Pairing(s), Character(s): Mark/Craig, Clyde, Token/Red, Tweek, Kenny and Ruby.
Warnings: Strong language, violence and sexual situations in later chapters. There is also some mild fatphobic, misogynistic and ableist language used by the characters that does not reflect the values and beliefs of the authors. Craig isn't as socially aware as he could be.
Author's Note:Victory! I have been meaning to write this story for probably about five years now and with the awesome collaborative help of omgrocketships, it's finally managing to write itself.

I'm sure there are probably some people out there thinking, "Who's Mark?" or "What the balls is this Mark/Craig bullshit?" If you are, stop what you are doing and go watch "Hooked on Monkey Fonics." It's in the third season. It has Ronnie James Dio and heavy Star Trek references. It's a good episode. You'll thank me. Anyway, if you read this, THANK YOU! You are awesome and probably very smart and attractive.

"Is it me, or do the freshmen just seem to get smaller every year?"

Craig grunted in reply, rubbing his eyes against the harsh glare of florescent light. He stood in the hallway, wrinkled schedule clutched in his hand, waiting outside of his English class with a vaguely miserable expression. The first day of school had long since stopped being exciting in any capacity and now, come junior year, was more of an inconvenience—peppered with anxiety and exhaustion—than anything else.

"Craig, I'm serious, look at that kid. He can't be more than, like, ten or some shit." Clyde nudged him in the ribcage with an elbow when Craig remained unresponsive.

"Don't be silly, they're not that shor—Oh my, that one?"

Still unwilling to acknowledge Clyde, Craig looked up to see Pip craning his neck to see through the throng of slowly-moving bodies.

"Yeah, that guy. Look at him, he's all funsize." Clyde practically giggled as he pointed him out for Pip, not even attempting subtlety. He looked far more excited than Craig thought he had any right to. "I want to go see if I can pick him up. I'm totally gonna go see if I can pick him up."

"Oh god," Tweek mumbled, burying his horrified face in the worn-out sleeves of his sweatshirt. "No, Clyde."

Clyde looked between Tweek and what Craig assumed to be the boy, then finally back to Tweek. "Come on," he whined, looking over at Craig, a sort of hopeful expression on his face. "Craig totally wants to see that. Don't you, Craig?"

Craig snapped to attention as his name was said, but quickly sunk back into his groggy, semiconscious state, only bothering to roll his eyes because if he didn't show some sort of disapproval, Clyde would be off in seconds, trying to lift a freshman over his head. It wasn't so much that he didn't want to see Clyde lift a freshman over his head, because in any usual circumstance, he really would have. Right now, though, his desire for everyone, Clyde especially, to be as miserable as he was outweighed his desire for any sort of freshman-lifting shenanigans.

"Oh, dear, I think we've lost him anyway," Pip said, almost sadly. "He was rather small."

"Aww. Bummer," Clyde said, heaving a melodramatic sigh before he turned to Craig. "Dude, seriously, you're even less responsive than usual. I can go bug Kevin for some caffeine pills if you're just going to mope around all tired and shit."

Craig let his head fall back against the wall, thudding it a couple of times. "I don't..." Thud. "Want..." Thud. "To be here." Thud. The pain was almost preferable to Clyde's voice.

Tweek hesitated a moment before placing his hand between Craig's head and the wall. Craig looked down at him. "I don't."

"I don't...I don't think any of us do, Craig." Tweek frowned, looking over at Clyde, who was greeting the teacher with far too cheerful an expression. "Except for Clyde. I don't know why."

"Because he's an idiot and I hate him." Craig closed his eyes for a second before straightening up and heaving himself off to class.

.o.o.o.

"Alright, that's everything," Mr. Snyder mumbled near the end of class, tapping the desk awkwardly before adjusting his glasses. "It looks like we've still got..." He squinted at the clock. "Fifteen minutes, jeeze. I guess just talk amongst yourselves. Socialize. Read, even, if the mood takes you!"

Craig rolled his eyes and groaned inwardly, turning around in his desk to face Clyde. "Fucking Snyder. Again."

Clyde grinned. "I know, it's great, isn't it? Quality entertainment. We should start a pool on when he'll bring up his trip to Tibet. My guess is he'll mention it casually every other class starting next week, but only go into detail sometime around midterms once nobody asks him about it."

Token leaned over his desk, speaking quietly, head low. "Better idea: we should bring it up sometime in the next few days and see how long we can string him along with questions. Thirty bucks says we can get him to do it for at least half of the class."

Pip frowned. "I'm missing something here, aren't I?"

Clyde opened his mouth to explain, but Token interrupted him. "You'll see. We'd hate to ruin it for you. Snyder is..."

"An experience," Clyde finished for him. "Token, I bet you ten bucks and a firm handshake that we could get him to do it until the last seven minutes of class, when he suddenly realizes that he hasn't even opened the lesson yet and has to cram it all into the time left. Tweek!"

Craig could see Tweek's face pop out behind Clyde's shoulder, a look of absolute horror on his face. "WHAT? Jesus, what do you want?"

"You seem like a betting man." Clyde said over his shoulder. "What do you wager?"

"I want no part of this," Tweek hissed.

"Fine, fine. Just trying to extend the courtesy," Clyde relented, turning his attention back to Craig. "Please tell me you're going to get in on this."

Craig shook his head, grunting, when suddenly a grating, polyphonic version of Gary Numan's "Cars" rang out against the quiet buzz of voices. The entire class looked around for the source of the noise, except for Pip, whose eyes went wide at the jarring sound. The class watched as he grabbed his bag and dug around furiously, finally pulling out a cellphone that looked like it should have belonged to someone's mother.

"Phillip, I know my students think I'm a cool guy and everything, but I'm going to have to ask you to put that awa—"

"Shit." Pip interrupted, looking at the screen. "Shit," he repeated, standing up. He went to leave, but stopped, then looked as though he had only just realized that he had interrupted class and then cursed at the teacher. "I'm terribly sorry, sir, but this truly is an emergency. I do hope you'll understand," he said, above the ceaseless repetition of what should have been Gary Numan's voice, but was instead an agonizing screech.

"I...Oh. Well," Snyder nodded. "Go ahead, then," he said, but Pip had already run out the door.

After a few seconds, the bewildered silence slowly subsided as people began to talk again.

Token, still looking at the door, rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I wonder what that's all about."

"Who knows. Hey, Token, you have Mendoza for Spanish, right?" Clyde asked, tapping the back of Craig's chair with his pencil. Craig grabbed it away from him and flicked it to the floor, sending it skidding across the room.

"Huh?" Token finally looked away from the door. "Yeah. Seventh period."

"Sweeeet." Clyde looked satisfied with Token's answer. "So, like, hey—"

Clyde's voice faded into an indiscriminate soup of "dude"s and "bro"s as Craig rested his chin in his hands, wondering if anyone would notice if he crawled across the floor and slithered out of the open second story window. It was highly tempting, as his head had begun to pound, and the probable broken bones seemed like a generous trade-off for being able to escape. However, his reverie of falling with a sickening crack to the pavement below and dragging himself back to his warm bed to sleep for days was cut short by the bell and Tweek's accompanying scream.

A yell from Snyder about reading assignments and a shuffle of bodies, and they were in the hallway once again. Craig yawned and considered finding one of the soda machines scattered about the hallways, and then pulling it on top of himself. Or getting a Dr. Pepper. He reached into his pocket to see if he had enough change, following the flow of bodies toward the science rooms.

"Well, it's been fun," Token said amiably once they got there, stuffing his schedule into his jacket pocket. "See you guys later."

Craig stopped dead. "What the hell, aren't you in chemistry with us?"

"What? Oh, yeah. I signed up for Physics instead," Token replied. The blithe, matter-of-factness with which he said this made Craig want to slap him.

Clyde frowned, tilting his head as though he weren't hearing Token properly. "I thought we decided on Chemistry together because Quantum Physics gives Tweek panic attacks."

Tweek nodded in accord, then stopped, eyebrows knitting together thoughtfully.

"Yeah, sorry, man. I changed it last minute," Token said, rubbing his nose. "I, uh, actually like Physics."

Narrowing his eyes, Clyde pointed gravely at Token. "Consider yourself on notice, bro."

"Yeah," Craig agreed, then added, "ballbag."

Token rolled his eyes and bid them farewell, waving over his shoulder, in the same sort of cheerful, stupid way that made Craig question why he was friends with, well, anyone.

"Man, when did Token become such a ballbag?" Clyde asked, watching him slip into the Physics room. "He's tearing us apart. What of the children?"

Tweek sighed.

"Yeah, he's a dickhead," Craig grunted, grumpily folding his arms across his chest. "Fuck him."

"Language, Mr..."

Craig looked up to see an incredibly tall, incredibly old man staring him down. Craig was reminded of a vulture, or a six-foot-tall malnourished naked mole rat—the "naked" part of which making him shudder involuntarily. "Tucker," he replied, looking down at his feet. He didn't have it in him to buck authority, as well as the fact that he was practically pissing himself at the way the teacher was staring at him. It unsettled.

"Tucker," the teacher replied, nodding slowly, beady eyes drilling tiny holes into his face. Craig hesitated a minute before creeping past him, unsure of whether or not it was the right thing to do.

"Shit, man. First day and the creepy Chemistry teacher already has a hate-on for you." Clyde put his hand on Craig's shoulder before taking the seat behind him, as was usual. "That's impressive."

Craig sunk uneasily into his chair as the bell rang again, once more accompanied by a muffled scream.

.o.o.o.

"Biggle, Bradley..."

Suppressing a keening groan of unfathomable anguish, Craig's forehead hit the desktop in front of him. The teacher was only four names into roll-call, each name called out a personal attack on his psyche. It was making Craig feel legitimately depressed, instead of just abstractly miserable and half-asleep. He wasn't even groggy enough to drown it out anymore. The teacher's monotone death-rattle of a voice cut through his exhaustion like a laserbeam of despair, throwing him into some sort of bizarre, under-stimulated, yet hyper-alert state that was making his eyes throb.

"Campbell, Lola..."

Feeling Clyde tap him gently on the back, Craig waved a hand feebly at him. A folded piece of paper slipped over his shoulder and he sighed before opening it.

"Donovan, Clyde..."

"Here!" Clyde shouted, then prodded Craig again in the shoulder, this time with more force.

Craig looked down at the note, the messy handwriting meandering aimlessly across it, like a trail of despondent ants.

This guy is making me so sad. I am seriously going to start shaking and crying in like two minutes if he doesn't cheer the fuck up or something. Also Tweek won't stop making this scared dog noise all like 'eeeeeeeee' into his hands and it's really starting to freak me out. Token is officially off notice and the is now leader of our group because he is the smartest and we are stupid and have poor judgment. Write me back ASAP with gentle words and tell me everything's going to be okay.

"Excuse me..."

Another voice, this one considerably less disheartening, sounded in the doorway.

Craig's eyes darted near the front of the class, searching for the source of whatever was stopping the tortuous roll-call. Who he saw made him stiffen, his eyes widening in a feeling that bordered on horror, but was more close to intense shock than anything.

"You're late," the teacher wheezed in reply.

"I'm sorry. There was a scheduling error. This is from the councilor."

Craig watched as a piece of paper was handed over, eyes glued to the scene.

"Name?"

"Cotswold. Mark Cotswold."

"Take your seat."

Craig watched as Mark looked around the class for an empty seat. He met Craig's eye and gave him a brief, wry smile before finding a seat near the other end of the room.

Lungs threatening to give out, Craig realized he had been holding his breath and exhaled sharply. Unblinking, he watched Mark take out his notebook, then a pen, and finally a thick paperback, which he arranged on his desk with a sort of disengaged expression. Mark's fingers tapped lightly on the paperback book before he picked it up, turning to a page that Craig could see that the page was dog-eared, at the beginning of a chapter. He strained his eyes to try to see what the book was.

A hand shook him out of his concentration, shoving at him roughly. "Dude," Clyde hissed behind him.

"Tucker, Craig."

Craig blinked, getting the feeling this wasn't the first time his name had been called. He looked over at Mark, hand shooting up as the teacher rattled out the first syllable of his last name again. He waited for Mark to turn around and laugh at him or something equally awful, but he only idly flipped the page in his book.

Breathing out again, Craig sunk low in his chair and wondered what he had done to deserve this.

.o.o.o.

"Oh my god, that was the most upsetting class I have ever been in," Clyde yawned, stretching as they walked to study hall. "I'm even counting the time our eighth grade health teacher cried for the whole class because her husband had just left her for their pool boy...and then showed us videos of babies being born to scare us away from ever seeking a meaningful relationship. Like, that was messed up, but this was like, I dunno, but I'm pretty sure I need a hug and a cup of cocoa."

Tweek hesitated a moment before wrapping his arms around Clyde briefly, giving him an awkward squeeze and then letting him go.

"Thank you, Tweek. I feel much better now." He looked at Craig expectantly. Craig just frowned.

"I'm not going to hug you," Craig grunted, replaying the events of class again in his head for the fifth time in past three minutes. Mark walks in, Mark talks to the teacher, Mark sits down, Mark reads, Craig looks like an asshole in front of Mark, Mark raises his hand to answer questions, Mark takes notes, Mark puts his things in his bag and goes up to the teacher, Clyde pulls Craig out of the classroom by the back of his shirt. Hugging Clyde was the last thing he felt like doing at the moment.

"Boo, you whore," Clyde retorted, opening the door for the three of them. The classroom was already half-full, but Craig made a bee-line for the back of the room, flopping unceremoniously into a desk and resting his toes on the metal basket at the bottom of the one in front of his. They all got settled, and before Clyde had the chance to open his mouth again, Craig spoke.

"Hey, did you notice Mark in that class?" he asked quietly, trying to sound casual. He cringed when he heard the sound of his voice, which was anything but casual.

Clyde looked up at him from the bag of Funions he had tucked under his desk. "Mark who?"

Craig reached over, grabbing the Funion from his hand and putting it in his mouth. It tasted awful, but he chewed it anyway, taking a deep breath. "Mark Cotswold. He was the homeschool kid who joined our class in third grade."

Recognition seemed to hit Clyde, because he was waving a Funion around thoughtfully. "Oh, oh, yeah, that kid! We duct-taped him to a bench. That was fuckin' hilarious."

Craig rubbed the bridge of his nose, frowning. The fact that this was the first memory of Mark that came to Clyde's mind troubled him for reasons he was unsure of.

"Weren't you guys, like, friends for awhile?" Clyde asked, crunching. "Whatever happened to that guy?"

"He skipped to fifth grade the next year and, like, I dunno," Craig grumbled, messing with one of his hat strings. "He was a dick."

Clyde grinned. "Yeah, he was a badass. He almost broke Kyle's nose."

Craig unconsciously returned Clyde's grin, but caught his eye, swallowed, and straightened up in his seat. "Yeah, whatever, he's a dick."

"Clyde, please don't eat in the classrooms. It attracts ants," the freshman math teacher, whose name they had already forgotten, sighed idly, flipping the page of her magazine.

"Sorry Ms...Umfhafmh," Clyde mumbled out what may or may not have sounded something like her name. The teacher didn't respond, so he turned back to Craig. "So, did you see Lola in class? How the hell does she get hotter every year? Man I would ask her out, but she'd like, slowly ruin my life with her good looks and pretty, pretty hair."

Craig just grunted noncommittally and buried his face in his arms, attempting to block out Clyde's voice for long enough to fall asleep.

The rest of the day passed at a crawl, a lethargic blur of new and old teachers, syllabuses and textbooks and bad cafeteria food. When the fresh air hit Craig's lungs in the parking lot, he breathed deep the sweet air of freedom. It smelled kind of like motor oil and cigarette smoke, but it was sweet nonetheless. He found his eyes unconsciously scanning the bodies milling about the parking lot and scowled when Clyde tugged on his arm.

"Tweek's mom's here."

Craig looked over. "What?"

Clyde frowned, raising an eyebrow. "She's taking him to therapy?"

Tweek looked down at his scuffed shoes, fussing with his sleeves. When he didn't look up, Clyde squeezed him in a one-armed hug. "Sorry," Tweek mumbled against his shoulder.

"Hey, do you what you gotta." Clyde squeezed him again, then released him. "Craig's just being an ass. We'll try to muddle on without you in the meantime."

"Yeah, I'm just being an ass," Craig said, trying to smile. He pulled him in for a quick hug as well, feeling like a jerk. "We'll see you tomorrow."

Tweek nodded, lingering a moment once Craig released him before running off to climb into the back of his mother's car.

"Poor guy..." Clyde waited until the car had pulled out of the parking lot before he spoke again. "Do you want to go to my place?"

Craig grunted noncommittally, finding himself scanning the quickly emptying parking lot one more time as they walked.

"That's not even an answer."

Craig heaved a sigh, pulling open the car door.

Clyde gave him an exasperated look as he started the ignition. "Oh, come on. You've been even more of a butt-trumpet than usual today. What is up with you?"

"Nothing, I'm just tired." Craig rubbed his eyes in a way he hoped was convincing.

"Bullshit, something's wrong." Clyde looked over at him again as he pulled out onto the road, eyebrow raised. "You're not even being your usual sandy self. You're just sad."

"Dog."

"Seriously, what is your deal?"

"DOG."

Clyde cursed loudly when he looked back at the road, slamming hard on the breaks. A scruffy, mustachioed dog was standing in the middle of the uneven pavement, licking at the asphalt with what could only be described as an all-consuming intensity the likes Craig had never seen on anybody's face, let alone a dog.

"Dammit. Every fucking day." Clyde stuck his head out of the window. "Tom Selleck, you get out of the road before you get yourself killed! What will the world be without your moustache! Think of the people!"

Tom Selleck, a name which Token had suggested in the middle of freshman year due to the dog's impressive moustache, continued licking the pavement, as thoughtful as ever.

Clyde honked his horn a couple of times before sighing and turning to Craig. "You're going to have to get out and shoo him away."

Craig scowled, silently hating Token for staying behind to do whatever the hell it was Token did when he stayed behind at school.

"Fine," he huffed as he got out, only then noticing that there were a few cars backed up behind Clyde's. One of them honked their horn, followed by a few others. Craig swallowed down his shame as he walked over to Tom Selleck.

"Go away, dog," he said, feeling stupid when the dog pointedly ignored him. He coughed, then hissed in a low voice, "I swear to god, Tom Selleck, I am going to run you down if you don't get out of the way because I have had a fucking awful day and you are not making it any better." The dog looked up at him, then back down at the spot it had been licking ardently for the past two years, then back up at him, eyes watering slightly in what might have been either sympathy or just confusion as to why a strange human was making angry talky noises at it.

"GO AWAY." Craig waved his arms, and the dog seemed to make up its mind that its pavement licking endeavor could wait, trotting back over to the side of the road and sitting there patiently.

When he was sure Tom Selleck wasn't going to throw itself at the pavement as soon as he walked off, Craig lowered his arms and rushed back to the car. "Drive," he said, burying his face in his hands.

"Aye, Captain," Clyde stepped on the gas, horns still blaring behind them.

After a few quiet minutes punctuated only by the gentle waft of the last half of "Stairway," the car slowed by Craig's house. "Are you sure you don't want to come over? I don't trust you by yourself in this state," Clyde asked, his mock-concern slightly more concern than it was mock.

Craig shifted uncomfortably, considering his invitation again, but then decided that he'd rather be alone. He didn't trust Clyde not to bring up Mark again, and that was really not something he wanted to think about.

"Nah," he said, not looking him in the eye. "I need a fucking nap. I'm just gonna steal some of my mom's vodka and pass out for awhile."

"Text me later if you want to hang out, okay?" Clyde asked, voice quiet.

"Yeah," Craig relented. "I will."

Clyde patted his shoulder. "Stay away from any pointy objects and don't get too drunk, okay?"

"Okay, Mom."

Clyde only drove off once he opened the door. Craig was tempted to text him and tell him to come back, but he refrained. Instead, he walked into the kitchen and dug around in the cabinet until he found the omnipresent bottle of cheap vodka. He poured some into a glass of orange juice, downed half of it in one go, then made his way upstairs. It only hit him once he fell into the nest of blankets and dirty clothes on his bed, his body feeling like it was ready to give out on him at any moment. He stared at the ceiling, images of curly, brown hair and green sweater vests threatening to emerge from the misty soup of his jerk-ass subconscious. He closed his eyes, sucking the last of the screwdriver out of his glass through the pink bendy straw and set it down on his bedside table with a clunk.

He sighed, mind betraying him as he recalled the pale grey of Mark's eyes when they met his.

"Goddamnit."