Chapter Text
Butters Stotch was not like other boys his age. This had always been evident growing up alongside him—he seemed almost immature in his constant naivety. Many of his classmates had wondered if he was truly stupid or just painfully sheltered even for a kid in the fourth grade.
His misplaced kindness often wound him up in trouble at the hands of his supposed friends, the scenarios he found himself in were almost comical with how unfortunate they proved to be. Just knowing Eric Cartman set him down the wrong path, being a constant victim to his sadistic torment and never-ending bad ideas. Butters was usually red-handed at the scene of the crime, but it was common knowledge that he was never the one to initiate said situations.
Either he didn’t understand the extent of the torment inflicted upon him, or he’d grown resistant to its constance. Regardless, his role in the frequent antics of South Park’s most troublesome four was comprehensively unconsenting when it came down to the life-threatening, law-breaking actions they committed. Any kid in town could tell you that when they watched him slide up to their table at lunch or come to their call on the playground.
Hell, even most of the adults that so much as knew Butter’s name would know that he was a good kid with bad friends. He wasn’t capable of ill intent in the same way his classmates were - it didn’t come naturally to him. At his core, Butter’s was an obedient soul.
That’s why the familiar “I can’t, fellas, I’m grounded” rang so unpleasantly in their ears. Because Butter’s was always grounded for some reason or another. Rarely did he disclose the details–most likely because it had lost all point when it happened every week like clockwork–but sometimes he would let the reason behind his grounding slip, and whenever he did, the boys had to assume that there was some level of context behind it. After all, it would be impossible for all the situations Butter’s described to actually be true.
Like that time he got grounded for not organizing the pantry alphabetically when putting the groceries away. Or the time he was grounded for a week straight because Mr. Stotch, quote: “didn’t like the look of his face.” With the simple way that Butters looked at life, the other kids didn’t think twice at what little information he permitted them. The quality of his childhood was not called into question on a whim as his punishments seemed to be. On the rare occasion it was given any thought, which slowly grew more frequent with age, concern towards Butter’s home life began to grow.
Suppose there had been a tipping point in Kenny’s mind when he’d latched onto the idea that perhaps Butters had bad parents. He should have recognized the indicators much sooner given his own home life, but one would hardly look at Butters and assume that he was somehow being abused. After all, he always wore the same dopey smile and spoke in that same sweet tone. There was a tenderness to him that Kenny had never picked up on within the walls of the Stotch house, unless it was created by Butters himself. Perhaps, the thought now posed, the decency was not hereditary.
It had been a random weekday afternoon when the curiosity burned too deep in his mind to keep it dormant. Kenny had stopped over to return one of Butter’s comic books when he’d lingered behind in his bedroom for a couple extra hours instead.
There was a consistency in Butters presence that he didn’t find in the other guys, what with their habit of stirring up mischief wherever they went. Despite Butter’s alter ego of Professor Chaos, he was a relatively simple child who created tranquility in small-talk and innocent curiosity. Kenny could sit on his bedroom floor and listen to the other boy talk absently about editions and editorials if it meant he could relax without fear of collecting his next gruesome death badge on his immortal girl scouts sash.
Butters was laying on his stomach on the carpet, pointing at some character in his comic when he briefly mentioned something that caught Kenny’s attention.
“Yeah, an’ my dad got real angry with me the last time he caught me reading this. I was grounded for at least two weeks when I showed him the panel of Captin’ Super beating up the bad guy.” He’d say in between his ramblings, to which Kenny found himself once again paying attention to the conversation.
He was already halfway through explaining the apparently very riveting details of this chapter when Kenny interrupted his spiel.
“Grounded?” He’d repeat, surprise interlaced somewhere beneath the layer of his parka. Butters looked up at him, finger still extended to the forehead of Captain Super, his mouth hanging open from his last fact. Once he processed the comment, he’d attempt to shrug from where he lay on the carpet.
“Well, yeah.” He said simply, “My dad thinks superhero stories are a bad influence on me.”
He’d look down at the open panels, seeming to consider his words. “Least, he does now. I didn’t used to have to hide them.”
Kenny waited a moment before he continued his questioning, now grasping that this was yet another incident of Butters’ unlucky streak. He adjusted his position on the floor, becoming more invested in the conversation as he leaned forward in his criss-cross.
“Your dad thinks superheroes are a bad influence?” That was ridiculous, and Butters must’ve thought the same as he reluctantly bit the corner of his lip.
“He says they give me ‘false expectations of reality,’ whatever that means.” He’d then pause before adding: “And, you know, the whole Professor Chaos stunt landed me in some trouble last time we played with the other fellas.”
The Stotch family had always been weird thanks to their insistence on living behind ‘Christian’ values, but Kenny couldn’t imagine any sane person actually deterring a kid from reading a comic book. Hell, his parents were always happy to see him reading something other than the same crumpled Playboy magazine, even if it contained more pictures of men in colorful spandex than words.
“You aren’t kidding.” Kenny realized, the statement rhetorical in a both amused and critical way. Was there anything that Butters was allowed to do in his own home?
“Of course I’m not kiddin’!” He retorted before sheepishly lowering his voice. “So, uh, don’t let it slip that I still have these. I told my mom I gave them to Eric.”
That earned a smile out of Kenny. Despite his puritan parents, he still had it in him to be a little rebellious from time to time. He could almost feel a sense of pride swelling in his cynical heart.
“Ah, so you ain’t a total wuss, after all.” He’d tease, leaning back against the frame of Butters’ bed. The other boy didn’t seem to appreciate the teasing, though he didn’t exactly deny it either.
“You don’t understand.” The words came out with an exasperation that was rare in a boy like Butters. For once, he seemed self aware of his own misfortune. “My dad don’t take kindly to me…getting my own ideas.”
“That’s ‘cause he’s a sourpuss.” Kenny interjected, earning him a glare but not a rebuttal. There wasn’t exactly any denying that Mr. Stotch had a stick up his ass. It was the biggest Kenny had ever seen—even bigger than Kyle’s.
Still, Butters wrung his hands from where they supported him on his stomach. “Oh, I could never say something like that. He’d ground me into next week!”
Kenny rolled his eyes. “See, that’s the problem,” he gestured a hand toward Butters, who looked at it all offended-like. “How old do you gotta be until you stop letting your old man ground you every other day?”
Butters looked scandalized, suddenly shooting up from his otherwise lax position on the carpet, shifting hastily until he rested on his ankles.
“A kid never gets too old for their mom and dad to ground them!” Kenny barked out a laugh at that, the earnestness written on Butters’ face perfect fuel for a shameless fit of laughter. The poor guy was so innocent, it was almost sad at times.
Kenny wiped a tear from his eye, his other arm coming to rest across his stomach from where he’d been holding it trying to contain his giggles. “And who told you that?”
Butters scoffed, answering without thinking.
“My dad-” He seemed to register the point that Kenny was trying to make in that same breath, suddenly stopping to furrow his brows and slump down on his heels.
“But–but that doesn’t make it not true. Isn’t that right, Ken?”
Kenny gave him a sympathetic look. “Dude, I don’t think there’s been a single time where I ever thought your dad was right about something.” He really did loathe that man.
Defeated, Butters stared a hole in the carpet, his gaze more focused than Kenny had ever seen it. However insignificant the words felt to Kenny, his opinion resonated something within Butters, evident in the now scrunch of his nose. He’d already been poking at the cracks this past year, and any influence to further stick his nails in the fractures only served to tear down the walls in his head even more. And if his dad wasn’t god, then what did that mean for the worship Butters had spent his whole life giving to him?
“That-” The argument died on his tongue, exhaling in a manner that only made him look slightly pathetic. Kenny’s sympathies grew.
“You don’t always need to listen to him, you know.” He knew the suggestion was blasphemous in Stotch ideology, but surely someone had to tantalize Butters with the idea of freedom. Before he was pushing thirty still asking for permission to eat, sleep, and breathe.
Butters was quiet as he took in those words. Truly, he seemed to consider them, but Kenny could make out the doubt behind his eyes.
“You don’t get it-”
“If you don’t try and push back on all their stupid rules, dude, they’re just gonna keep makin’ more.” Kenny adjusted his position on the floor once again, nudging Butters gently with his outstretched foot. Butters leaned away from it, but he wasn’t exactly telling Kenny to shut up, either.
“And there’s much worse things you could be doing. They should be grateful for that.” If that wasn’t the truth. Sometimes Kenny wondered how Butters’ parents managed to be such maniacs when they raised the most docile boy in all of South Park. The same kid who wouldn’t hurt a fly was also the one holed up in his room seven days out of the week because he existed wrong.
Butters gave his comic book a glance from where it lay abandoned. He shut it, joining Kenny by the bedframe to tuck the comic behind one of the boxes under his bed, where all his other supposedly “re-gifted” editions lived. He looked over at Kenny gingerly, and it was obvious that he was considering Kenny’s guidance. There was an unmistakable curiosity in those bright blue eyes, and god if it didn’t make Kenny just a little excited.
“Yeah? Like…like what?” Butters asked him, and it was the stupidest question to ever be uttered. In regards to Butters’ behavior, literally anything that even slightly steered off course from his normal habits would be considered a moral downgrade. It was impossible to be a better kid than Butters Stotch. He was practically the role model for aspiring basket cases.
Kenny snorted, the sound a little obscene given the vulnerable expression on Butters’ face. He just couldn’t help himself.
“Uh, like everything? You could be me, for one.” Butters didn’t react to those words, encouraging Kenny to keep reiterating his point. “I’m dirty, ignorant, and I don’t take shit from anyone.”
Butters didn’t appear to agree with the sentiment, but he couldn’t deny that Kenny was the exact opposite of the kind of kid his parents were hoping to raise. If Butters acted anything like him, he was pretty sure it would kill them both on the spot. But Kenny seemed to take pride in this fact, as the corners of his eyes crinkled into a smile.
“You aren’t ignorant, Kenny.” Kindness aside, Kenny’s smile grew into one of amusement, waving off Butters’ words with a flippant gesture of his hand.
He’d turn to lean against the bedframe sideways, now facing Butters on the rug. He was invested in the cause now, realizing that his words were actually getting through to the other boy. A fire stirred in his stomach at the idea of feeding the curiosity in Butters’ eyes. It wasn’t hard to teach him something new, but Kenny always did prefer when it was something nice.
“Yeah, I am.” He’d disagree. “And that’s alright. I’m a McCormick, we’re supposed to be dirty scumbags. It’s our family legacy.” That earned a smile out of Butters, the exaggeratedness of Kenny’s words amusing him even if he didn’t agree with them. But at the shake of his head, the softness of his smile disappeared, overshadowed by his conflicting doubts.
“But I’m not a McCormick. I’m a Stotch, and we’re supposed to be-”
“Tightasses?”
Butters sighed. “Tightasses.”
The agreement was certainly progress, and after a moment of ingenious thought, Kenny would scoot forward towards Butters, the smile on his face indicative of the trouble he was about to preach.
“Well, maybe you don’t have to be a McCormick.” Butters furrowed his brows at those words, leaning in as well as if to get in on a secret. Kenny’s grin grew.
“What?”
“I mean-” He floundered, the growing scheme in his head was absolutely insane, but also a divisive plot that he was proud to have thought of. He could certainly see it working, if nothing else. Imagining the look on Butters’ parent’s faces was enough for him to at least suggest the idea, hoping that Butters would see the potential in it as well.
“Hear me out here, dude. There’s no way you could do something bad enough to make your parents get off your ass. It would have to be something big. Big enough where they’d realize how good they had it before.”
Butters looked lost, and Kenny supposed it wouldn’t make any sense until he just proposed the idea itself. This plan was perfect—absolutely capable of shell-shocking a bunch of prudes—but he couldn’t deny the way it made his heart pound in his chest with distinctive glee.
“You ain’t suggesting something bad, are you?” Kenny chuckled at the innocent question. He wasn’t sure if Butters would consider his idea to be “bad,” but he was a little eager to find out. He could feel the adrenaline beating healthily in his veins, a smirk never leaving his lips.
“Bad? Of course not.” He’d reply in a coy tone.
“All I’m saying is if you need something big…Well, I could be something big.” It came as no surprise when Butters didn’t appear to understand what he meant by that. Even one of the other guys would have a hard time grasping the absurdity of the implication. It was out there, even for Kenny.
“I’m everything your parents hate. I’m poor and rude and I take up space. I’m nothing like you white picket fence fucks–no offense.”
Butters blinked at him, brows raised in a perpetual confusion.
“Are you sayin’...you want to be my parent’s kid instead?”
Kenny burst out into laughter at the mere suggestion of that.
“Hell no!” His laughter didn’t cure the look on Butters’ face, but it did tell him he’d need to be more overt with his proposal.
“You couldn’t pay me to be your parent’s' little guinea pig–again, no offense.”
Butters shrugged, “None taken.”
“What I mean is-” he sighed, deciding how he should best explain the genius of this plan to Butters. After all, there would surely be some questions on his end that would best be answered in the simplest of terms.
“Your parents don’t like me, all right? We all know it’s true. Your mom cleans the carpet after I come over. Your dad refuses to eat at the same table as me. They hate me, plain and simple.”
Butters was going to refute that before Kenny held up a hand to stop him. He wasn’t done.
“But that’s just it. They hate me because I’m nothing like you. So if they’re always grounding you for nothing at all, why not give them something to actually flip out over?”
He didn’t know why he was proposing this. It was not only ridiculous, but there was no clear gain on his end for helping Butters out with his home life. Maybe he sympathized because of his own parents. Or maybe the years of constantly ignoring the obvious neglect the kid was facing was catching up to him. Either way, this was the most groundbreaking idea he’d ever had, and he wasn’t about to let it go to waste just because it also happened to be completely stupid.
“I’m not sure I follow, Ken.” Butters confessed, rubbing a hand over the scruff of his neck. Of course, Butters couldn’t understand the idiocy that Kenny was suggesting between them. Not before the punchline. That didn’t change the shit-eating grin that had broken out across his lips.
“Date me.”
The words were blunt and loaded. For a long moment, Butters simply stared blankly at him. That is, before a fiery red overcame his pale face, eyes narrowing with concern. He shifted uncertainly where he sat, avoiding Kenny’s intense grin at his own idea.
“D-date you?” The words sounded foreign leaving his mouth, and he made a face like they were uncomfortable to chew. Kenny was quick to start up again, not wanting Butters to get the wrong impression even if the right one was just as absurd as that of Butters genuinely becoming his boyfriend.
“Yeah. Well, not for real, but we could make your parents think we’re dating. If they suddenly find out that their precious Butters is going out with someone like me, they might go easier on regular ol’ you once it’s all said and done.”
Butters was in complete awe of this concept. His jaw was slack open, eyes wide with disbelief. He remained completely silent with that same expression for a solid minute before he let out a squeaky: huh. He seemed almost interested before he shook his head violently, beginning to stammer against the idea.
“Nuh uh! Gee, if my parents thought I was datin’ a boy, nonetheless you, they’d ground me till’ I’m eighteen!” There was a discernable fear in his tone that was just too funny when it made his accent come out even more than usual. It was only a hypothetical idea, but Butters was already acting like his wrists had been shackled down.
“No, dude, that’s just it.” Kenny’s confidence seemed to calm Butters down, at least enough to where he could fully explain his idea.
“You’ll become ungroundable. They’ll be so desperate getting you to break up with me, everything that you do in the future will seem completely innocent. It’s foolproof.”
Butters didn’t seem convinced of this idea. There was still a present amount of worry behind his eyes, but Kenny could also make out the guilty shadow of intrigue, too. He was considering it.
“A-and you really think us datin’ would work? They’d…stop grounding me?”
Kenny shrugged. “It’s worth a shot, ain’t it? If it’s gotta be something totally out of the water to work, then what’s worse than a prince like you dating me?”
A slow nod overcame the other boy, and Kenny was absolutely pleased when he realized it was resonating with Butters. He must have really been at a wits end to agree to one of Kenny’s mischievous plans, which only incentivized Kenny even more to pursue said plan.
It would be fairly straightforward, he assumed. Pretend to be Butters’ boyfriend in front of his parents to prove a point, then maybe they’d stop milking every one of Butters’ small mistakes (and not mistakes) as an excuse to punish him. At the very least, it would be a convincing case in proving that Butters could be a much worse off kid if they got to see Kenny McCormick even more than usual.
“I dunno, Kenny. The last time my folks thought I was bicurious, they sent me to camp.” Kenny remembered that. But he also remembered Butters returning soon after with a signature smile, spouting something about how he was “proud to be bicurious.” If Mr. Stotch hadn’t banished him to the basement for that, then there was hope that a little implied homosexuality wouldn’t kill anyone.
Kenny made a ‘psh’ sound. “And you’re back, aren’t ya? Besides, I thought your old man got over that.”
“He did, but…” Butters wrung his hands. “But that time with Eric was an accident! A-and it was Eric. I’m not sure how they’d feel ‘bout you and me.”
Kenny shot him a convincing smile. He knew Butters was an easy victim to his charisma–he respected him too much.
“Guess you’ll have to find out.” Depending on Butters’ response, that would be it. He could seal the deal right now and Kenny could partake in perhaps the most interesting experiment this month. Will being Butters’ white trash boyfriend somehow improve his homelife? He was at least willing to try.
Butters looked up at him nervously, once more leaning into the close proximity.
“You promise it’ll work?” He asked, clearly desperate to escape the constant cycle of grounding hell. Kenny met those soft eyes with a grin that could easily be a bad influence on a saint like Butters, but he extended his hand chivalrously all the same.
“Hey, I can make no promises. But the McCormick charm always pulls through one way or another.”
Butters looked down at his hand hesitantly, like it might bite him if he tried to shake it back. There was an obnoxious amount of concentration resting on those brows, but Kenny could almost find it endearing as he watched the sense drain from Butters’ body. He was already looking forward to the horrified screams of Mr. Stotch.
With a shaky sigh, Butters clasped his hand with Kenny’s, offering him a gentle shake.
“Yeah, alright.” His voice lacked confidence and an overall backbone, but Kenny looked pleased to hear it. “If you think it’ll help the groundings.”
Their hands dropped, but the smug smile imprinted on Kenny’s face did not. It was at least partially hidden behind that horrible parka, much to Butters’ good fortune.
“Scout’s honor.” Kenny vowed, offering Butters a cheesy salute before breaking out into a fit of small laughter. He had really just convinced Butters to fake date him in order to get back at his parents. In under an hour, he was already on his way to corrupting that pure little heart of his. The thought excited him.