"I have always had a problem with swearing. Because of this, it wasn't unusual for me find myself in trouble at school. I wound up outside of the principal's office on a weekly basis. I was considered a trouble maker, and so my teachers thought nothing of it when I gradually stopped passing work in. Just more delinquent behavior from 'that Tucker kid, the one with no friends and a non-existent relationship with his parents,'" Craig paused and glanced at the ground, unable to meet the eyes of the man seated in front of him. "...And so no one had noticed when things started changing. When I couldn't stop sleeping, When I became disoriented, When I starting responding to whispers that no one else could hear. It took years for anyone to notice that my brain was frying, and once the school's guidance councilor overheard me conversing with a man she couldn't see for the third time in one week, she pulled me into her office, and called my parents. After that, everything happened so fast I can barely recall it. But my memory's been shit these past two years anyway."

"That was probably the most I've ever heard you speak all at once." The doctor in front of him crossed one scrub-clad leg over the other, resting an unshaven cheek on his balled fist. Craig rubbed his hands together nervously, something that he couldn't recall ever doing before, but everything about this situation was new to him. The hospital, the small, tan room, the smell of iodine and perpetual beeping from across the hall, it all ended to the sense of surreality that Craig seemed to be choking on. He uttered a quiet "Me too." Before turning his head and yanking on the softly worn out strings to his blue chullo, pulling the familiar hat down his forehead. His hat was more a part of him than anything else had ever been, even after the yellow pompom came lose from the top and eventually fell off, and the more of his head that the ratty old thing covered, the more at ease Craig felt.

"You know that we have to confiscate your possessions that could be considered a strangulation hazard during your stay here, correct?" The doctor said, raising his eyebrows into his graying hair.

"I do now." Craig deadpanned in response, squeezing his strings tighter. The doctor narrowed his eyes, voice still calm.

"Yes. I'm going to need to take your belt, sneakers, iPod, and hat. We'll keep them safe for you." Craig suddenly sat up straighter, despite his fatigue and the ache in his chest. Damn costochondritis.

"No. This is my fucking hat." They couldn't do this. They wouldn't.

"I'm sorry." He said, standing up and pulling the hat from Craig's head. "But it's a rule here. I'll need you to put your remaining things in this box, we'll keep it behind the desk in the lobby for you."

"But I'm not suicidal! I would never consider strangling myself!" He was considering strangling the asshole in front of him, however.

"But what if someone that did happen to have those issues got their hands on it, Mr Tucker?" He was clearly growing more and more impatient with Craig.

"No one else would dare touch my hat..." Craig muttered as he kicked off his black converse and pulled off his leather belt, dropping them loudly in the cardboard box in front of him along with his silver iPod classic. ("What the fuck is the point in apps and angry birds? I just want music. I have a computer for all that other shit.") and sat back down, crossing his arms. The place reeked of pill bottles and death. He wanted out.

"I can show you to your room now if you want to go to bed."

"Bed?" "Yes. It's almost midnight." The ride there had been long, but he wasn't sure how long. After leaving Hell's Pass, he was delivered to 'The Colorado General' in an ambulance. They had him sedated and strapped to the gurney, 'Hospital regulations.' Craig wasn't being a hassle, and despite the actions taken, was too tired to put up a fight against the needles prodding his arms. The whole situation was degrading, at best. There had been two people in the back of the ambulance, silently inspecting him as he was dozing in and out of consciousness during the ride. Even so, Craig remained exhausted. So he nodded, and the doctor led him out of the room and down a wide hallway, painted light green and lined with closely placed wooden doors on either side. He finally opened the second-to-last door at the end of the hallway, and curtly nodded as he ushered Craig in, shutting it again as soon as he was trapped inside. The carpet was gray and thin under his feet, covered by his favorite bicycle-printed socks. There were two beds inside, both empty. He crawled onto the one next to a large window, and pulled the hood on his navy blue sweatshirt over his short black hair. Someone had already brought his tiny suitcase in, and it was set in the middle of the floor. Craig leaned over to open it and take out one of the Dr. Peppers he had stashed, only to be met with an empty pocket and a heavy heart. They confiscated my fucking hat and took my fucking soda...They want me to die here. Craig sunk back down into the thin mattress below him, defeated, and rolled over to face the window, thick, light-blocking curtains drawn shut. Curious, he threw them open in order to plan some escape route, for the sake of Dr. Pepper if nothing else, only to be met with thick, bulletproof glass and high shriek from the other end of the small room. His head whipped around.

"What the fucking shit?"

"Keep those closed d-damn you! D-d-don't let them s-see us..." The voice was high and strained, and it was coming from the corner behind the other bed. Mildly curious and beyond pissed, Craig stood up and located the owner of the voice, kneeling down in front of him a skinny, crouching figure with his knees to his chin and a his thumbnail in his mouth.

"Who the fuck are you, and what the fuck are you doing you little bastard." Clearly, the faggot's goal had been to scare Craig out of his mind. Who the hell decides to play hide and seek in a mental hospital just to terrify the newcomers? The boy lifted his blond head. The hair that wasn't sticking straight up fell down to his shoulders, and his coffee brown eyes were wide and shadowed deeply. A wide smile spread across his pale face, revealing small, jagged teeth and hollow cheekbones. The kid looked like something from a horror movie.

"T-Tweek."

"Tweek." Craig repeated. "Awesome. What's your name."

The blond's sharp-toothed smile fell from his face.

"Tweek." he repeated, this time without a stutter.

"What's your real name." Craig inquired, growing more and more impatient with the little freak show. He didn't actually care. No. Craig Tucker doesn't give two shits about anyone. It doesn't matter to him what the kid's name is, especially not if the douche was just trying to fuck with his head. So why couldn't he just walk back to his bed?

"My r-real name, is Tweek, dumbass." He shuddered once and grabbed Craig by the shoulders, pulling their bony faces close to each other, before the noirette was assaulted with the scent of coffee as he whispered, mere centimeters from Craig's lips.

"We shouldn't t-talk here kid. C-close the curtains. Come to the b-bathroom." That was as much warning as Craig received, before he was shoved backwards onto the unforgiving floor, as the boy now known as Tweek leapt over the bed and scurried through a door next to the one that Craig had entered through. He looked small while he was huddled on the floor, but Craig noticed that as he stood and scrambled like mad for the door, Tweek easily had a few inches over Craig's 5'11, despite his skeletal frame. Craig stood up slowly and closed the curtains, as the strange boy had ordered him, and followed him into the bathroom. What are you doing you fucking idiot. Don't get involved with him. He's a creep. Just go back to bed. But his feet wouldn't listen, and he ended up peering through the crack of the bathroom door, Letting a sliver of silver light into the otherwise shadowy room. The floors were tiled, the walls the same pale blue as the rest of the room, the ceiling was ridiculously high. He noticed a sink, toilet, mirror...No Tweek. Just then, a large, bony hand beckoned and retreated from inside a tall, ceramic shower gone previously unnoticed, as it was tucked in the darkest corner. The small, square shower had a thick curtain attached directly to the high ceiling. No curtain rods, must be another safety hazard. Craig reluctantly peaked his head in, only to be greeted by a barefoot and hardly visible Tweek huddled in the corner. He patted the floor next to him, and Craig sat down next to him. It was cramped, and he immediately felt uncomfortable. Being in close proximity to people was bad. This is how rape stories start. He had a right to feel as sketched out as he was.

"T-take your s-socks off. Socks don't belong in a-a shower, r-tard." Tweek pulled his thumbnail into his mouth once again, clicking his tiny teeth against it.

"Neither does clothing in general." Craig deadpanned, pulling his knees to his chin, mirroring the freak next to him.

"We can t-take the r-rest of those off t-too, if it m-makes you feel better. The s-shower doesn't mind a-a-and neither do I." Tweek's head snapped around, his wide, brown eyes meeting Craig's narrow, gray ones. The feeling of discomfort was nearly crippling, as it wound it's way around Craig's lungs and squeezed tight.

"What the hell is your problem, exactly." The noirette inquired, face remaining expressionless, despite the chills running up his spine.

"Those are s-secrets for me only." He brought a single finger to his lips in a private oath of secrecy. "Keep y-your clothes h-how you want them. What's y-your name?"

"Uh. Craig." Craig replied, peeling off his socks in a desperate hope that Tweek would let the issue of his clothing go. He should have lied. He should have given a fake name. Now Tweek would be able to find him. Fuck you too, foggy brain.

"Why a-are you here?"

The question made Craig pause. His mind wrapped around the few memories that remained of the last few years, finding little that was useful to him in any way. Details of what he ate for dinner a few nights ago, a fight with his dad, flunking an algebra exam, the pattern on the bottom of his shoes. Nothing about the possible diagnosis. He answered as honestly as he could.

"I don't know yet. I think that's why I'm here. What about you." Tweek responded by yanking hard on his long, blond hair, and succeeded in tearing a small chunk from his head. He squeaked, letting it fall to the floor of the shower, and hugged his skinny knees closer to his chest.

"Don't do that." Craig muttered, pulling Tweek's hands from his hair in an impulsive second of pity. No! Don't touch him! That's bad! Tweek's skin was freezing. He looked Craig in the eye for a split second before hurdling into his chest, wrapping his long arms around Craig's skinny torso.

"What the fuck!" NO. THIS IS WHAT YOU GET FOR TOUCHING HIM. CLEAN YOURSELF. BURN IT OFF.

"SSHHH." Tweek muttered into Craig's hoodie. "They'll h-hear us."

"Who'll hear us." Why can't he move? Why can't he just shove him off? Work, brain! Work!

"The things o-outside. On th-the roof. This is why I k-k-keep the curtain closed. You smell like p-pot you know, we can't smoke here. T-They won't let us."

"What things? What are you talking about?"

"These l-little white t-things. They try to t-talk to me. C-Craig, are you tired?" Yes, he was tired. He was extremely tired. That had to be the logical reason for why he wasn't shoving this freak show off of his tits, that was the reason that he was listening to his bullshit.

"Yeah. I am."

"Will you s-sleep with me?"

"What." This kid was a fucking lunatic. But his deep-set mocha eyes turned up towards Craig's narrow face, and he saw something in his expression that he wasn't expecting-Fear.

"I d-don't sleep. E-ever. T-they won't l-let me... But I don't w-wanna be alone! Please Craig!"

NO. No way in hell! This is scary, why is this happening? Leave me alone!

"Fine."

"Thank you!" If Craig wasn't already frozen in shock by the traitorous words that fell from his lips, he would have been after Tweek's reaction. He suddenly stood up, scooping Craig off of the floor of the shower bridal style, and sprinted to his bed, skirting the wall and staying as far away from the window as possible before plopping the irritated and stunned noirette on the scratchy white blanket, and diving under the sheets, curling into a fetal position in a single, fluid motion. Craig sat on top of the blanket for a few, long seconds as his brain processed what had just happened, before following suit and crawling under the blankets next to Tweek, despite the longing to sleep alone, in his room, with the sound of his guinea pig rustling around in it's cage. How the hell do these things happen. Why the fuck was he here. Why the fuck was he locked in a mental hospital, in a dark room with a psychopathic blond kid, and why the fuck was he in said psychopathic blond kid's bed. In the last few seconds before Craig slipped into a fitful yet silent sleep, he could have sworn he felt a freezing cold arm wrap around his waist, pulling him closer.

o0o

Craig awoke with a start to find himself being spooned by a softly twitching, unfamiliar body. He sat straight up, knocking their pale arm to the side.

"Oh g-good, you're up. Now I won't be b-bored anymore." Craig groaned as the memory of the night before came rushing back to him, and the back of his neck began to sweat in fear. He jumped out of bed as fast as he could, and his overwhelmed brain was immediately overtaken by severe vertigo. Momentarily blinded, he fell to his knees and felt around for his suitcase. His feet were freezing. He needed socks. He needed them now.

"What time is it."

"I'm gunna g-guess around 9." Tweek answered, sitting up and facing Craig. "We're supposed have group going on right now. It's your first day, so I asked the nurse to let you sleep in."

"Group?" Craig asked.

"M-Meetings. Like, group therapy. It's lame. I s-stay here usually. T-They don't let m-me go down to lunch w-with everyone else when I d-d-don't participate though." The rings around Tweek's eyes proved that he wasn't lying when he claimed he never slept. He stayed awake in his room all night, and stayed awake in his room all day too? Craig ran his long fingers through his greasy hair. He stated the first question that came to mind, as the dizziness faded and the black fog slowly cleared from his vision, blurry with fatigue.

"What do you do in here all day?"

"I draw." Tweek replied, as if was the most obvious thing in the world. "You can d-draw with me t-today if you l-like." His white tank top had twisted around his chest, and his hair was even more disheveled than it had been when Craig had first found him hiding beside the bed. The blond's pale lips turned up in a smile. He was so childish, it was almost disturbing.

"No thanks. I'm not an artist." The smile immediately fell from Tweek's face.

"You d-don't have to be an artist...I'm just l-lonely."

"I'm apparently supposed to be in group. I don't want to get in trouble here. Where am I supposed to go for this."

"Down the hall, h-hang a left, the white d-double doors." Tweek sounded beyond disappointed, But Craig refused to be swayed by pity for this kid again. He wasn't going to wind up sleeping with him a second time. So he left wordlessly, slamming the door behind him, stepping as quickly as he could manage on the cold wooden floors. What a freak. If his mind hadn't be clouded by sedatives and exhaustion, he would have just closed the damn curtain without question. He definitely wouldn't have wound up in the faggot's bed. He had let someone lay their dirty hands on him-a stranger at that. It was disgusting. He never let anyone touch him, and he would never let anyone in. It was dangerous. And those feelings weren't about to change now. The walk took long than he expected, but after the first left turn, Craig noticed the white double doors, just as Tweek had promised. Tweek. The stranger that Craig shared a bed with. He was disgusted with himself, as he fought the urge to run back to the room and shower, scrubbing his skin clean of the smell of Tweek. He cleared his head as much as he could manage, before pushing the doors open and walking into a room full of mentally ill strangers.

o0o

"Craig Tucker? Goodmorning sleeping beauty." Craig felt immediately felt more disgust towards the brunette nurse in front of him. Her warm tone and round, flushed cheeks created an air about her that was obnoxiously cheerful considering the situation. What a cunt. The room's remaining occupants consisted of 7 shockingly normal looking boys, each appearing around Craig's age, and seated in white, plastic chairs in a ring in the center of the room. The walls were lined with mismatched love seats and 3-seater couches, along with drawings and doodles taped to the chipping white paint. He guessed from younger patients.

"We were just starting another project. How about you sit down and everyone will introduce themselves?" The nurse had a name tag, but Craig couldn't read it from the other side of the clean, white room. He silently obliged, talking a seat in a plastic lawn chair in between two blond boys.

"Kyle? Why don't you start?" She asked as she gestured to a short ginger to her right, a huge fake smile planted on her pudgy face. The boy named Kyle shook out his curly, auburn hair before introducing himself.

"Hi. I'm...Kyle." He had bright green eyes and a high, smooth voice, shockingly feminine. "I'm 17 and I'm perpetually pissed off." Craig heard someone snort in laugher on the other side of the circle, as Kyle pulled up a gray blanket around his shoulders, and the nurse gestured to the solemn noirette sitting next to Kyle.

"I'm Stan Marsh, and I'm an alcoholic." The boy's monotone voice was dripping with sarcasm as he leaned over and rested his head on Kyle's shoulder, closing his dark eyes. Nap time. The blonde between Stan and Craig chuckled into a black bandana covering his mouth and nose, before pulling it down around his neck and grinning, revealing a set of 3 lip rings.

"Name's Kenny. Stan's got some sand in his vagina this morning. He'll get over it." Kenny stuck his arm out, offering Craig a handshake. The kid seemed really relaxed, but cheerful. Like a walking ball of sunshine. He donned an orange jacket, with the hood almost covering his sandy hair. Craig tentatively shook his hand and decided that he liked Kenny, and his freckles. The other blond, to Craig's right had a high, stuttering voice similar to Tweek's, but quieter, without the strain. It made Craig's stomach turn, all the same. He pulled the sleeves of his light blue sweatshirt from his elbows to his fingertips, and folded the ends under his tiny, closed fists, like little blue paws.

"I'm Leopold Stotch...But you can call me L-Leo if you w-want." He pulled his legs up and sat on his feet. "I have m-multiple personality d-disorder I g-guess." Leo bumped his knuckles together, his light blue eyes flicking around the room nervously before nodding his head to the kid next to him, donning a thick red jacket and blue plaid boxers...No pants. He had socks however, although one was dirty and white, while the other short and purple. He crossed his arms and leaned back until his chair was balanced on two legs.

"Name's Clyde. I like mexican food, but I don't like mexicans." Clyde didn't look like he showered much, either. At least they had that in common. The monster next to Clyde must have been even taller than Tweek was. He was wide, and had warm brown hair like the taco-enthusiast he was seated beside. His black pajama pants were printed with cheeseburgers.

"Eric Cartman. I don't like mexicans either." He narrowed his amber eyes at the last boy in the circle.

"My name is Token Black." That was funny. He was black. with shoulder length dreadlocks and an ugly christmas sweater. "I play bass and I sing..." He paused. "That's it. Your turn." Blackie gestured to Craig.

"Craig Tucker. 17. Skateboards and guinea pigs." The nurse in the center hopped out of her plastic chair, clapping her hands together animatedly as her shiny brown bob bounced around her chin.

"My name is Nurse Donna. You'll know me as the one that brings the food up here if you don't get cafeteria privileges. You guys can move to the couches and get socialized, I'm gonna go grab the movie!" She hopped out of the room with too much spring in her step. Craig turned around and firmly planted his flat ass on the love seat directly behind him, as the other boys filed into their own respective couches. Kenny threw himself down beside Craig, who was immediately flooded with relief. He didn't want to end up sitting anywhere near the fatass, or the pissy kid...Stan, was it?

"Hey man. What's going on?" Kenny greeted. His bandana had made it's way back over his mouth.

"What kind of group therapy is this." Kenny chuckled.

"Since we're not in school, during the week they have us meet up together to do 'educational' stuff. We did some geometry shit before you woke up, now they're making us watch some national geographic documentary. Like I said, it's supposed to be educational, but no one actually pays attention. Ever." He pulled his bandana down once again, and began to chew on the two silver rings through the right side of his lip, ignoring the one on the left.

"I would assume so." Craig responded, silently pondering how the kid's teeth were so perfect if he habitually chewed on those things.

"What happened to the chubby one's pants." Kenny threw his head back and laughed, knocking the hood off of his head. He had blue plugs in his ears, about the size of Craig's thumbnail.

"Laundry daay!" Kenny sang through his laughter. "This happens every week. He came on short notice, barely brought any clothes with him. For some reason he always washes it all at once. Prolly doesn't even have a shirt under that jacket. Kid's got no shame."

Craig involuntarily lifted on side of his mouth in a little half-smile. How did the kids seem so comfortable here? It was like there were all a normal, functional family. It was a little too much for him to handle.

"Oh, there is one other person that you didn't get to meet yet. His name's-"

"Tweek." Craig finished. Maybe not all of them were normal and functional... Kenny's eyes widened.

"You already know him? Oh god, you're not rooming with him, are you?"

"I am. What the hell is with that kid?" Part of Craig wanted to mention the reasons behind his growing feelings of fear and disgust towards Tweek, but decided against it. The outcome of the previous night filled him with shame and the unshakable need to scrub his skin until it bled, and voicing the things that worried him out loud would only make them more real.

"Oh my god dude. He's a wreck. I feel so bad for the kid, he'll probably never get out of here." Kenny laced his fingers behind his head, leaning back and threading his bare ankles through the hole under the arm of the chair in front of him.

"What's his diagnosis?" Craig questioned, now becoming morbidly curious. "I asked him when I got here last night, but he...ripped his hair out of his head and then tackled me." That was the most of the story Kenny was going to get.

"Kid's real clingy." Kenny said, nodding. "He's wicked delusional and claims that he sees these...little ghost things. Like gnomes, and that they talk to him. Insomniac, psychotic episodes, caffeine addict...List goes on and on."

"Holy shit."

"He's so awkwardly cute though..." Kenny continued. "Like a little puppy. He's followed all of his other roommates around, and always wants to draw or paint or cuddle with someone. But you don't seem like the kind of person to appreciate that. Some patients need more comfort than others."

"I'm not." Craig confirmed through gritted teeth. "But...Cute? Have you seen his fucking teeth?" He mentally questioned how anyone could find someone so twitchy, and frighteningly touchy, cute in any way.

"No shit. They're kind of hard to miss. You'll see what I mean though. He's just a lonely little kid, really." Nurse Donna burst though then, dvd in hand, interrupting the conversation between the two boys with heavy feet and noisy humming as she fiddled with the outdated television mounted in a wooden box on the wall.

"I doubt that." Craig stated, finishing up the conversation. "He scares the shit out of me."