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“Kenny,” Kyle sighs for what feels like the twentieth time that evening.
Kenny, who is trying to surreptitiously crawl under Kyle’s desk chair and slither between his legs to say hi, stops in his noodley tracks. “I only wanted to say hi,” he says mournfully.
“I’m studying,” Kyle hisses. “And you have said ‘hi’ at least fifteen times in the past half hour.”
Kenny skulks his way out from under Kyle’s chair, then pops his head up beside Kyle’s elbow. “I’m bored, though,” he pouts. “You’re always busy and I love you.”
“Don’t be manipulative,” Kyle scolds.
“I’m not manipulative, I’m only a little guy,” Kenny says in his most manipulative voice
“Cartman!” Kyle calls down the hall. “You’re on goblin duty!”
“I’m always on goblin duty!” Cartman yells back. “You do it for once!”
“I’ve tried!” Kyle shouts back
“Ugh, fine,” Cartman groans from down the hall, lumbering out of his room and down to Kyle and Stan’s. He pauses in the doorway, spots Kenny on the floor, and then walks straight over and sits on his back, pinning him.
Kenny lets out a wheezing squawk, flailing his arms weakly. He tries to form words, but the pressure on his lungs makes it come out as pathetic squeaks and gasps.
“Cartman, get off him!” Kyle says. “I meant remove him, not kill him.”
“So picky,” Cartman scoffs as he rolls his eyes, but he pushes himself up. “Alright, come on, goblin,” he tells Kenny, who is panting on the floor, before squatting to haul his limp body into a fireman carry. “Come on out.”
“Thank you,” Kyle sighs, his gaze already slipping back to his work.
-•-
In Cartman and Kenny’s shared room, Cartman sits down on his bed and flops Kenny down beside him. Kenny moans and wriggles like a fish until he’s slipped off the bed and onto the ground. Then he just sits there, face pressed into the comforter, quietly fussing.
“Do something, you weird, little freak,” Cartman says as he gives him a light kick.
“Go ‘way!” Kenny whines - yes, genuinely whines.
“Excuse me?” Eric says, affronted. “Go away? After I do so much for you? Unlikely, poor boy.”
He gives Kenny another gentle kick, and Kenny whines and pushes himself away from the bed. He flops backwards onto the floor, then proceeds to roll around there and just fuss for the next ten minutes straight while Cartman stares at his phone. At first, Cartman tries to ignore it, but Kenny’s small grunts and whines are getting louder and more intrusive.
The breaking point hits when Kenny rolls his way over by Cartman’s feet and starts reaching up and clawing fistfuls of his pants.
“Cartmaaaaan,” he groans. “Stop being stupid and boring, I don’t like it!”
“Well, first of all, fuck you. I am not being ‘stupid and boring’,” Cartman grunts as he kicks his leg, trying to dislodge Kenny, whose whining is climbing in pitch as a response. “And second of all,” he says over the squealing, “why are you being such a pain tonight!?”
Just then, Kenny sits bolt upright and lunges for Cartman’s trash can. He hauls it beneath his chin, dipping his face into it, and vomits.
Cartman actually flinches back at the sound, before heaving a visible sigh and leaning forward to rub Kenny’s back as he retches.
“…Oh,” he mutters belatedly. “That makes a little more sense.”
Kenny turns and peeks up and him through the sandy blonde hair that sweeps in front of his eyes. “Sorry,” he mumbles, tongue tasting of bitter regret.
“No sorries,” Cartman grumps, jabbing a finger at him. “Just shutting the fuck up.”
He stands up with an audible groan, muttering something about bad knees at twenty, then hauls Kenny up again, this time in a bridal carry. Kenny loops his arms around Cartman’s neck, tucking his face into Cartman’s chest. Cartman carries him down the hall, pausing by Kyle’s room to peek in.
“Hey, Jew,” Cartman calls from the doorway. “Figured out why the goblin was goblining so hard tonight.”
“Oh yeah?” Kyle says, glancing up for almost an entire second, which is good for him during a work flow.
“Yep. Bastard puked in my trash can,” Cartman sneers down at Kenny. “Feels like he’s running a fever.”
“Oh, shit!” Kyle swears. “Does he have a stomach bug, do you think? Oh, god, we’ll all have it before the end of the week, won’t we? Put him down, Cartman! There’s no need to speed up the process.”
“Oh, calm the fudge down, Kahl,” Cartman says. “It’ll be fine. Go get us some masks to wear if you’re so worried.”
“I think I have a box for in case we travel in really busy public places,” Kyle says. “I’ll go find those.”
“You do that,” Cartman scoffs, bouncing Kenny a bit. Kenny hums into his chest, the sound vibrating through him.
“Oh, yeah. Feel better, Kenny,” Kyle says sheepishly.
“Mmph,” Kenny says into Cartman’s shirt.
-•-
“Alright, little buddy,” Cartman says to Kenny once Kyle has left the scene, shifting Kenny to be riding front facing piggy back. “Come on. We’ll getcha some meds and put whatever you want on the tv, m’kay?”
Kenny just whines into his shoulder, high and needy. Cartman sighs and tries bouncing him, only to get whined at louder.
“Alright, alright, alright,” he grouses. “Come on, then. Downstairs we go.”
He takes the steps slower than he normally would, more invested than he cares to admit in seeing to it that Kenny not repeat that upset sound any more than necessary this evening.
“Yeah, I know,” Cartman grumbles to the lump in his arms. “You’re small and you don’t want me. You want Butters.”
“No!” Kenny tells him, whiny but insistent. “Bof you.”
“‘Both us?’” Cartman repeats, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Okay, you tiny tyrant. Both us it is.”
Kenny wordlessly kicks his feet in toddlerish excitement at that, making Cartman have to heft him up higher and clasp his fingers tighter under Kenny’s butt.
Once the kid is secure, he carries him down the stairs and into the kitchen, where Butters is busy brewing a cup of tea. Butters looks up when Cartman and Kenny enter, and his face breaks out into a grin.
“Heya, fellers!” he chirps, crossing the room, then bends at the waist to address the Kenny lump directly. “Heya, Ken. Are we feelin’ small today or just hidin’?”
“We’re feeling small and also sick,” Cartman deadpans with a grimace. “As in we threw up in Eric’s trash can.”
“Oh no!” Butters gasps. “Aww, my poor baby’s not feelin’ too good, huh?”
At the sound of Butters’ voice, Kenny had perked up and peeked around at him from the safety of Cartman’s shoulder, but now he twists in Cartman’s arms, reaching out like he expects Butters to catch him.
“Ey!” Cartman barks, getting ahold of him and stumbling as he rights the both of them. “Butters can not hold you, Ken. He just doesn’t have the muscle for it. We’ve been over this.”
“Bubba!” Kenny cries, still trying to reach for Butters.
Butters takes his hand with a broken hearted noise of pity, pressing a kiss to Kenny’s fingertips. “Heya, pun’kin,” he coos. “No, I can’t holdja, bud. I’m real sorry. But if ya wait and lemme sit down on the couch, then I can cuddle!”
“Coush,” Kenny babbles. “Sit coush!”
“That’s right, li’l buddy!” Butters encourages, taking both of his hands now and pretending to nibble on the fingers.
This makes Kenny let out a tired sounding giggle. Then he heaves over in Cartman’s arms and throws up onto the floor between the two.
“Oh jeez!” Butters exclaims, leaping back. “Aw, golly, poor fella really ain’t feelin’ good, is he?” Kenny blinks up at him dazedly, and Butters can’t help but melt. “That’s right,” he tells the sick little boy. “You ain’t feelin’ good at all, are ya, pun’kin?”
Kenny stares at him, then heaves a great, big, little kid sigh and burrows into Cartman’s arms with a whimper.
“I know, li’l guy,” Butters coos, pinching Kenny’s barely visible cheek. “It’s hard bein’ sicky, huh?”
“Sicky,” Kenny repeats as he juts his lip in a pout and rubs at his eyes with a scrunched up fist.
“Yeah, baby, that’s right, poor thing!”
“Butters, get out of his face,” Cartman says. “You’re gonna catch it too.”
“At this rate we’ll all catch it,” Butters says pragmatically, smoothing Kenny’s hair and combing through it for knots. “May as well make ‘im feel a bit better.”
“Bettuh,” Kenny says
“That’s right, li’l one! We’re gonna getcha feelin’ better!” Butters baby talks, then looks up at Cartman. “You take ‘im to lay down ‘front a’ the tv, Eric. I’ll get some… NyQuil?”
“Yeah,” Cartman humphs, “NyQuil. I want him to crash asap.”
“You got it, boss!” Butters says, and they hurry off in different directions.
-•-
Kenny is taken to the living room, where Stan is watching concert footage of his favorite bands on YouTube. However, when Cartman wanders in with Kenny in his arms, Stan takes one glance at the look on Kenny’s face and digs around for the remote. Cartman allows him to pick what he wants for Kenny, and Stan scrolls through the live tv options until he finds a channel playing NASCAR footage.
When he puts this on and unmutes the noise, Kenny picks his head up a couple inches and makes a pleased, “Mmm…” sound before flopping back over. Cartman clicks his tongue, looking down at him.
“Really? That’s all for being in littlespace and having someone put NASCAR on?” he mutters to Kenny, who just breathes out a sigh through his nose as he cuddles in. His cheek rubs against Cartman’s chest as he curls his head to still see the cars zip by on TV.
“What’s wrong?” Stan asks.
“Sick,” Cartman says. “Threw up twice. Step carefully in the kitchen. I purposefully walked away before Butters and I could agree on who would clean it up so if he doesn’t it’s just gonna sit there.”
“Aw, dude! Sick!” Stan exclaims, putting his hands over his ears.
“Sick,” Kenny agrees in a tiny, raspy voice, almost lisping the ‘s’, and both boys freeze.
“Yeah, bud…” Stan mutters as his cheeks go pink. He reaches over, ruffling Kenny’s hair, and leaves his hand cupped around the base of Kenny’s skull. “You’re sicky. We know.”
Kenny lets out a small complaint, reaching out to Stan when his hand retracts.
“Oh, you- ya want me, buddy?” Stan asks as he points at himself, stumbling a tad. Kenny nods twice, his movements slow and weary.
“Of course he wants you, dumbass,” Cartman scoffs. “He’s practically crying!”
“Okay, then, jeez.” Stan stands up and relocates to the spot next to Cartman and Kenny in his lap. He leans into Cartman’s and wraps an arm around the Kenny bundle. It squirms appreciatively.
“There,” Cartman tells Kenny, who keeps hiding his face. “All bundled. Now quit making our lives hell.”
“I bun’led,” Kenny murmurs, voice slurred and heavy. “I no shh.”
Stan barks a laugh, and Cartman swats him. Kenny watches them with a sleepy smile.
Just then, Butters enters the room with a bucket which Cartman takes gratefully. Inside the bucket are a few packs of crackers, a carefully balanced glass of water, and some liquid NyQuil. Cartman stares at it with trepidation. Kenny breathes against him, peaceful for now.
“…Okay, Ken,” Cartman says, trying to sound casual, “time for medicine.”
“Me’cine?” Kenny asks.
“Uh huh!” Butters tells him. “Lift your head up and take your medicine like a good boy.”
Kenny does neither. “I wook!”he demands. Cartman holds the bottle up for him, and Kenny instantly cringes away. “Nuh. Icky,” he says.
“Oh, come on, baby, you gotta! It’s real fast,” Butters implores.
“‘Oh, come on’ is right,” Cartman mutters. He hands the NyQuil off to Butters, who takes it, then constricts his arms around Kenny who immediately starts to wriggle.
“No me’cine!” he babbles, but every time an arm or leg gets loose, Cartman grabs it up and pins it back down.
“Okay, now would be a good time!” he barks at Butters, who hurries up where he’s pouring the dosage.
“Come on, now, bubs,” Butters murmurs, bringing the medicine cup over to Kenny’s mouth. Kenny cranes his neck as far as he can get, which isn’t far thanks to Cartman, and presses his lips shut. But this team isn’t a bunch of amateurs. Cartman loosens his hands just enough to dig his fingertips between Kenny’s ribs. Against his will, Kenny’s lips split in a bubbly laugh, and Butters pours the medicine in. He lunges to press Kenny’s jaw shut until he sees him swallow.
“Phew,” Butters pants, and he and Cartman slump back as Kenny wriggles out of Cartman’s grip and onto the carpet. Neither of them notice what exactly it is he’s doing there until Stan cries out.
“Oh, shit, the carpet!”
They don’t even have time to turn before the sound of retching hits their ears.
“Motherfucker!” Cartman swears, sharp and loud, and Butters just moans in despair. Kenny bursts into those loud, toddler sobs that mean ‘Emergency! Come pick me up now.’ Butters is the one to answer, spinning around and kneeling by the mess to pull the sobbing mass of Kenny into his arms.
“Bubba!” Kenny sobs, completely unabashed, clutching at Butters’ light blue cardigan and rubbing his face back and forth into his shoulder.
“Aww, yeah, little buddy,” Butters soothes, closing his eyes as he folds Kenny up against him, snotty face and all. “There ya go. Bubba’s here for ya.”
Kenny pauses to take a shuddering breath in, then lets out another hiccupy wail.
“Fuck,” Cartman sighs, fingers massaging into his temple. “Stan, go fill up a bucket of water and cleaning solution. I’ll go get Kyle.”
Kyle is summoned, as is cleaning supplies, and Stan and he go to work on the puddles of vomit while Butters and Cartman work to change Kenny. This is harder than it sounds, since Kenny while small walks and moves like a drunk.
Eventually, though, they have him in clean shorts and a breathable, oversized t-shirt, and have taken him back downstairs to sit on the couch. Another dose of NyQuil has been administered, and this one has stayed down so far. He’s got a bowl in his lap this time, and is dazedly watching Bluey through heavy eyes.
“It’s the only thing that’s comforting to him right now, I think,” Butters says to Stan and Kyle once they get back from cleaning up the mess in the kitchen. “We tried NASCAR but I think it just overwhelmed the poor little feller.”
“At least we got all the puke cleaned up,” Stan mutters.
“Thank the gods above,” hisses Kyle, applying yet another round of hand sanitizer and rubbing it in.
“Bi’go,” Kenny snuffles, pointing at the television. He’s started sneezing now, too, and seems congested.
“That’s right, kid. Bingo,” Cartman repeats. His tone is bored and dismissive, but his arm is tight around Kenny’s shoulders.
“Bingo is a doggy, baby!” Butters chirps to Kenny, whose glassy eyes flick to him. “Doggy! Can you say doggy?”
“Doh-gy,” Kenny sounds out tiredly, and Butters claps and cheers for him.
“Good baby! Good, smart baby!” he praises. “Y’see, ya gotta talk to babies lots so they can develop properly.”
“Kenny isn’t actually developing, Butters,” Cartman mutters, rolling his eyes.
“Still!” Butters says cheerily, ignoring Cartman’s dour attitude. “It can’t hurt none ta talk to the little guy!”
“He is pretty cute,” Stan says. He can’t help but grin when Kenny’s eyes suddenly find him, drawn by his voice, and just stare drowsily with none of his usual reserve.
“He is dangerously cute,” Kyle says. “Butters, take those toys out of your Amazon cart. He has plenty.”
“…Alright,” Butters grumbles, a touch salty as he pulls out his phone and does so.
“I wonder how he got sick,” Stan says, then automatically looks to Kyle.
“Why are you looking at me?” Kyle asks, and Stan shrugs.
“You know a lot of stuff…”
“I’m not magic, Stan. I have no idea where Kenny got sick.”
“Oh,” says Butters, “wait. I know. He, Tweek, and Craig hung out the other day, and turns out Tweek got sick the day after. He must’ve passed it on to Kenny. Poor li’l guy.”
“Oh well, guess Tweek has to die,” Cartman hums, shrugging.
“Oh, shut up, Cartman,” Kyle says mildly as he rolls his eyes.
“T’eek,” Kenny interjects.
“Yeah, du- I mean, buddy,” Stan tells him. “We’re talking about Tweek.”
“Bou’ T’eek,” Kenny mimics solemnly.
“Yeah,” Stan says, also forcing his face into a deadpan expression. Then he cracks a smile. Within seconds, the two are giggling like mad, and Kenny is kicking his feet against the couch despite his exhaustion.
“Settle down, twerp,” Cartman tells him as he starts to grasp at Kenny’s side like the precursor to tickles. This only makes Kenny laugh harder, though, until he’s hiccuping in between laughs and then sending himself further down the spiral of hysteria with each hiccup.
“Okay, okay, buddy, jeez!” Cartman exclaims, patting him on the back as he coughs and gags. Luckily, the bucket has stayed in place in his lap. Kenny just continues to crack up, though, and Cartman eventually just heaves a sigh and stands up.
Kenny, still gasping and hiccuping around unbidden giggles, whines pitifully at the loss, but Cartman doesn’t give him the chance to get any further than that towards crying before his hands are reaching already under Kenny’s armpits to heft him up. Kenny’s arms instinctually form into little chicken wings, his shoulders scrunching up, as he makes himself easier to pick up. Cartman hoists Kenny into his arms and then locks his fingers under Kenny’s butt as Kenny wraps his arms and legs around Cartman like a monkey. He giggles in Cartman’s ear, erratic and gasping, the entire time, sometimes snuffling when his nose starts to run.
“You’re a mess, kid,” Cartman mutters as he starts to bounce Kenny slow and gentle, like he would a real baby, pacing in a big circle round the perimeter of their open floor plan.
Kenny’s hysterics begin to slow. The giggles fade and allow him to catch his breath, and the hiccups slowly run their course. Finally, he lets out a great, big sigh, head resting on his arm. Then he yawns into Cartman’s shoulder.
“Oooh, big yawn, baby!” Butters coos in a singsong, and Kenny’s head pops up a couple inches to look for him. Butters waves.
“Right here, bub!” he calls, and Kenny’s eyes drift over to him. His face breaks out in a tired grin at the sight of Butters.
“Yeah, yeah,” Cartman grumbles. “There’s Butters. He’s lived here for years. You can see him anytime you like. Now lay your damn head back down.”
Kenny just continues to smile at Butters until Stan pushes himself up and follows along with Cartman’s pacing long enough to push Kenny’s head down onto Cartman’s shoulder and make sure it stays down. Kenny lets go of Cartman’s shirt long enough to wave at him as he walks away.
“Ken,” Cartman calls, “Hey, Ken.”
Kenny’s eyes snap as far as they can go towards Cartman’s voice. He heaves his heavy head up and looks Cartman right in the face, expression solemn and unguarded.
“Okay, Ken,” Cartman says, stopping the pacing for a moment to focus on Kenny. “Can… Can you go night night? Go night night, okay?” he tries, biting his lip in embarrassment. He knows the others are staring, biting back grins.
Luckily, Kenny looks at him, then babbles, “Ni’ni’.” He puts his palms together to make a pretend pillow and then tucks it under his head as he lays down on Cartman’s shoulder and pretends to snore.
“Yes! Good!” Cartman praises. “Now stay like that, please.”
He tentatively resumes his walk, and after another lap it seems that Kenny has accepted the directive and is actually trying to pass out on his shoulder. He shifts position a couple times, squirming and grabbing at Cartman, but Cartman never drops him.
-•-
It takes twenty minutes of pacing for Kenny to fall asleep, and Cartman lays him painstakingly down on a spare spot of couch before carefully, quietly, collapsing to the floor in exhaustion. Kenny sleeps on, and everyone sighs a breath of relief.
“Nice work, Eric!” Butters whispers enthusiastically, and he holds his hand up for a high five. Cartman delivers it with a wilted slap.
“My arms are burning,” he groans. “He’s a lot fucking heavier than a real toddler.”
“At least he’s asleep now,” Kyle says. “Just be thankful for that.”
“What I’m thankful for,” Cartman says, “is modern medicine and the ability to get over the counter drugs that can knock a person out.”
“Fair enough,” Stan says. “Now everyone who isn’t on Kenny duty, let’s go the fuck to bed.”