Through the Cracks

As soon as his home came into view, the hair bristled on the back of Butters' neck. It was plain to see that Bud's car was missing from the driveway, but that only left Butters with more questions. Maybe he's out looking for me. Maybe he's gonna find my parents and tell 'em what I did. I'm really gonna get it now. His last hope was that his genuine penitence would convince the three adults to go easy on him.

When Butters put his hand on the doorknob, he pulled his hand back in surprise. The front door was unlocked. Not only that; the door was barely closed. He slipped inside, closed the door behind him, and removed his hood. The entryway was dark except for a wash of light seeping out of the kitchen. Butters waited in the darkness for one minute. Two. Five. The house was nearly silent until someone in the kitchen began rummaging through anything that opened.

Curiosity overpowering his caution, Butters stole a peek into the kitchen. The day held no end of surprises for the little boy. There he saw Cartman, dressed in pyjamas, holding a carton of ice cream in one hand and digging through cabinets with the other. While searching high and low, Cartman exhaled his frustrations. "Motherfucking son of a bitch, why can't I find any goddamn root beer? Why would you buy weak-ass vanilla and no root beer?"

Butters stepped into the light. He tried to think of some way to make his presence known without setting Cartman off. "Wuh-What're you doing in my kitchen, Eric?" It wasn't the best he could have come up with, but his nerves were shot.

Cartman jumped, nearly dropping the ice cream. "Looking for root beer. Don't your parents know that root beer is kind of important in a root beer float?"

Butters looked nervous. "Oh, I can't have no soda or nothin'." When Cartman rolled his eyes, Butters thought quickly. "But my dad's got some. He keeps it in the garage."

"Then go get it."

"Uh, I dunno. I'm not supposed to know it's in there, but I saw him drinkin' it after he was fixin' the car." Not wanting to see the displeasure on Cartman's face, Butters lowered his gaze. It landed at the larger boy's midsection, where a flash of pink sequins caught his eye. There was that funny feeling again. I just can't say no. "Okay, I'll go get it."

In the garage, Butters opened up the mini-fridge. Inside was a wall of cans and a few shiny magazines about cars with ladies sitting on them. He examined one of the cans. "It says 'God of Beers'. Can't get much better than God, so Eric will like it for sure." He scooped up a couple of cans and brought them inside.

Cartman searched for the biggest bowl he could find and filled it with ice cream. Seeing Butters return with the cans, Cartman grabbed one and poured it over his ice cream. It frothed invitingly. Spoon in hand, Cartman took a big bite and made a face. This root beer tastes like shit. Nonetheless, he took another spoonful. Okay, it's not that bad.

"Can I have some of that?" asked Butters.

It was good enough not to let Butters have any. "No, I need it. I worked up a big appetite playing with my new toy."

Butters brightened, oblivious to the sadistic pleasure in Cartman's voice. "A new toy? Can I see?"

"No, you can't," Cartman answered, knowingly. Fresh screams still rang in his ears, and thinking of the effects of the stun gun gave him chills. Best of all, he had it on tape to enjoy again and again. "I think I broke it." But he did not look disappointed in the least. Some toys are meant to be broken.

While Cartman emptied another can into the bowl, Butters sat, thinking. It was nice to have a chance to just sit without being punished or coerced into something he couldn't understand. He could be a kid sitting with a friend. Finally, Butters spoke. "Can I ask you something?"

Cartman spooned up the last of the ice cream, then slurped the bowl dry. "I guess."

"Are… are you still wearing those panties?" Butters was certain of the answer, but wanted to broach the subject delicately.

Staggering to his feet, Cartman was surprised by how uneasy he felt. What the fuck is this? But he ignored it in favor of standing his ground, albeit unsteadily. "Oh, now you wanna see? So you can call me a fag like everyonedy else?" He ripped his pyjamas off.

Again, Butters was mesmerized. "N-no. I think it works on you."

In the next several seconds, Cartman's expression morphed from pissy to proud to curious. "Yeah?"

Like many of the boys, Butters often felt the need to flatter his volatile friend just to keep the peace. This was not one of those times. "Well, sure! I mean, every pair of underwear goes up your butt crack. So why wouldn't you want underwear that are made to fit there? Plus, nothing rubs on your butt. No wonder you want to show everybody!" Butters had thought that the briefs printed with Chinpokomon that he got to wear on weekends were the pinnacle of underwear design, but he was now sold on the thong.

The time has come to activate the power of the thong! He had ample footage of Butters and Uncle Bud that evening, should he ever find a need for either. But if Butters was going to be putty in his hands, there was something he wanted to accomplish. "Now I'ma ask you something. I want you to get that *hic* tape. You know the one. When I was dressed as Spitney Brears. And I want to smash it with a hammer."

There was no way to say no. Cartman in the flesh, bare flesh, was much more interesting than anything on the tape. Diving under the bed, Butters came up holding the tape, its end label coated with star stickers. Cartman's eyes widened in anticipation. With the solemnity of a holy offering, Butters laid the tape on the floor. Cartman grabbed the nearest blunt object – a baseball bat standing in the corner. The other boy covered his face as Cartman raised the bat over his head and brought it down on the offending tape. "Damn tape! Dammit-dammit-dammit! You will respite my authoritahhh." Several solid whacks splintered the tape into many pieces.

Butters covered his ears. Good thing he doesn't know I saved it to my computer. I don't want to know what he'd do to that.

At last, Cartman let the bat slide from his hand. He swayed back and forth. "I needta lie down," Cartman announced, and crashed onto Butters' bed. Butters wasn't sure what to do. He was sleepy, but imagined Cartman flying into a rage at being touched. It was a chilly night, especially with the broken window letting the icy air in. Wearing nothing but a scrap of pink polyester, Cartman shivered.

Tenderly, affectionately, Butters pulled the blanket up around Cartman's shoulders. Aww. Cartman with eyes closed in an expression of genuine contentment rendered him nearly unrecognizable. A far cry from the kid who called him an "uncle fucker" in front of anyone who would pain that his uncle had caused had not yet dulled away from his body. But it made him want to protect Cartman the way King Mysterion had used his dying breath to protect him.

Taking the risk, Butters crawled into bed and tucked himself in, but the cold still nipped at him. He inched closer to Cartman. The other boy did not move. Butters pressed himself against Cartman's back. Nothing. He draped an arm over. All the cosy warmth and feeling soft skin against his own, and he was asleep. Once asleep, parts of his body seemed to acquire minds of their own.

In the haze of semi-consciousness, Cartman tensed with disapproval. Get your dick away from me. I don't like things in my ass. But he did nothing. Butters was an extension of the way the thong hugged his body. His dick's just near my butt, not in it. There's nothing gay about that. Cartman leaned against Butters, soaking up the body heat from head to toe. Blame it on the root beer float.

Up in heaven, Kenny was getting sleepy after watching their evening unfold. He had preferred to find out what became of Butters to seeing the usual bedlam that his own family played out. The two boys in the Stotch house were still spooning, and both were asleep. Butters seemed to be dreaming; his body twitched and he blurted out part-words, like "oobies". I wish I had a camera. Wait. I do! He picked up the golden PSP, complete with its Gold!Cam attachment. Simply being in heaven did not tame his mind for mischief. He took aim for a perfect shot of Cartman, spilling out from under the covers, with Butters' arm dangling over him and cupping a breast. Snap. (Perfect. I'll save that for later. It'll come in handy sometime.) The unabashed smiles on the sleeping boys' faces satisfied Mysterion's search for justice. The photo, in all its pixelated glory, was a fine reward for Kenny.

(Everyone got what they deserved. Especially fat boy.) Satisfied, Kenny threw himself back in the clouds, stretched and yawned. In the blink of an eye, he awoke in his own bed. The house was so silent, it was almost like heaven, except for the intermingled smells of stale beer and motor oil. He sat up, noticing that his bedroom door was partly open. In the living room, his dad was stretched out on the couch folded in a moth-eaten blanket, and Kevin lay sleeping in the middle of the floor. The two were surrounded by broken bottles, tipped furniture, and holes in the walls. I'm home alright, Kenny observed.

He looked out the window to see the rising sun making the fresh snow sparkle. It looked like a Thomas Kinkade painting, as long as Kenny turned his head so he did not see the pickup truck on blocks in the front yard. Gazing dreamily, Kenny could finally enjoy some peace and quiet in his quiet little mountain town.