South Park, The Book of Oneshots

Through The Window (Butters x Kenny, Yes Smut, Request, TW: Long)

The wind was harsh and unforgiving, a torturously slow walk. Snow crunched sharply under torn, ragged sneakers, crusted with dirt and blood. It dampened his patched socks. The walk was one of shame.

One more goodbye. Not that he had said any other goodbyes.

Well, maybe he'd told Cartman. Not that Cartman gave half a shit.

His money was saved for a crappy bus pass and his ratty book bag was packed stuffed, sagging his shoulders under the dragging weight. It was surprisingly heavy for the five things he put in there.

It was difficult to climb the naked tree. He swung the bag over for leverage and struggled onto the branch, squatting low and using his hands to support himself. He heaved a breath, a sigh of relief, and tapped the window.

A dim light flickered behind the blinds, the string being drawn so they could meet. Butters smiled bashfully, carefully unlocking his window and slowly opening it to reduce the squeaks. It still opened loudly, just hearable over the wind.

Kenny slipped in and the window fell closed behind him, his bag falling off his shoulders.

"Gee, Ken, here, I'll get you a blanket-."

"Butters," he muttered, stepping towards him.

The other, taller, looked down. Kenny stepped forward and pressed a hug into the familiar set of blue pajamas, breathing the scent of natural, minty body wash. The button top was crisp and vaguely warm, lightly damp from his wet skin. His hair stuck to his buzzed sides, the shower he took evident. A pair of thin arms wrapped his back affectionately.

"I'm leaving soon," Kenny confessed, his pointy chin stabbing Butters, right through his heart. Just like the words had.

"What do you mean, Ken?" He may be gullible, naive, maybe a bit stupid, but he knew what those words meant. Not just leaving his house tonight, leaving forever. The bag, the guilty way he moved, the hug, the seriousness-

"Ken, you're not- you can't just leave, Kenny," Butters whispered, "Gee, what about school? Don't you have- have friends and your ma? Doesn't she-"

"I'm getting out of this shithole Butters. I- It just didn't feel right to not tell you. There's nothing here for me anymore- not since-," His voice caught. He looked so pitiful. His hood was pulled completely back, scar covered and beaten, his face glowing with red cheeks and glistening eyes.

Butters didn't protest. His eyes swam with tears, he would fill a lake if he started crying.

"Where are you going?"

"I can't tell you."

"By the Lord's name, Kenny, this is so dangerous! You could get killed!" Thick drops followed, streaking his face and falling on Kenny's cheek.

The shorter looked away guiltily, pinching the hole in his glove. "Butters-"

"Don't 'Butters' me, Kenny! You can't even tell me where you're going, do you really not trust me that much?" He cried.

He cried because Kenny was the only real person he knew. Kenny was nice and kind and caring. Trustworthy and sweet.

He wiped desperately at the bitter tears, his wrists to his fingers coated with a film of tears. A mitten-clad hand took his arm and led him with a gentle tug to the bed. An arm was wrapped around his back, support for his body. Maybe Kenny thought he was going to fall apart, inside and out. He squeezed Butters's shoulder. 'It's going to be okay,' mocked the movement.