'm sorry, I don't know what you're going through, dude…. Except what I know from Stan, I guess, but. Dude, I don't know what to do. I just want to help you and I don't—" he takes a breath and rests his chin on Butters' shoulder "—just tell me what to do, and I'll do it for you."
Butters rests his forehead on his knees now, and tries really hard to keep the tears to himself. Great, now Kenny's mad at him. Of course he would be—he resists every way Kenny tries to help him and what, still expects Kenny to have a miracle solution when there's nothing he can do? He's the worst.
"Oh, fuck," Kenny mutters. "Butters, I'm not pissed at you or anything. Dude, if you can't go to school today, then don't. I'll skip with you, or I'll take you home… whatever you need, I promise."
Butters sniffles as Kenny pulls him into a hug and kisses him, but shrugs him off after a second. He feels gross, and someone—anyone—touching him does not feel okay right now. Kenny sighs and hangs his head, "I could just drive us somewhere, if you want and where we end up, we end up."
Butters pauses at this, but shakes his head. If he misses his first day back to school, his parents will have his head. He doesn't want them to be any more disappointed in him than they already are. He pushes himself up to his knees and climbs out of the bed of the truck without a word, without looking at Kenny.
"Dude, are you sure you want to—"
"Yeah, Ken," Butters nods, shying away even from the words.
Kenny doesn't touch him again, which is probably a good thing. Hanging out with Kenny today would only make him feel marginally better, and once it was over he'd feel just as bad as he does now, if not worse. If he's going to just end up being miserable, there's no point in doing the stuff that makes him feel okay, or even a little good. If he's just going to end up being miserable, he may as well just go to school and be miserable all day. The therapist said things might start looking up once he started school again and had something to do; maybe that'll end up being true.
He looks up at Kenny as he hops out of the truck, and knows he should be glad that Kenny cares enough about him to say all of this and do all of this. Being happy, getting better… it all sounds like so much effort, and the fact that Kenny can't even cheer him up is really bumming him out.
They walk back into the school, go to their respective classes, and that's sort of it. Butters doesn't feel any better or any worse, but for the most part people do leave him alone. Apart from the occasional staring at his arms or something, at least.
The big news ends up being lunchtime, when out of nowhere Gary Harrison turns up. Butters is sitting with Kenny, Kyle, and Stan, picking the crust off of his sandwich bit by bit, when Gary comes in and sits right beside Stan, like nothing ever happened. Butters would probably be more surprised, elated, what have you if he were a decent, normal person, but Stan is excited enough for all of them. His eyes get big and he suddenly throws his arms around Gary, vehemently welcoming him back and tightening his grip to what has to be the point of pain.
"What the fuck happened to you?" Stan asks, and Gary laughs.
"Sheesh, I was only gone a few weeks, Stan," he says and ducks out from under his arms. He leans on the table, a big old grin on his face, and hums. "I went to Oregon to visit my aunt. I swore Kyle to secrecy… sorry."
Stan whips around and looks like he's about to clobber Kyle into oblivion, but Kyle just rolls his eyes and keeps eating his sandwich like he didn't just spend the entirety of their winter break lying to everyone about where Gary was.
"If I thought he was in danger, I would've said something," Kyle shrugs when it becomes apparent that Stan is out for blood. Stan just rolls his eyes and turns back to Gary, looking at him very imploringly and demanding an explanation. For a moment Butters finds himself wondering to himself how anyone could look past or miss the fact that Stan is one of the most flamboyantly queer people on the planet.
His phone buzzes in his pocket, and a text from Kenny pops up.
'jfc stan is a the most flamboyant twat ive ever met'
Butters claps a hand over his mouth at that, hiding his smile and instead turning his full attention to Gary.
"It was a good trip," Gary says with a smile. "I just hung out with my two cousins the whole time. They're a little older than me; they were home from college for the holidays. I don't know, it was just a good time. I didn't have to worry about anything, they didn't get on my case about my family or our religion, which I wasn't expecting… It was really nice to get out of South Park."
Butters can't help the little stab of envy in his chest when he sees Gary smile. He quickly packs his lunch away and, without a word, gets up and leaves the cafeteria feeling short of breath and like he's about to burst into tears at any moment.
"Hey, Butters!"
It's Gary, of course it is. Butters stops in his tracks as he hears the cafeteria doors open and slam, followed by Gary's steady footfalls and his sneakers squeaking on the floor. He flinches when Gary's hand comes to rest on his shoulder, but turns around all the same. He doesn't make eye contact.
"I heard about what happened," Gary says softly. "Kyle told me about it. I'm… so sorry."
Butters feels his insides shrivel up and his chest get tight. This is exactly what he didn't want: pity. Even worse is that this is Gary, and he actually means every single word of whatever it is he's about to say.
"I didn't know it was that bad," Gary continues.
"Neither did I," Butters shakes his head.
Gary sighs and shoves his hands into his pockets. "Well, I'm here for you, dude," he says. "No one deserves to feel so crappy that they try to kill themselves, and that includes you."
Butters doesn't know if he's offended or relieved or just plain annoyed at the sentiment that he doesn't 'deserve' to feel as horrible as he does. There's something about 'deserving' to be happy that doesn't sit right with him. When you do bad stuff, you don't deserve to be happy.
He tried to kill himself.
That's not a good thing. All he ended up doing was making people sad and scared and worried for him, and that's the last thing he wants.
"Yeah, Gary," is all he mutters before he turns around and walks straight to the bathroom. He stays there, cooped up in a stall, until the bell for fifth period rings. He goes to class, tepidly listens to his teacher, speaks when spoken to, and goes home with his mom at the end of the day. Kenny texts him to make sure that he's all right, and Butters says yes, he is, and that he'll see him tomorrow.
He wishes that things would get better, really he does. He wishes there was something to say for the first few weeks of school other than this feeling of listlessness. It's like he's been sucked into a vortex of numbness, where feeling like shit would actually be a step up from feeling like a walking void, like it will never get better.
"Butters, honey," his mom says one Tuesday morning as he's getting ready not for school, but a therapy session. He's flossing his teeth when she appears in the doorway, trying to fish around for some things to say today that might keep Dr. Greene from just staring at him for fifty minutes.
"Honey, Dr. Greene says you're very unresponsive during your session," she says and folds her arms over her chest. "Your father and I know that you need to do things like this at your own pace, but we are paying a lot of good money to get you better again."
The words coat his insides with this shameful gunk. It's speech therapy all over again, it's going to be college, and right now it's this. It's all just awful and it would make him want to cry if he thought anything was worth crying over.
"I'll try, mom," is all he says. They get into the car and drive to the hospital. They wait around for a little bit, and Butters wishes there were more to it than just going through the motions, wishes he had thoughts past how much he wants to feel better. Everything just seems so insurmountable, especially when his progress feels like it's about zero.
When Dr. Greene comes out to fetch him, Butters gets up and follows without even thinking. He's not particularly eager, but anything is preferable to sitting next to his mom while she reads Answers magazine.
"How are you feeling today, Leopold?" Dr. Greene says as he shuts the door. He gestures for Butters to sit, but he doesn't right away. He looks at the books on the shelf, skating over their spines with his fingers.
"Not great," he says, but doesn't move to say anything further. Dr. Greene sighs, undoubtedly adjusting his glasses on his face as he flips to a new page in his notebook.
"Leopold, I know this is difficult for you, but if you want to get better you need to be able to open up," he implores. Butters sighs and hangs his head, a slight flare of irritation rising up in his gut. He's getting pretty sick of people just writing it off, talking about how difficult it is, like talking about it is easy or something. Especially a therapist, who's supposed to know about this kind of thing.
"Leopold?" Dr. Greene presses, and Butters openly sighs.
"I don't know," he shrugs. "Reckon I wouldn't know how to talk about it even if I did."
"Well, there's no place like the beginning," Dr. Greene suggests and gestures for Butters to sit down. Butters looks warily from him to the cushiony couch and back again before taking a seat.
"I don't think I know where the beginning is," he admits, and Dr. Greene nods.
"That's not uncommon," he says.
"I mean," Butters continues, "I remember bein' a little kid and feelin' like this." Kenny keeps reminding him that it's been around this long, these horrible feelings have always made him feel inadequate. "I mean, it wasn't as bad as it is now, of course, but… yeah."
"Again, that's very common," Dr. Greene nods again, leaning forward. Butters can tell he's just thrilled that he's opening up. "Leopold, it's important to remember that, even though you've felt some way for so long, it's never too late for healing. It may not feel that way and you may not believe it, but it is possible."
Butters nods. The words feel foreign, like they should almost be unspeakable in that order or something. They make Butters that uncomfortable.
"It's just," he sniffs, keeping his tears at bay. "If feels a little insurmountable right now is all."
"Well no one's saying it won't be hard work," Dr. Greene amends. "You're retraining your mind and your spirit. That's not easy to do."
Butters nods again and gives a half-hearted "yeah," before bending over and hugging his knees. "It just feels like… evil, y'know?" he asks, hoping he's making at least a little sense. "Just, like, a little demon that lives in my brain that tromps down on all the good things."
Dr. Greene nods, like Butters is wise beyond his years, and scratches something down on his notepad. "Well, that's not exactly uncharacteristic of homosexuality, so—"
The words hit Butters' ears, but he doesn't know that h processes them properly. What the beck does homosexuality have to do with this? With anything?
"I'm sorry," he frowns. "What?"
Dr. Greene just stares at him before crossing his legs and adjusting his glasses on his face yet again. "Leopold, when we know something is wrong, sometimes it's easy for us to get caught up in it, especially in our disobedient phases of adolescence. When we know something is wrong and we do it anyway, often we find ourselves overcome by crushing guilt. And, if God doesn't have a proper place in our lives, often we find ourselves without a means of fighting against the darkness inside us."
Butters' gut churns more and more with every word Dr. Greene says, and suddenly all of it clicks—the family friendly books on the shelves, the cross displayed prominently on the door, the "science" magazines about God in the waiting room.
"Jesus Christ, you think I tried to kill myself because I like dick?" he asks, and, in a not at all humorous display, Dr. Greene almost has a coronary.
"Leopold," Dr. Greene begins shakily, "I know this is difficult, but let's try to redirect your obscenities to something a little more positive."
Butters is hit by a second wave, this time more intense.
"Oh, my god, you're—" he can't even say it. He shoots up to his feet and storms out into the waiting room, despite Dr. Greene's protests. There's something new bubbling up inside him, something he hasn't felt in a very long time, something that makes him see red when he sets eyes on his mother, who's chatting away with the receptionist behind the front desk.
It's rage, he realizes—pure, unquellable rage.
"De-gay me?" he shouts, causing his mother and a few of the people waiting to jump out of their skin.
"Butters?" his mom queries timidly.
"You're trying to de-gay me," reiterates as he walks toward her, beyond the point of giving a fuck that he's causing a scene. Kenny would be proud. "You think that's what's wrong."
"Sweetheart, it said in your note—"
"My note?" Butters asks, eyebrows flying up on his forehead. "Mom, I thought I was gonna be dead. I just didn't want you not to know. Where in that note did it say that I've lost count of the dicks I've sucked, so I'm gonna kill myself?"
"Excuse you, young man—" a rather affronted older woman interjects, and Butters immediately stares her down.
"Like you've never done it before," he snaps. "You don't get diamonds like that for cookin' a perfect crown roast, darlin'."
The woman's mouth hangs open as she brings a hand up to cover her diamond tennis bracelet, and suddenly Butters finds himself being ushered out of the office and to the car very quickly.
"How dare you!" his mother shouts. "I know you're unwell, but this has gone far enough! If you're unwilling to get well—"
"And just what's your idea of gettin' well?" Butters asks, eyes narrowed to slits.
"I expect you to overcome this affliction," she says, adjusting her purse on her shoulder. "Honey, your father and I love you, and this is so bad that you tried to kill yourself—"
"I didn't try to kill myself because I'm gay," Butters shouts back. "I tried to kill myself because I'm a worthless piece of shit who can't do anything right!" His voice cracks on the last word, which lets him know that he must be crying. His mom is too, and she comes forward to hug him. He lets her, though more because he needs a hug than because he needs comfort from her.
After a moment they part. She takes the travel tissues out of her bag and dabs one lovingly over Butters' cheek, like she used to do when he was a kid.
"You see?" she asks, shaking her head. "You see what awful, horrible things this can make you feel? You wouldn't think that something that seems so little and insignificant could make you feel so awful and say such terrible things about yourself. Anyone who says homosexuality isn't a big deal obviously just has no idea what they're talking about."
ooooooo
Kenny is enjoying a marvelous day of playing hooky, thank you so much for asking. His mom is at work, Kevin is still at his girlfriend's place, his dad hasn't come home from whatever ditch he passed out in last night, and Karen is at school. Being that he already jerked off as loudly as he could, he's taken to sprawling out on the couch, smoking weed, and watching reruns of Reno 911!
So, imagine his surprise when there's a loud, frantic knock on his front door right as an incompetent drug bust is taking place on his TV. That's a cop knock, so he quickly stashes his pipe under the couch cushions and attempts to make himself look innocent by… acting as not-high as possible.
"Who is it?" he asks as politely as he can manage.
"Ken?" It's Butters. "Kenny, please let me in."
Kenny pulls the door open and, even through his haze, he can see Butters is visibly… pissed?
That's kind of weird.
"Hey, baby," he says with a big smile. "I thought you had therapy today."
Butters groans and covers his eyes with his hands. His hair is growing out slowly but surely—it'll probably be a while before it's back to its adorably shaggy state, but Butters is adorable anyway. Kenny steps aside to let him in, concern brewing inside him as Butters pushes past him.
"Are you… okay?" he asks as he shuts the door. "You don't look so good."
Butters doesn't actually respond to the question, just whips around and comes back with, "Are you here by yourself?"
"Oh… uh, yeah," Kenny nods. "Just me and le tube." He gestures to the TV. Butters nods and, without warning, flies forward and crushes his lips against Kenny's. It's a little out of left field, but Kenny misses Butters enough to not want to question this. It takes a moment, but he eventually cradles Butters' head in his hands and deepens their kiss. Butters is touching him like he's been locked up underground without human contact for a hundred years.
Kenny pulls back for breath, a Grade A Doofus smile on his face, because Butters is kissing him again. That's, like, the best thing on the planet, okay?
"That's… hey," he fumbles, knowing he's not doing a very good job of proving that he's not high. Butters grins and runs his fingertips over Kenny's cheeks.
"Hey, darlin'," he hums back, a relieved smile making its way across his face as he brushes at Kenny's bangs with his fingertips. Kenny doesn't know what to do, so he just smiles back and lets Butters bury his face in his neck.
"It's all right," he says, because Kenny's not sure if he's going to cry or something and he wants Butters to know that he can, that it's okay, that he's not going to hurt him, that he never would. "What happened, baby?" he asks.
Butters shakes his head and hugs Kenny closer, and for a moment Kenny finds himself wondering whether or not he'd be upset if Butters suffocated him right now. Butters is just… here, and hugging him, and the thought that he wants to do anything right now other than sit in his room and stare at the ceiling is incredible.
"I'm gay," is all Butters says before he looks up. His eyes look a little pink, like he maybe cried on his way over here or something. "I'm gay," he says again, like it's new information, "I am."
"I know that," Kenny nods, slowly. "Are you—I would've said something, but, like… I thought you knew."
"I did," Butters amends with a quick shake of his head. "I do."
"Butters, you're freaking me out, dude," Kenny says, feeling a little uneasy something in the pit of his stomach. "I just smoked a bunch before you got here, please just tell me you didn't kill your therapist and stuff his body in your trunk or something."
"No! What?" Butters' fair eyebrows screw up on his forehead, and Kenny immediately relaxes. Except Butters doesn't look any less guilty than he did before. "I didn't kill anyone. I just… may have shouted at her. My mom, I mean. A lot."
Kenny raises his eyebrows, and Butters sighs.
"And called her the C-word out in the parking lot at the hospital," he admits, and, okay, Kenny laughs really hard at that.
"Dude, what?" he attempts to cover his mouth when Butters' cheeks tinge pink. "I'm sorry, I know you're probably in deep shit right now, but that's fucking awesome."
Butters doesn't even take the time to look upset at this, or tell Kenny he's grounded, or lament about what an awful son he is. He just braces his hands on his hips and lays in, "Well, she is! A big one! And so is my dad!" He pauses, genuinely confused for a moment as he looks to Kenny, "Can men be that too?"
"I'm all for insult equality," Kenny nods.
"Good," Butters nods. "Anyway, she cried the whole way home an' told me I could stay in my room until I apologized to her."
"You didn't apologize?" That strikes Kenny more than anything. Butters is the kind of guy who apologizes to someone else when they step on his foot.
"That therapist they're havin' me see?" Butters raises his eyebrows, "The top-dollar reputable specialist that was gonna help me get well? Turns out his specialty is Queer Correctional Counseling."
Kenny stares for a second, utterly confused. "What now?"
"He fixes gay people!" Butters exclaims. "My parents think all this is happening because I'm gay. They always do this, too. Any time I have a problem, they always think it's because of somethin' else. I'm never good enough for them. Even if I got an A on a paper, I still didn't vacuum the living room right. If I spent all morning getting ready for a school picture, I still didn't look right. Fall in love, it's someone who has a penis. I do everything wrong, even when it doesn't feel like what I'm doing is wrong until they tell me it is. I hate it!"
Kenny just blinks a few times before his brain sifts through everything and puts it together. To be fair, if he'd known he'd be seeing Butters today, he would've laid off the weed.
"Are you mad at your parents?" he finally asks.
"Damn straight I am!" Butters shoots back, scowling. "I'm pretty motherfuckin' pissed off, actually."
He's flushed red and his face is all pinched and angry, and, honestly, he looks like he could take some motherfuckers down right now. Hand him a gun, rip off his shirt sleeves, and grow out his facial hair and Kenny's pretty sure he'd… well, he wouldn't really do anything, Kenny would just have enough wank material to last him until the end of his life.
"Um," Kenny shifts where he stands and looks at his feet. He can feel his dick starting to get hard in his pants.
This is not great timing, body.
"You want some weed?" Kenny offers. "I don't have any more, but Kevin has some in his room, I think."
Butters doesn't even bat an eye, "Yeah, that sounds good right now."
Kenny nods and tosses his head toward the stairs, indicating for Butters to follow him. He gets into Kevin's room and raids his usual hiding places, coming up with two ready-made joints and a magazine Kenny recognizes as belonging to his collection that Kevin must've taken from his room.
Kenny locks his door and hands Butters one of the joint and a lighter while he stashes the other away in his sock drawer. He turns just to see Butters light up and take a hit, and knows this was a bad idea. Butters smoking is possibly one of the sexiest things he thought he'd ever see; Butters smoking is downright come-in-your-pants worthy.
"Fuck them, Kenny," Butters shakes his head and lets out a steady stream of smoke. "Fuck them, fuck their shitty rules, just fucking… fuck it."
"You wanna fuck me?"
Wait.
He said that out loud, didn't he?
Butters is looking at him like he's grown a second head, though to his credit he at least doesn't drop the joint in his fingers and start a fire. He takes another drag before handing it back to Kenny, who extinguishes it and tucks it away with the other.
"Say what?" Butters coughs.
Kenny shrugs and shoves his hands in his jeans pockets. "I dunno… I was thinking, like, maybe if you're down for it."
He offers Butters a look, but Butters isn't catching on like he wants. "Dude, I'm fucking horny as dick," Kenny whines. "And you're all pissed and you look like you could rip a fucking hole in the universe or some shit."
"What?" Butters giggles and slaps a hand over his mouth. He must already be buzzed, because he removes his hand and whispers, "Darlin', I don't think that's physically possible."
Kenny sticks out his tongue, which only makes Butters giggle even more, and that's it. He pulls Butters in close and kisses him again, slow and hopefully intense (instead of fumbling and sloppy like he has the tendency to do when he's buzzed), before pulling away and kissing down Butters' neck.
"I think about it all the time," he admits as his lips run over the smooth golden skin just below Butters' ear. "You inside me, fucking me so hard that I can't remember my name after…"
"Seriously?" Butters asks. He's not looking so angry anymore, but that's probably a good thing. Angry sex with someone's dick up your ass probably isn't the best way to go the first time. Kenny can't get it out of his head—he just wants Butters to hold him down and go crazy on him.
"Dude, I can't tell you how many times I've blown my load pretending you're fucking me," Kenny murmurs. "I, um… I used my fingers once a while back. I came so hard."
"N-no kidding," Butters lets out a nervous laugh. "Ken, I've never done that before."
"You've done anal, though, right?" Kenny asks, stroking his fingers over Butters' cheek. Butters just nods, looking more and more aroused by the thought with every touch of Kenny's skin against his. "Well, I haven't. I don't know what I'm doing, and if I hurt you—"
He doesn't want to finish. He doesn't actually think he'd hurt Butters, because he knows he'd be careful and he'd ask Butters for help if he needed it, but he doesn't want that right now. He wants Butters inside him, finally, just so maybe he'll be able to get it out of his goddamned head for once.
"I want you to," Kenny rests his forehead against Butters' temple. "But if you don't want to we can do something else."
Butters shifts, "Well, if you've wanted it for that long… I s'pose it's only polite to oblige."
Kenny has to flood his mind with images of his mom in a bikini—stretch marks, C-section scars, varicose veins and all—just to keep from coming right then and there. He plants a big kiss on Butters' lips and goes to get a mini tube of lube (that he may have stolen, shut up) and a condom out of a shoe box under his bed. He's not back on his feet for two seconds before Butters tackles him to the bed and—fuck—pins him down.
"You sure you wanna do this?" Butters asks, concern on his face in spite of the fact that it's obvious that Kenny is actually quite stuck under him. "It hurts bad the first time."
"I trust you," Kenny huffs softly. "Plus, a little bit of pain gets my dick hard…er."
Butters looks at him, eyes still a little pink, before he nods and goes back in for a kiss. It's barely anything, though, and before he knows it, Butters has undone and removed Kenny's pants and underwear.
Getting down to business.
Good.
Butters pulls off his shirt and tosses it on the floor with whatever other refuse that's down there before ducking down to kiss Kenny. It's slow and sweet, but Kenny can feel the frantic energy humming so close to the surface.
Kenny lets out a sigh as Butters wraps his hand around his cock and starts pumping him at a painstakingly moderate, even pace. He's already hard; Butters is just being a dirty tease now.
He props himself up when Butters removes his hand, and watches as he grabs the lube from wherever it fell out of Kenny's hand. He doesn't wear his bandages over his arms anymore, though that's only because he can hide his arms under his clothes, it being the dead of winter and all. Butters thinks his arms look ugly, and he'll only let Kenny see them. Kenny's a far cry from thinking they're beautiful, or something macabre like that, but they're part of him, and they'll stay a part of him forever.
Kenny's always wondered what it'd be like, to be able to wear your scars on the outside.
Suddenly, there's a slippery digit teasing Kenny's ass, and it feels sort of wonderful.
"Just relax," Butters sighs as he runs his free hand under Kenny's shirt and over his stomach. "I'll make it good."
Butters slips a finger inside him, and Kenny finds himself a little lost in the sensation. Butters' fingers are thick, and his hands are rough, but he's gentle too. It's different from doing it himself, mostly because Butters seems to have a better idea of what he's doing than Kenny did. He's not timid or shy or afraid of what he might find, and certainly doesn't think Kenny should feel any sort of shame if he ends up liking it.
He slips in another finger, which doesn't happen without some resistance and an insanely uncomfortable stretch, but Kenny can adjust. He's been through worse, by far. Butters is at least paying attention, listening for sounds and watching Kenny's twists and twitches to see what makes him sigh and what makes him wince.
Kenny was also entirely sure the prostate thing was a myth until now, since he hadn't found his own back when he'd tried. Butters gets it fairly quickly, though, and fuck.
Just… fuck. Whatever pain that comes with this is worth it, hands down. Kenny's eyes are shut, but he's sure he wouldn't be seeing clearly anyway. He's arching into Butters' touch, looking for something to rub his cock against, but Butters won't touch him. That's probably for the best, since Kenny's pretty sure he's going to come from just this if Butters isn't careful.
Then Butters adds more lube and inserts a third finger, and it's gone from amazing to insanely uncomfortable.
"I'm sorry," Butters says softly. "I'm goin' as best I can, but—"
"It's fine," Kenny squeezes his eyes shut to stave off a flow of tears he feels pricking behind his eyes. "I'm just not usually impaled without facing immediate death is all."
Butters must take it for sarcasm, because he laughs like he knows why that's funny. To his credit, he does move slowly and work patiently, and after a few minutes he does pour a little lube over Kenny's wilting erection and start stroking it in time with the motions of his fingers.
It's one of the oddest things Kenny has ever felt.
"How're you doin'?" Butters asks softly, and Kenny moans his response. There aren't really words that go with this—it hurts, but it feels good, right, even if he is fisting his sheets like two motherfuckers.
"I'm gonna do it for real now," Butters says, punctuating with a quick stroke to Kenny's prostate that makes him groan. "You ready?"
"Mm, yeah," Kenny grunts out. He nearly whimpers when Butters withdraws his fingers, and thrusts up against the emptiness above and inside him. He gathers his wits and has enough sense to pull off his shirts while Butters shimmies out of his jeans and underpants.
His cock is hard and leaking and just bobbing there, suspended. It makes Kenny's mouth water, just looking at it.
When Butters reaches to grab the condom, Kenny stops him.
"Um, do you," he gulps for breath. "Do you want to do it without?"
Butters raises his eyebrows and flops back onto his knees.
"I—yeah," he says. "Bein' safe's important, though."
"I know," Kenny pushes himself up again, a little tender already from just Butters' fingers. He doesn't know how to explain that a disease wouldn't stick, even if Butters gave him one, or that he knows he doesn't have any because he hasn't had sex in this body yet. "I'm clean, but… if you don't want to, we don't have to."
"I'm clean too," Butters says, attempting to puzzle it out as he goes. "Would you if it was someone else?"
"Let them come inside me?" Kenny asks. Butters nods, and Kenny shakes his head. "No, dude. If anyone's ever gonna come in me, it's gonna be you. Have you…?"
"No," Butters shakes his head. "I always play safe."
"Well, we don't have to—"
He's silenced by Butters crawling forward and catching his lips in a kiss. There's a bit of rustling, and soon Butters is back and pouring a generous amount of lube over his hand and erection. It just makes it look even bigger and shinier and it sends Kenny's brain into a fucking frenzy. He scoots closer to Butters, who helps him shift into a good position before doing the same.
Then Butters is pushing inside him and Kenny has a brief moment where he thinks he might pass out. Butters is big, but like this it feels like he's going to split Kenny open, right down the middle. Kenny squirms, even though Butters tells him not to, and grips at his sheets so hard he thinks his bones might start popping out of his hands.
"Ken?" Butters asks hazily. "You need me to stop?"
Kenny shakes his head and wraps his legs around Butters' waist. It feels like forever, but eventually Butters is all the way in, just hovering there and kissing Kenny's face and neck as he adjusts.
He tells Butters he can move, only to stop him. This happens about three times before the stretch fades and Kenny's desperate for more. Also, Butters has taken to getting him hard again with his stupidly even strokes and it's making Kenny's balls ache and draw tight with need.
"Fuck, please, baby," Kenny hears himself whimper. "I need you."
Butters starts moving, slowly. Kenny wonders if it was as obvious that he'd never fucked someone before the first time he'd done this with a girl—not that it mattered, since he obviously got better. Butters isn't bad, it's just a little awkward because he'll thrust too sharply or start going too fast, and it's all accidental and stuff that's easily fixed with practice.
Kenny can't wait, because aside from the bungles and the whole 'first time' thing, he thinks he might actually really like this. When they both somehow manage to fall into a rhythm with each other, Kenny's mind starts going fuzzy. He can hear their skin slapping together, smell the sweat and musk permeating the air, and feels his throat going raw from all these otherworldly noises he's making.
Butters takes Kenny in his hand again, working over him in fast uneven strokes that match his thrusts; Kenny can't take it, just throws his head back and groans as he comes hard all over his stomach and chest. It hurts a bit where his body seizes around Butters' cock, but it's apparently the right move since he feels—feels—Butters come inside him not a moment later.
They collapse together in a sweaty, sticky mass of bonelessness. Kenny is still moaning on every other breath, mind blown at the fact that this has just happened, that it was not the end of the world, and that it felt just that good. Butters rolls off to the side after a moment, even though Kenny whines and rolls over to curl into him anyway.
"Don't leave," Kenny whimpers.
"'m not," Butters chuckles. "I didn't wanna squish you. You got somethin' we can use to clean up with?"
Kenny whines again, like this is the biggest inconvenience of his life, and rolls around to grab an old towel off the floor. Butters gives him an affectionate roll of his eyes before hopping off the bed and venturing across the hall, into the bathroom. He returns, wiping one corner of the towel, now damp, over his hand. He sits on the edge of the bed and offers it to Kenny.
"What," Kenny raises an eyebrow. "You're not gonna lick it off me?"
Butters raises his eyebrows in a challenge and drops the wet towel onto Kenny's face. Kenny escapes from its clutches just in time to see Butters lean down and run his tongue through the mess on Kenny's stomach.
It makes Kenny's vision go a little blurry, and when Butters looks up and gives him a grin, Kenny knows beyond any doubt that he's ever had about anything, that he loves Butters Stotch.
Butters wipes up the rest of the mess with the towel, before laying it flat under Kenny's ass, so it'll catch any mess. He tucks himself up against Kenny then and pulls him into his arms. It's the best Kenny's ever felt—the safest, the most content, the most loved—and he falls asleep hearing Butters' heart hammering out the same tune right in his ear.
He's not sure how long he's been asleep.
When he wakes, it's not because Butters is gone or because he needs to pee, or anything like that that would wake a normal person. Kenny wakes up because his house is fucked, his life is fucked, and he fell asleep without reminding Butters to shut the door.
"God fucking damn it!" Kevin's voice rattles the walls upstairs, jolting both Kenny and Butters back into consciousness. Kevin's not in the doorway, but in his room down the hall. "You little shitbag, you think you can steal my fucking weed and I'm not gonna know?"
Kenny attempts to roll off the bed and shut the door, but every last inch of him feels too stretched and too sore to do anything apart from scramble under the gross old Salvation Army blanket at the foot of his bed. Butters already looks to be ten steps ahead of him, but by the time either of them mobilizes, it's too late. Kevin is at the door and, in two seconds, goes through his full range of emotions: angry, confused, disgusted, and livid.
Only, he doesn't say anything. He's looking a little like he's just flat out short-circuited, like Kenny should expect him to overheat and shut down at any moment. Instead he just drops his ziplock baggie full of joints, turns around, and walks right down the stairs. Kenny and Butters both wince when they hear the door slam shut downstairs.
When he hears the truck refuse to start, Kenny finally snaps back into the game and gets dressed as quickly as possible, informing Butters that he should probably do the same before he runs as best he can downstairs. He's not even to the front door when Kevin barrels in again, red in the face.
"Kevin, I can ex—"
Kevin shoves past him so hard that Kenny loses his balance and falls flat on his ass.
Okay, that fucking hurts. Really, really bad.
He feels tears stinging behind his eyes as he tries, tenderly, to get back up, but Kevin comes back around and shoves him down again. He's got a beer in one hand, a cigarette in the other, and this look on his face that has never meant anything good.
He won't look Kenny in the eye either, but Kenny is also not dead, so he's not sure what the fuck is going on.
Kevin lights his cigarette and cracks his beer in what appear to be the same movement before turning around and walking right back out the door again. The truck starts this time, but something tells Kenny that this is not the end of this by a long shot.
He stays on the floor, may stay here for the rest of his life, actually. If Kevin blabs about this, he's fucked. He's been out of a job for about a month, so his funds are steadily dwindling as it is—if he gets kicked out, he's got no place to go, and no means to find one. He could stay with one of the guys for a few days, but any longer than that and he knows he'd be unwelcome.
Butters comes down the stairs then and helps Kenny to his feet. He's gotten his pants right, but somehow managed to grab Kenny's AC/DC shirt. Kenny looks down and, sure enough, discovers that he's sporting Butters' Sgt. Pepper's shirt.
"He didn't hurt you, did he?" Butters asks, swiping his thumb over Kenny's cheek. He's crying, he realizes, but he shakes his head all the same. He wraps an arm around Butters' waist, and Butters, god bless him, takes it as the hint it is and pulls him into a full bear hug. He still smells like sex, which makes Kenny eerily calm about the whole thing. He supposes that smell just does that to him, though—he knows there's no coming back from this.
Every other part of him is certain beyond a shadow of a doubt that he is royally fucked.
Hey everybody... Allow me to crawl back out into the sunlight. It's been a rough couple of weeks, and this story kind of fell by the wayside. I apologize, but am happy if/that you're still around and reading. It means a lot, especially when I've been feeling the way I have been. I'm going to try to be more diligent, I promise, but graduation comes with looking for a job and a lot of excuse-making.
Title is from a Supertramp song called It's Raining Again.
The alternate title is, as inspired by MargaretDelancy, Bitches Ain't Shit (But Hoes and Tricks) from the Dr Dre song. It is, in my opinion, the angry Butters theme song.
