Chapter Text
Butters never quite knew love.
Love of any kind really.
His parents weren't good teachers, and neither were his friends (we're they his friends? He wasn't sure anymore).
Butters knew the basics, that love was different for everyone, but, there was one thing that always repeated when he asked.
"You'll feel all warm inside, your heart might feel tight or fuzzy all at once. You'll get nervous and want to do everything to not mess up in front of them."
Everytime he asked someone about love and what to look for, they always said something along those lines, but it just isn't that easy. Butters never knew love, he didn't think so. He had dated girls before, but he had only felt heat rise up to his face and nothing more... After those relationshiphs he realized that sure, he had been attracted to Charlotte, but he didn't love her. Not the way she had loved him. He only knew the feeling of being attracted.
Not love.
Never love.
Love felt like a foreign concept just out of reach.
Something so close, yet not close enough to grasp in his palms.
He wondered if someday, he would finally feel the feeling that he knew everyone seemed to crave. Love.
But with the way things are going, he's not sure, who could love him? He's not THAT stupid, he knows the others don't like him. Hell the only friends he seemed to have don't even like him that much. He felt black and white, mishaped, in a world of beautiful vibrant colors all in their perfect shape. He felt like an outlier, an outcast, a freak. And they hate him too, he knows they do, they do well to make it known to him. Every. Waking. Second. Of his life.
They call him things, they talk about him like he's not there, they hit hit, beat him. Use him, and he just let's him, why? Because he's got no other use, and he knows that for certain. Without the constant ridicule, the constant harassment, the constant bullying, the constant abuse of his kindness, the kindness he knows he's nothing without, his life has no meaning, without it, he's nothing at all, he had a purpose, he was the punching bag, and the punching bags job was to let it all happen, so maybe one day all that anger will be gone and he can help them, and help them now.
Butters is nothing without them, but without him they are everything, they are oblivious to the shadow they cast on others, on each other, on him. But they are ignorant and he's not going to point it out to them. They wouldn't care anyways. They never seem to care about anything other themselves. They didn't even know Pip was dead, And they didn't care when they did. Sometimes he wishes he could have died there with pip, at least then he could've still been with the only person who seemed to give a shit about him.
He regrets how he had treated pip. He hates how he treated pip, after everything. He hates how everyone treated pip, just for being something out of the norm for them.
Just like how he being treated now, he could bear it then, back when it was him and Pip- no Philip. He had well earned the dignity to be called by his name. Butters didn't hate Philip, so he'd call him by the thing he knew He ached for the most, his name.
It was just easier back then, knowing he had someone that cared, someone to care about, going through the same as him. He missed when him, Philip, and Dougie would play together, have tea parties and dance. He liked the memory of when Stan joined them the most, even if he had been rude. It was nice knowing that he could have at least a slightly better night.
He doesn't even know if Dougie likes him anymore.
Would Philip even like him now?
He's met other kids that are outcasted, The goth kids, Yes he knew the difference, Pete, Micheal, Henrietta, and Firkle. The Vampire kids, their leader Mike... But even they fit into the perfect array of beautifully blended colors and patterns, because they shined bright with color too, they might not be like everyone else but yet they fit into the puzzle just as great as everyone else, while he was a lone piece, stuck in some unknown crevice, because even though they think they may not belong, they do, more than he did.
And the thought terrified him.
It makes him wonder, truly and deeply, would they care once he's gone?
He knew the answer, probably not.
And that made him terrified all the more.
Would they care truly? Would they care about him only when he's gone, would they only care then when his blood and guts had splattered all over them? Would they only care then when he laid bare there, bleeding and cold, wishing, just wishing that he had been loved? Would they only care then when their only punching bag finally tore open and spilled it's beads, it's stuffing?
He doesn't know the answer to that.
Maybe he didn't want the answer to that.
They didn't care, about him, they probably wouldn't care if he was gone.
But Butters still had a job to do here, try and make everyone a little less miserable than they make him.
Butters didn't care how many times they hit him, yelled at him, ridiculed him, pushed him around. He just wanted to help make things easier for them, use him for all he cared... They did that anyways. His job means everything to him, it's the glue keeping him fall apart, and god. He didn't want them to see him fall apart. He was the punching bag, just stupid Butters, and his only purpose.
And he was going to do that job.
To his last
ACHING
breath.
Maybe once they're so happy with their new lives they'll leave him alone, or maybe even... Welcome him for once. But deep down, he knew that wasn't possible, this was fucking South Park. And Leopold Butters Scotch never got what he wanted.
Never.