Chapter Text
"You see boys, Butters has expressed some concerns about fitting in,” Mr. Mackey pushed his glasses further up his nose, his gaze falling between the four of them.
"It's a big transition for him, mmkay, and I want him to feel prepared moving forward into young adulthood…"
A leg shifted from beside him, the accidental kick at his chair, the awkward elbow here or there. The office was silent aside from the clock-tick coming from the far wall, serving as a reminder toward just how many precious minutes were ticking by while they were wasting away stuck inside.
"I believe you're just the group to help him get settled. Now, I know it's a lot to ask, but…"
The halls were quiet after dismissal, the usual bustle of two hundred kids kicking dirt along the tile nowhere to be found. Cartman coughed to his left, and Kenny knew right then that it was a short fuse about to blow. They'd all been civil enough up until now, but it was only a matter of time before their restlessness grew obvious.
"Mr. Mackey, what exactly does this have to do with us?" Cartman asked, voice terse when he spoke. He feigned a yawn, hand coming to fan over his mouth, a brow raised skeptically while he watched Mr. Mackey struggle for an answer.
Kenny got the feeling that's exactly what Mr. Mackey was about to get to before he was interrupted. He blinked, shuffled his hands on his desk, and reached for a stray pen to fiddle with.
"Well, Eric, I believe it's common knowledge that you boys are…the adventurous sort." The following silence was tribute to the truth in the statement, as even Cartman couldn't refute that. "And your classmate has expressed to me some very serious concerns about being outcasted. I know it's a lot to ask, but the school would really appreciate your cooperation in volunteering some time toward aiding him."
Mr. Mackey fumbled over the wording, hiding a grimace behind the rim of his circular glasses. Cartman looked unimpressed, arms crossed firmly across his chest, chin tilted up toward the ceiling like he was gearing up to argue. He may have softened out over the years, but he was still an asshole at heart.
"I'm sorry, I'm just once again failing to see how this is our problem," he replied, sarcasm thick in the vowels. Kyle rolled his eyes, a short scoff leaving his lips. He didn't say more, however, as they all seemed to be sharing the same sentiment. Cartman may have been crude in his lack of care, but the rest of them weren't exactly itching to do some free charity work, either.
"You'd be doing your classmate quite the favor, Eric. And it's good—"
"His parents are offering money," Cartman interrupted with narrowed eyes. "That's it, isn't it?"
Mr. Mackey was quiet, lips pursed with unspoken pleasantries. His hands had discarded their pen in favor of politely interlacing over the wooden desk, accompanied by a somber look. He'd been putting up with their unfortunate presence in the school for as long as they could walk, and still he couldn't detect when Cartman was about to puff his feathers like he always did. There grew a small smirk to his lips, and Kenny knew he must've been right. That was usually the case, no matter how wasted a talent like that was on a boy like Cartman.
"That's not—"
"What is it? A donation? Something to finally get this place a decent faculty lounge? Maybe a bit of cash for the music department? Johnson's been threatening to quit, you know—"
"Fine," Mr. Mackey caved, a defeated sigh escaping him, "The Stotch's have offered us a humble donation in exchange for making arrangements for their son. And I'll see to it you three are compensated for your time, as well." He assured them, a tiredness under his eyes that Kenny was sure hadn't been there minutes prior.
Stan leaned forward in his seat, catching Mr. Mackey's eye for the first time since they'd entered his office.
"That's ridiculous," he said.
"And insulting," Kyle added. "Didn't even give us a chance to agree before you started bribing us.” Kenny gave a weak laugh under his breath, hearing Cartman bristle once more.
"Yeah, cause he knows it's a favor and a half to agree to this. I mean, seriously, Mackey. Can't you just tell the kid to grow some balls and move on? You're the counselor, after all."
Mr. Mackey was unresponsive, and it looked as though he was tempted not to respond at all. When he did—reluctantly based on the depth of his frown—he was resigned.
"We're desperate. You don't understand. The school is going into debt, and once your class graduates, there's no telling how it'll make its income. Eric, you alone have brought considerable funds to the math department. Once that's all gone…" he sighed, "We'll take what we can get."
He turned to Kyle, a beadiness in those glowering eyes that caught his attention.
"Kyle. You're Princeton-bound. I'll personally write out any recommendation letter you could ask for. Stan—" he fixed his gaze one boy over, "—You're local. That's great. Give me the word and I'll write you whatever letter you want. Music program? Done. Want to try out football? Absolutely. Kenny—" his persistence wavered for a second, but he recovered quickly.
"You're taking a gap year, but any job you want, whatever trade school you decide on, it's done. With your grades, you'll really have to blow them away. I can do that for you." Cartman looked all too pleased for it to be his turn, and this time, Mr. Mackey didn't hide his displeasure.
"Eric, you should be begging me for a nice word at all." he put bluntly. "You're bright, but you have a criminal record and a lack of extracurriculars. I would…I'd be willing to write on your behalf too, should you agree. Whatever you need."
Cartman rubbed a hand beneath his chin, like he was deeply considering what was being offered to him here. Kenny had no doubt that he'd refuse if he really didn't think it was a good deal, and there wasn't enough certainty in his expression for them to be sure which way he leaned.
"Can you forge my community service hours?"
Mr. Mackey bit his lip, regret in his brow as he thought about it. Finally, he nodded his head, standards entirely on the floor at this point. There was no negotiating with Cartman; this was something the town had learned far too well in his younger years
"Done." Cartman's grin was enough to blind, and he gave an excited clap of his hands that made Stan jump in his seat.
"You've got yourself a deal, Mackey. Even if I do frown upon you bribing your students." He extended his hand out as if to have Mr. Mackey shake it, which he didn't. Cartman took no offense, retracting it just as simply, already on his way to stand from his chair. The other boys looked at him confusedly, their consent nowhere near voiced despite Cartman's apparent lack of patience.
"Wait a minute—"
"C'mon, boys. We've gotta find Butters and tell him the good news, right?" he encouraged, grabbing the nearest boy—which happened to be Kenny—and hoisting him by the underarm out from his seat. Kenny stumbled forward, yanking his arm from Cartman's grip with an annoyed glare.
"Watch it." he scolded.
"And we aren't doing shit. We haven't even agreed yet," Kyle complained.
Cartman scoffed, completely baffled by the idea that they could even consider refusing.
"You heard the man. This is important. Think of all the music nerds you'll be saving when they get their shiny new tubas next year," Cartman said, as if that was at all a convincing argument. Kyle rolled his eyes.
"Mr. Mackey, you can't be serious—" he pleaded, but his efforts were in vain when Stan gave him an encouraging pat. He was standing now too, trying to join Cartman in ushering them out of the office.
"It's fine, dude. We'll figure it out," he sounded insincere, but Kyle hardly noticed between his noises of protest.
"But I don't have the time to—"
"Kahl!" Cartman groaned, shoving Kenny toward the door, which proved quite easy considering the notable weight difference.
"Get your ass up! Where's your sense of comradery? Being a good citizen and all that bullshit?" he raised his brows, a sense of innocence coming over a face as unfitting as his.
Kyle grumbled more complaints, but eventually between Stan's nudging and Cartman's nagging, he got up and followed them out.
"Uh…thank you boys!" Mr. Mackey called out from behind his desk, voice filtered with uncertainty. The blatant fact that he'd failed to give them any instruction crossed his mind only when the boys were filed out of his office, door shut clean, leaving him with the absence of sound. Save for, of course, the anxious clock-tick.
The boys shuffled down the hall, still bickering to all hell among themselves. Only now it seemed entirely mutual, the empty school left alive thanks to their abysmal squabbling. They were each on different wavelengths about this assignment of theirs, and the lack of enthusiasm on all accounts did nothing to settle the tension.
"Why the hell did you tell him we'd do it?" Kyle asked, his irritation directed pointedly at Cartman, who deflected it with the innocent show of his palms.
"Hey, what the hell Kahl. I thought you were supposed to be the socially conscious one out of us," he said, purely to annoy the other boy. It worked, and Kyle continued to fume in phrases of "you're such a fucking fatass" to "I fucking hate you."
"I don't have time to deal with Butters right now!" he pointed out. It was the most believable argument that any of them would be able to conjure up, and from their usual voice of reason. After all, Kyle occupied himself the most activities out of them, his handful of extracurriculars plus all the volunteer work stacking his schedule up full. He'd had to turn down the basketball team multiple years in a row because of his hectic schedule, too busy working his ass off to compete with the ivy league traffic.
"Okay? And I need those community service hours. You'll just have to cope," Cartman replied, brushing off Kyle's protests as easily as he might a fly buzzing in his ear.
Stan gave a grumble, clearing his throat and reluctantly biting out: "Yeah, man. I could really use a good word for the new school."
Kyle looked at him with offense, jaw hanging open and nose scrunching in the usual way it did whenever he disapproved. His hands shot up, giving Stan the opportunity to correct himself before the brunt of the storm, his mouth about to run for the better half of a minute.
"What? Dude, you're way too busy to be doing this! You already know your dad's got you on lockdown until the semester ends." Stan made no effort to refute that, simply shrugging in response.
"Yeah, but that doesn't change the fact I need a good letter of recommendation. Besides, you know I've been interested in trying out hockey again in college—"
"Stan!" Kyle blurted, his confusion increasing. Cartman watched with a sense of amusement, evident in the way his dark eyes shone. He hardly showed such emotion unless it was at the hands of chaos—he'd always been neurotic like that.
"Kyle!" Stan mirrored, exhaustion thick in his voice. "You know I'm right. Just cause you don't need that letter doesn't mean we don't." He gestured between them, and Kenny must’ve caught his eye, because suddenly the tide was shifting toward him.
"C'mon Kenny, back us up here."
Kenny was tempted to remain silent, purely because he thought this was both a losing battle, and one that didn't concern him in the least. But he knew that wasn't an option when all three pairs of eyes turned on him, a certain silence between them that was rare in their conversations.
Kenny shrugged, hesitating with a grit in his expression. "What the hell do you want me to say?" he mused, smiling with a mouthful of crooked teeth to mask his uncertainty.
Stan shook his head, eyes wide in a show of defeat. "Dude. You're poor as shit looking into trade schools. You need this letter just as much as me and Cartman."
Kenny couldn't deny the truth in that, but he wasn't about to beg like a slobber-mouthed dog for an extra shiny bone. That was more Cartman's thing, quite frankly, and he felt a little guilty about using Butters’ insecurities for his own personal gain. Perhaps that would be less so if the reward was more than a stupid letter, but the idea appealed to him less than it did the other two. He knew any further schooling was a pipe dream for him, anyway.
"Don't bring me into this," he said, the response a subtle plea for their bickering to exclude him. He got off with Stan scoffing at him, but Cartman didn't drop the matter quite so easily.
"Now wait just a minute," he began, a ploy flittering in that over-active brain of his. Kenny could sense it just in the way his steps lightened, a wind blowing beneath those supple wings. "Not so fast, Kenny. You're a key practitioner in this project of ours."
Kenny could tell in that statement alone that he had plenty of reasons to decline. He didn’t usually appreciate being the acting star of Cartman’s insane plans, but especially not when they involved extracting Butters as a resource. Kyle's skeptical grimace was all the reassurance he needed to know that Cartman was going down bullshit lane and taking them with him.
"What?" Kyle blurted, impatient because he hadn't yet deciphered what Cartman was getting at. Cartman only snorted, practically cheesing.
"Duh, man. Kenny's got a history with this shit." He pointed directly at Kenny, nearly coming close enough to poke him square in the chest. "Operation ‘pretend boyfriend’. Remember?"
Of course Kenny remembered it. It'd become an inside joke among their friend group whenever the chance at a good punchline presented itself. He'd long since grown accustomed to the sound of Butters' name in his ear. That'd been a lifetime ago by now, but the memories did hang over him with a unique blur. Vivid and distant all the same.
"Oh my god," Stan mumbled under his breath. Kyle looked even more unimpressed than he had, if that was even possible, and Kenny was sure he would've decked that smile off Cartman's face if he could.
"It's perfect," Cartman insisted.
"It's stupid," Kenny corrected. "When are you gonna let that go?"
Cartman's glee never faltered, the years of piled up ridicule on his back enough to train him for a little friendly resistance. They never agreed right away, but that didn’t make the outcome any less profitable for him. He was a good sweet-talker, if nothing else, and that had grown stronger in his teenage years—customer service jobs and the emotional constipation of South Park teachers enough due practice for a perfect score.
He scoffed, “Uh, when it stops being funny. Which is never, by the way. Don’t be selfish, man. You’d be doing me and Stan a real big favor.”
Kenny had been friends with Cartman long enough for the subtle begging to irritate him more than it convinced him, but he couldn’t deny that Mr. Mackey’s offer was tempting. He didn’t stand a good chance of getting into any trade school with his current grades, and he wasn’t too keen to spend the rest of his life slaving away at some discount store until he died an early death. The goal was to surpass his parents, not become them.
“What exactly are you suggesting?” Kenny asked, his voice more deadpan than usual as they exited the school, stepping out into the cool winter air. It was particularly cold outside today, and the less time they wasted standing around talking about Cartman’s schemes, the better.
Cartman smiled, the rest of them stopping in their tracks when he did. They made something of a circle, hands shoved in their pockets, Kenny pulling up his hood to protect him from the cold. He had a feeling the weather would only contribute to the outcome of this conversion, the urge to reach for his truck keys burning the tips of his fingers where they sat in his jeans.
“Oh, c’mon, Ken. You know what I’m saying.” The other two boys did too, their silence evidence of that. And they didn’t seem particularly against it either, judging by Kyle’s lack of argument. He stood tall, weight shifting from foot to foot in a show of his judgement, but not his complete disdain.
“Give your good old pal Butters a ring. He likes you best, anyways.”
Kenny’s face scrunched at that, lip curling, “No he doesn’t.”
Cartman audibly laughed in response, giving a dramatic clasp to Kenny’s shoulder, the laughter nearly turning into a coughing fit. He sighed, the air leaving him a whirlwind of sounds.
“Ha! He totally does,” Kenny caught Stan nodding from beside him, and it served to sour his mood further.
“So what?” Kenny asked, beginning to sniffle under the unforgiving cold. His toes were going numb in his chucks, and he gave Cartman an irritable tilt to his head. Annoyance was a rare emotion in Kenny’s world, but he wasn’t immune to a little frustration every now and then whenever Cartman got too bold in his idiocy. It didn’t help that he appeared to be the only one against it this time, either.
“So what? So you should be the one to help him! You’ll get it done twice as fast. And plus, it’s the perfect opportunity to rekindle the bromance.” He nudged Kenny with his elbow, that grin on his fat face turning to genuine suggestion. He was trying to entice Kenny with the idea, which was as pointless as it was bold. He knew Kenny didn’t find those kinds of jokes funny.
“You really think it’s fair to ask Kenny to do all the work?” Kyle asked, his voice almost startling Kenny what with how close Cartman had gotten to him in the past minute. But the second opinion was a breath of fresh air, and he immediately nodded in agreement.
“Thank you,” Kenny said, taking a step closer to Kyle out of solidarity.
Cartman looked offended by Kenny’s quick retreat, but he continued on despite it, chin raised in a show of superiority. He often did that when it came to Kyle. Kenny liked to think it was compensation for his lack of height.
“Well, not for nothing, no,” he agreed. “We’ll pay him of course. Won’t we?”
Stan blinked, an initial protest escaping him in the form of a surprised: “What?” Cartman continued as if he hadn’t heard him, shrugging his shoulders.
“Look man, it’s a pretty hard job. I get that. So I’ll be gracious and offer you a little spare cash in exchange for getting it done.”
Kenny was still resistant to the proposal, even after the incentive of a reward was added. Cartman often liked to bribe him with cash whenever he wanted something from him. Ten bucks for a pack of smokes he bummed off his dad. Fifteen for the old polaroid’s he’d taken of Kyle at the fair last year. Twenty for some of his old trading cards that Cartman had been eyeing. It was a token of affection between them for Cartman to toss him an extra bone in turn for a favor. Even if it included the sorts of things Kenny would easily do for free, Cartman either failed to realize that Kenny was a loyal friend, or enjoyed tipping him for his services. Either way, this was a familiar language of theirs, though Kenny found himself more hesitant than usual.
“How much?” Kenny asked skeptically, the words leaving him with undignified speed. But he doubled down on it, gesturing with his head for Cartman to state his terms.
Cartman thought about it for a minute, exchanging a glance with Stan. Before he named a number, he turned his eyes to Kyle, raising a brow. “Kahl?” he asked, to which Kyle shook his head.
“Fuck no. I’m not paying Kenny so you can use Butters on his behalf,” he scolded, disapproval heavy in his eyes. Cartman seemed no less interested, merely calculating his losses.
“How’s fifty, then? Nice and even.” Stan protested at that more loudly this time, but Cartman shooshed him, a finger coming up to Stan’s lips in a silencing manner. If Stan was either of the other two boys, they would have bit him, but seeing as he was more thrown off by the threat than anything, he shut up.
“Fifty,” Kenny repeated, mulling it over. He found the request demeaning on both his and Butters’ behalf, but he couldn’t deny that he needed the money. He could always use the money. He didn’t work enough hours between caring for Karen and school as it was, and his paychecks hardly made a dent in his pocket. Plus, he was falling short this week and worried he wouldn’t be able to take Karen out for their usual date that Friday without a bonus. So, he caved easier than he would have liked, lip working between his teeth with a groan.
“Kenny, you don’t have to—” Kyle began, but Kenny wasn’t listening.
“Fine,” Kenny agreed, hugging his arms in close to himself to ward off the cold. He wasn’t wearing the proper attire to be socializing in the snow like this, and he was eager to go hibernate into the semi-warmth of his truck. Even if the heating didn’t work, anything was better than standing in the whipping wind on snow littered steps.
“Yeah, whatever asshole. I’ll do it. But I want the fifty up front,” he said, not trusting Cartman to not try and fuck him over in the long run. This was an unfair task to put upon him and he knew that. He just also happened to know that some cash would do him good, and Butters’ company wasn’t so terrible that it was the end of the world. More than anything, he found Cartman’s laziness irritating.
“And don’t say a word about it after this. Don’t ask me about it. Don’t joke about it. And don’t tell Butters,” he added, already making his way down the steps and toward the parking lot. “Or I’ll kill your fatass with my bare hands.”
Cartman didn’t acknowledge him beyond the forming of a smirk on his lips. Stan laughed at Kenny’s list of demands, giving him a wave as he set off and calling back a cheerful:
“Thank’s Kenny!” through cupped hands. The last thing Kenny saw before turning to the now empty parking lot was Kyle socking Cartman on the shoulder, a racket of bickering beginning in his absence.
He tucked himself into his truck with a sigh, collapsing over the steering wheel. His fingers were half frozen, legs sore with ache, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d just signed his soul away to some grand plan he couldn’t yet make out the shape of.
***
Kenny hadn’t much felt like talking when he made it home. Karen was at a friend of hers for the evening, choosing to have dinner there instead of whatever prison-break slop their mom would or wouldn’t cook up. He always missed her when she was out of the house, but at the same time, he was grateful to have an uninterrupted afternoon cooped up in his room, leaving the rest of his family to wonder if he was in a comatose state of sleep or simply jacking off into the early morning.
Kevin was also home after getting laid off from his last job out in the next town over. His roommate had kicked him out, and so he was back in South Park eating up their food and drinking their dad’s stash of cheap beer. But he was hardly ever home either, and so when Kenny still startled seeing him on the couch when he got home, he didn’t hold it against himself for forgetting.
Their parents were still the same old dysfunctional drunks they’d always been. His mom was working at the local grocery store thanks to one of her old friends hooking her up. His dad was still in between jobs, and with the way things were going, Kenny doubted he’d ever see the man in uniform again.
Usually, Kenny would be out with the other boys—crashing at Stan’s place until they could barely keep their eyes open, or tearing up the South Park woods with Cartman when neither of them could stand to be within the walls of their own homes anymore. However, he was truthfully a little peeved with them at the moment, and didn’t want to see either of their faces until the annoyance had drained from his bloodstream. He supposed Kyle hadn’t done anything wrong, but he couldn’t remember the last time just he and Kyle had hung out. He could barely imagine himself picking up the phone to call, and he certainly couldn’t imagine what Kyle would say if he did.
So he didn’t. He sat on his bed, some unfinished track from last night playing in the background off a speaker he’d bummed at a yard sale for a couple of bucks, just low enough to serve as static. There was a comic in his hands, but he couldn’t make sense of the pictures. His eyes kept going blurry, a sure-fire sign that he was bored out of his mind.
He looked to his alarm clock, which sat sideways on his makeshift nightstand, the numbers reading: 8:41p.m. The thing used to play radio, but it’d been busted for months now, and Kenny didn’t have the patience to try and fix it. Karen would be coming home soon, he considered, and he’d happily be available for her when he did. Until then, he was doomed to twiddling his thumbs, the quiet ambiance of Stuart McCormick watching football from the living room bleeding through the walls.
He sighed, about to comatose himself into a begrudging sleep when his phone buzzed from inside his pocket, making his ass vibrate with a startle. He squirmed in bed, annoyed at himself for jumping before he reached for it, twisting awkwardly to dig it out. When he managed to grab it, flipping open the screen, he saw the message was from Cartman.
It was an older model, and it only sometimes cooperated when he attempted to use it. But he had better things to spend his money on than the new iPhone everyone was going crazy over, or even an updated version of his busted Nokia. Cartman’s text read:
“Hey, whore. You break the news to him yet?”
Kenny frowned at the message, debating on whether or not it was even worth a reply. Cartman liked to tease him about things like this. He knew it was a form of playful teasing, the same way he used to call his mom a ‘crack whore’ or his house a ‘walking petri dish’ when they were kids. His sense of humor had lightened up some with the help of constant criticism, and Kenny would usually find himself smiling at the jeers. But he couldn’t help the hardness in his core when he reread Cartman’s message. God, the thought of talking to Butters hadn’t even occurred to him.
“Nope.”
He texted back after a moment of gnawing at his lip. It took him much longer to type than it did Cartman, and in the next minute or so he already had a reply.
“Why not? You chicken?” Kenny scoffed at that, fingers moving across the keyboard with practiced enough precision to not prove too grammatically incorrect.
“No, fatass. Not gonna tell him.”
Another minute. “You want that 50 bucks or not?”
Kenny looked at his screen with an irrational amount of annoyance considering the phone had done nothing wrong. It was just like Cartman to hold this above his head, only because he knew Kenny couldn’t refute too thoroughly. He wasn’t Kyle, after all, and he could handle a little torment without fracture. Apparently he took too long to respond, however, as another text came in before he could finish typing out his own.
“I’ll make it 70.” Cartman offered, and for once that evening, Kenny’s lips curled into a smile. A bullseye and he hadn’t even had to pout.
“Deal.”
He texted back, nevermind the fact that he hadn’t been refusing in the first place. He was still going to help Butters out and get them all those letters, but he wasn’t going to frame it in the crude way that Cartman would. After all, he didn’t like to hold things over people’s heads. And besides, Butters probably wouldn’t react too well if he found out his social awkwardness had been brought forward to the council of kids partly responsible for his inadequacies.
Kenny didn’t wait for Cartman to write him another snide remark. His thumb was already dancing along the keypad, searching in his contacts for the one person who hadn’t wronged him this afternoon. Butters name was near the top of his contact list, and so he dialed him in the next minute, bringing the phone up to his ear.
He considered his ceiling while the phone rang, the popcorn texture as disorienting as it was familiar. He sighed, bringing a hand under his head, relaxing further into the pillows. He crossed his legs at the ankle, and in that same breath, the phone picked up.
“Hello?” A voice came from the other line, soft and friendly. It was Butters.
“Hey,” Kenny greeted, a warmth spilling into his tone that he couldn’t help. It had been some time since he and Butters had talked like this—private and intentional—but he couldn’t deny that it was nice. Butters felt nostalgic in all the ways he hadn’t changed since childhood, and yet exciting in all the ways he had. He still carried the same naive kindness, it was looking at him that really sparked change. All long legs and broad shoulders.
“Kenny?” he registered, and despite the fact that he likely saw Kenny’s name on the incoming call, he was pleasantly surprised. “Oh wow. It’s nice to hear your voice.”
That left Kenny a little speechless, and he huffed out something of a laugh into the phone, feeling his skin crawl. Cartman’s words rang out in the back of his mind: “He likes you best, anyways.”
“Yeah, man. You too,” he responded politely, but also partly because it was true. This felt foreign in its invasive nature, like he shouldn’t be allowed to hear Butters’ voice a little sleepy with the incoming night, captured outside of school hours. Yet here he was.
“Did you need something?” Butters asked, a quickness to his asking that indicated, despite his excitement toward Kenny calling him, it wasn’t a good time. “It’s just, well…my folks get a little fussy if I’m on the phone at night.”
Kenny had to suppress a snort at the notion of barely 9p.m. being ‘at night,’ but he supposed that wasn’t Butters’ fault. He shook his head even though Butters couldn’t see it, telling himself to get back to the point.
“Right, yeah, I just…Well, it’s been a while,” he acknowledged, adjusting the phone in his hand. “Thought maybe we could hang out. You know, if you want,” he asked, as nonchalantly as he could manage. He didn’t want to give the impression that this offer was inauthentic, especially considering Butters had recently talked to Mr. Mackey about feeling isolated.
His effort was in vain, however, as the momentary silence on Butters’ end was followed up with a skeptical: “Did Mr. Mackey talk to you?”
He always was brighter than everyone gave him credit for. He’d sniffed Kenny out faster than he’d expected, but Kenny couldn’t deny that alongside his awkwardness at being caught, he was relieved to be up front about it. He’d rather it be now than later down the line. He sighed, licking his lips.
“Maybe,” he answered, the noncommittal sound of it evidence enough that the answer was a resounding ‘yes’. “Somethin’ like that, yeah.”
Butters was mute for a good moment, enough to where Kenny began to question if he maybe hung up on him without his noticing. But eventually there was the rustling sound of what Kenny imagined was Butters’ blanket, picturing the boy all bundled up in bed right about now. PJ’s hanging off his shoulder, hair tousled with the notion of sleep. It only served to make him feel more guilty for taking up a deal on the other boy’s behalf.
“Kenny,” Butters said eventually, voice even. He didn’t sound mad, perhaps more understanding than anything. It made sense why Kenny had called him now, even if it wasn’t for the hopeful reason Butters had wanted it to be.
“You can forget about that. I didn’t think he’d go getting you involved. It’s not your business, really—”
“No, I…” Kenny interrupted without thinking, his throat growing dry. “I wanna help. Honest,” he said, not exactly lying but not telling the whole truth, either. It wasn’t as simple as all that, though he wasn’t exactly eager to admit that Cartman was essentially holding him at gunpoint.
“Really?” Butters asked, and Kenny hated himself for how vulnerable it sounded. There was so much trust poured into that one little question—years of it. A lifetime of it. They’d known each other long enough for Kenny to mean it. The doubt lied only in if he was a good enough person for it to be true.
“Yeah,” he assured, ridding himself of any remaining doubt that he was going to hell when he died. “Shouldn’t be too hard,” he continued, trying to instill a more lighthearted feel to the conversation.
“You wanna be a normal teenager? Well, I can’t promise I’m the most normal one out there, but I can teach you the ropes,” he smiled then, as if Butters could see the sincerity in it. He hoped it showed in his voice, mirth slipping through the cracks.
Butters laughed into the receiver, and that was enough to guarantee all animosity had passed. He was quick to silence himself, clearly not wanting his parents to hear that he was up and on the phone. When he spoke again it was a whisper, something secret between only them.
“Yeah? You mean it?” It was too good to be true, after all. The answering of his prayers. His knight in grubby attire to come sweep him off his feet, just long enough to turn him sensible. Normal. Kenny turned over in his bed, laying on his stomach now to pick at the loose threads of his pillowcase. He hummed, a low grumble in it from exhaustion.
“You make it sound so terrible,” he mused. “I gotcha, Butterball. No sweat.”
Butters was quiet, stirring in his own doubt until he spoke again. It was nice to be like this, their hushed conversation feeling like they were under the covers together whispering secrets like little kids, trying to control their laughter so that their parents didn’t catch them up past their bedtime. The nostalgia was sickening, and it churned in Kenny’s stomach violently.
“I gotta go,” Butters whispered, clearly not what he meant to say, but what he had to given the circumstances. Kenny always knew Butters’ parents were tightsasses—always had been—and it seemed that hadn’t lessened even with age. He made a noise of understanding.
“But uh…talk to me tomorrow. You know, if you’re serious that is,” he requested, and Kenny recognized it as the plea that it was. He might not be able to help with the parents anymore (god, it hadn’t worked the first time), but he could give him some grace among their peers. Make school a little easier. Make the future feel less daunting. It would be cruel to bite back now, ripping what had been the promise of mercy away from him.
“‘Course,” he reassured. “See ya at school, Butters.”
Butters made a noise that must have been the formation of a smile. “G’night, Ken.” And god if that wasn’t a familiar tune on deaf ears.