Author Note: This is my new chapter fic, although it's a short one, it will probably be about five chapters. I'm nervous about it for three reasons; one, it's got Craig and Tweek as the main characters and yet is not Creek (well, not really). Two, it has crack pairings – I'm in a serious crack mood right now, so sue me. Three, I'm always nervous about posting anything.
I'm not sure what the hell genre this is. It's not really funny, not really romance, not really action, but it has some of all of those things. Don't forget to review and let me know if you liked, or if I made any stupid glaring mistakes that need rectifying.
Warnings: Much slash. Bizarre pairings. Potentially embarrassing and strange situations. Wars, death, famine, pestilence and probably at least one explosion.
Disclaimer: Characters aren't mine, town isn't mine.
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It's nearly the end of my shift and the shop is quiet. Craig is here of course, he always is at this time. He's got nothing else to do and he and I are good friends. When I'm busy, he sits at the counter with his headphones in, reading a magazine. When it's quiet, like now, he risks taking out the headphones and holding a conversation. I know which words to avoid around him, which is always appreciated. Aside from Craig, Stan Marsh is sitting in the corner of the room, crazily texting between sips of his cappuccino. I'd bet dollars to doughnuts it's Kyle getting his attention, judging by the occasional snickers.
Craig's as quiet as ever, listening to me talk in hushed tones. There's some things you shouldn't get over heard saying. It's okay, I can trust Craig, but Stan? He might be working for the Government and collecting information on me. It'd explain why he's always in here for his fix, instead of going to Costly Coffee like everyone else does.
"It's true man," I hiss to Craig, who's looking amused. He thinks I'm paranoid. Well, a wise man once said that perfect paranoia is perfect awareness. I know what's going on. There's patterns, if you look hard enough. "They're putting something in the mix over at Costly Coffee, swear to God! They're brainwashing people! They put something in the coffee that makes people really suggestible and then they – suggest things to them!"
"Like what?" asks Craig, one hand toying with the headphones that are a constant part of him. I know without having to check that he has a stash of batteries in his pocket or his bag. "Huh, I could think of a few things to suggest to the people of this town. Like, they all jumped off a cliff."
I stare at him in horror. "Don't say that! What if gnk they really did it one day?"
"No great loss." Craig picks up his coffee and swishes the remnants around in the bottom of the cardboard cup. "So, what are these suggestions? Take out a second mortgage and buy another cup of coffee?"
"Among other things," I say, glancing toward the window. Opposite the shop I work in is the imposing neon flashes from the local Costly Coffee, 24 hours of pure caffeinated joy. At least, that's what they want you to think. I lower my voice even further and lean across the counter, closer to Craig. "They're in league with the Government. That's how they get the voters. They brainwash people with their evil coffee!"
"Uh-huh." Craig clearly doesn't believe me, but decides to humour me anyway. Sometimes it annoys me, but today it's cool. It gives me the chance to talk him around. "So, what do they put in the coffee?"
"Sh..." I choke off the word quickly, noting Craig's blackly grateful look. "I dunno! Something!"
"Right. And how do they make these suggestions?"
"They've got those big TVs on all the time and the music – it's all subliminal. You're ears don't hear the message, but your brain does!"
"Right." Craig swigs the last of his coffee and checks the clock. I know it's fifteen minutes until midnight, when I close up and clean up. It's been quiet and there's not much to do, but Craig usually sticks around and drives me home. He tries to do that every time I have the late shift, doesn't always manage it but the trying means a lot to me. He looks out for me, tries to make sure I don't get too caught up in imagining the worst. In return, I'm one of the few people he can actually have a conversation with, knowing his little – problem.
"You want another coffee?" I ask him. I usually sneak him a couple of freebies when he's waiting to take me home, although I can't make too many because the coffee shop I work in is kinda small and struggling against the conglomerate that is Costly Coffee. That shop arrived in town about five years ago, swallowed Harbucks whole without pausing to belch and went about stamping out the competition. My boss is barely hanging on and I don't wanna cut too far into the profits. Then I could lose my job and maybe my boss would go bankrupt and I'd have to go on welfare and he'll lose his house and his wife will leave him and his kids will all be drug addicts and he'll hang himself in the park and it'll all be my fault. I can't take that kind of pressure, so I try to go easy on the expenses.
"Small one," he replies, knowing my worries about sending the shop bankrupt. I make it quickly, glancing over at Stan and catching his eye, motioning to the clock. Stan nods, turning back to his phone. If he sticks to his usual routine, he'll have a take out about two minutes before I close, then take off. He claims it's easier to do his studying here, away from any distractions, so he usually stays until closing a couple of nights a week. He's one of the regulars. We don't really get anyone in here who isn't.
I hand the coffee over to Craig, who grabs two sugar sachets from the dispenser and rips them open, pouring them both in. "Have you even tried Costly's coffee?"
Emphatically, I shake my head. "Hell no! What if they get me too?"
"Then how do you know there's something in the drink?" He looks up at me, smirking a little. "You should go over after your shift and buy a cup."
"GAH!"
My shriek attracts Stan's attention, but doesn't really surprise him, just makes him look over, then turn back to gathering his stuff into his backpack. I turn my attention back to Craig, who hasn't reacted at all, my voice coming out in a vaguely hysterical hiss. "Are you crazy? I mean, gnk! I don't wanna be brainwashed man! Shit!"
As soon as the last word leaves my mouth, I realise my mistake. Craig's eyes take on a vaguely predatory glance and he leans imperceptibly forward, mouth curving into a smile. I screw my face up, not daring to look at him. "Peru! Peru!"
Craig sits back in his chair, blinking. I manage a nervous smile. "Sorry."
He waves a hand dismissively, but he doesn't meet my eyes and there's a faint red tinge in his face. "S'okay. Happens."
Well, at least it got the subject away from buying at Costly's.
I look up at Stan, who's heading toward the counter with his wallet in hand. I never know if I can turn off the machine or not until the last minute thanks to that asshole and his unpredictable habits. At least it's a distraction.
"Cappuccino to go?"
"Yeah, please Tweek." Stan stands next to Craig and counts out his money, the pair making small talk together while I prepare the drink. Stan's awkward, the way most people are when they talk to Craig, monitoring every word before releasing it into the air. He understands, I guess, but I'm pretty sure that doesn't make it any easier for him to deal with.
Putting the cup in front of Stan, I snag his money and put it into the till, one eye on the door. Closing time is the best time for armed robbers to strike. Most of the customers gone, the days takings still on the premises, usually only one or two staff members to deal with. There's a baseball bat behind the counter and the guy who thinks the boss is bluffing about using it is likely to get a fuck of a nasty surprise, but I'd probably just curl up in a corner and scream.
Stan picks up the cup and fumbles it, dropping it to the floor. The lid pops off and brown liquid spills across the floor. I sigh. Great. Something else for me to do before I can finally get home. Stan is clearly about as happy with the situation as I am, because he immediately forgets whose company he's in. "Fucking shitballs!"
A moment later, Craig tackles him into the wall and shoves his tongue down Stan's throat.
"GAH!" I scream. Shit, I don't need this, I hate when this happens, it's too much pressure and one day Craig's gonna get kicked right in the nuts or something. "PERU! Peru, Craig! Think of Peru!"
Stan's trapped against the wall by Craig's body and although Stan could probably shove him off without too much problem, Craig took him by surprise and the wires in his brain haven't started working again yet. Craig hasn't heard me either, slightly more interested in Stan's mouth than anything I have to say. I can see Craig's tongue snaking out to do a quick investigation of Stan's lips and I pause for a split-second, because seriously, it's kinda hot. GAH! No no no, bad thought, very bad thought. I have to do something or Stan will come around and punch Craig right in the nose and then fragments of bone will jam into his brain and kill him and it'll be ALL MY FAULT.
"Peru! Guinea pigs! Naked Cartman!"
Craig's eyes fly open and he shoves himself backwards quickly, breaking contact with Stan and looking mildly horrified. "Dammit Tweek, did you have to go there?"
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"
I force myself to shut up, because the situation is already awkward enough. Craig's looking sideways at Stan, who's staring at his feet. The coffee spreads across the floor, unspoken testament to what just happened. Like a bloodstain, it gives evidence all its own.
"Um..." Craig rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. "Stan, I..."
"S'okay," mumbles Stan, even though he's clearly freaked out. "I should have remembered."
"I'll gnk get you another ack coffee," I say, trying to diffuse the tension.
"It's okay, don't worry about it," says Stan. Paralysis broken, he's already heading for the door. "See you guys later."
The bell rings as the door flies open and then Stan is gone. I see him through the window, hurrying, not quite running but close.
Craig flips the door off half-heartedly and sinks back into his seat, rubbing his forehead. I feel like I should say something but honestly, I've said it all before and I want to lock up before the armed robbers get here and bust in, so I grab the keys and shut up shop, leaving Craig to brood for a while. Sometimes, there's nothing that can be said anyway.
The mop is behind the counter and I quickly get rid of that accusing spill, then busy myself wiping down tables and putting money in the safe. Normal things, boring things, things that take my mind off the weirdness.
By the time I'm done, Craig seems to have come around a bit. His eyes are open and although he still looks downcast, he's lost the look of despair. At least, he has on the outside. I really don't want to have this conversation with him, it's difficult for both of us, but he's one of the few friends I have and I owe him.
"Is it getting worse?"
He looks at me and gives a small smile that's totally devoid of humour. "It's not getting any better Tweekers."
"Oh."
Well, what else is there to say? I sometimes think my twitches are unbearable, but Craig has it worse. There were some signs when he was a kid, but as soon as he hit puberty, he gained uncontrollable narratophilia. He's uh, y'know. Turned on by swearing. Which is fine, lots of people like talking dirty I hear. The problem Craig has is with the uncontrollable part. He hears someone swear and he has to fight the urge to pounce on them. And sometimes he loses the fight.
It's tough in school, that's for sure. Mostly thanks to Cartman, surprise surprise. As soon as he discovered Craig's twitch, he began cursing up a blue streak and then calling Craig every name under the sun when he couldn't stop himself making advances. The worst part was that Craig was ashamed as hell of what he was doing, but he couldn't stop himself. I spent plenty of time standing in the bathroom while Craig vomited and tried not to cry after one of those incidents, not knowing what the hell to say.
It was Token who came up with a way to counter that though; as soon as Cartman began with his cursing streak, one of us would join in and Craig would jump on us instead. Oftentimes it caused us some problems but hell, Craig's a friend and no one wanted to see fatass get one-up on him. And y'know? Weirdly, it made me and Craig and Token and Clyde more popular with the girls. Seems that they actually like seeing guys make out in the hallways. It didn't make much difference to me, but Token and Clyde were pleased and Cartman was super-pissed.
Hence the headphones. If he can't hear, then he can't act. So half the time, he's not listening to a word anyone else is saying. It's only when he's around me or our friends that he takes the damn things off and indulges in conversation, while we try to remember not to swear and what to say if we slip up.
"It's fine Tweek," he says, getting to his feet. "You done here?"
"Yeah," I reply, wishing Token was here. Token always knows how to put things into perspective, while I just stammer and don't know what to say. Huh, wish in one hand, shit in the other and see which fills up first.
We leave and Craig hangs around while I lock the door behind me. His presence makes me feel slightly safer. Sometimes, robbers strike when the guy's locking up for the night, wait until he's distracted, knock him out and steal his keys. Not so much any more, thanks to burglar alarms, but it still happens. I've got a remote for the shutters and I wait until they're all the way down before joining Craig. His car is parked at the side, which is supposed to be staff only but my boss said he doesn't mind. But instead of heading in that direction, Craig starts walking across the street. There's only one store still open and that doing a brisk trade – Costly Coffee.
"Craig!" I grab his arm and try to drag him back to the car. "Where are you going?"
He glances at me. "I thought we were going to buy a coffee and check out how the mindbending thing works."
"GAH! No way! We can't! What if they brainwash us and we end up running for congress and then all the staff give us blowjobs and the press find out and we get assassinated?"
"How likely is that?"
"That's how they got Kennedy!"
I'm not sure I'm gonna have the choice though. Craig's got that look in his eye, the one he gets when he's determined to do something and after the events a few minutes ago, he could probably do with something to take his mind off things.
Well, shit.
Before we walk into Costly, Craig grabs his headphones and gives me an apologetic look as he puts them on and cranks up the music. Dammit. There's people around and it's more embarrassing when he jumps a stranger and you have to explain to them why he's trying to molest them, just because they said shit. That leaves me to do the talking. Oh hell, I don't wanna do the talking! What if I suddenly blurt out what I know about their plans and they take me into the back room and torture me?
But Craig's already walking through the doors, holding it open for me with an impatient look. I follow him reluctantly and check out my surroundings.
Costly Coffee is clearly a place where the in crowd go. There are flat screen TVs all over the walls, displaying pretty flashing lights that move in time to the music in the background. It sounds like the top 40, but I know better. It's the subliminal messaging at work. Oh God, help me, what if I'm already suggestible and I don't even need the coffee and I'm already brainwashed?
Sometimes, I think that Craig can read my mind, because he's giving me an impatient look and steering me toward the counter. Oh no, what if he really can read my mind? That would suck. He could find out all my secrets, then put them on the school internet site and I'd be tormented forever and I'd have to leave school and live in the forest and eat raw possum and grow a beard. Shit, I can't grow a beard, I barely need to shave even now and it's way too much pressure to grow a beard!
"Can I help you?" The guy behind the counter addresses me and I jump, giving a quiet scream.
The counter guy doesn't even blink, just keeps that wide grin on his face. Shit, he's like a pod person. Oh God, what if he's a pod person?
"Can I help you?" Damn, he's running on automatic. I get the feeling I could stand here mute all night and he'd just repeat the same sentence over and over again. A part of me wants to test the theory, but I'm too creeped out.
"Two house specials please," I mutter.
The coffees arrive and I pay for them, wanting nothing more than to take them out to the car and get the hell out of here, but Craig grabs his drink and sits at a table. He's got the car keys, I have no choice but to sit and wait for him.
We can't even talk, because he's wearing those damned headphones. All I can do is check out the people sitting around the tables. A few of them I recognise from around town, all with huge cups in front of them and a vacant look in their eyes. Am I really the only person who can see what's going on here?
I examine my drink dubiously. The board says that this is their 'special recipe' brew and I'm curious as to what it contains exactly. It's no secret that I'm knowledgeable about coffee – I've been addicted to the stuff ever since I was about six. There's no real upside to that. I'm permanently on edge thanks to the ADD anyway and my friends think that the coffee isn't helping me much, although I'm not sure how the two things are related. One thing I do know however, is what goes into the blend. All it takes for me is a sip and I can tell you the brand of instant, or the origin country of the grounds, or which syrups are in there.
Right. Think I'm stupid? No way am I taking a sip of this.
Instead, I close my eyes and inhale the aroma. Damn, it smells good. Definitely fresh roast, deep and strong. The smell alone is enough to almost entice me into a taste. There's chicory and cinnamon and the very faint but unmistakable undertone of vanilla. This is the kind of coffee that's more dessert than drink, but nice for a treat on occasion I guess.
...And there's something else in it.
I frown, trying to work it out. I can't quite work out what the ingredient is. It's a bit like percentages and I can only identify 98% of what's in there.
I was right. I knew I was right! There's something weird going on in Costly Coffee! HA!
Slamming down the cup, I open my eyes and see Craig raising the cup to his lips, not even looking at me.
"No! Don't drink it, I was right, gnk there's something in the coffee man, ack you'll be brainwashed!"
My voice is a yelp and with the headphones on, he can't hear me anyway. He seems to be moving in slow motion as the cup goes higher and higher, tilting in anticipation of the first mouthful.
Reaching across the table, I try to slap the cup from his hands, but instead I catch the wire of his headphones and yank them right out of his ears. Craig shoots me an irritated look, but the cup continues, his mouth touching the rim of the cardboard cup...
I have to stop him!
"Shit!" I scream, as loudly as I can. "Fuck! Dirtyballs, cumbucket, cock cock cock!"
Craig dives across the table, bashing into me and knocking the chair backwards. We fall onto the floor in a mess of arms and legs and spilled coffee and I have just about time to see his lust-filled eyes staring at me before he crashes his lips into mine, both his hands going up my shirt, warm on my chest, the coffee burning into my back.
For long seconds I freeze, which is the usual reaction I have when Craig gets like this. Mostly because I know he's going to hate himself first and me second once he returns to his right mind.
Then all of a sudden he's gone, body not pressing against mine. I blink, mouth still open, probably looking like a goldfish gone belly-up. Then my eyes refocus and I can see Craig, being held by the scruff of his neck by a burly Costly worker. He's huge. It's probably the same guy who runs the torture programme in the back room.
He propels Craig toward the door rapidly and I scramble up and dash after them, aware of all eyes on us. Craig is twisting in the grip, being forced to hurry or fall on his face. The burly guy looks furious and I'm not anxious to explain Craig's affliction right now, I just want to leave.
The guy reaches the exit and shoves Craig forward so that he crashes into the door, which opens under the force and spills him out of the store. The guy snorts and storms back toward the counter, while I just catch the door before it can close and get the hell out.
Craig picks himself up and flips off the store. After a moment, he glares at me and flips me off too. I flush and stare at the ground. I deserve that. There have been too many scenes like this in the past, too many times when he gets stares and comments and shoved around because he can't control himself. I've brought more shame on him and I hate myself for it.
"There was something in the coffee," I mumble.
"Fuck, Tweek." Craig doesn't seem to get adverse reactions when it's him doing the cursing and I guess he's gonna take full advantage of that now. "I don't give a flying fuck about this paranoid conspiracy bullshit. There's nothing in the coffee! Why did you have to do that?"
I want to justify myself, but he's so angry with me and my shirt is soaked with coffee, the cold air freezing it into my skin. I want to explain myself, but all I can do is repeat what I already said. "There was something in the coffee."
"Fuck you." Craig flips me off and storms off toward the car. I stand there, miserable, shivering with cold, ashamed. I knew Costly's was a mistake, I just knew it. Shit, why didn't I just grab the cup?
I hear Craig's car start across the street and he pulls out, his usual caution out of the window as he pulls into the road, screeching to a stop and reversing too quickly until the car is level with me. He leans over and throws open the passenger door.
"Get in."
I slide into the passenger side and shut the door, not daring to speak. Craig doesn't even try to make small talk, just drives me home as fast as the conditions allow, pulling up outside my parents house and turning off the engine, staring out of the front window.
I take small, sideways glances at him, forcing myself to speak. "I'm sorry."
His hands tighten on the wheel and I want to explain, tell him that I've saved him from something a little worse than the public humiliation he just suffered, but I can't find the words to make him believe me.
His voice is resigned. "Shit Tweek."
I stare at my knees, wishing I was a better person, that I knew some way of making it up to him. I made him behave like that on purpose. At school, when Cartman did that, he once said it made him feel used, sticky like a used Kleenex, some masturbatory fantasy that doesn't have a say in the matter. Raped, I guess. I should have thought of that before I did what I did.
But it's so easy.
"I'm sorry," I say again, my voice breaking. "I just didn't want you to drink the coffee."
He doesn't look at me. "Go get some sleep. I'll speak to you later."
"Craig..."
"I know." His voice is barely hiding his anger. "I know you were trying to help. Just – go. I don't want to talk about it now."
I open the door and get out, Craig pulling out of the drive the second I slam the door.
I hate my life.