Closer With Cow-Shit

Chapter 4: Do you wanna name it?

When Butters told Stan that the market wasn't very far, he shouldn't have believed him. But he did. The walk started out good. They were walking on the side of the dirt road, it was quiet and the only sound that could be heard was the grass crunching under their shoes. But then Stan's legs started to sting with a burning pain. So, as the naturally spoiled person Stan is, he complained. Asking Butters how much longer they had to go to get to the market. Butters, however, ignored him. Starting to hum the tune of a song that he didn't know the name of.

After a second or so, Stan started to complain again. This time about how his feet hurt. Butters, finally, responded with a smart-ass comment that definitely didn't (did) get under Stan's skin. Naturally, Stan retorted with his own smart-ass comment and soon, they started to bicker back and forth. Until Butters threatened to leave him on the side of the road if he didn't 'hush'  his 'profanity'. Though he said he wasn't afraid of Butters empty, meaningless threat, he shut his mouth anyway. Letting silence wash over them until he decided to complain again.

"Are we there yet?" Stan complained, bringing up a hand to wipe the sweat from his brow while he struggled to keep up with Butters, who is currently a few steps ahead of him.

"Almost!" Butters chirped cheerfully.

Stan groaned, throwing his head back only to get bright beams of sun shooting into his eyes. He shut his eyes just as quick as the sun moves when following them everytime they turn a corner. His eyes started to water, small tears trying to escape the corners of his eyes. He brung (?) his hands back up to his face, using the heels of his palms to rub his eyes in a tired, but aggressive manner. He lifts his head back up, letting his hands fall to his sides uselessly. He whines like a child, opening his mouth to complain once more. Only to get cut off by Butters.

"We're here!" He said angelically, putting his hand on top of the old wooden sign that read South Park in black, cracking paint, giving it a joyful pat.

Stan sighed in relief, a small smile breaking out onto his face, "Jesus fuck, dude, finally! Now where's the market?"

Butters laughed, shaking his head side-to-side "I meant we're here in town, silly! We still got a couple of miles left to cover! Plus, we need to go to the Turner's before we do anything else." He said with a sunny smile, walking past the old wooden sign before turning around the corner, leaving Stan alone.

Stan groaned loudly. Whining like a child once more before letting out a long, sulky "Whyyyy."

He moved his legs despite the aching burn in his muscles. He could hear the stifled laugh that came from Butters, and it wouldn't be a lie to say that Stan wanted to insult him for laughing. But he was too focused on the burning pain in his body to complain about it.

After about twelve more minutes of walking and complaining they finally made it to a place called Photo Dojo. Stan grimaced at the name. Finding it absolutely stupid. I mean, who the hell would name a Photo store 'Photo Dojo'? But as soon as he could slip out a snarky comment, Butters just had to remember that they passed the neighborhood, telling him that they needed to go across the street to get there and would take about ten more minutes to get there.

Stan was sure that his bones were about to break. His legs hurt, his back hurt. He was sweating from head to toe and his jet black hair was sticking to his forehead. The sun was blaring heat straight onto his skin, making his sweaty skin soak into his expensive stage clothes. Stan turned his head to look at Butters, hoping that he was getting the worst of the sun. But looking upon the blonde boy who was currently standing by a stop sign, was completely unfazed. He looked as cheerful as he was when Stan first met him, maybe even more. His skin was the same as it was before and Stan could even make out the light freckles dotting across his nose, cheeks, and arms. He was absolutely shining, standing there like he's done it a thousand times before, which he probably and most definitely did.