Work Text:
Stan is pulling a bottle of whiskey out of the liquor cabinet when somebody rings his doorbell.
He pauses, hand still wrapped around the neck of the bottle, and glances at the clock. Eleven thirty. Not crazy late, but nobody besides Kyle and Kenny visit him, and they never come around this time of night.
It’s possible it’s his father - when Randy isn’t at work, he’s at Skeeter’s, and it’s not entirely uncommon for his keys to be taken and for Stan to have to go pick them up and drive the car home. Not entirely uncommon, but entirely infuriating.
And he’s stomping to the door, prepared to give his father a piece of his mind, when he opens it to find Butters.
His boyfriend is shaking like a leaf on his doorstep, wearing fuzzy pants, a thin t-shirt, and no shoes. He has his head down so his face can’t be seen.
“Butters?” Stan says finally, almost stunned. He tugs him inside, out of the cold, but Butters winces when he pulls him. “What’s wrong?”
“Can I...stay here? It’s fine if I can't...” He sounds like he’s forcing out the words.
“I….” He looks him over. “Of course you can.”
Butters nods, keeping his eyes trained on his feet.
“Hey, look at me.”
He doesn’t.
“Butters. Look at me.” Stan tries to move his chin up, but Butters pulls away. “Leopold.”
He gives in at that, lifting his head, and Stan can’t help but involuntarily gasp. His lip is busted, his nose is bleeding, his good eye is practically too swollen to see from; his face still has blood and dried tears on it. It’s now Stan notices how he’s standing, like he’s about to fall over if a breeze hits him too hard, holding onto Stan’s arm for dear life.
Stan pulls him over to the table as gently as possible, sitting him in one of the chairs.
“What happened?” He whispers, cradling the blonde’s face in his hands. “Did he do this to you?”
“H-he….” Butters sniffles. “He hasn’t done anythin’ like it since last year...I wasn’t expectin’ it.”
Stan gets up, pulling out the first aid kit from under the sink.
“Oh, well, I’ll need an ice pack first,” Butters croaks from behind him. “Helps the swellin’ on my eye.”
“Oh,” Stan says hollowly. “Why do you know that?”
“I gotta. They don’t...I just gotta.”
Stan clenches his fist before unclenching it and standing. He grabs a dish towel and wets it, then takes another one and wraps it around a bag of frozen peas. He hands Butters the peas, then kneels in front of him again, wiping the blood off his face.
“What were you doin’?” Butters gestures to the open cabinet as he presses the bag to his eye.
Fuck.
“Cleaning.”
“D’ya promise?”
Stan sighs. “We’ll talk about that later, Leo. I’m worried about you right now.”
“I’m o-okay, I just….”
Stan stops, leaning back to make eye contact. “Don’t lie to me, Butters. Please.”
“He was talkin’ about you, Stan. And I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t take him...I got so mad. Real mad. I wanted to hit him, Stan! And I haven’t wanted to hit anybody since Eric.”
Stan stands. “Come over here, I’ll rinse your lip. Keep telling me.”
He leads him to the sink, and Butters keeps talking.
“And I told him to shut up. So he hit me.”
“Oh, bunny...”
“And I hit him back. I’ve never hit him back. And, it got...real bad. Real fast. So I just, waited till...” Tears welled up in his eyes. “T-till he was done, ‘n I ran here…I don’t know what I’m doin’.”
“Hey. Hey. I’m glad you came to me, okay?” He dabs at Butters’ lip. “You can always come to me, Leo.”
“Stan….” He holds Stan’s wrist, voice heavy with so much grief and heartbreak that hits him right in his chest.
“Do you want to lay down? Watch a movie?”
“Oh, gosh, I’d love that. But…”
“My dad won’t be home for a while, and we’ll be in my room. I’ll take you…home whenever.”
Butters sniffles again. “Dad won’t wanna see me again tonight. Can I…?”
“Yes, Leo. You can stay as long as you need.”
He makes sure he’s not bleeding, and Butters shows him the bruising on his lower back from being thrown to the ground, so he gets him another bag of vegetables. They cozy up in Stan’s bed, Butters curled up in Stan’s lap, between his legs, head on his chest.
“What do you wanna watch?”
“I dunno. A disney movie, maybe? If ya want.”
“What disney movie?”
“I dunno. Princess one. I like those.”
“Well, you’re gonna have to tell me, Leo-Leo.”
He giggles. “Cinderella.”
“Thank you.”
“Because you’re my prince charming.”
Stan’s face heats up, and he buries his face in the top of Butters’ head.
Oh, hamburgers.