Chapter Text
“Have a creamy day, sir!” Butters smiled at the change dropped into the tip jar.
You can’t tell people to have a ‘creamy’ day at a place called Willy’s, Kenny had told him once. They’re gonna come back expecting a different product.
But Butters wasn’t particularly interested in breaking the shop’s tradition. And Kenny wasn’t particularly interested in pushing the matter. It just gave him something to giggle at every time he dropped by.
It was a slow Wednesday afternoon at the parlor, where Butters was the only employee on shift with the exception of his boss. Surprisingly, people weren’t lined up to get ice cream in the dead of winter. Even so, enough customers showed up to keep Butters entertained and paid at his after school gig. He spent the time in between customers doing his homework on the back counter, or finding a new crevice in the cooler to clean, or implementing a new organization system for the toppings bar.
Or texting Kenny. That one was his favorite. On the occasions that they were both at work, Butters always warmed at the image of them leaning against different counters on opposite sides of town, smiling down at the buzz of their phone. At the sound of the bell above the door Butters was always upright and at attention once more, ready to serve another customer. Kenny, however, usually required a swat from Mr. Kim to get him to even notice that someone was waiting at the register.
The bell announced another pair of customers, two older gentlemen chuckling and shaking their heads as they glanced over their shoulders. Butters sat up dutifully and flashed a smile.
“Good afternoon, sirs, welcome to Willy’s!” One of the men, the one with salt and pepper hair, gave him a smile and a nod.
“Afternoon, son,” he leaned against the counter to peek into the back room while his friend perused the flavors in the cooler. “Hey, Sully!” Butters heard some rustling from the direction of Mr. Sullivan’s office before his kindly boss emerged. His face lit up at the duo as he made a pleasantly surprised sound.
“Marvin, Buck! How’s it going, fellas?” The three men laughed and exchanged pleasantries as they shook hands over the counter.
Butters turned to idly wipe down the line, mind elsewhere in the same way it was when his parents were talking to their own friends about things he didn’t much care about. He was brought back into the interaction when Mr. Sullivan dropped a hearty hand onto his shoulder, jostling him back to reality.
“This is my most loyal employee, boys - Butters. I’ve had him here with me since he was just a kid. He’s Stotch’s boy, do you two know Stephen?”
“I certainly know the name,” Buck - or Marvin, Butters wasn’t sure - said with a smile. “Good help can be hard to find. Good on you, son.” Mr. Sullivan patted Butters’ shoulder.
“Butters, go ahead and ring these two up on the house. Now you two tell me what happened with Jack’s investment property that’s got him all up in a tizzy.” Mr. Sullivan entertained the two while Butters assisted the white-haired one he had quietly dubbed Marvin.
He smiled pleasantly while listening in and out of the men’s conversation, his hands busy scooping mint chocolate chip ice cream into a cup. He turned to the hot fudge pump.
“Say, Sully, have you seen what’s going on outside your store? Seems to be picking up since we were out there,” Buck said conversationally. Mr. Sullivan sat up straight, suddenly in boss mode again. Butters tried to catch a glimpse out the front windows with a discreet lean.
“Outside my store?”
“Well, I guess not directly outside your store. Nothing you’ll be liable for, certainly.” Buck shared a look and a laugh with Marvin. “McCormick is raisin’ hell on some poor guy for giving him a funny look. Causing quite a spectacle.”
Butters slipped, barely catching all the hot fudge in the cup. He blinked at the man.
“McCormick?” Butters’ voice cracked, unused beyond an occasional ‘yes sir’ since the two came in. Buck nodded with a grin.
“Yeah, the dad, uh, Steve, is it? Stuart? Haven’t seen him around lately, it’s good to see he hasn’t lost his spunk.” He shook his head, his attention back to Mr. Sullivan. “He’s got some guy stopped in the street now, trying to pick a fight.” He turned back to the window. “He’s being all loud and obnoxious and stumbling around. Really making a sight of himself.” Buck turned to Marvin, and when he spoke it was like he was conversing with Butters, as well. “I wonder if he’s using again. Have you heard anything about that? He’s surely not acting like he’s all the way there...” Marvin chortled with a shake of his head.
“He always does make for good water cooler talk- hey wait, my ice cream!” Butters was already booking it around the counter and out the door, the cup forgotten under the hot fudge pump.
The cold air hit him and his thin work button up, but he didn’t pay it any mind as his eyes scanned his surroundings. In the little plaza that the parlor was settled into there was a wide walkway, which seemed to be the hot spot as a crowd steadily accumulated. When Butters craned his neck to see around the thin veil of bystanders, he spotted Stuart.
He was dressed in a worn canvas jacket and that stupid trucker hat, just in case anyone had trouble identifying him. Opposite him was a redheaded younger man probably in his thirties that Butters didn’t recognize. He didn’t know if that helped or hurt the situation. His brow was furrowed and lips pressed into a thin line, irritation evident but obviously not trying to add to the spectacle that was already there. When he spoke it was low, and Butters strained to hear him from where he had screeched to a halt.
“Man, I’m just trying to get through, I don’t-“
“Naw, boy,” Stuart cut in, loud and goading. “You got yourself into this mess. If you’ve got something to say, you say it with your chest.” The way the guy’s face screwed up told Butters he had been pinned there for too long. His voice was louder and clearer.
“Let. Me. Pass.” Stuart’s lip curled into a demented grin. He pointed like he had caught him slipping.
“Oh, now he’s givin’ orders!” The guy shook his head, as if trying to convince himself and everyone around that Stuart wasn’t worth the time or effort he had already been given.
“You’re drunk.”
“And you’re disrespectful!”
It was pointless of the guy to mention. Everyone knew Stuart was drunk. Butters could tell not even by his slurred speech, or his unsteady feet. But by the way he wouldn’t walk away without a fight. And now that he had the guy in his trap, he would pick and pull at every little loose thread he could until he unraveled. He’d antagonize until he gave him a show, or at least someone to fight with.
With a look around at the crowd, Butters’ stomach turned at the amused faces. More than one person had a phone out recording. For all the people who had missed out on the real thing, they could count on being able to find the video on Twitter. Stuart’s eyes caught on one of the phones and pointed excitedly.
“Yeah yeah, y’record this! Record him bein’ all tough.” The guy waved his hands exasperatedly, turning his face to the sky.
“I’m literally trying to leave!” Stuart made a grand, sweeping gesture to his left.
“Then leave!” The guy sliced a hand through the air.
“You keep stopping me!” Stuart glanced around exaggeratedly, arms outstretched.
“Well I see plenty’a room! What, big man can’walk around? He needs us common folk to clear a path?” The guy made a growling noise, pinching the bridge of his nose before moving towards Stuart. He sidestepped him best he could with the bystanders and the older man’s deliberately wide stance. Their shoulders grazed.
Stuart stumbled like he’d been hit by a truck.
“Ah, there it is!” He shouted. He waved a finger at the crowd, like a magician taking hold of his captive audience. “You all saw that, right? He put his hands on me!” People laughed, and even if it wasn’t in his favor, it only fueled Stuart further.
Butters curled his fists against his face as if to hide behind them. He could see the gleeful glint in the man’s eye. This was exactly what Stuart did - he provoked. He went out seeking trouble as a means of entertainment, and when he couldn’t find it, he’d make his own. He never thought about where it would land him, or how much damage he would end up doing. He never thought about the phone cameras pointing his way, or how all of this made him look. How it made his family look. Butters watched in horror as Stuart decidedly did not consider how his actions would affect the rest of them.
This was the McCormicks’ role in South Park - the broke, drunk hillbillies who would come out and cause a spectacle every so often and give their neighbors something juicy to talk about for a few days. They were the laughing stock of this town, and everyone was just waiting for one of them to make an absolute idiot of themselves once more. All eyes on me, and it’s the worst version of a human possible.
It didn’t matter what kind of success Kevin had, or how sweet Karen was, or how hard Kenny worked. The only thing that ever seemed to matter were their parents’ mistakes. They certainly got their fair share of negative backlash, but it always came back on the kids, too. It became gossip circulating amongst Karen’s elementary teachers, or Kenny’s classmates. When his parents got like this, they never cared how hard the two would take it at school, or in the many parts of town they frequented.
Karen’s classmates would parrot the things they’d heard their own parents say about the situation, oftentimes words too harsh to be said to a seven-year-old’s face. She’d come home many times asking her brother what a certain word meant, or crying over the ways her peers reacted to things much too adult for them to comprehend.
Kenny would bear the more direct, malicious attacks, the kind he had steeled himself to and learned to bite back at. He’d bear insolent jokes and insulting jabs whispered behind his back or hollered from afar by the brave (stupid) ones. Or, and Butters knew this was Kenny’s kryptonite, it would be the pitying looks and disappointed head shakes. It would be a teacher or, god forbid, a guidance counselor stopping him in the hallway to tell him ‘you can always stop by my room if you need to talk…’
And all three children, including Kevin, because it was impossible to fully outrun the town that raised you, would carry the stench even after the gossip changed. Store clerks would follow them from afar as they perused the aisles. Patrol cars would slow down for a once over. Parents would guide their own children away and encourage them to play elsewhere.
Kenny was no angel; sometimes he liked to play stupid games and win stupid prizes. But this, Butters thought as he watched Stuart pretend to bite at the guy’s heels like a rabid dog, was what Kenny hated. The bad rap that he had no say over. This was the attention that made him zip his coat up over his face and not emerge until he was certain no one was looking anymore.
The redhead grunted with frustration as he tried, once again, to slide by Stuart. But after expending so much energy on his own antics, Stuart had grown tired of waiting for a reaction. Butters could see the moment he decided to force one.
He grabbed the back of the guy’s hood, holding him in place as he tried to pass.
“Don’t you walk away when I’m talking to you.”
Though the crowd didn’t notice it, there was a very evident shift in his voice. Butters’ veins iced over. It was the same tone Stuart used on Kenny when he was being defiant - or, synonymously, not giving his dad the reaction he wanted.
Butters whipped his head back and forth, frantically looking for a solution. Everyone was just watching, practically drooling for a good show. As far as they were concerned, things just got interesting. But Butters knew that as soon as Stuart’s hands got involved, it was impossible to deescalate the situation. He was an addict, and once he got a taste, there was no turning back.
“Get your hands off me.”
Butters’ own hands were an anxious tizzy. This was bad, this was really really bad. Why was no one doing anything? Everywhere he looked, all he saw were wide pupils in the face of a good meal,
“Or what?”
For the love of god, quit LOOKING at him like that,
Butters’ hated his decision the moment he made it, which just so happened to also be when he decided to execute it. Butters exploded out of himself with a loud yell, toppling into the large, unoccupied extension ladder to his right. All heads whipped his way. The thunderous clatter of the ladder on the concrete cut through the drama like a hot knife.
Now, if Butters had the power to pause time, he would have landed his awful, wreckless plan flawlessly. The intensity was knocked right out of Stuart, surrounding eyes were pulled away from the drunk man’s debauchery, cell phones had panned towards the new noise. As simple as jingling keys in front of a baby, the plaza’s attention was collected and redirected.
But then, the other shoe dropped.
Or rather, two cans of paint on either side of him onto the sidewalk - CLANG, CLANG.
Butters yelped and jumped, arms snapping over his head at the sudden aerial attack. Red flooded his vision, and the cold, viscous paint splashed up over him and across the sidewalk. He sputtered, eyes squeezed shut as the noises around him increased. Screams, laughs, hollers. He wiped his dripping face with equally dripping hands, blinking his eyes open.
“Look out!” He had no time to process before a blur of blue zipped by, an Uber Eats bike skidding across the wet, slimy mess and directly into the newspaper box on the curb. With a sharp SMACK he tumbled, back end flying over his head as the box busted and newspapers flew loose into the wind.
A newspaper flew into the street, plastering itself to the windshield of a passing car. They swerved-
THWACK. Right into the fire hydrant at the corner. Water shot into the air before drenching the road, the hollering audience, and Butters, dripping red like Carrie on prom night.
Butters could just stand there, frozen under the artificial storm while red trickled down his face, his hair, his uniform. No more skids or screeches or bangs. Instead, there was the cry of a crowd, the car’s blaring alarm, and the continuous spray of water.
He blinked, taking in the frenzy of the street and phone cameras now pointed solely at him as they scurried out of the splash zone. Stuart was nowhere to be seen. Butters squeezed his eyes shut at the sound of police sirens approaching.
“Hamburgers.”
………
Butters kept his bedroom silent that night just to make up for the afternoon’s cacophony.
He didn’t hum, or tidy, or read like he usually did when he was grounded. Tonight he just sat at the edge of his bed with his feet tucked into his frame, eyes locked on a spot on the floor. The only part of him that moved, busy at work, were his hands. His bruised knuckles and bleeding cuticles were in worse shape than they had been in a while.
His dad had been called into town once the police arrived. Butters had given a convincing performance of his fall being accidental, and because of that, fault became murky. The case would be sent to insurers, but the police seemed confident that no one would be paying much out of pocket due to a domino effect of human error. But that didn’t change his dad’s embarrassment or anger.
A trash bag was thrown over the passenger’s seat and the Stoches drove home silently. Most of the dripping paint was rinsed off by the hydrant, but Butters was hoping his dad would let him shower before inflicting his punishment. He wasn’t so lucky. It seemed as if he could barely contain his rage, practically throwing Butters into his study the moment he crossed the threshold. He wondered if he stained the man’s floors at all.
His dad had laid into him, fists and feet flying at the boy on the floor. However, he seemed to be too blinded by fury to even think to pull a belt or any other aide on him. His hits were sloppy and uncoordinated rather than driven by the precision he knew they could be.
The verbal aspect was pretty bad, unfortunately. As if Butters wasn’t already humiliated, his dad made sure to remind him how bad he had fucked up. How bad things had gone. How much worse they could have gone. How embarrassing it was to have him attached to this family, and what a burden he was to, evidently, everything he touched. There’s something just so fundamentally wrong with you, Butters…
And so he sat, long after his parents had gone to sleep, in bed behind a locked door. There was no point in trying to get his mind off the matter - it was too big and shameful. He would just have to ride it out, wave after wave. So he sat, fingers diligently pulling one another apart, tears periodically rolling down his face, in a puddle of his own shame.
A quiet tap came from the window, and Butters squeezed his eyes shut. It was only a matter of time. Another tap, and Butters had no choice but to turn. He didn’t even flinch at the sight of Kenny, swaddled in orange with his big green eyes sandwiched between edges of his hood. He blinked in at Butters like a lost puppy in the cold.
The boy’s heart sank to his stomach. Everyone in town was either mad at Butters or laughing at him, and Kenny had more reason than anyone to do the same. As if having his dad pull another stupid, inebriated stunt wasn’t bad enough, Butters had to go and make matters worse by running through the china shop. From the afternoon he’d had, Butters wouldn’t be surprised if Kenny was here to dump him in order to save the little bit of an image he still had.
Butters’ face pinched and he squeezed his eyes shut, another couple of tears falling at just the sight of the other boy. Kenny tapped again, but Butters shook his head. A pause, one, two, and then he knocked again.
He didn’t want to face the boy. He didn’t want to. Butters couldn’t bear to open the window, to open himself up to face the person he had just wanted to help. Stupidly, he’d forgotten what happened when Butters Stotch tried to do such a thing.
Another tap and Butters made the mistake of opening his eyes, meeting Kenny’s once more. His gaze was soft and sad, and it broke Butters down to his smallest atoms. New tears rolled down his cheeks. Kenny waved him over to the window, his gaze alone saying so much without words.
Butters squeezed his eyes shut with a huff, forcing his legs to stand up and bring him to the window. He inhaled shakily before pulling up the lift.
As soon as the shutter was up, Kenny ducked through the window, pulled his hood down, and reached for Butters. Butters let out a soft sob and let himself be collected. Arms around his waist pulled him against Kenny’s front, and Butters couldn’t help but press his face into his neck and fold. He hiccuped an inhale.
“Hey, Buttercup.” Butters sobbed at the greeting. The name alone was said with so much love and tenderness that it hurt more than the bruises across his ribs.
“I’m sorry,” he felt Kenny shake his head.
“No apologies. Are you okay?” Butters ignored him, pressing his face against his parka to muffle his tears.
“I-I didn’t mean for all that t-to happen,”
“Of course you didn’t.”
“Please don’t be mad,”
“Never. Are you okay?”
“E-everyone is really mad,”
“I’m not. I’m here with you. C’mon, let’s breathe.” Butters felt Kenny take a deep breath, and on the next one, he fought to follow. Again and again, until he could do it without it feeling like a struggle.
The two pulled away from one another, Kenny’s hold sliding down to Butters’ forearms. He looked him over meticulously before meeting his eyes, his gaze immediately softening. Butters’ chest pulsed.
“Would,” Butters sniffled, noticing his legs were still outside and he knelt awkwardly through the frame. “Would you like to come in?” Kenny grimaced, bringing a hand to mop up a cheek.
“I can’t tonight,” he nodded over his shoulder. “Babysitting duty.” Butters furrowed his brow and leaned out the window. His eyes widened at the sight of Karen in a little red wagon, bundled up in what looked to be every blanket in their house. She gave a half asleep smile and wave from behind her stuffed frog, Miss Pumpernickle.
“Wh-Kenny!” Butters whipped to look at the other blonde. “She should be in bed!” Kenny gestured to the girl, as if it were obvious.
“She is in bed! Swaddled up like a baby and everything. It’s not like I made her walk.” He sank to sit on the shingles, his hold sliding to Butters’ hand. His soft eyes stayed diligently on his. “She’s gonna conk out in the next twenty minutes. There was no way I wasn’t comin’ by to check on you. C’mon.” He tugged at him gently, just once. “Let me get a look at’cha.”
Butters sniffled, the anxiety of the other boy being here to ridicule him fading into the distance. This was his Kenny. He was different from the other voices in this town.
He lowered himself to sit on the carpeted floor. The windowsill between them, he couldn’t help but lean forward into Kenny’s reach. Calloused fingers cupped his chin, and his eyes warmed his complexion as they rove imploringly. His hand moved to his jaw to cup his cheek. Butters tentatively gave him his weight to cradle, his touch relaxing him in a way he hadn’t in hours. Only then did he realize how sore he was from being so tense for so long. He watched as Kenny licked his thumb and brought it to his hairline, no doubt wiping away a spot of red that the shower had missed.
“How’re you doin’, baby?” Kenny murmured, his voice no more than a hum. Butters swallowed heavily and his eyes welled. His free hand picked at the side of his thumb.
“Dad’s awful mad.”
“That’s not what I asked.” Butters lowered his gaze.
“Tired.” Kenny hummed, releasing his hand as he rolled forward onto his knees. Butters’ hands met in his lap as Kenny’s own went to his shoulders. His gentle touch pressed imploringly at the sore muscles there.
Did he hurt you here?, he asked without saying a thing. Butters nodded, eyes on his hands. His touch slid down his arms, fingers pressing just enough to test the waters. Nod. He moved down his ribs, which felt as if they should be dented from the kicks they received. Down his thighs and calves, nods of confirmation when a sore spot was found. Each time his hands started to bite at one another, Kenny gently batted them away, wordlessly commanding them to play nice.
Kenny sat back heavily with the update on Butters’ condition. One more time, his hands moved to pull the tattered ones apart and into his hold, observing the mess Butters had made them. Without flinching at the sight, Kenny set Butters’ hands on the sill between them, reached into his pocket, and pulled out some bandaids and an alcohol pad.
“I did some reading and found these hydrocolloid bandaids. Reddit says they’re good for skin picking. Locks in moisture so you’re less likely to get scabby. I figured we’d try them out just for fun.” Butters’ eyes stayed trained on his hands while Kenny wiped over his knuckles, under his nails. He analyzed every little cut and bruise. He committed each to memory. Kenny’s causal nature was indicative of how often they were in this very position. Other times Butters might find it heartwarming. How, even though they’d been here before, Kenny was never scared away.
Right now it just made him feel gross. Because here Kenny was, cleaning up his gross, scabby boyfriend who felt the need to one up his drunk dad in a humiliation ritual of his own making.
He swallowed heavily. He knew the elephant in the room was growing by the second because it was sitting on his chest.
“Have…have you talked to your…parents?” Kenny blinked and paused, seemingly surprised that that was Butters’ question.
“No, no, I…they’re out doing whatever the hell. Keeping to themselves, y’know. The usual.” He steadied his gaze on Butters’, hands effortlessly cleaning him up without having to look. “Kare’s fine down there. She was stoked at the idea of getting to stargaze in the middle of winter. I’m here for you.”
Butters stared, wide-eyed, a million thoughts running through his head. It would be obvious to anyone who knew the extent of the events from that afternoon that Butters was not asking on Karen’s behalf. Kenny didn’t…know about the elephant. He hadn’t heard about his dad acting like a fool for a bunch of people with cameras pointed at him. Plenty of time had passed, he should have at least heard of it by now, let alone seen a video.
Maybe Butters’ stunt had…overshadowed his performance? Maybe people were so busy talking about Butters that they considered Stuart’s actions dull in comparison? Or, at the very least, not the most interesting thing that had happened that afternoon?
Whatever it was, it was not Kenny and Karen fielding countless invasive questions or disparaging jokes. It was not the McCormicks being the hot topic of gossip for the next couple of days, or however long it took South Park to find a new victim. For now, Kenny was off the hook and none the wiser. Even if Butters currently felt stomped into the dirt, all of that was worth Kenny’s ease of mind.
Butters closed his eyes and drew a slow breath, opening them again on the exhale. For a while, he quietly watched Kenny work.
“Does it look really bad? On video, I mean?” Butters whispered between them. That’s what people would end up seeing again and again, immortalized by the internet. All Butters could do now was hope they had captured his good side. Kenny thought for a moment, hands still wrapping up Butters’ as he sucked on his teeth.
“It looks…probably exactly how it felt in the moment.” Butters slumped against the window poutily. “But,” Kenny tapped the other boy’s hand, pulling him out of the recesses of his mind and back to him. “I don’t think it looks as bad as how you’re feeling now.”
Kenny pressed his thumbs along the edges of the gel-like bandaid, adhering the waterproof edges to Butters’ knuckles. When he was happy with his work, he finished it off with a kiss to each bandage. The sentiment warmed Butters’ cheeks, and he couldn’t help his shy smile. When Kenny looked up to see this, he grinned back, ducking back down to press slow kisses up his forearms. It was in the way Butters only saw done to beautiful women in movies, and he immediately felt overwhelmed with love and praise. Butters squirmed when he felt as if he would burst into flames. Kenny nestled his chin between the boy’s arms and beamed up at him like his own smile was powered by Butters’.
Butters couldn’t help but laugh at the sight, a tired, delirious sound. He shook his head.
“Tomorrow’s gonna suck,” he sighed, already envisioning the laughs and jeers. Kenny hummed, picking up his head. With his hands still grasping Butters’, Kenny leaned against the other side of the window frame.
“Not if I can help it.” He squeezed Butters’ hands, mindful of their tenderness. “I’ll follow you into all your classes if I gotta. I’ll sit at your feet like a guard dog. I’ll bite people if they even just look at you funny.” Butters couldn’t help but smile tiredly, pulling a hand free to scrub at his eyes.
“As nice as that sounds…I’m not sure I can condone it.” He dropped his hand to see Kenny’s soft eyes.
“Sure you can. Just look the other way when I start growling.” He shifted where he sat, folding up his free arm on the windowsill and resting his chin atop it. “It will probably suck a little bit. But people tend to find new gossip pretty easily around here. Maybe even by the end of the day.” His eyes flitted across Butters’ features, studying him in a way he couldn’t hide from. He squeezed his hand gently. “What do you need from me right now?”
Butters looked over his tender gaze, so ready to give him anything he asked for. So ready to make it better. His heart squeezed and he folded his arm to mirror Kenny’s position.
“I just need you,” he said quietly. “Could you talk?” Kenny smiled, reaching out to brush a hand through Butters’ shower dampened curls.
“Of course.” So he talked. He talked about his shift that evening at City Wok. He told Butters about how when he and Kevin were little, they were dead set on setting off the fire hydrant down the street, but could never figure it out. He went on about how Stan was badgering him lately about ideas for a birthday present for Wendy, and I’m not in tune with what girls want nowadays, she’s his girlfriend, like, damn-
Butters felt his worries rolling off his shoulders and eventually found himself smiling easily, lulled by the droning tenor of Kenny’s voice. All that existed in the world was Kenny. His voice, his hand in his. His lips against the crown of his head, making Butters stir. He hadn't even realized he’d drifted off.
“You’re not a bad kid, Leo.” Kenny whispered. Butters opened his eyes blearily, the words striking a chord. Beaten into him by foot or fist. Spat where he lay. Demanded to be repeated if he wanted to stand back up like some kind of twisted exit ticket. “What happened today has nothing to do with you as a person. Things just happen.” Butters felt Kenny shift to rest his forehead against his hair, sheltering him from the rest of the world. Creating a sanctuary composed solely of just the two of them. “At the end of the day, what’s important is you’re okay and no one was seriously hurt. Everything else can just…exist as it was. Nothing more.”
Butters felt himself deflate even further than he already had, curling his weight forward into Kenny. His shame was potent.
“That guy’s car is real bent outta shape…and…and the fella on the bike is probably banged up, too. The whole sidewalk is messed up. And…and all that water…” He felt Kenny shake his head slowly.
“Accidents happen every day. We can’t beat ourselves up over them. If we did, we’d probably, like…limp everywhere we went.” Butters opened his eyes, blinking slowly. When he looked up to meet Kenny’s eyes, they were so earnest that it brought a rise of emotion to his throat. They were magnetic and heartbreaking and so, so beautiful.
“What if I had done it on purpose?” He whispered. “I’d be a bad kid then…right?” He didn’t know why he said it, his half-asleep brain unstoppable in the face of the truth and those sage green eyes. Kenny didn’t even blink, didn’t even hesitate.
“No. I’d still trust that you had a good reason to.” This took Butters aback for a moment. He squeezed his eyes shut and huffed out a laugh, slumping forward to press his face into Kenny’s throat.
“Oh Ken,” he shook his head. “You have too much faith in me.” He felt Kenny smile against his scalp.
“Nah,” he laid a firm kiss on his head. “I don’t think you have enough.”