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hiiii guys...so...this is kinda different from my usual fics. IT IS STILL SOUTH PARK AND IT IS STILL A TK FIC! but...okay- this is a little au that i might make a series!!! inspired by TFBW- in this au the kids are college age and they all have actual powers!!! they know each other in "real life" but have no clue that each of them are heroes/villains!! the new kid is in the beginning of this...so i guess technically that would make her an oc? (but of course- feel free to replace any describing features in your head to make it your own new kid!) 🥹 i dunno...i might do a separate lore dump later but i hope you guys like it! 🥹🥹 this fic includes Bunny content to feed my brain!! the two flirt, but their situationship is up to your interpretation! the intro is...long..but it's important to lore!! again i hope you guys like this au as much as i do!!!! 🥹🥹🥹

— ❤️🍓 strawberry 🍓❤️

Nights Like These.

Lee Butters / Ler Kenny

Word Count: 6,326

CW: light description of a burn!! and, of course, a lottttt of cursing!

After a long, unsuccessful night at "work", Kenny returns home to discover Butters has, somehow, acquired an unusual injury. Kenny doesn't want to see Butters in pain, or see the burn get infected, so he decides he has to patch it up: by any means necessary.

“Fuck! Stop him, New Kid!”

Mysterion’s gravely voice would shout as he broke out into a sprint, dashing past The New Kid. A streak of turquoise zipped by seconds earlier; too fast to make out, but familiar enough to trigger alarm bells.

Her head snapped in the direction of the blur.

Oh fuck.

“Get the hell back here, Chaos!” Mysterion would angrily call, skillfully dodging past overloaded boxes improperly stacked in the giant U-Haul storage they were in. The New Kid knew she’d have no time to waste. She didn’t waste time asking how the hell Mysterion let him escape, especially after that whole “I need to be the one to unmask him” ego trip he had been on a little while earlier. ‘Didn’t matter. She should’ve shut that shit down instead of trusting that Mysterion had this in the bag; apparently, this is what she got for being kind. Professor Chaos was loose, and she’d be damned if she let that lunatic skip town on her watch.

She’d smack her heel against the gravel floor, the wheels to her strawberry red rollerskates popping out. She’d prepare for take off, lunging to the ground as she charged up; counting silently in her head.

She’d rocket ahead, a crimson and pear swirled streak flashing past abandoned dollies and half-unpacked crates. Hell, she’d be a pretty shitty Speedster if she wasn’t speedy.

She’d catch up to Mysterion easily, successfully ducking and weaving past every obstacle she faced. For an extra boost, she’d use her Blaster powers to light the back of her shoes on fire; just to put some pep in her step. As the rest of the world around her became blurry, she’d try her hardest to pinpoint where the evil mastermind had gone to, only barely managing to notice Mysterion climbing up a ladder in an attempt to obtain higher ground on the roof.

It was pretty rare for the two to actually be fighting side by side; considering The New Kid was a member of Racoon and Friends and Mysterion was a member of the inferior Freedom Pals. But even Mysterion knew Professor Chaos was a slippery bastard, and catching him solo was a lost cause.

They were originally doing so well; seemingly having Professor Chaos trapped at a dead end. He was cornered. Screwed. Or so they thought. Mysterion had failed to consider that Chaos knew this U-Haul like the back of his hand. She was sure he couldn’t help but internally kick himself for not realizing Professor Chaos always had a backup plan, and probably a backup plan for the backup plan as well.

The New Kid would come to a screeching halt upon reaching a fork in the road, dust and gravel spraying beneath her wheels. She’d look up to her crime-fighting eyes-in-the-skies: her companion on the roof for a little assistance. It would only take a minute for Mysterion to see the turquoise shirt running, since turquoise stuck out like a sore thumb in the dark.

“Right! He went right, New Kid! Motherfucker!” Mysterion would curse, doing a skillful front flip off of his elevated platform, rolling once he hit the floor to prevent seriously injuring himself. “Fuck it! I’ll go left and try to cut him off. Don’t let him get away!”

The New Kid would respond with a curt nod, (she had never been much of a talker, anyway) before putting her middle and index fingers together against her forehead; giving Mysterion a quick two-finger salute before taking off yet again.

Chaos was hers.

Catching and unmasking Professor Chaos had been a mission The New Kid had been on since she became a superhero all those years ago. She had hoped she’d identify him before she graduated high school, but here she was, in her freshman year of college; so she obviously had to move the goalpost a little.

The Racoon had been breathing (or, more-so heaving) down her neck to I.D him for god knows how long. She knew if she didn’t beat everyone else to the punch, someone else in Racoon and Friends would.

In fact, the original plan was for this to be her moment, alone. I.D Chaos and leave Mysterion: full-time Freedom Pussy and full-time grumpy asshole, in the dust. That way, Racoon and Friends could get all the credit for taking down the big-bad in their city. She had to admit, she still hadn’t fully decided whether she was going to do that or not.

She’d, thankfully, see a silver cape frantically zigging and zagging not too far ahead.

And just like that, she had made up her mind. Whether she left Mysterion didn’t matter right now; all that mattered was catching this glitter-covered cockroach; the pesky, prickly little thorn in her side once and for all. She’d rub her hands together, summoning heat until her palms crackled. She would vigorously begin to fling her hands forward; launching little fire balls from her hands.

Somewhere ahead, she heard him squeal. She’d hear a few yelps and stupid little quips like, “Oh Christmas!”’s and “Oh Hamburgers!”’s. God, he was such a loser. She smirked, praying those dumbass catchphrases meant she’d landed at least one hit. She would notice the little blurb had stopped moving, so she assumed that meant he had been hit at least once.

Bingo.

She was just about to gloat, do a little victory dance as she imagined what was about to happen. In her perfect little dream world she’d glide in, strike a pose, and casually unmask him, like it was the easiest thing she had ever done. She would taunt him a little (probably); and then stand there heroically as her beautiful red hair blew in the non-existent wind. The news vans would roll in, cameras flashing. Reporters would scream her name. They would, of course, ask her how she got to be so wickedly awesome. Girls would faint in her presence. Best of all, Racoon would have to get on his knees and grovel at her feet, begging for forgiveness, because she, she, had caught the city’s biggest pain in the ass.

Just as she rounded on him, ready to deliver the final blow, and maybe a really smug one-liner; one she was still deciding on: something badass like, “I’d say ‘nice try’ but...it wasn’t.” or “This game ends tonight. And, spoiler alert…you drew a losing deck.” Her little daydream was cut short as said pain in the ass staggered to his feet and bolted again.

Oh, hell no.

Flames burst from her Blaster-charged heels, turning her skates into afterburners. He wasn’t getting away from her this time. She was determined.

Her determination didn’t seem to matter though. Out of nowhere, a mountain of unstable, overstuffed boxes came crashing down in front of her like a cardboard landslide. She yelped and swerved, barely avoiding a face-plant, skidding to a halt once more.

That asshole!

She’d waste little time hopping over it. She refused to let Chaos’ little sabotage ruin her perfect night, not after she had been doing so well. Swerving her way around the corner, her wheels would screech against the gravel. Only to stop dead in her tracks.

An open gate and nothing else.

Her heart sank.

No Professor Chaos anywhere to be seen. Just the cold night air and a dark alley.

All she could do was stand there, chest heaving, fists clenched and face steaming.

It would only take a few minutes for Mysterion to run from the left; around his own corner, slowing down as soon as he saw an immobilized New Kid. He didn’t need psychic powers to know what she was standing still for.

“Shit...” He’d hiss softly, half heartily snapping his fingers in defeat. They were so close. He was literally right there and, somehow, that slippery little freak still managed to slip right through their gloved fingers.

The New Kid couldn’t stand it. This was the hundredth-something time he had done this shit to her.

The New Kid lost it. She’d stomp her foot with a loud crack, fists trembling, eyes wild. Then she’d start jumping, literally jumping, in place like a volcano with legs. Her wheels would hit the ground so hard they would instinctively pop back up into the soles of her shoes. She’d curse and scream so loudly in her head, it was almost surprising it wasn’t actually coming out of her mouth.

“...We’ll get him next time. We’ll get him- and when we do, we’ll make him wish he had never put his stupid cape on.” Mysterion would grumble in, what The New Kid assumed, had to be a pep-talk. Even though, a part of her had a feeling Mysterion was giving the pep-talk more to himself than to her.

She’d stop jumping after a bit, her legs steading as she’d stare out into the dark. The same dark that had swallowed the bane of her existence whole, allowing him to escape.

‘Professor Chaos better pray to god there isn’t a next time’ were the only words running and repeating in her mind. He better pray. Pray to every god. Every divine entity. Every deity that ever existed. God forbid there be a next time. Because next time? Next time…

Next time she wasn’t letting him get away.

Kenny was absolutely exhausted. Exhausted for reasons that…didn’t really need to be explained.

He had been parked in front of his dorm building for a few minutes now; just needing a minute to sit by himself. Sure, maybe his beat up Pontiac Grand Prix wasn’t the cushiest place to be resting: he seatbelt was fraying, the stereo only worked when it felt like it, and the A/C wheezed half of the time instead of actually letting out air; but it was his, and that made it enough.

On nights like these, nights where he felt like a letdown; it was always a bit therapeutic to just sit in a car that he never thought he’d even have the luxury of having. Sure, his asshole friends clowned his car all the time. Half of them acted like they’d rather walk into ongoing traffic than be seen in it. But, god, he just felt blessed to have a car. Shit, he felt blessed to be going to college in general.

He had already gotten changed; hiding his spare clothes in the usual “work bag” he kept under the driver’s seat of his car. The same bag that had held his current white tank top and worn-out orange sweatpants earlier now held something far more important: his whole Mysterion getup. The mask, the cape, and, of course, the suit.

He’d lean over his seat, making sure to securely tuck the bag under the chair successfully. The thought of someone finding it, unzipping it, and putting the pieces together made his stomach twist. It was his worst nightmare. Kenny McCormick and Mysterion being linked together would put him, and anyone he gave a shit about, in danger. Mysterion had quite a few enemies that Kenny McCormick did not want to piss off.

Kenny didn’t dislike being Mysterion. Far from it, actually. It was…kind of cool sometimes. Kicking ass, looking cool while doing it. But on nights like these- when all the adrenaline had drained from him, when he was left sitting in his beat-up car, feeling like a fuck-up in a cape…it didn’t feel heroic. It felt pathetic. It gave him whiplash: one minute, he’s so high-and-mighty, he’s untouchable. The next minute, he’s just Kenny McCormick again. Broke, tired, and not nearly as badass as her superhero persona.

A part of him, the small, aching part he didn’t like to acknowledge, wished that there was someone he could talk to about this. But, of course he couldn’t do that. Revealing Mysterion would ruin his life and his career. Hell, for all he knew, he was the only “normal” person in Freedom Pals; it’s not like he knew what they’d do once they left the headquarters.

For all he knew, they didn’t have “real names”- maybe their “real names” were their superhero names. Maybe “Toolshed” was actually just named “Toolshed”. Shit, maybe Professor Chaos was just…Professor Chaos. He seriously doubted that. But still.

He didn’t understand why this kept happening. In retrospect, catching Professor Chaos should’ve been the simplest cake walk Mysterion had ever faced. But, for some god-foresaken reason, no one had been able to catch him yet. Kenny couldn’t help but feel like he was missing something. He always felt like that now: like something was going on, he just couldn’t put his finger on it.

He couldn’t hide in his car forever, though. He had people- someone expecting him. The last thing he’d want to do was worry the one consistent, joyful thing in his life.

He’d do a quick visual check of his body; checking for open wounds or obvious scrapes; anything that would make someone concerned upon first glance. He hadn't really felt much in the moment, since adrenaline had a way of numbing his body for hours- but he didn’t want to walk in all bruised and battered. Not that he’d be screwed or anything; he could always just lie. But…lying to him always made his heart ache. So, he’d do the quick physical as an alternative option.

Once the once over was finished, he felt good to go. Good enough to pass with at least a metaphorical C+. With one last heavy sigh, he braced himself for his nightly performance; mentally rehearsing whatever half-interesting story he’d spin about “work” tonight. Something believable. Something that was open for elaboration, but not something that would lead to him being questioned for hours. Once that was good to go, he’d grab his keys, shut the door, and start the slow climb up the stairs to his shared dorm. Ready to slip into the version of himself he needed to be.

When Kenny had rough nights, he felt very blessed to be able to look forward to going to his dorm. It was a constant thought that ran through his mind. Pains in the ass didn’t last forever; and once they passed, there was always Butters waiting at home.

Kenny had never understood how Butters was even real. Sometimes, he wondered whether he actually wasn’t; maybe he was just a sick imaginary friend everyone else pretended to see. That made sense to him.

Despite what the Super-Hero persona might imply, Kenny wasn’t necessarily a pessimistic person. However, he’d have to admit, the love he had found in Butters felt too good to be true sometimes. It was never intentional. He never meant to fall as hard as he did, it just became commonplace to long for Butters’ presence whenever he was away from him.

He couldn’t exactly place what Butters: sweet, perfect Butters saw in him- but he’d never outwardly complain; too afraid that if he questioned too much, the universe would be cruel as it usually was, and take the gift they had given him away.

Kenny had seen so much; far before he had ever created the Mysterion persona to begin with. The dying, the aftermath, and then the coming back; it was all incredibly traumatic. In a way, the small, emotionally-vulnerable part of him knew that Mysterion was probably some odd-coping mechanism; considering he didn’t have any other, more appealing options.

In truth, the dying wasn’t much of a burden to him anymore. At the end of the day, it didn’t matter what happened to him- he’d crawl back to his dorm, and in turn, to Butters, no matter what heat he withstood. However, he couldn’t help but find it funnily ironic at times.

Kenneth McCormick, a man who had become accustomed to hell; to the point that he had his own bedroom on the 3rd ring. That same man was experiencing a love akin to heaven.

Kenny never had to question whether or not Butters was home because, as much as he loved him, he had to admit- he was obnoxiously loud. Kenny could hear the music from the end of the hallway; and he had to silently thank the universe that Butters was so damn charming, because he was certain their neighbors would despise them if it weren’t for Butters’ adorable personality.

Butters was such a dork, but he was smart. Almost scarily smart. Hell, the only reason they even had one of the big dorms with the kitchen was because Butters managed to get a metaphorical home run on his SAT’s and ACT’s; meaning he was on a full ride scholarship. On top of that, Butters had always told Kenny he had it under control; he made good money. Kenny learned long ago from his parents that, sometimes, you don’t really ask where they got the money- you just say thanks and move on with your life.

He’d fiddle with the golden key in his hand that was accented with a little keychain of the two of them: Kenny holding Butters bridal style as Butters tipped bright red, heart-shaped sunglasses below his eyes. A fond smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and he’d decide he had deprived himself of enough time without Butters. He’d slide the key into the door, and it would open with a click.

He’d be met with the sound of the most adorable humming and the most delicious smell; both coming from their shared kitchen. He knew the smell well. Buttery crust just starting to brown, sweet cinnamon and sugar, tangy baked fruit. That was pie. Delicious apple pie.

“Kenny, my darling!” He’d hear after the most lovable gasp. “Alexa, stop please! Thank you.” Kenny wouldn’t touch on how sweet he thought it was that Butters felt the need to thank every single thing the pair came across. Automatic doors, ovens, Amazon Alexas; that was just Butters. He loved it.

“I was hopin’ you’d get here soon- you have such good timing, you know that?” The soft-spoken, almost honeyed, words would be music to Kenny’s ears. He could sit and listen to Butters talk all day.

“I made your favorite! …Actually, that’s a bit misleading. I made your favorite pie- not your favorite food- because the last time I checked- pie wasn’t your favorite food, but I could be wrong- things can change! You’re so silly, because by lookin’ at you- you’d assume your favorite pie was pumpkin…because…the orange…but I like that you like apples…I like apple pie too!” Butters could probably talk all day too, so it seemed to be a win-win for the both of them.

He’d finally see him- two plates filled with pie as he walked…no.

No. The more Kenny looked at him, the more something felt off. He wasn’t walking. Or, maybe he was trying to, but it didn’t look like he actually was. If anything, it looked more like a…very uncomfortable waddle.

Each step seemed almost uneven; like Butters’ own body was fighting itself. After further staring, he seemed to be able to decipher it a little. His left leg moved naturally enough, but his right leg…that seemed to be where the problem was. It dragged behind the left, not even taking full steps. Actually, it didn’t even look like the right leg was bending- it was just…dragging. Limping. That’s what it was, Kenny finally concluded. Butters wasn’t walking- he wasn’t waddling- he was limping.

“...Why are you doing that?” Kenny would very gently ask. Butters was always very accident-prone, it was one of his charms.

“Doin’ what?” Butters said quickly, a bit too quickly; clearly expecting and dreading the question.

Kenny would tilt his head, crossing his arms loosely. His eyebrows raised in that way that said he already knew the answer, and with the way Butters would quickly turn his head, Kenny knew Butters knew it too. “You’re limping.” Kenny would flatly say.

“Whaat?” Butters would stretch out his words, his eyes widening in a way that was very familiar to Kenny. Caught. “I’m not- I’m not limping-” Butters would let out a jittery laugh, his hand instinctively grabbing onto each other. His right thumb would rub his left pointer finger, his eyes wandering: clearly trying to figure out some sort of excuse.

“I’m just…I’m…I’m dancing..?” Butters would say in a tone that was sooo incredibly believable. Very confident, very good job. Butters seemed to be able to tell that Kenny didn’t buy that one bit- so, in what Kenny assumed was an attempt to prove his piss-poor excuse: Butters would shift his weight, or, at the very least, try to, and the wince that’d invade his face was immediate. That was where Kenny drew the line.

Before Butters could stumble through another poorly executed excuse or sneakily pretend he wasn’t clearly in pain, Kenny was already stepping forward. “Ohhkay, that’s enough of that,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than Butters.

Butters would blink, and it was almost funny to Kenny how Butters didn’t immediately assume what was about to happen- because Kenny did this same exact thing quite often. Kenny could see the gears turning in Butters’ head- and then he could see the moment it hit him. “Wait-Kenny, no, I’m fine, really, I-”

But Kenny had already scooped him up in his arms before he could protest.

Butters would give a startled yelp as Kenny’s arms wrapped under his legs and back, lifting him clean off the ground like he weighed nothing. Because, in truth, he really was light. Light like a feather.

Butters would flail a little, his hands instinctively gripping Kenny’s shirt, as if they hadn’t been in this same exact position a million times before. “Wait- Kennn! Put me down-!” Butters would whine, his voice cracking in a way that almost made Kenny snort.

“Yeah, no,” Kenny would huff, already walking toward the couch with Butters in hand. “I’m gonna patch that leg up for you! It looks like it hurts.” Kenny would state his game plan clearly. It would only take a minute for the two of them to reach the couch. Kenny would gently lower Butters onto the couch with a practiced care from tending to him quite the many times.

Butters would open his mouth to argue again, in what Kenny knew was his overwhelming guilt for “making” anyone do anything for him, but as soon as he tried to shift into a more comfortable position, his leg twitched wrong and his face scrunched up in pain again. Kenny caught the expression and sighed, already heading toward the bathroom. “Just stay put okay, baby? I’ll get the first aid-kit.”

“Kenny, darling, you don’t need to-”

Kenny would shut that down quick. “I do, actually,” Kenny would chime from down the hall. “ I worry about you, you worry about me. It’s a two-way, not a one-way!”

“Using driving terms is mighty rude. You know I’m only in a car when I'm in the passenger seat.” Butters would grumble; and Kenny could vividly imagine the pout on his face. He didn’t have to see him to assume he was crossing his arms as his eyes wandered around the room. That thought would make him move quicker, just so he could see if he was right.

He was.

By the time Kenny returned, he had a roll of gauze, a small bottle of antiseptic, and a determined look that made it very clear Butters wasn’t weaseling his way out of this. “You have a license, you just don’t like using it.” Kenny would very lovingly retort, kneeling beside the couch and placing the supplies down.

“‘Driving’s scary…” Butters would flush, looking up at him with wide, guilty eyes, clutching the hem of his hoodie with the little Hello-Kitty patch in the corner.

Kenny would chuckle with a shake of his head. “Okay, okay…No more driving talk, then. Let’s see it,” he’d say softly, every inch of sarcasm long gone. With the way Butters was positioned, Kenny would reach for the non-injured leg first, since that was the one closest to the couch’s end. He’d be as gentle as humanly possible, not wanting to hurt Butters. That seemed to backfire on Butters’ behalf.

“Kenneeheehee!!”

Kenny would recognize that squeal anywhere.

“Yes, babe?” Kenny would respond, continuing to shift his hands- since he had to move this leg one way or another.

“Aehehee! You’re doin’ thihis on puhurpose!” Butters would, quite rudely, accuse- giggling all the while as his hands would shoot up to block his embarrassingly red face.

If Kenny were meaning to cause this reaction, he would’ve taken those hands so quick, Butters’ head would spin. But, the gods honest truth was: he wasn’t. That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to have his fun, though.

“What am I doing?” Kenny would, admittedly evilly, smirk- maintaining as much eye contact as Butters would let him have. “I’m a little dense, baby, I’m sorry.”

“You’re- eheehe! You're tihihickling me!” Butters would laugh, adorably, the leg currently in Kenny’s grasp kicking a little; in a bogus attempt of escaping.

“Oh my god, really?” Kenny would so lovingly sigh, as if he didn’t know that answer already. “Everything tickles to you, Butters.” Kenny would fondly tease; deciding that he’d keep this leg at his disposal for now, in case the injury was really bad.

“Noho! Nahat true!” Butters would attempt to protest, and Kenny had to respect the effort. Although, he had to admit, it was hard to take Butters seriously while the most loveable noises were coming out of his mouth. “You’re just- bahaha-! You’re reheally tihihicklyyy!! Stahahaap!”

Butters would squeak, and Kenny would have to fight the urge to audibly coo at him. All Kenny had done was accidentally run his nails behind Butters’ left knee. It was very sweet that that was all that it took. Kenny would do what he was told, for now.

As he rolled up the pant leg of the actually injured leg, he couldn’t stop his eyebrows from furrowing. The back of Butters’ right knee was bad- worse than Kenny had hoped. It was raw and blister-y, like Butters had somehow managed to stick just the back of his knee into a burning hot oven. Kenny genuinely couldn’t wrap his head around it. He had seen his fair share of injuries. This? This was recent. This…

It looked like it wasn’t even an hour old.

Kenny wanted to ask how the hell this managed to happen, but he’d bite his tongue. Although it sounded strange, that wasn’t what really concerned him. He couldn’t leave it like that. He had to clean it. Meaning…shit.

This was going to fucking suck.

Butters seemed to already catch on as to why Kenny had stopped speaking. He’d waste no time before beginning to talk. “I know it looks bad! It was an accident! I’m sorry- darling, it doesn’t hurt that bad, really. I was- uh, kneeling down to get something I dropped and the hot…thingy I was usin’- it fell on the back of my knee. But it’s not as bad as it looks!”

Kenny wouldn’t really digest all of Butters’ rambling. He wanted to say ‘you should’ve told me.’ But the rational part of him knew that wouldn’t help right now. He needed to clean it. But, admittedly, he didn’t know if he could sit through seeing Butters in pain as he did. He’d have to do this in some other, unconventional, way.

“Kenny?” Butters would question, hands leaving his face and going back to the nervous hand soothing. “…Oh Christmas…you’re not mad at me are you? Kenny…darling, I’m so sorry- I’m trying to be careful- I swear it! This just happens sometimes and when it does- I dunno what to do! Baby, I am so sorreEHEE-!”

Kenny would waste little time skittering his nails up Butters’ left thigh, using one hand to target every weak spot he could currently reach without bending over too much. It worked like a charm.

Butters would squeal yet again, his left leg attempting to shoot up to his stomach, only to be held down by a, now moved, Kenny. Kenny was now in between his legs; to the point that Butters couldn’t even see either of his knees if he wanted to.

“Sorry, baby. ‘Just checking the bases, you get it!” Is what Kenny would pass it off as, already multitasking: quickly removing the cleaning-swab out of its seal with his teeth.

“Nohoahaha!! Dohohon’t-! Keheheneeheehee pleeheheease!!” Butters would plead; despite the fact they weren’t even fifteen seconds in. Kenny could’ve easily launched the ‘don’t what?’ trick, since Butters managed to fall for it every single time- but he’d show a little bit of kindness tonight.

Kenny simply wouldn’t respond to the begging: feeling a little guilty for what he was about to do, but if he wanted this plan to work, he’d have to play dirty. He’d walk his fingers up Butters’ leg, stopping at the top of his hip. He’d wait a few moments; evilly grinning as the next, whispered, words fell out of his mouth.

“Any burns on your belly I should know about?”

Butters face would turn red in an instant.

“NOHOHO! Nohoho- thehere’s none! I-I swehear it!” Butters head would shake rapidly, his hands already shooting to his stomach; in a way of postponing the inevitable. “Plehease- plehehease don’t! Ihihi- ihihi caaahaahaanttt!” Butters would beg, despite the fact that Kenny had yet to even move his hand yet.

Kenny could tell Butters was attempting to appeal to his morality. It wasn’t working in the slightest, but it was amusing; so Kenny would let him continue.

“Anywhere…anywhehere but thehehere! It’s..eeeheeehe-!” Butters seemed to be in an inescapable purgatory; hands being unable to decide whether to hide his blushing face, or hide his stomach. He’d seem to decide on the latter as he felt a cold hand slip under his hoodie.

“NOHohohoo!! Daharling, pleheeease! Have merceeheey!” He’d whine, flashing his usual puppy-dog eyes. He was calling Kenny darling through his giggles now, which meant he was pretty damn desperate.

“It’s gohonna tihickle so baaahahahad!!”

Kenny couldn’t help it, even if he wanted to. All he could do was sweetly smile as he locked eyes with the pleading love of his life.

“Great! That’s what I’m going for!”

Butters would shriek with laughter as he felt five fingers scribble around his, very ticklish, stomach. Kenny could practically read Butters’ mind: Kenny was usually far nicer than this. Never this cruel.

The snorts would come quickly, and they made Kenny’s heart melt, as they usually did. Butters would babble, his words mushing together in incoherent “i give”’s and “please no more”’s. Whenever Kenny thought he couldn’t love Butters any more than he already did, he just had to hear his laugh.

“stAAHAAHAP IIIIHIHIT!” Butters would eventually get out; and a part of Kenny wished he had been blessed with the power of time manipulation. At least then, he’d be able to rewind and hear Butters laughing whenever he wanted. Alas, stopping was the one thing Kenny did not seem content on doing right now.

”Kehenny plehease! Ihihit- gahAHA! IHIHIT TIHIHIHICKLES!” Butters would state shriek the obvious. If Kenny weren’t so damn focused on making sure this burn was properly treated; he’d be having a field day with the teasing he could be doing. He’d just have to resort to driving Butters up the wall another way.

“WAHAHAIT! Wahait, wahahait pleehEEHEASE-!” Butters would jolt as Kenny would dig his fingers in a particularly sensitive spot below his bellybutton. “YOHOHOU WIHIHIN!! PLEeeheeaseeee!! Kenny, I gihIHIHIHIVE UAHAHAAP!”

Kenny would’ve, metaphorically, poked more on what exactly Kenny was “winning”- since he wasn’t doing this to best Butters or anything…but he was currently occupied; using his teeth, yet again, only this time to rip some gauze off of the roll. Butters seemed to be laughing so hard, he was none-the-wiser.

“UHUHUNCLE!” Butters would practically screech, as if Kenny had ever been the type to force him to ‘uncle out’ for him to stop. “MERCEeheeheee! Ihihi…ohoh hahamburgers…” Butters would descend into soft giggles, his hands changing their mind- and going back to shielding his rosey red cheeks.

“‘Almost done..” Kenny would gently hum, slipping his hand out from under Butters’ hoodie. As fun as this was, unfortunately wrapping gauze with only one hand seemed…pretty impossible.

Kenny would tie the gauze into a knot with a steady hand; the room falling into silence as Butters’ giggles would slowly fade away. It wasn’t perfect by any means; especially by “Mysterion Standards” of having to tend to his own wounds in hell- but by Kenny McCormick standards: it wasn’t too shabby. “Thank god we tended to it- you could’ve gotten an infection…” Kenny didn’t mean to scold, but he didn’t know any other way to get the urgency across.

“Try not to walk on it for a little while, okay? We want it to heal properly…” He’d give his best, reassuring smile. God, he really hoped Butters knew he was only being so damn “bossy” because he cared. Butters’ could barely look at him. For a moment, Kenny worried he had gone too far. The better part of him knew that probably wasn’t the case; but that didn’t stop the room from feeling heavy.

“...I’m sorry for ruining the night.” Butters would whisper meekly, his eyes cast downwards as he picked at the strings of his hoodie.

Admittedly, that sentiment caught Kenny off guard. “Hey..” he’d tenderly whisper back, shifting from sitting on Butters’ legs to lying beside him instead. He’d gently scoop him up, yet again, and hold him on his lap with practiced care. “You didn’t ruin anything.” He’d say softly, lightly resting his forehead against Butters’. “You…you couldn’t ruin anything if you tried, you know that?”

Butters wouldn’t answer right away, but he would blush immediately. The silence would fill the room again, except this time it was a more comfortable silence than before.

“Well now you’re just flirting with meee..” Butters would break said silence, teasing like he was one of those damsels from the Wild Wild West. He’d twirl the imaginary strand of hair around his finger, batting his eyelashes as he shimmed his shoulders. “You’re quite the charmer…”

Kenny would huff out a small laugh, running his fingers through his own hair. “Why thank you, madam…that’s very kind.” He’d, very tastefully, match Butters’ accent; gladly taking the “macho sheriff role” in their little banter. Kenny could never say no to a good character.

Butters’ would giggle like he always did; finding everything Kenny did extremely funny, no matter what it was. He’d giggle and giggle, topping it off with a quick peck to the cheek before resting more against the couch. “..I’m sorry for not telling you, Kenny. Next time-”

Kenny would quickly cut him off. “Let’s aim for there not being a next time.”

“You’re right! You’re right..” Butters would nod, lifting his hands in a faux surrender. His tone would soften as he’d continue, “...But I won’t try to…hide it from you. That was stupid, you know me too well anyway.” Butters would huff.

“I do!” Kenny would say with the most gleeful smile and his, stupid, boyish pride. He’d reach out to gently cup his cheek, thumb brushing just beneath his eye, tenderly.

“I’m going to tell you everything forever.” Butters would, of course, have to declare; happily wrapping his arms around the back of Kenny’s neck. “Keeping things from each other isn’t like us anyway…secrets are for strangers…not for us.”

Kenny didn’t know if he could keep doing this.

If this world were fair and just; he wouldn’t have to be torturing himself like this. In a perfect world, a miracle would happen, and every single threat; every single bad omen and entity Mysterion faced would be snapped out of reality. Then, and only then, would Kenny finally be able to say what he had, quite literally, dying to reveal all these years the two had been together.

But, this world wasn’t perfect; far from it. That was the exact reason why he had to continue to burden himself; continue to allow himself to feel awful as he’d smile at the one person that kept him going- even on the nights he didn’t want to. Telling Butters would only make things more complicated; only make things worse- and although Mysterion could withstand anything: Kenny McCormick drew the line at putting Butters in danger.

Kenny wouldn't be able to handle if he were the reason something happened to Butters. Even an injury of this magnitude; something he had nothing to do with, was still hard for him to handle. He had still yet to wrap his head around how Butters managed to get an injury of that intensity on his own- but he'd refuse to dwell on that for too long. Keeping Butters happy and healthy was his priority; even if that meant he had to do the shitty thing once and a while and lie to his face.

He didn’t care if it was selfish- he very rarely allowed himself to have things, have people, in his life that brought him joy; in the fear that one day he’d be taken away from them. He’d allow himself to keep what he had with Butters alive. Maybe he didn’t deserve it, but that was the way the cookie crumbled.

He had made his choice all those years ago when he first put on the suit. This was his fight, and his fight alone. This was his burden to bear; and although he agreed with Butters' sentiment…unfortunately some secrets were best kept in solitude.

So, he’d smile and nod. He’d suck up the guilt, suck up the urge to throw the biggest weight on his shoulders off of him; and he’d nod. “Yeah,” he’d laugh, deeply hoping that Butters wouldn’t notice how he ached behind his smile.

“I couldn’t keep anything from you if I tried.”

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