Chapter Text
Butters sighs when his phone alarm oh-so-rudely interrupts him from his dream. Of course, he doesn’t remember a single thing. All he knows is that it was about Kenny, and he didn’t wake up screaming, so this wasn’t the one where Kenny gets beheaded by his left shoe that always seems to magically slip off his foot.
Anyways, Butters clenches his eyes shut and tries to cling to those fuzzy feelings that are still lingering. Maybe if he tries hard enough, he’ll be able to fall back asleep and fall back into the dream. It’s all in vain, which is not surprising but rather disappointing—today’s organization day with his dad.
There’s a knock and Butters tenses up. Then he looks over and sees (speak of the devil) Kenny’s face at his window, his hands pressing against the glass and grinning. Even if his mouth is covered, his eyes are crinkled, making the fat below stick out. It’s cute, and it hides the dark circles pretty well, so double win! Butters thinks that if Kenny wasn’t wearing his parka, he’d have his nose pressed against the glass, too.
The second Butters gets up and reaches over to open it, Kenny’s opening it himself and clumsily jumping on the bed.
“Hi, Butters,” he says.
“Oh, hi, Ken!”
He hopes his blushing isn’t too obvious. Totally wasn’t dreaming about him or anything. Kenny’s sitting criss-cross with his hands resting in his lap, like a little kid. It’s cute, then he remembers—“Um, how’d you get inside? I lock my window.”
Kenny blinks. “Huh?” Then he starts giggling. “Oh, you didn’t notice? I used my sister’s bobby pin and picked the lock.”
Butters face morphs into slight panic, just slight, because he knows Ken would never (intentionally) hurt him, but is it really that easy to break in here? Kenny notices and he bursts out laughing.
“I’m fucking with you, Buttercup, it was unlocked. You must’ve forgotten last night. Do it every night, and I’ll make this a habit though.”
Butters starts laughing along with him, pretending like that last part didn’t make his heart skip a beat. Of course he forgot, then he starts to panic again because someone could’ve definitely broken in last night if they wanted. His dad would’ve been pissed at him, and he would’ve deserved it too. His thoughts are interrupted by Kenny’s voice. It sounds a lot clearer than it did yesterday, as if his throat has magically healed from his years-long cigarette use. (And every other drug he smokes).
“Stan, Kyle, and me stole a shopping cart from Wall Mart.” Kenny points his thumb behind him. “We’re gonna push it down that hill on Cartwright, but we kinda need someone to, ya know, push us. Care to do the job?”
It’s the kind of fun, stupid, dangerous stuff kids do in those indie teen movies Butters isnt allowed to watch, and he’s enchanted—yes, that’s the perfect word for it—by the sound of it.
“I’d love to!” Butters replied. “Just let me get ready, okay?”
“Better hurry your ass up then!”
Before Butters can say that he will, Kenny jumps out his window.
Butters blinks and realizes that he’s not hurrying his ass up, so he frantically looks for something clean to wear. After deciding on a blue hoodie and jeans, he tries to fix his hair, but it proves unsuccessful as it sticks up no matter what he does. He finishes off by gargling some mouthwash and spraying some old cologne on himself. Proper hygiene is for losers anyways.
He briefly considers jumping out the window, but he quickly decides against it. Butters takes a peek out and is happy to see that a dead Kenny isn't laying on the ground. He has no idea how Ken survived that, and seemingly unharmed, too. Don’t get him wrong though, jumping out sounds like a really nice alternative than having to face his father at the moment.
Butters is quiet when he leaves his bedroom and sneaks down the hall, wincing whenever the floor decides to creak. It’s not like he’s trying to sneak out, but his dad doesn’t like it when he makes too much noise. He doesn’t ground him anymore (just last year he’d get grounded for a month for this), as his dad’s been easing up on him, or trying to. Butters appreciates his effort, he really does.
Stephen is taking out all the spices out of the cupboard, humming to himself a familiar song, but turns around before Butters can figure out what it is.
“Good morning, son,” he grins. He’s in a good mood, Butters notes. “I’ve already started taking out everything for us to organize.”
“Oh, uh, thanks, but-”
“So I actually downloaded this app called Spotify and I can play music for you while my phone is off! For free! Isn’t that neat? You still like that old stuff don’t you? You get it from your old man. But we’re gonna have fun today, kiddo. Just you, me, spices, and Paul Anka.” He looks down at Butters and his smile fades. “Why are you dressed?”
Butters lets out a sigh and tries to smile. “M-My friends, they needed my help with something. Something real important.” It’s exaggerated a bit, but they still needed him, right? “But don’t worry, I should be back i-in an hour, and we could organize the kitchen then!”
There’s a brief moment of silence and Butters wonders if his dad’s gonna yell at him, but instead, he just hums and crosses his arms.
“I hope you’re not talking about those boys.” He doesn’t even need to say their names. “They don’t treat you right, Butters, you know that.”
Maybe that would’ve had weight a few years ago, but Butters knows they’ve been attempting to be nicer to him over the years. Call it pity or atonement or whatever, but Butters has realized a long time ago that there’s no point holding grudges. Where would he be if he held grudges?
Butters doesn’t say all that. He just laughs nervously. “They’re nice, dad, I-I swear. You don’t gotta worry about me.”
Stephen looks him up and down and grunts (Stan calls it “the dad noise”). “An hour?” he asks, the disapproval still peeking through his voice.
“No more!”
“If you say so, son.”
His dad heads right to his recliner and turns on the TV, like Butters has already left.
Butters stands there and starts fidgeting his hands. When he realizes that his dad’s not even gonna say bye to him, he says it himself—“O-Okay, uh, bye.”
Then he practically bolts outside. The cold has never felt so welcoming.
Yes, of course he feels guilty. But if he’s being honest, as much as he loves how his dad’s been wanting to spend time with him, he hates organization day. All it does is bring him back to when he was little, having to organize the cupboards and the drawers and the fridge all by himself as punishment. It’s something his mom likes, and she’d usually be here to remind him exactly where everything goes. No matter how much his dad pretends like it’s some fun father-son activity they do every month, Butters knows the truth—Stephen is still waiting for Linda to come back.
He looks to his right and sees Kyle, Stan, and Kenny crowding around a Wall Mart shopping cart and yelling at something. His first thought is that they’re arguing about who’s going first, but as he walks closer, he sees Eric Cartman sitting in the cart playing on his phone. Oh geez. Knowing Eric, he likely invited himself and climbed in the cart when everyone told him to leave.
Butters eventually jogs to them and stands there until Kenny notices him.
“Heyyy, Butters,” he greets, acting like he doesn’t want to strangle the hell out of Eric right now. His hood’s down this time (how nice), so Butters can see the cute freckles on nose. Ken must catch him staring because he sticks out his tongue.
Kyle and Stan turn around to quickly say hi, then go back to yelling at Eric.
"Cartman, if you don’t get out of this cart right now-”
“What Kahl? What will do you, hm?"
Eric’s calm voice annoys everyone, even Butters. It’s like he tries to convince everyone else that they’re the problem and he’s the only sane one. It makes Butters feel bad—not guilty, but a little icky.
"C'mon, dude," Stan huffs, "Butters has to push us three in this thing, how’s he gonna push us three plus your fat ass?”
“Wait, what?” Butters pipes up.
Everyone, even Eric who makes sure to pause his game, looks at him.
“Kenny said you’re pushing us,” Stan says.
Yeah, down the hill. Right? Butters then remembers Kenny saying they needed someone to push them, period, not push them down the hill. He’s pushing them. All of them. To and up then down the hill. They keep looking at him.
“Um, yeah, sorry. Don’t know why I-I said that.”
“Oh,” Eric sighs disappointedly and goes back to his game. “I thought you, of all people, would defend me, Butters. I see I was wrong.”
Kyle kicks the cart, but it moves only an inch. “Defend against what, fatty?”
“I’m not getting out of this fucking cart.”
Everyone looks at Butters again.
“Well,” Ken starts all soft and unsure, “you’re the one pushing us, man. What do you think?”
So Butters feels a little overwhelmed. He can see it in their faces, they’re hoping he says no. Eric’s looking at him, too, with weirdly innocent eyes and—oh, he’s sticking out his bottom lip. Butters thinks that even if he tells Eric to get out, he won’t listen, which will continue the arguing until things eventually get violent. And they definitely will get violent. And Butters would’ve caused it all.
“D-Don’t worry, guys,” Butters says with a reassuring smile. “I’m sure I can push you all, no problem.”
Eric grins and everyone else groans. “I knew I could count on you, buddy.”
Butters doesn’t miss the disappointed glances Kyle and Stan give him, or the worried glances Kenny gives him. They probably think he’s an idiot, but he’s kind of used to that by now. As long as there’s peace, Butters thinks. As long as there’s peace.
“So, er, how’re you guys all fitting in?”
It takes a good five minutes for the others to figure it out. Eric still refused to move, so only Kenny could actually fit in the cart beside him. (Ken made sure to get in as violently and chaotically as one could get into a shopping cart, making Eric’s face red as he tried to keep his cool). Kyle and Stan stand on the side edges.
"Everybody ready?" Butters asks, a little hesitant.
When he hears them say they were, he rubs his hands together. He can do this. He’s got this. Butters takes a deep breath then pushes as hard as he can.
Kyle tries to look behind him. “Are we going?”
The cart isn’t moving. He tries again.
Stan sighs. “Guys. Butters can’t push the cart.”
“No, I got it,” Butters rushes out. “Just hold on. I-I just gotta get a good start, that’s all.”
Again. He puts one foot back like he’s preparing to race and leans forward on the cart, pushes twice as hard and—Oh! It moves a bit! He’s doing it! He’s got this! Sort of. But at least it’s moving! That’s progress!
Butters giggles to himself. When he looks up at the others, it seems that no one else is nearly as excited about it as he is. Stan and Kyle look at each other and shake their heads; Eric doesn’t really care what was going on at the moment (way too invested in getting past Level 68 of his game); Kenny sighs and looks back when he says, "It’s fine if you need help pushing the cart, ya know.”
Butters hates the way he says it, like he was expecting this would happen. Well then why’d he ask Butters to push it anyway?
“No,” he replies loudly, like he’s also telling himself that. “I got it. Thank you.”
Kenny doesn’t say anything else.
When they finally make it to the end of their block, Butters stops and tries to catch his breath.
"Ummm,” Eric looks up from his phone, “why’d you stop?”
"I, uh, I'm just taking a little break, Eric. I've been pushing you all for a while now."
Before Eric can order him to continue, Stan gets off the cart. "Yeah, we should just take a break."
Kyle follows suit, the two boys taking a seat on the dirty sidewalk. Butters nearly sighs with relief, letting go of the handle and leaning against it.
Kyle flinches when he looks at him. “Jesus, Butters, you look like you're about to pass out."
Butters tries to speak through his pants. “Oh? I do?"
He freezes when he feels gloved hands on his cheeks bend his head back. Ken looks at him closely—maybe a little too closely—with worried eyes.
"Yeah, your face is all red."
Eric, who was unceremoniously shoved so Kenny could make his way over to him, mutters something under his breath. Maybe “fucking f-words” because Eric swore last month that he’d stop saying slurs. Why? Butters doesn’t know, and he’s a little scared to know. But Eric seems to keep to that, at least in public. Well, if Butters is being honest, him saying “f-words” isn’t any less bad than just saying the actual word.
But he also looks at Stan and Kyle, and their facial expressions are unreadable. It’s interesting how they’re always mirroring each other, Butters thinks, more to avoid asking himself why they’re looking at him and Kenny like that.
A few minutes pass and Butters’ breath evens. “Okay. I’m ready. Let's go.”
"You sure, Butters?" Kenny asks.
Butters nods and stares at his shoes, "Yeah. Get on, guys."
Stan and Kyle look at each other, shrug, then hop back on.
"Oh, and speed it up a little, will ya, Butters?" Eric asks.
"Yeah. I'll try."
* * *
The cart gets a little easier to push as time goes by. Plus, Butters is probably gaining some muscle out of this, so that's nice. When they reach the top of the hill, he falls to the concrete in exhaustion, panting like a dog. It naturally spooks everyone and they all look down at him.
Eric furrows his eyebrows. “Uh, did you forget that you still need to push us down the hill? Jesus, it amazes me how nobody wants to work nowadays-”
That seems to do it for Kyle, who gets off and gets in the other’s face. “Shut the fuck up, Cartman! I’m officially sick of your shit. We told you that Butters wouldn’t be able to move the cart with your fat ass-”
Eric sits up a little too fast, making the cart move, and Kenny (poor Ken, caught in the middle of it) flinches. “Okay, I’ve kept my cool all day and you still wanna throw these baseless insults at me!”
“You’ve ruined today, you fat fuck! You actively make everything worse.”
“And you make everything worse by being Jewish. Imagine still being Jewish in current year, that couldn't be me.”
Well then, this is the opposite of what Butters wanted.
Hey, here’s some positive news, Butters is real good at drowning the world out and thinking about nice things. He watches the singular cloud in view. Maybe he’s going a little crazy from exhaustion, but he swears the one he’s looking at looks just like Kenny. He doesn’t like how lonely it is. He visualizes a Butters Cloud to keep it company, along with Stan and Kyle Clouds because they are his best friends. Heck, even an Eric Cloud can be there, too, but maybe far away from everyone else….
“Butters. Butters! Dammit, Butters, are you even listening to me?!”
He lifts his head and sees everyone staring at him. “Huh?”
Glad to see things have suddenly smoothed over, as they usually seem to do. Kyle’s and Eric’s arguments can go from 0 to 10 to 0 in a matter of minutes, but the 10 can be devastating.
“Were you sleeping?” Stan asks, looking like he can use some sleep himself.
“No.” Butters quickly sits up. “Just thinking ’bout stuff.”
“Oh that’s nice,” says Eric. “Now push us the fuck down.”
Butters makes his way to the cart as Stan and Kyle get back on.
Kenny looks at him, playing with the rip in his pocket. “You don't have to if you don't want to.”
Butters stares at him. He’s saying it in that way again. Like he expects Butters to give up, admit that he’s not strong enough, and then…and then what? Just go back home? Have someone else push it down? That would’ve been a waste of Butters’ time, not that he cares too much about wasting time. It’s just, he doesn’t understand why Kenny keeps talking to him like this. It’s not really disappointing, more bothersome than anything, and it makes Butters want to prove him wrong. He channels his inner supervillain when he thinks, I’ll show them. I’ll show them all.
“I want to,” Butters says firmly.
He dusts off his hands on his jacket, trying to ignore the fact that his dad will surely say something about it when he gets home. He puts his hands at the bar and positions the cart.
"Count of three."
Everybody nods.
"One...two...three!"
They’re off. Butters watches in amazement, and tries to come up with some fun song that would play in an indie teen movie. He hasn’t watched a lot of indie teen movies, and he doesn’t listen to the type of music that would play in those. He still tries.
People tryyy to put us d-dooown. Talking 'bout my geeeneration…
The four boys in the shopping cart scream as they go down the hill. The momentum makes them go further once they’re on level ground, and the screaming doesn’t stop until afterwards. Eric is the last one to stop screaming, and Kyle stares at him. It looks like so much fun.
He awkwardly makes his way down, extra careful not to fall and hurt himself.
"Dude, okay, that was epic," Stan laughs.
“Yeah,” Kyle agrees. “Thanks for pushing us all the way here, Butters.”
He even gives him a very sweet, very genuine smile, and Butters is filled with hope.
It all seems so nice. Kyle and Stan are smiling, Kenny’s doing his cute machine gun laugh, and Eric…well, Eric looks like he’s gonna be sick. But still. Then Butters opens his mouth.
"Soo, uh, which one of you is gonna push me down? Or, is it gonna have to be a teamwork thing?”
Everyone goes quiet and stares at him.
Kyle rubs the back of his neck. "Sorry, Butters, but I actually have to get back home.”
“Oh, um-” Butters feels like he barely has time to react to what he hears, and it seems like everyone else is getting off and getting ready to go home.
“Yeah,” Stan says. “Wendy wanted to hang out today. You’ll get your turn next time, though.”
Kyle and Stan say their goodbyes and are already leaving. If humans could deflate, Butters would be doing that right now.
Eric crawls out of the cart with some difficulty, nearly tipping the thing (and poor Ken) over. He puts his phone in his back pocket and crosses his arms.
“I hate to say it, Butters,” he says melodramatically, “but that was fucking lame-o. Ever tried joining a gym?"
Before Butters can say no, Kenny’s quick to defend. "You’re one to talk.”
“You have the body of a holocaust survivor, don’t talk shit.”
Eric points a finger in Kenny’s face, and it’s nothing new from their usual game—bickering and arguing, throwing insults, but nowhere near as bad as him and Kyle. Kenny never seemed that bothered by anything Eric says to him, just things he does, like take his food when he knows Ken doesn’t have a lot to eat that day. Yet something about the way Kenny stares Eric down makes this time feels different, and it makes Butters squirm uncomfortably.
Eric turns around and goes to walk up the hill. “Ugh, whatever, I'm outta here. Later, f-words."
”Just say ‘faggot,’ you pussy,” Kenny calls. It’s said semi-lightheartedly, and Butters thinks that maybe his overanxious imagination got the better of him a bit ago.
“Well, unlike you, I actually care about marginalized people, Kenneth. Just ask Token.”
Something tells Butters that he shouldn’t ask Token.
Kenny doesn’t go anywhere, just looks at him. “Hey, uh-”
Eric’s walking back again. “Who the fuck wants to walk up that hill? I’m just gonna do the smart thing and go around.”
“Okay,” Kenny replies sharply. He waits a bit until Eric’s gone, and Butters suddenly feels nervous.
Kenny looks at him again and sighs. “As I was about to say, I hope you’re not mad about the cart.”
“Huh? Oh, no, it’s okay. I don’t mind waiting ‘till next time.”
“No, I mean, it was pretty misleading to say ‘push us,’ and not, like, specify you were gonna push us all the way. That’s my bad.”
“Oh….”
Butters honestly doesn’t know what to feel about that, but the fact that Kenny still feels the need to acknowledge it and apologize makes his face heat up.
“It’s okay. Thank you-”
“Well you should know,” Kenny starts, “it’s not like it was my idea to do it anyway. I was gonna push, and Stan suggested we ask you instead.”
“Oh-”
“I just hope you don’t think I purposely tried to trick you or anything,” Kenny laughs.
Butters blinks and hesitates before he responds. “Um…I don’t. Think that, I mean. It’s just, uh…”
Kenny looks at him and raises his eyebrows, waiting for Butters to finish.
“This is gonna sound kinda dumb.”
“Try me.”
“…Can you push me down the hill?”
It’s Kenny’s turn to blink before he grins, attempting to get out of the cart, but needing Butters’ help to keep it still. “That’s not dumb at all. Of course I will, Buttercup.”
Kenny has to help Butters get in because he’s never done this before. He gets giddy at the idea, somehow imagining strong hands holding his own or his waist. Instead, Kenny just holds the cart while he takes a little too long to climb in, then grabs his other leg to help it join the rest of him. Ken smiles (cute) at him before going to the handlebar, then turns the cart around and starts pushing up the hill.
Once Butters realizes that they’re going all the way up, he gasps in surprise. “Oh, uh, you don’t have to push me all the way. Halfway is just fine.”
"Eh, I guess it’ll make us even," Kenny says. "And you're, like, twenty pounds. I think I can handle it."
Butters pouts. It’s not really a low blow, but it’s no secret that he’s insecure about his weight. And also his height. (It’s gotten better since his mom left—probably the only good thing that’s come from his mom leaving is him being able to eat what and when he wants). Honestly, Kenny is only two inches taller and just as skinny, but Butters knows not to say anything about that.
It doesn’t take long for them to reach the top, but Butters can hear that Kenny's out of breath no matter how much he tries to hide it.
"Ready?" he asks.
Butters crawls (or he tries) to the front while Kenny turns the cart back around, and holds on to the edge. "Ready as I'll ever be!"
"One...two...three!"
Before Butters even knows what’s going on, he feels a weird tickle in the stomach—the kind you get when you're on a roller coaster. It makes him scream and shut his eyes tightly out of some attempt to make the feeling go away. Just as he thinks about the poor neighbors who have to hear all this, he feels the cart hit something.
It was probably a little rock, or a crack in the road, or a bump, or something that the cart dodged the first time but is now making it tip over violently.
Butters stops screaming, but he does fall out before rolling down the hill. He hears cursing and yelling, making his head throb. Once his vision clears a bit and he remembers where he is, he realizes that his head hurts. A lot.
He hears skidding and uneven footsteps, feeling bad that Ken has to run down that hill just to help him. Kenny rolls him over on his back, cringing when he sees how dirty and scraped his face must be.
“Holy shit, Butters, are you okay?”
Butters, for some reason, briefly considers not speaking. But he does. “Huh? Um. Oh, yeah. I’m just…fine.”
Except he can feel blood streaming down his face at the moment, and Ken looks pretty scared.
“You’re crying.”
“I am?”
Butters brings his hand to his face, ignoring the pain when he realizes oh, that's not blood, that’s just tears. That seems to make him cry more before he can stop himself.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Kenny says gently.
“I’m s-sorry,” Butters sniffles. “I’m fine, really I’m fine. It just kind of hurt.”
“‘Kind of’ is an understatement. Your face is all messed up.”
Then Kenny places his hands on Butters’ cheek for the second time that day. He’s more gentle, stroking his skin with his thumbs, making Butters flinch. It actually hurts, but he isn’t gonna complain.
Kenny hums in thought. “Hm, maybe I should take you back to my place?”
“W-What for?”
“So I can fix you up, dummy. Why else?”
He helps Butters up and the two make their way to his house, purposely leaving the stupid shopping card for some other kids to play with. It’s a longer walk from where Butters’ house is, farther away from the rest of town since it’s on the other side of the train tracks. But it’s all fine. In spite of his pain, Butters can’t help but smile to himself.
Somewhere at that moment, he totally forgets about his dad.