A/N: This is the first South Park fanfiction I've written since like 7th grade SO GIVE ME A BREAK ALRIGHT. This was actually supposed to just be a oneshot, but I've got a lot more that I want to add to it. I'm not sure how long it'll be, though. Haha. I'm sorry if it's a bit hard to follow right now, I like my prologues to be DEEP AND BROODING.

Sorry if there's errors, too. I have no beta or anything. I DID MY BEST. I SERIOUSLY RE-READ THIS LIKE 80 TIMES AND I AM SICK OF LOOKING AT IT.

I hope you guys enjoy. ;) South Park belongs to Matt and Trey, etc etc.

Both of them are monsters in their own way, but Craig— Craig is this horrible disgusting thing right now. His knuckles slam into Tweek's cheekbone. Tweek can barely feel it. His bloody mouth curves into something of a grin. A really fucked up grin. His pretty smile isn't so pretty right now.

"Hit me again."

Craig's teeth grit and he grinds them angrily, swinging his fist again, this time square into Tweek's nose. The crack of bone echoes throughout the room. "You want me to keep fucking hitting you? You like this?"

"I'll l-let you beat the living FUCK out of me if you promise to stay. Ack, Craig. Please don't l-leave—" Before Tweek can finish, Craig's fist is colliding with Tweek's temple. Tweek is on the floor now, Craig straddling his hips.

Two days ago, had Craig been on top of Tweek, it would be for different reasons. He wouldn't be beating the shit out of him. He would be savagely devouring that gorgeous, gorgeous mouth. He would be grinding his hips down into Tweek's own, dry fucking him until— No. Now, this was all there was.

This was all he could do.

Craig lets his eyes wander to Tweek's arms, and tries to keep himself from gagging. Bloody track marks and disgusting bruises litter the small boy's limbs, and it only throws Craig further into the rage that is fueling his every action.

Craig's calloused hands wrap around Tweeks throat, threatening to choke him to death. God, he wants to. He wishes he could.

Tweek brings limp hands to rest on Craig's, which are still tight around his neck. "Craig," he chokes. "I love you, p-please..."

Craig feels his lower lip tremble, but not because he's about to cry. He's fucking angry. He hates Tweek. He hates him so much. "I fucking hate you. Shut the fuck up." He releases Tweek's neck, only to thread his bloody right hand into the messy blond hair, jerking Tweek up to face him. He ignores the protests and blood that leaks from the younger boy's mouth.

"You love me? That's fucking funny." He slams Tweek's head to the wood floors beneath them, finding satisfaction in the way his skull cracks against the surface. "I hate you so much. I want to fucking kill you."

Craig was beyond being angry. He was so overcome with emotion that he felt like he was actually losing his mind. He had AIDS. He had fucking AIDS. He wanted to kill Tweek. He wanted to chop him up, drown him, rape him (it wouldn't matter now), rip him to pieces. He grimaced.

"How could you fucking do this to me? You're such a fuck up."

"I know, Craig..." Tweek feels the weight disappear from his stomach, and Craig is now gone. He brings a sloppy hand to his face as the drugs start to sink in.

Tweek was an addict. He knew this. Craig knew this. It started at such a young age, too. Something as innocent as coffee— and it had come to this.

At age thirteen, Tweek was exposed to marijuana. Not a big deal, right? Most kids his age and around there experimented with pot. He and Craig had actually become pretty close through smoking weed. It was fun and exhilarating and it calmed his usually jittery self down. While he was still pretty dependent on coffee, he couldn't deny that he became a pothead pretty quickly. Being stoned all day was nothing new to Tweek. And it didn't bother his best friend, Craig that much. He was stoned pretty much all the time, too.

At sixteen and a half, Tweek decided he was bored with weed. He had gotten quite a few sources, notorious for being one of the town's biggest potheads, and through these sources decided to experiment with other substances. He started with shit like pills and computer duster, but was soon enough snorting coke like Cartman's mom on a Friday night.

It was all downhill from there.

Craig and Tweek never considered themselves "boyfriends" or anything of the like, because that was just gay. (Both were in denial of any homosexuality that tainted their friendship, despite the kissing, heavy petting, and semi-occasional blow jobs when Tweek's parents were working late at the coffee shop.) It was all in good fun.

But Craig stopped talking to Tweek when he found out that he was doing cocaine. Tweek broke down after about three or four days without talking to Craig, and promised never to do it again. Tweek never broke promises.

And he didn't. He stopped doing coke.

He started doing heroin.

For the longest time, it was a secret well kept from Craig. Tweek was always wearing long sleeves anyways, so Craig didn't have to know. And he wouldn't have to lie to Craig either, because he knew that the older boy would never ask him something so scandalous as 'Have you been doing smack?'

For about 5 months, he got away with it.

"Tweek, strip."

"Ngh, Craig. Shut up." Tweek let a lazy grin spread across his face as he playfully smacked Craig's hands away from the hem of his shirt.

Craig detached his mouth from the growing purple hickey on Tweek's neck. "I'm serious, though. I want to fuck you."

"You're drunk, Craig."

"I'm only a little tipsy. Mostly stoned. I still know what I want. They say that drugs and alcohol bring out the truth. And this is the truth," Craig drawled, hands groping at wherever they could reach. "This is what I want."

Tweek swallowed a noise that could probably be classified as a moan. "You don't want to h-have sex with me, Craig. Urk, no homo, remember?"

"Shut the fuck up."

A very fucked up Tweek nodded and lazily let his head roll back. His half lidded eyes watched as Craig skillfully unbuttoned his wrinkled shirt. "You're s-sure you- gahhh, want this?"

"I am," Craig murmured against Tweek's warm skin, feeling the blond shift as he shrugged the rest of his shirt off. Arms wrapped around Craig's neck, but they froze there. Both of them were completely stiff.

Tweek, in realization. Craig, in shock.

"Your arms."

Tweek jerked back shakily, trying to cover himself. He had never felt so exposed.

That was the very first time that Craig had ever hit Tweek.

Drip, drip.

Tweek's mouth hangs open, shallow breaths shaking the air around him. Blood seemingly pours from his nose into the sink below him. He popped it back into place a few seconds ago, but it didn't hurt. He didn't feel a thing.

Drip, drip.

The red droplets in the sink start to swim together, making a small pool of his blood. Tweek wets his chapped bottom lip and it is all he can do to keep himself steady on the counter. The world is horrible and wonderful and he forgets and remembers but he doesn't really know what's going on at all—

Drip.

"Craig?" He barely realizes that it's himself speaking.

Drip, drip.

That's right. Craig. Where did he go?

Tweek sniffles and runs his arm across his face, under his nose, smearing blood all over his upper lip. He doesn't care that his sleeve is ruined— The rest of his shirt already is.

"C-Craig, gah. Where are you?"

He's dizzy. He's so fucking dizzy. He doesn't know what's going on. His arms hurt so bad. They weigh 50 pounds each. His head drops back and he closes his eyes, sliding to the floor in a heap. He can't remember anything.

Wait, no, he can. He can. He remembers shooting up— and Craig punching him in the face. And punching him in the nose. And scratching at him, and punching him, and hurting and bruising and trying to kill him. Shit, that's right. He attempts to stand again— He has to find Craig. Has to talk to him. But God, he's so disoriented. So confused.

"Craig, please, urk. I-I have to..." What did he have to do? Tweek didn't know what he was talking about anymore. He lets the euphoria and weakness take over, and his head hits the solid tile on the bathroom floor. God, everything is so...

"Wonderful..." Tweek goes to wet his bottom lip again, but it won't wet.

Two nights ago. It was two nights ago that Tweek knew. Knew the two things that were completely consuming his world at that moment.

Number one, he was infected. He was infected with a disease so fucking disgusting and abhorrent- but that all disappeared to him at the time.

He should have kept on task— the task to tell Craig that he had gotten infected. But the drugs, the wonderful wonderful drugs, they kept him from it. Side tracked. Tweek fucked him instead.

Because the second thing he knew was that he was horribly, almost sickeningly in love with Craig Tucker.

And, because of the drugs, Craig, the only person in the entire world that he cared about... was going to die, too.