Criminally Vulgar
A/N: This is an I Luv Halloween/South Park crossover. Just to clarify. Anyway, please enjoy.
Chapter 1-
He was unlike any other newcomer Camp New Grace had ever seen before. He was gruff, quiet, and suspicious of all that went on around him. Bradley didn't know quite what to think of him when the counselor introduced him as his new accountabilibuddy. As rules, schedules, and other welcoming spiels were rattled off to him, the new kid merely looked around the room, disinterested. His gaze finally fell on Bradley, and their eyes locked. There was an odd look in the stranger's stare that unnerved him.
"Bradley, this is Nathan Swift." Bradley attempted a smile. Nathan blinked. "If there's anything you need, Nathan, you ask Bradley. Remember, lights out at 9:30." The counselor left them standing in the room. Both were silent, still eyeing each other warily. Nathan was a couple years older than himself, possibly twelve or thirteen, Bradley guessed. Red hair fell over Nathan's face, shielding most of his eyes from view. An overwhelming sense of vulnerability caught Bradley off-guard. He cleared his throat, pushing his nerves aside.
"Hey, Nathan."
"Don't call me that." The voice was low and almost raspy. "No one calls me that. I'm Finch." He tossed his backpack, his only luggage, on the empty top bunk and climbed up. He sat on the mattress, letting his spindly legs hang over the side of the frame. "Accountabilibuddies, huh?"
"…Yeah."
"Finch" sighed, looking around the room again. As put-off as Bradley was by "Finch's" reply, he took comfort in the fact that at least now he could see the other boy's face. His eyes were blue, Bradley noted. Blue like Butters'. He dropped his gaze, lifting a hand up to his mouth. Thinking of Butters still hurt, and it was enough to slip him back into old habits.
"How the hell do people survive this place?"
Bradley glanced upwards again. "A lot of us don't." Finch's face was stoic.
"So the rumors are true."
Bradley was surprised. "There are rumors?"
"How could there not be, with so many deaths coming out of this place?"
"So then why don't they get sued? Or at least media coverage?"
"They consider them unfortunate side-effects. Technically, they're not doing anything 'wrong' here. I guess brainwashing doesn't count." Finch's voice was flippant. He laid down on the bed, resting his foot on his flexed knee and folding his arms behind his head. Bradley decided he didn't like this newcomer. He was the opposite to everything Butters was. Bradley winced at the memory. He decided to get ready for bed, feebly calling out directions to the bathrooms to Finch, who followed shortly after. Back in the room after dressing in pajamas, Bradley said his prayers, climbed into his bunk, and curled up, trying (unsuccessfully) not to think of Butters.
Above him, Finch lay awake quietly, still a little disoriented from the fact that he was actually at Camp New Grace. It had been his mother's idea. How could she have known, though? He only saw him once a year, and his mom had never met him. Maybe she had taken his friends' jibes seriously? Maybe Moochie was more perceptive than he ever dreamed, and had unwittingly spilled the raw truth to their mother? Or maybe he acted gay? How does one act gay? He pondered until fatigue from the long car ride overtook him.
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