Chapter Text
What will it take to show you that it’s not the life it seems?
–
“… further arrests have been made in relation to the meth scandal that left a small town in Colorado shaken. Police are saying that Staurt and Carol McCormick have been arrested under the suspicion of running a meth lab in their home, which helped to provide Tweak Bros. Coffee with the substance they had been using in their coffee.”
“Turn that shit off, Kenny. You’re going to upset Karen again.”
Kevin steps in front of him, snatching the remote from his hand and forcibly turning the television off. Their parents’ faces flicker from the screen before it fades to black.
Kenny glances at his brother from where he’s sitting on the couch, wanting to snap. Wanting to fight. Wanting someone to fight back so he can get this godawful feeling ripped out of his chest.
He’s been feeling that way ever since all this shit happened. Restless, cruel. Angry. But he can’t fight Kevin. Not when Kevin has worked so hard to get emergency custody and moved Kenny and Karen into his one bedroom apartment. Not when Kevin has been pulled down to the police station twice already, questioned to fucking death about whether or not he’s involved with their parents’ meth business.
He can’t fight Kevin, so his anger stays internalized. Eating away at him.
“You should be headin’ to school anyway,” Kevin tells him. “I’m going to drop Karen off before I head into work. I can take you too.”
“No, I’ll walk.”
Kevin frowns at him like he isn’t sure what to do with him. He’s not Kenny’s parent, and he isn’t equipped for any of this. None of them are.
Still. Kevin tries and hands Kenny a bagged lunch that he apparently packed the night before when he hadn’t been sleeping. Kenny would know. He heard the pacing all night long. It doesn’t matter that Kevin let him and Karen take the only bedroom. He couldn’t sleep either.
“Try to eat something today,” Kevin says. “You didn’t touch dinner last night.”
Kenny makes a grumbling sound that is neither a promise nor a denial.
Karen stumbles out of the bathroom, bags underneath her eyes. They didn’t have enough time to grab shit out of the house before it was labeled a crime scene, so she’s wearing some of Tricia’s clothes that she let Karen borrow. She’s also got a terrible case of bedhead that she looks too tired to even care about.
“C’mere,” Kenny tells her, grabbing a brush and a hair tie. He brushes her hair, careful of the knots, and secures a high ponytail on the top of her head. Kenny has been doing her hair for years now. He knows more intricate styles, but today is just about getting out the door.
“Thanks, Kenny,” Karen says, voice small. “You sure you don’t wanna ride with us?”
Kenny shakes his head, offering her a smile he knows doesn’t reach his eyes. He tries anyway because he can’t take the way she looks at him. Like he’s the last piece of solid foundation she has, but even she can see the cracks are starting to form.
Kenny waits until they’re out the door before he heads out, but he doesn’t go to school. He can’t be there today. He can’t listen to the way gossip floods down the hallways, confirming that everyone’s suspicions about the McCormicks are true.
Instead, he heads to Stark’s Pond.
The only things he has in his pockets are cigarettes, a lighter, and an old phone Kyle gave him to use that the Broflovskis pay for.
He places a cigarette between his lips, lights it, and inwardly groans at the amount of unanswered text messages he has. Most of them are from Kyle, asking where he is, what he’s doing, whether or not he’s all right.
He sends a quick text back saying he can’t do school today so he’s bumming around at Stark’s. Kyle must feel bad for him, because he texts back a simple okay. Nothing about how his grades are fucked beyond repair and he’s on an attendance plan for skipping so many days already.
That’s how Kenny knows his situation is fucked up. When Kyle decides to not pick a fight, things are bad. Which sucks because Kenny wants to fight someone. He’s got so much pent up anger, he feels like Mysterion again. Jaw permanently clenched and gravel in his mouth, making his voice come out like a growl when he exhales some smoke into the air.
Stark’s Pond is empty, which isn’t a surprise. It’s eight something in the morning and dead of winter. No one with any common sense would be out here right now.
Kenny shivers in his parka, staring out at the frozen pond.
It’s funny. After all these years of dying, Kenny has never considered himself suicidal, but he thinks about walking out onto the ice now, hoping it will crack and the water will swallow him whole, filling his lungs until he can’t breath. Just for the chance to be anywhere but here. If only for a little bit.
He actually does manage to take a few steps onto the ice, stepping on it with his worn out chucks to test the durability. It doesn’t even crack. Shame.
“Kenny?”
Kenny turns toward the new voice, cigarette still hanging from his lips. He doesn’t know whether or not he should be surprised to see Butters standing there. The boy follows him everywhere. Or did. Sometimes still does. It’s becoming less and less lately, now that Kenny really thinks about it.
“What are you doing out here, Butters?”
“You weren’t at school. Kyle said you might be here, and I – Well, I’ve been worried about you.”
“Worried,” Kenny repeats, taking the cigarette out of his mouth and letting it hang there in his hand for a moment. “I don’t need you to worry over a piece of shit like me.”
Butters doesn’t look like he understands, and maybe he doesn’t. He’s shivering in front of Kenny in a too big coat, and frowning. He shouldn’t be out here. He shouldn’t be around Kenny. He’s too good. Too pure.
Kenny has already fucked up one person’s life. Butters doesn’t deserve to be next.
“You’re not,” Butters says adamantly. “Remember what I said in fourth grade? You’re the only person with any dignity around here.”
Kenny scoffs out a laugh. It’s cruel and he punctuates it with a drag to his cigarette. “Butters, when are you going to grow up? We both know that’s a bunch of bullshit.”
“It’s not. I know it’s not.”
“And I know that it is. If I had any fuckin’ dignity, I wouldn’t have made those deliveries for my parents. I wouldn’t have been the reason Tweek overdosed and almost died in the middle of a school day.”
“Kenny, I –”
“They were using my parents’ meth,” Kenny shouts. Yells because he wants to fight someone and Butters is right there. An outlet for all his pent up anger. “They were drugging him, and I was too fuckin’ afraid to say anything because Karen and I could end up separated in the system again if I did. I knew. I fuckin’ knew, and I did nothing to stop it.”
Butters takes a step forward, making Kenny step back like a skittish animal.
“None of this is your fault. You were put in a terrible situation. One you never should have been put in.”
“Tweek could have died, Butters,” Kenny growls. The anger is there but also the desperation for Butters to understand. To fucking get it. “He almost did. He never would have had it in his system in the first place if it wasn't for me.”
Another step forward for Butters, and one backwards for Kenny.
“Did you put it in his coffee?”
“No, of course not. But –”
“And did you make the meth?”
“I just – I just delivered it, but I’m –”
“You are a kid,” Butters says, cutting Kenny off. “A kid who the adults in your life failed. Same as poor Tweek. Why… you’re just as much a victim in all this as he is.”
“Not everyone is as naive as you, Butters. I hear the rumors. I know what people think of me.”
“I may be naive, but I’m not stupid. Who cares what other people think,” Butters says. When Kenny scoffs, Butters presses on. “No, I’m bein’ perfectly serious, Kenny. No else’s opinion of you matters right now. And, anyway, your friends are the only ones that matter. I know they don’t think any of this is your fault.”
“Are you sure about that? Because I bet Tucker hates my fuckin’ guts right now. I wouldn't blame him if he did.”
“Craig Tucker has never been put in a situation where the food and shelter his sister relies on is at risk. If he hates you, it’s because he doesn’t understand.”
“God fucking damn it,” Kenny groans, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Are you going to just pick apart every damn thing I say?”
“Yes, if that’s what it takes. Because it’s what you need. You need someone to argue with right now,” Butters says softly. He looks at Kenny with pale, sad eyes. “You can fight with me, Ken. I’m not going anywhere.”
“I’m a fuckin’ mess.”
“You’re allowed to be.”
“I think I might hate myself.”
“That’s okay. You don’t have to feel any particular way about yourself right now.”
“I wish you hated me.”
The corners of Butters’ lips quirk. “I can’t do that.” He stretches a hand out for Kenny to take, but doesn’t step any closer. “Why don’t you come off the ice, Ken?”
Kenny wants to fight more. The urge is there, itching underneath his skin. But he’s so tired. And Butters is standing on the embankment of the pond like an angel, offering him salvation.
He takes a step forward.
And then the ice cracks beneath his feet and he sinks.