Expo '86

by Vcorrigan

Enter the psyche of society's base, add in numerous illegal substances, and you've got the expo of the century. Because neither can admit their faults, their feelings, the one thing that matters may be lost through their projections onto others. Tweek/Craig

3. 1 2 Rejection

Note: Warnings will pretty much be the same each chapter. If there's something big to point out, I'll go it. Also, I think I cleaned hte mess up with the drug usage, but if some of htem aren't compatible and I didn't catch it, whoops.

Disclaimer: No intentions of violating copyrights, this is just for fun, yadda yadda.

---

1.2 Factors of a Well-Tamed Rejection

re·jec·tion n.

1. The act of rejecting or the state of being rejected
2. Something rejected
3. Medicine. The failure of a recipient's body to accept a transplanted tissue or organ as the result of immunological incompatability, immunological resistance to foreign tissue.

Friendship indeed is a powerful thing. Without the security of a certain clique, you're no one. People friend those that are close to them, that have the same values, so they can have that false closeness and knowledge that their point of views are "better" in the long run. It's really a subconscious thing, you know, to dislike those with a different train of thought. Sometimes you're never aware of this subtle dislike until it's too late. On the other hand, there are those exceptions that are attracted and bewildered by those that confuse them. They're quite difficult to pick out of a crowd; they can have many friends, or non at all, drift between thoughts easily, or walk a fine line that cannot be conjured. He was one of these types, hated by many, adored by some, the majority, though, were befuddled by him. He was different…and that's why they were such good friends.

---

How could one comprehend what one didn't experience, especially at such a young age? Craig couldn't, and it infuriated him. Since the night of Tweek's confession, he'd been trying to truly understand what the blonde had said, and failed thus far. He understood fact as fact, but truth was against him.

Living up to his expectations, and being this kid on like, thirty different variants of Ridilin! That he could accept. It could be worded differently, but it still said the same thing. Was Clyde's dog, Rex, on thirty variants of Ridilin? No, Tweek was. It was just that, fact.

It's like if I take the green spotted one with the purple capsule, it causes heart failure! Again, fact. He knew that there were health risks involved with drug consumption, the commercial ads said so. There were risks for everything done, so medication didn't seem much different in that aspect.

And the lack of feeling, it's so difficult! This, this he had trouble comprehending. Sympathy he could give, but understanding, that he didn't have. And it aggravated him he couldn't be there for Tweek. He'd always known emotion, happiness, annoyance, even choice of "I like waffles with syrup instead of strawberries" or "Emus are cooler than ostriches." Having no preference, knowing no emotion befuddled Craig. How was it possible to go through life like that, without snapping?

And it was simple, it was either impossible, or a drug-induced haze. But why would anyone take medication if it made them that way? If it kept them from being human? Addiction? But how could they have addiction if they didn't feel anything? Addiction is false security, that's why, it gives comfort when you have no one to turn to, and something to blame when everything is wrong. Drugs do it all, and as a bonus give that euphoria nothing else could produce. Of course, there are those like Tweek that have no choice in the matter, that do it because they're told, with bottled doubts about such a thing. It isn't addiction that drives them to psychological pain, it's reasoning.

But addiction even struck the blonde in the form of a different drug; caffeine. It was consumed to prevent that hollowness that Craig couldn't understand. To keep him active, and feeling the need to move, though it increased paranoia when coupled with many of the medications. But there was emotion there, fear and suspicion, but it was something.

That, Craig could relate to. He was addicted as well, to Tweek, which was why he worried, why he fell into such thoughts. He didn't want Tweek to become a mindless zombie like the Goth kids, he loved him the way he was, twitchy and quirky, spouting fantasies of death and monsters in the closet, and yelling something absurd in class before falling unceremoniously to the floor in his haste. It's what made Tweek Tweek, the bushy blonde hair that couldn't be tamed (though Craig had his suspicions that was due to Eavan's genes), his nervous laughter, the way he couldn't button his shirt correctly or tie his shoes, and how he always bit on his thumb nails, leaving the others long and untouched. It was like Clyde's habit of crying at the silliest things, Kenny's relationship with Death, Bebe's worship of Kyle's ass, Butters' knuckle-clacking, Stan's nose-pinching, or his own learned habit of flipping people off. Without such qualities, none of them would be themselves.

So it was no wonder Craig was so persistent in the knowledge of why. He went to the one person he knew would have the answer:

Chef.

---

The house was the same style as every other house in South Park, and painted green, one of the choice colours in the town. The school cook hardly rejected any plea to him from the children, which was what Craig was hoping for as he leaned up on his toes and pressed the doorbell. A musical note chimed from inside, sounding much like his own hit, "Chocolate Salty Balls", before the door swung open to reveal the heavyset black man, Jerome McElroy, sporting a leopard print robe and his trusty chef's hat.

"Well hello, children," he said with a bright smile, tipping his hat back with a large hand.

"Chef, I need to talk to you," Craig replied after shuffling his feet, craning his neck back to make eye-contact. Feeling the chill in the air the man stepped out of the way, inviting Craig in.

"Well come on in, I'll get some hot chocolate goin'."

As Chef walked away to the kitchen to do so he muttered a, "Thanks," looking around the place. It was clean, as expected, to impress the ladies he was always with after school hours, Craig guessed. Though the lack of colour coordination would have him running; what did the chicks see in Chef? Shrugging it off he continued his exploration, stopping at a picture of the man and his parents, in what appeared to be Scotland, with a large lake behind them, and off to the side a girl holding a sign reading, "I need about tree-fitty." He'd heard many tales of the infamous Loch Ness Monster, one of the more amusing (or so he thought) being the McElroy's buying a cat, and when meowing asked what it wanted, because it had food, water, and wouldn't go out. It'd answered, "Uh…I need about tree-fitty," and of course was recognized as an eight story tall crustacean from the Protozoic era.

He chuckled at the thought, shaking his head as he climbed onto the soft velvet-feeling sofa. If the Loch Ness Monster ever asked him for tree-fitty, he'd kick it square in the balls.

It was about that time Chef reappeared with two mugs and handed one of the foaming cups to Craig. The boy took it graciously, sipping the contents with a sigh. Who didn't like hot chocolate? Chef sat down across from him and set the glass on the table.

"So what's wrong, Craig?"

"Say I've got this friend that has to go to the crazy-doctor once a week, and he's got to take these pills. But he doesn't want to, because they make him blank. Why would someone make anyone take those pills?"

Chef sighed, scratching at his beard as Craig stared him down for the answer. "Well, children, it's his parents decision. But that isn't the point, sometimes people think differently than what the normal person should. Something is wrong with their brain, and these drugs help them to put things in perspective like how you or I would see them. Of course these drugs can have nasty side effects such as blankness."

"But he isn't crazy," Craig mumbled to his lap, looking at his reflection in the murky depths of the hot chocolate. Looking upward he asked, "What if he doesn't want to take them? Then what?"

"He needs to discuss it with his parents, they're the only ones that can do something about it."

"But his Mom doesn't want him to take it, and his Dad isn't very nice to him!"

Clearing his throat at the insult to Richard, Chef eyed the boy. "I'm sorry, Craig, it's just how it is, unless he's of legal age his parent's get the right to make the decision for him."

Grumbling something inaudible Craig shifted, crossing his legs Indian style. "Okay, then what is blankness?"

"Well, it's just that, blankness. You don't feel anything, you've got no personal belief on things. You're not effected by things others would be, like death, compassion, love, passion…Uh, let's not get on that subject, okay?" he muttered more to himself than the confused boy. "You just have no emotion, become a shell of yourself. It's a common occurrence with mixed drugs, actually."

"How does it start? And what happens?"

"You start takin' the drugs and eventually they react with each other. They do this while blocking out the problem, which is usually behavioral so it messes with the response system of the brain. To get rid of the problem, it just shuts down that function, but the problem if it also crews with everything else in that grouping. If your just started to take them, and something occurs that would provoke emotion while that part of the brain is shutting down, it can lead to a very confusing experience, and trigger odd happens with the drugs. Same goes for if you're off the drugs for a while, you start feeling and it can mess with your mind."

"So basically it's an in 'till the end thing?"

"Pretty much. But don't let side effects fool you, Craig, the medication is putting things back into perspective for him and—"

"He's not crazy!" the boy shouted, shaking hands threatening to spill the hot drink on him. Seeing this Chef pried the glass from his firm grip and set it on the table. Kneeling before Craig he grabbed his hands.

"Whoa, children, calm down. We're talking about Tweek, right?"

"Yeah."

"Now I'm not callin' him crazy, alright? He's just different, his mind ticks in a different fashion. Like how below the equator toilets flush clockwise, while above they go counterclockwise. You understand?"

Craig sighed. "I know he's different, we all are. But I still don't understand."

Chef shook his head, hat falling slightly over his forehead. "Nommel, you're stubborn, and naïve. Besides that you're a kid, and kids aren't supposed to understand how drugs work. Even if you're worried about your friend and how to help him, frettin' over it won't do you any good. You won't get the gist of it out of a book or by asking someone; they can give you the factual information, but experience is what will set you in Tweek's mind. Or asking Jesus, but I doubt he'd tell you. Though I'm sure Tweek wouldn't want you to be so upset, alright?"

Craig huffed, blowing air haughtily from his nostrils. "I'm not upset."

"Sure, sure," Chef said with a smile, getting to his feet. "Now, is everything clear?"

"As clear as it's going to get," Craig replied, glancing up at the adult. "Oh, Chef? Do you know a lot about plants?"

The black man shrugged indifferently. "I guess, why?"

---

Despite a whole ten days passing since Tweek slept over, the wind had gotten harsher, carrying the bitter sting of a Canadian front. Ten days and the wind had stripper the trees nearly bare, scattering flame coloured leaves across he ground, swirling with each puff of breeze. Craig jabbed his hands farther in his pockets, kicking at the leaves as he lead the grunting cook into the grove near Stark's Pond. Nearing the top of the small hill he sidestepped the skeleton of the dead bat, glancing at it without interest and knelt by a sprouting plant.

Chef stilled as he watched Craig poke at the five-leaved plant curiously. What he wondered was how the boy had gotten it to grow in such a climate. "Craig, where the Hell did you get that?"

"I found a bag of seeds near Stark's Pond and wanted to see what they grew," he replied, turning his gaze upward. "Why?"

"You can't be growin' that! You don't have any more seeds, do you?"

"No," he lied, pushing to his feet to remove stress of his neck. "Why?"

"It's illegal to have that," Chef said, exhausted as he waved a hand in the direction of the budding plant. "Don't you know what that is?"

"No."

"It's pot, little cracka!"

He looked down at the plant with new-found curiosity. He'd heard of the effects accompanied with the plant, but would that make him any better than those on psychotic medications? No, he'd be a hypocrite. "You mean like that hippies smoke? Weed?"

"Yes, weed," Chef answered, rolling his eyes. "Now we've got to get rid of this before anyone finds it."

"But shouldn't we keep it, incase there's another hippie get together, we can always tempt them out of South Park? Or we could sell it—"

"Oh no, no, no, no. Didn't you hear me? it's illegal to just possess it, but selling? Absolutely fudgin' not. You obviously don't pay much attention to Mr. Mackey, do you, Craig?"

The boy shrugged nonchalantly, hair wisping in his eyes. What could he expect, after a while you just tuned out the stick-man. "I see him everyday and get the same lecture. It's like telling a kid 'no', eventually after hearing it so often it just doesn't click."

Not seeming to care for the analogy, Chef reached down and yanked the pot plant from the ground, much to Craig's disappointment. But all for naught, now knowing what I was he'd be careful where to plan the next ones. And of course 'when' was a large factor, starting on a new one after being caught with this one wouldn't bode well. Maybe in a month or two—

"Come on, little cracka, we've got to destroy the evidence."

---

Staring down into the marble depths of the bowl, heater tinting his cheeks a warm pink, a shadow looming over, the boy grinned as the plant was washed away down the drainage pipes of Chef's toilet. In a shocked voice he squeaked, "So it does go counterclockwise, huh."

---

If he had to choose which doctors he hated the most, it'd be the piss-in-the-cup ones. Really, what did urine say except you're a dirty fucker for playing around in it? Oh, you ate a Big Mac for lunch, you're cholesterol is going to go sky-high. Oh no, watch out, your left ventricle might clog up and you'll die. It just wasn't very reasonable. Neither was the amount of test he'd been threw, from simple piss-in-the-cup, to having his blood drawn, to a brain wave analysis and seven others in between. And now, an MRI? Phft.

He'd never gotten along well with small, cramped spaces; Claustrophobia always caught up with him in the end. Staring at the small hole in the MRI machine, Tweek shook, clamping his mother's hand hard enough to bruise. Was it even possible to breathe in such a closure? It couldn't be, the oxygen supply would eventually run out while the test was going on. But why didn't anyone here of it on the news? Tricky government. Maybe that's what went on in Area-51, MRI death conspiracies.

He hardly noticed as a small, rotund nurse with neatly done wavy blonde hair shook his mom's hand and smiled down at him. "Is your son Claustrophobic, ma'am?"

"Yes, he is," Eavan answered, attempting to squeeze Tweek's hand, but being numb there was no sensation or movement. Tweek was oblivious to his mom's attempts, all eyes for the beaming woman. The slight twitching in her cheek and knit in her brows screamed false sincerity.

"Alright, hun, come on over here and we'll give you a shot," she said kindly, with a trance of irritation in her voice. That alone hinted she had no children of her own.

The boy squeaked as she grabbed his arm, planting his heels on the tile floor in resistance. "Oh Jesus Christ, I don't want a shot!"

Eavan cringed at his disobedience as she bent down to his eye-level. With her free hand she stroked his face, brushing honey bangs from his unsure eyes. "Darling, it'll keep you calm, keep you from hyperventilating. You'll be all relaxed and nothing will hurt you, I promise. It'll be a slight pinch at the most," she said, pinching his cheek for emphasis. He briefly nodded, eyeing the nurse as she waved dramatically at a stool.

"Get comfortable as the shot is prepared," she said dryly, disappearing from the bustling room. He settled on the stool, hands shaking as he glanced around at the personnel. Some seemed sympathetic, others disgusted, though the majority seemed very friendly and people-oriented. Uninterested by these people he turned to Eavan.

"It won't make me sleep, will it?"

She looked down at him, frizzy hair seeming alive in the heating system's whir. "Why do you ask?"

"You know I can't sleep," he whispered, eyes clamping shut. How could she forget? She was the one that had taught him the horrors of slumber. "He'll come."

"He won't come, darling, you've been a good boy," Eavan said, exasperated. Why did he continue to dwell on that story? "He didn't come when you were at Craig's, right?"

Tweek didn't answer. He didn't come, but that was because Craig was there. Anti-drug, that's what his raven-haired friend was. His protector, and torment. Sensing the presence of someone else he opened his eyes in slits, seeing the nurse with a saringe in hand.

"Roll up your sleeve, this won't hurt a bit."

Tweek trembled as he rolled up his sleeve. He knew she was lying between her teeth, but pain didn't bother him. Watching something disappear beneath the skin, and inject straight into the bloodstream bothered him. He didn't know what as in the needle, be it heroine or otherwise.

"Relax," Eaven's voice rolled through his thoughts. He unclenched his hand, letting the arm relax as the needle pressed into the skin, the pain a flash that cut across the nerves. He bit his lip, feeling the needle eject the medication into the vein in an even spurt. It was removed, the skin sliding along the steel. A second later two choices of Band-Aids were given: Chinpokmon, or Terrence and Phillip; he went with the latter.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" his mother asked, giving him a hug. He shrugged, eyelids already feeling heavy. What did he have flowing through his veins? He tried to form the words, but his mouth remained lax. He felt light and fluffy, looking through a tunnel at the surroundings that were perfectly clear a few seconds ago. Now the edges were blurred inn white, vision framed.

"Tweek, if at all possible remove your jewelry, scarf, and shirt please," the nurse asked as she fiddled around at the machine. He tried, mind warped so that he couldn't figure out how to pull the scarf from where it was tucked under itself. Eavan gave a weak smile and batted his hands away, doing it herself.

Consciousness was a thin line, slowly disintegrating away, so it was no wonder that music suddenly drifted through the vastness that was his mind, and his body was lost to him. But as Tweek wandered the shimmering line between awareness and a drug-haze, he found that he wasn't in slumber as the clank clank whiiiir of the MRI sounded distantly. He sighed in his mind's eye as he rubbed at his neck. Must've been Morphine or something.

"The curious thorn knows no bounds, hmm?" A voice whispered, the hiss a tangible caress. Tweek shuddered against the voice and coloured ribbons that erupted at the sound, now floating freely through his psyche. Black danced with technicolours, swirling drastic abstractness. He'd gone to great lengths to avoid the voice, and the owner of it for months. But who could really run from subconscious?

That's where it got confusing. He was a story told to children, and yet he lurked within Tweek's mind. As the story went, disobedient children would be visited by Curson during their dreams. A great bat he'd swallow the eagerness the rule-break, and the happiest thought with the child at that time. If the child was unruly again, Curson would send one of his twenty-two legions to condition it. He was also recognized as a child's nightmares and most dastardly thoughts. In the early eighteen hundreds it was a perfect way for children to confess their sins; if they had a nightmare the parents would say something along the lines, "Curson must not be too happy with you, what have you done to disgrace him?" and the children would immediately confess to what they would usually lie about.

In truth, Curson was a deceiving, skillful master of the arts. And he scared Tweek senseless.

"Vicodin takes a trip and turns, choose your poison wisely."

So that's what knocked him out, Vicodin. Tweek turned as the voice shifted, eyeing colourful ribbons wearily. They shirked back, glaring lights dimming to a faint, florescent glow. He doubted that his subconscious would pick a form and jump out at him, but knowing Curson well enough, he stayed alert anyway.

"Worrisome doctorates, know not the chalice is fragile. Poke and prod they must? It'll shatter before they find the cure."

"Stop talking like that!" Tweek growled, the anger like static before a rainstorm. It was no wonder he hated analogies so, when his own mind spoke riddles. But he couldn't complain too much, he was far use to the annoying literary devices and word choice.

Warm laughter answered, swirling heavily in the stagnant air. "Angers you so, does it? Communication is but a crystal, turn it correctly and a rainbow will be made."

Jeering, even in his own mind he couldn't escape it. It should probably be worrisome the arguments he could make with himself, but somehow it was comforting. Tweek grit his teeth and traveled farther down the shimmering line, one foot in front of the other, careful not to step over into the blackness. Colours flashed from the depths; perhaps if he did fall into himself he'd get some peace.

"Rash thoughts of suicide could use a helping hand before all for naught. Said by the twenty-first century, 'Have a nice trip'."

Before a refusal could pass his mouth, long claws brushed against his chest before his balance was lost. The shimmering line flashed as he fell off the edge, into his own psyche, and rained down on him. Before true unconsciousness took hold as he plunged into his Self, the faint form of a human stepped onto the edge of Awareness, ruby glowing eyes watching his descent.

---

Eavan tapped her fingertips impatiently on the cherry-wood side table of the employee's lounge, glancing at the ticking clock ever few seconds. The MRI had gone fine with Tweek drugged into sleep, and had been transported to a back room for a final analysis. That had been nearly a hundred forty-nine minutes ago, during which time she'd read a few magazines, but there's only so much you could do except falling onto the option of waiting.

During which time she'd read all of the kiddy-posters encouraging confidence, made mental notes of all of the fake plants distributed throughout the room and their type (scientific names and common), wrote out eleven different revised grocery lists, sung In a Gadda da Vida, Baby under her breath, and recited the first Act of the Iliad by memory. Between which Eavan noticed the flaws of the room; the chipping crème paint revealing grey plaster, shoddy decorations, and of course the Plug-in that lingered with the scent of medication and hospital.

She was rereading an article on frivolous teen girls and proper condom use for the third time when the rotund nurse, Janine, shuffled in dragging her heels. The peppy blonde had come in a number of times to make sure Eavan's accommodations were alright, and to ask for coffee or refreshments. She never stayed long, seeming to dislike the thought of associating with a parents of a mentally disturbed child.

This time Janine sat a seat away, elbows propped on the armrest, leaning slightly toward Eavan. She set her magazine down, finding the behavior odd and unwelcome. She feigned interest, glossy lips curving into a smile.

"Is the testing done?"

Blonde waves went flying, left, and then right. "Yes, and no. The medication hasn't left his system yet, so your son is currently still asleep. Because of this we're doing a sensory test of the brain with music; without distractions around him in the physical world, it will be much more accurate."

"It should bee over shortly, though, correct?"

"It should be," Janine replied slowly, twirling her hair on a finger. "The doctor will see you soon, anyway, to go over the results and possible options. Of course not all of the results are back yet, but the ones that are give a nice briefing of the whole," she added, seeing Eavan's distrust. "I hope you have nothing important planned this afternoon."

"My son has a slumber party planned with a few of his little friends, which I consider highly important," she said stiffly, crossing her legs. Snide, the nurse was too snide.

Janine seemed shocked, makeup rimmed eyes widening. "Oh, dear, I wouldn't do that! Considering the new medication he could go on, what if it produced adverse effects?"

"The family he will be staying with has a full up to date record of his health. Lydia is well informed and wouldn't let anything happen to Tweek. He's perfectly safe there."

"He probably won't be feeling too great after the shot, it'd be wise just to keep him home."

"The children have had this planned for a week, I'm not going to tell him 'no' now and get his hopes up. He'd be so downtrodden," Eavan replied heatedly, eyes narrowing. Who did this nurse think she was? Her mother, Tweek's mother?

"You should think of his safety, Eavan."

That did it. Chair screeching on the tile Eavan stood and rounded on the nurse. "You think I'm not considering his safety? I am! It's the exact reason I let this absurd testing take place, to prove that he doesn't need to be ingesting such harmful chemicals daily in an attempt to sugarcoat some mental illness created by the system for money-gaining properties! There's a lot more to life than just safety. If that was it, we'd all be living with paranoia complex, in separate bombshelters, and there'd be no reproduction in fear of catching an STD, so out race would dwindle away until humans no longer existed.

"You have no clue how hard it is to have a mentally disturbed child, or even a child at all! To hear the stories of other kids poking fun, the taunts and fear that's so evident each time you send them off to school. Keeping them normal, or as normal as the other kids; making sure they socialize and goof around with the other kids, gain friendships and work to build those skills. Any such opportunity has to be taken, especially if the child is going to such lengths as to plan time with friends.

"Until you have a child, don't lecture others how to raise their own, unless you'd like to be slapped," Eavan hissed as she grabbed her purse and strode from the room. The nerve of that woman! Such people hit her blow-up button; the arrogance and good will was just sickening.

"Eavan, Eavan honey, doctor Rizzo is looking for you," the receptionist voice called. She glanced around, realizing she was about to stride out of the building. Offering a smile she gave a nod, returning once more to the hall she'd just exited. The receptionist was a woman she loved and admired, someone that didn't have false assumptions, or stereotyped. Even Tweek had admitted he liked her, though it had taken months to get him to talk to her.

Feeling no need to knock Tweek's mom burst into Dr. Rizzo's office, closing the door with a soft kick of her heel. The man startled, raising his eyes to meet the smoldering hazel of Eavan's, pen poised above a subscription paper. As she slid smoothly across the carpet and sat in the char he dropped his pen, shuffling through a few papers to ignore the firey look she wore.

"Is something wrong, Ms. Tweak?" he asked politely, receiving a small grunt, that sounded more like a teapot whistling.

"I've been here all day, I haven't seen my son in several hours and one of your nurses thought it wise to tell me how to raise him. No, everything is just dandy, Doctor," she said with fake cheer, waving her hands for emphasis. Dr. Rizzo choked back a laugh at the dainty woman's demeanor.

"I'll have to talk to Janine about that and correct her behaviour." He leaned forward, crossing his legs as he rested on a hand. "Let's talk. I've heard Tweek's explanation of his friends, now I'd like to hear yours."

"I came here to know what is wrong with my son, if anything, Doctor, not—"

"I assure you, you will know, I'm not deliberately putting it off. First, however, I'd like to bring up a different issue, so if you'd please just answer the question."

Knowing well the persistence of the doctor she sighed in a defeated manner. How could her views of the children help? It was a motherly relationship she had with them, not a friendly one. "Token's a good kid, very talented, polite, and outgoing. He knows to respect his elders, and doesn't try to grab attention. He does, though, go to extremes to fit in, which is probably his greatest flaw, low self-confidence.

"Clyde is the shy one around the adults, but doesn't ignore conversation, even if answers are quipped. He's a good boy too, but happens to whine and cry a lot, unfortunately. He's still at that awkward child age, though, so it's acceptable.

"Craig, there's a hint of some sadist in him that makes me worry. It also is a trait that I don't particularly care for. He's still got that good-boy charm, though, but is more of the group goof and clown than anything. He does happen to be Tweek's best friend, so of course I love him like my own and would be horrorstruck to see anything happen to him."

Dr. Rizzo gave a slight nod as he rapped his fingertips on the desk. "And you do not find it odd your son is best friends with the boy that put him in the hospital for five days?"

"Kids will be kids, Doctor, they pick fight for no plausible reason. It was merely a play of dominance, so no, I don't find it too odd," Eavan replied kindly through grit teeth.

"But were they ever friends before the incident?"

Crossing her ankles and sitting up straighter she sighed. "Despite the cliques and quibbles among them, all of the children are friends. Who else do they have on such a personal level? Family isn't an issue for them, they'll always have parents and siblings, so they turn to their friends."

"Were they as good as friends before fighting with each other?"

"No."

"And why do you think that is, why would after pummeling each other change it?"

"I have no clue, Doctor, why don't you tell me?" she said sweetly, eyes flashing a dangerous contradiction.

"They're attracted to each other."

Eavan balked, mouth forming a small "o". It took several seconds for the words to sink in, and several more to be comprehended. They're attracted to each other. Surely not! She shook her head, frizzy hair flying, and narrowed her eyes.

"I do believe you're mistaken, Ethan."

Dr. Rizzo gave a closed lip smile as he sat back, crossing his arms over his chest. "And how so? I'm sure you know very well that third and forth grade is when crushes start to insue, and the opposite sex seems much more interesting." Eavan's cheeks flushed a slight pink. Of course she knew, it was around that time Richard had seemed rather cute instead of the dopey kid next door with a fascination for fishing. But the issue on hand was so much different!

"So why couldn't the same sex seem interesting as well? Tweek doesn't seem to take much curiosity to girls, rather he seems to connect more with males of his age. It's only natural he'd be attracted to them as well, for now anyway." He rolled his chair to a file cabinet behind his desk and shuffled through the third one down. Pulling out a sheet of paper it was revealed to be the picture of a rose Tweek had drawn at a previous session. "You were here when I gave the explanation of this image. I have a very good feeling this tells everything of the relationship between your son and Craig."

"And this is the issue you so desperately needed to force?"

Shoving the image back into, presumably Tweek's file, Ethan rolled back to his desk. "One of them, anyway. I think it'd be wise to pull Tweek from class to homeschool him. Considering the medication he's about to go on, this would reduce any negative effects that he could experience, and of course taunting by the other children. Now, I'm well aware of you're arguments 'I want to keep him as normal as can be' and 'he's going to have to learn to deal with mean comments', but it'd hurt him a lot more at this time than help."

A sinking feeling filled her stomach as Eavan leaned forward. "What medications?"

Ethan grabbed a sheet of paper from the top of the pile, finger sliding over the print. "We haven't got all of the testing back, so we have no stable ground to really start prescribing, but we know the basis of your son's mental disorders. I'm taking him off of most of the previous medications to start asunder with this." He glanced up from the paper. "Eavan, Tweek has shown symptoms of Schizophrenia, Premorbid Paranoid Personality Disorder, Dysthymic Disorder, and possibly Avoidant Personality Disorder. To treat such issues we'll have to try different medications to see which will adapt better."

Her mind blanked, barely registering the medications they would start with, knowing Tweek's reaction to others of the type. Geodon, Aripiprazole, Fluvoxamine, Risperidone, Methysergide, Thioridazine, and the list went on. Her eyes pricked as the knowledge of what this meant was put out before her; with a low moan she buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

---

Light burst sickeningly in the black threshold of his subconscious. Tweek cringed, rolling farther into himself to escape the brightness. He felt resistance as he tried to plunge farther, like coils of rope tied around his limps, dragging him back to Awareness. Struggling was futile, so defeated he let himself be pulled upward.

"Eternal slumber, this is not, wake to greet your sweetness."

He sighed, breath a wisp of blue fog among the fading black. It as just like his Self to drag him out of splendid thoughtfulness at the worst time. Or was it Curson that was being the prick? "Must I?"

"Shall you wilt her rose in worry, you'd be no kind of mine."

Her? Who was 'her'? "Who are we talking about?"

"Your mother, fool, know you not your sweetness?" the voice snapped in disgust. Funny how the Lord of bats that took kids away from their families was so mother-friendly. By then the light became so intense it was almost blinding. Tweek grunted against it, rubbing at his clamped eyes. Feeling them burn he lifted his hands away and opened his eyes, vision focusing on his mother's face, and the crown of frizzy hair. She looked tired, the lines at the corners of her eyes more noticeable, eyes themselves puffy and red as if she'd been crying.

"It's nice to see you awake, pumpkin."

"Is something wrong?" he asked, sitting up and glanced around. The room was small and white, large enough for the hospital-issued bed, a side table, medical equipment, and a chair that remained disregarded.

"It's a good day, no one got shot," she replied with a faint smile. Tweek's brows furrowed by the response; it was her defense mechanism, what she used when something was terribly wrong and was hiding it. It was instinct to wonder what bothered her so, but knew he wouldn't get the answer; it was the parental ideal of being strong for the child.

She extended a hand and stroked his cheek gently before facing it with his own. Tweek startled at the cold f her wedding band, but grew accustom to it in mere seconds. "Come on, sweetie, let's go home and get you ready to go to your friend's."

They walked hand-in-hand down the hall, passed doors and the wailing behind the them, to the receptionist desk behind the glass door leading into the lobby. Pulling out her checkbook, Eavan paid the nominal fee and handed Tweek a lollipop Camile, the receptionist, gave him every visit. He muttered a thanks as they left, back into the warmth and comfort of their car.

Tweek cuddled down into the leather as his mother cranked the heater up and pulled out onto the main road. His arm throbbed dully from the shots and IVs, and his head pounded, threatening to split his skull. He groaned, leaning against the window.

"Mom, my head hurts."

"The Ibuprofen are in the dash, honey, take one of those. Oh, can you call Lydia and tell her we probably won't be there until dark?"

Grabbing the bottle from the dash he gnawed on the top, trying to pop it off, forgetting to align the arrows. "Jesus Christ, gyah!"

Eavan sighed, taking it with one hand and steered with her knees as she popped it off. Tweek watched curiously—he'd always wondered how adults had such precision to do that. Taking the pill she offered he knocked it back with a sip of water and grimaced, hating the feeling of the capsule sliding down his esophagus. One would think after years of taking medication in pill form, he'd be use to it; the embarrassing part, he was.

Grabbing his mom's cell phone he hit speed dial and waited. On the third ring a distinctive female voice answered, incredibly cheerful for the time of day.

"Hello?"

"Mrs—Mrs. Nommel, it's Tweek. We might be late, like…dark late."

"That's alright, sweetie, is there any movie you'd like us to rent?"

"I—I don' know."

The phone rustled around some and Craig's voice filled the receiver. "Hey dude, you're late. You better have one hellavu excuse."

Tweek gave a faint smile, knowing his friend couldn't see it. "I'll tell you later."

Softly in the background Clyde's voice said, "Ask him what movies he wants."

"Shut up buttpipe," Craig growled around the receiver. "Sorry 'bout that, Clyde's being stupid. So what movies do you want?"

Tweek thought about it. Horror movies didn't bode to well with his intense distrust of the dark, but he didn't want to seem like a pussy so he muttered, "Garden State?"

"Weak dude, that's a total chick flic!"

"Nuh-uh, it's got—" seeing his mother eye him he changed his direction "—stuff in it."

"Fine," Craig huffed into the phone, giving the impression if Tweek could see he'd be rolling his eyes. "Well do that and two others, and you better tell me why you're late when you get here, got it?"

Tweek broke into a full smile; still protective, even to himself. That was the Craig he knew, not the one that killed Kenny. "Alright, I'll tell you, 'kay?"

"'kay, later dude."

He hung up without saying goodbye; salutations promised death, the ultimate parting, and it was something Tweek avoided purposely. Putting the phone back in his mother's purse he rest his head against the window once more, falling into thoughts before asking:

"Did the testing say I'm Schizophrenic?" Silence was enough of an answer. Breath caught in his throat Tweek closed his eyes tight, wrapping his arms around himself. How could it be? He wasn't crazy. He never tried killing anyone, or attempted suicide. But he was on anti-psychotic pills, neurotics, and anti-depressants. Yet he wasn't crazy.

Right?

Obviously not. This just proved it, tests weren't wrong. The odd behaviour, distrust of government and society, distance he put himself from others, the difficulty it took to become close to someone and the dependency afterward, the hallucinations, it all added up to one thing.

"What's it feel like having a crazy son?" he asked, voice choked. Eavan patted his thigh as she answered:

"It feels wonderful."

---

Tweek and Clyde weren't the only ones staying with the Nommel's that night, two of Tracie's friends were invited over as well. Kizzee was a cute red-head, whose real name was Caolifhionn. She was the Irish stereotype, short and slightly plump, loud, boisterous, could pick one hellavu fight, and could make the toughest prison guard blush with her cursing. Her accent was thick, but one mention of it would result with a foot to the groin and a fist to the eye.

Judith was a whole different matter. Being daughter to Reverend Maxi, she was deeply religious, shy, harmonious, everything the perfect Choirgirl was. Quiet mannered and soft spoken, she never drew attention to herself if helped, unless in the company of Tracie. Then she was devilish, coy, and never shut up.

They all ate dinner among girlish giggles, shrieks, boy-chatter, and spewing beverages out the nasal cavities. On one such occasion Tweek had asked Judith to pass the peas, unfortunately his voice had squeaked dangerously high and "peas" came out as "penis". They'd broken into tedious laughter as Kizzee replied with a shit-eating grin, "Well ya've got yer own, now, and two next to ya! I don't think ya need any o' us girls passin' any penis to ya." Luckily the adults had excused themselves at the "bewbs" incident and didn't have to scold the girl.

Afterwards they decided to watch Terrence and Phillip Asses of Fire III: Anally Inept. The girls, finding fart jokes completely immature, left them to their own devices. It was probably best considering how easily amused they were, and the fact Clyde nearly choked to death on a Cheesy Poof. In the process Craig got a gummy worm stuck in his nose from laughing so hard while eating it, and Tweek spilled his drink all over his crotch, giving the impression he'd pissed grape soda on himself.

Once cleaned up and snacks were restocked, they started on the second movie, Garden State. The girls joined them, on the condition of "no being girls". However, the movie indeed being a chick-flic, they'd broken in many incidents of "awww"s. Clyde didn't complain because of the porn clip, and even Craig was rather fond of it by the mere moral and content, which gave more insight into Tweek's thinking. And of course, seeing "bewbs" was a plus.

It was nearly ten-thirty when they decided to enjoy a slumber-party classic; Bloody Mary.

Judith refused to join in the games, preferring rather to stand in a corner with walls wrapped around her. Her reasoning was seeing, and possibly being touched, by a demonic spirit was sin on her soul; everyone knew, though, that she was afraid of the dark. Tracie didn't seem to mind that her friend wasn't participating, and kept near her dark-haired friend.

Clyde was first. He was heard chanting through the door before a low shriek sounded, and pounding on the door commenced. A few seconds later it was gone. Craig hurriedly opened the door to find his friend missing; Tweek stood back, jittering. The Nommel boy set a firm face and bravely walked into the dangerous bathroom, closing the door behind him.

"Where—where'd Clyde go?" Tweek squeaked, shaking. Kizzee flashed pearly whites as she slammed a fat foot against the door t jam it and grabbed the handle without a reply. Craig's uncertain chanting sounded before silence. And then:

"Oh my God! Let me out, shitmuthafuckerdamnit! Let me out!"

Tweek grabbed for Kizzee to allow access to his friend, but was held back by Tracie. A few more seconds of screaming and the Irish girl jumped away from the door as Craig stumbled out, almost falling on his face had Clyde not grabbed the back of his sweater. The girls broke into laughter at his sweat-drenched face and wide eyes—he was genuinely scared. In moment he composed himself, wiping away at his face as he growled angry curses and kicked Clyde rather hard in the shin for playing along with the charade.

"So Craigy isn't above pissing his pants," Kizzee teased with that obnoxious grin of hers. Miffed he raised his middle finger, to find it in her tiny grasp and yanked backwards, making an audible cracking sound. He whined as she let go and flexed his weapon of choice, finding it relatively unharmed, just stressed at the knuckle.

It was then Tweek was pushed toward the bathroom to repeat the game, this time for real. He dug his heels into the carpet to no avail, instead he found himself with rugburn. The blonde coward in the dark across from the sink and mirror, hands to his face as he backed up against the wall. If it wasn't instinct to keep alert and watching, he'd close his eyes to rid the feeling of the haunt.

"I don't hear ya in there, come on now, chant!" Kizzee said irritably, knocking on the door hard enough to startle the twitching boy. The flame from the white candle placed on the counter top flicked back and forth with his wispy breath, light dancing in the mirror.

"Bloody Mary, B-Bloody Mary," he paused. This was it. If he said it once more a disembodied head would show up and scratch his eyes out. He'd die in Craig's bathroom, how pleasant! But if he didn't, he'd be "chickenboy" all over again. Taking a breath he squeaked, "Bloody Mary," once more and clamped his eyes shut, breath held. Silence answered. He counted the seconds in his head, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen…fuck, just open your eyes, Tweek, nothing will be there.

Taking a deep breath he did just that, eyes focusing on the glass, and let out a shriek. Standing where his reflection normally would be was a male that looked in his mid-twenties, silvery-brown hair framing a stony face. Pointy ears poked out from under his hair, appearing almost bat-like. The figure raised a brow, scarlet, pupiless eyes flashing as he raised a bony hand in greeting. It took several seconds to realize what was wrong with the fingers—the ending joint was replaced with three-inch long claw.

"Bloody Mary? Childsplay, provoked by fear alone," the reflection said, lips drawn back from razor sharp teeth, each one creating a point, calling the creature out as a carnivore. "Frightened are you? Teething your fingers is hardly healthy."

Slowly Tweek drew his hands from his mouth, where he'd been chewing on his nails. They dropped to his sides as he took a deliberate step toward the counter. "Curson? I thought you were a fucking bat! Wait, no," he grabbed his hair, yanking in frustration. "You're part of my subconscious, you have no real form."

"No real form? Vision is as transparent as ever, deceiving not."

Tweek paced, pulling at his hair harder. "I'm crazy, I get it, it's all hallucinatory."

"Delusion is grandeur, the mind's falsities; I'm no such being."

"Oh my God, stop talking like that! Jesus Christ, why do you do that?"

Curson folded his arms across his chest as he frowned, eyelids drifting half-closed. "You understand the riddles more than something said bluntly. You're mind perceives and solves correctly, instead of dwelling on a double meaning that cannot possibly be. That is why I speak like that."

"Goody. Now why are you here? I have stuff to do," Tweek grunted, hands dropping once more to his sides. This made no sense, why weren't his friends barging in? Was he asleep, dead? Was time even ticking?

"It seemed like pretty damn good timing to me, quite amusing as well seeing that look when you opened your eyes—pure gold."

The blonde opened his mouth to speak, and closed it. The King of all things nasty had a sense of humour, a bad one, but he still did. It was ironic.

"I change my mind, talk weirdly."

Curson sighed, bangs fluttering. "Choose your poison wisely, there's no stepping back."

Hm, choices, choices. He could go back to his friends, or sit and talk with a mirror, like that one Disney movie. He groaned as the question formed and escaped him, "Why me?"

Curson cocked his head, pointy ear twitching. "Elaboration is the key to clarification."

"Why me?" Tweek squealed. "Out of all of the kids in the world you could pick to haunt, why me? Who did I piss off to get a walking bat-thingit-human-guy following me around?"

Considering his answers the reflection gave a graceful shrug. "No one."

"Bull shit! Why do you follow me around then? Dear Lord and Jesus, God, Christ, Mary, and Joseph, why me?"

Curson cringed against the incantations, gritting his teeth at each one. Tweek hardly noticed his behaviour, too intent on a proper answer than a possible fluke with the reflection. "Chosen not for reason, nor anger, rather adoration; without the outlit, there is no electricity to feed the lamp."

"Fucking Christ, until you can give me a straight answer, get back in my head!"

"If you so wish it done," Curson said, words twisted to something vile. Whipping to face the mirror, Tweek barely saw as the figure faded. Pain exploded in his head as Curson's mass slammed into his psyche, knocking his sensory system off whack. He couldn't feel himself as he fell to the opening door, only the plummet into his Self, that inescapable black. The tittering laughter filled the void he tumbled in. "Over my wrath you still are not, as some might say, 'Pleasant dreams'."

---

It was an amazing struggle to consciousness this time around, with no eternal aid; should've known not to piss himself off, or Curson…of fuck it. He'd made it to the level of the Self where communication was impossible, but he could hear what was going on around him. Some said hearing was the first sense to go; they were wrong on all accounts. Currently he could hear the girls freaking out, Judith sobbing hysterically, Lydia trying to sooth them, while Thomas spoke idly to Clyde. Craig was muttering softly to himself, but to Tweek it all seemed amplified.

"Dude, the chicks are really freaked, Kizzee's even being quiet which is like a sin to her. Bloody Mary is just a joke, it's not real and yet you're unconscious. Damnit, I feel like such a shitty host…especially with that bruise on your forehead from smacking into the floor. I would've caught you if you didn't scare me shitless falling out of the doorway like that! Jesus Christ, you buttpipe, that's not nice…what am I saying? How am I supposed to explain this to your parents, oh fuck me running."

That got his attention. If his parents ever found out about this, he'd never be allowed out of the house again. No friends, no school, no Craig. Without resistance from the depths of his mind, or tittering arguments, Tweek pushed through the spongy outer layer of the psyche, sputtering and coughing as he sat up and slammed his head into whoever was bending over him at the time. Groaning the blonde rubbed at his forehead, feeling the lump Craig had mentioned, silence descending. He opened his eyes and glanced around, finding himself in the Nommel living room, Craig rubbing at his nose with a distasteful look.

Lydia moved first, rushing to his side, in turn shoving her son out of the way onto his butt. She felt his forehead and heart, as if him flinching in pain wasn't enough proof of his well-being. "Honey, honey are you hurt? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he squeaked, voice a croak. "My head hurts."

She gave him a sympathetic look, petting his hair away from the purple horn forming. "Are you sure everything is okay? You don't want to go home?"

Tweek shook his head vigourously. "I don' want to go home, everything is fine, dandy, cheerful, chipper."

"What the Hell happened?" Craig asked as he got to his feet, brushing off the seat of his pants.

"Oh..uh…hyperventilation," the blonde answered, shirking under Craig's intense look. He didn't believe it for a second, but held his tongue as his mother rounded the sofa, hand glued of Tweek's hair, and glared at them all sharply.

"No more scary games or movies! And don't you dare give me that look, Craig! I won't have you six watching Texas Chainsaw Massacre with such a scare! Now you all can either go to bed, or watch something a bit more friendly."

In the end they all decided to grudgingly watch The Lion King, all curled on the couch in various positions. Having never seen the film, Judith broke into tears at Mufasa's death, nearly tumbling from her perch on the sofa's armrest in the process. A few prods from Kizzee at the sight of Clyde's own sniffed back sobs and she was cheerful again, giggling quietly to herself. Much to everyone's amusement they all sung along to the songs (minus Judith), and even broke into soul-wrenching solos. During Can You Feel the Love Tonight Craig took Nala's part, Tweek Simba (he'd been voted the part, and denying it had only gotten himself into a tickle-war), Kizzee Timon, Clyde Pumba, and Tracie the narrator.

Tweek's words were changed to fit gender, making it all more personal. During which Tracie sang, her brother advanced upon the blonde, now on the plush carpet, looking wearily around as if for escape. It was in vain, though, as Craig pounced, trapping Tweek under his body, crouched on hands-and-knees like the lion he was acting. When he'd mumbled a tender, "I love you," in a rather high-pitched voice, Tweek had shrieked, cracking his nose with the heel of his palm. A look of near hurt passed Craig's eyes as he clutched at his aching nose, mumbling inaudible curses under his breath. Of course, it could have been a play of light that created that pained looked.

Yeah, that's it, a play of light, Tweek told himself, once more curled up on the corner of the couch, arms wrapped around his knees. Throughout the rest of the movie he contemplated his host, oblivious of Tracie playing with his hair (now secured in tiny braids running along his scalp). It was funny how fainting in his bathroom could screw him up so much, fiddle with the details of their friendship; it was much like cooking, if he added this spice of changed that heat, what chain of events would occur, what taste would the meat have?

"Come on, dude, we're gonna play spin the bottle," Clyde's stuffy voice called from behind. Tweek glanced around, realizing he'd missed the end of the movie, and everyone was standing in an expecting circle for him around the couch. It took a moment for the words to sink in before Tweek let out a disgusted sound.

"Jesus Christ! That's like, Craig's sister, and her friends! Don't you have a girlfriend?"

"Yeah, maybe when they're older and have, y'know, visible tits we'd play," Craig said absently, pulling the blonde from the sofa.

"And when ya've got a visible dick we'll play!" Kizzee replied haughtily, blowing a raspberry at them as the girls tramped up the stairs to where they'd crash and talk naughtily into the night about boys they liked. Craig rolled his eyes, knowing the routine all too well, and led his friends up the stairs into his room. They plopped into bed, Craig at the head, the other two cross-legged near the bottom.

"I thought you had a date with Bebe, what happened to that?" Craig asked curiously, scratching at his hair.

Clyde grimaced, cracking his knuckles. "Well I did, but Bebe always makes me play this gay game called 'Lambs' when I go over."

"Bebe likes Lambs?" Craig asked in disbelief, green eyes flashing deviously with the newfound information.

"Labs, you mean that Silence of the Lambs ripoff Cartman came up with?" Tweek questioned, hands twitching.

"Yeah, that game. It's so stupid, I don't know why she likes it."

Leaning back into his pillows Craig grinned. "Don't you need a fucking hole to play it? As far as I know, Cartman is the only person stupid enough to dg a hole in his basement, so where does she play?"

"Duh, she hunts down one of those abandoned holes that freaky Mole kid digs; one would think he'd fill them back in when he's done trying to dig his way to Canada, but no, the dumbass just leaves them."

Craig huffed, crossing his arms over his PJ shirt, featuring a muffin talking about "milfs, dilfs, and muffs". It'd been a gift from Kenny, where the poor fool had gotten the cash or the shirt, he didn't care, which was obvious after killing the boy. "That kids is such a loser, fuckin' French pussy. No wonder he's homeschooled, no sensible kid would go near him."

The brunette grinned, leaning over as if it was a secret that no one besides them three should hear. "I heard he was once in public school, but got pissed off and whacked his teacher's nose clean off!"

"Oh—Jesus Christ!" Tweek exclaimed, diving under the sheets, form shaking noticeably. Craig snorted at the behaviour, patting his friend on the back.

"Yeah? Well I heard he was a private school punk, a real ass kisser to God; if only he knew what He looked like."

They broke into giggles, recalling the platypus-hippo-cat crossbreed that was the Big Guy in the clouds. It'd been a pleasant New Year, that one, a mix of seeing the Holy Creator and Stan with boobs making it even more memorable.

It was nearly three in the morning when they settled down to bed, Tweek against the wall, Craig in the middle, Clyde snoring loudly from the opposite side, half-on and half-not. Half an hour into it, Tweek was wide awake, darting glances around the darkened room, afraid to wake Craig who had rolled over and was using his shoulder as a pillow, though it acted as a sponge with the amounts of saliva sliding hot along his skin. That was another reason he was still awake, being drooled on was quite a distraction, coupled with Craig muttering sweet nothings about Red's hot ass, safety pins, and the many uses of vinegar oil. About the time the Nommel boy grumbled to himself how hot it would be for Courtney Love to model nude on a Red Racer car, Tweek decided he had to piss.

Sighing he slid out of bed, over the body of Clyde on the floor, and into the bathroom. His subconscious didn't take form in the mirror, now did any scarred old ladies face as he did his thing, noticing there was a small crack in the mirror. He shrugged; probably from when he fell, or whatever the Hell happened. Flushing he opened the door and bit back a scream, seeing Craig sitting outside, hair askew, hat presumably somewhere on his bed. He gave a weak smile, yawning at Tweek.

"Fucking God, you scared the crap outta me," the blonde heaved, raising a jittering hand to his heart, now beating much quicker than normal.

"Mm, yeah, sorry," Craig said slowly around another yawn as he patted the ground beside him. Taking the offer Tweek sat down, knees to his chest, ankles crossed. They sat in comfortable silence, the brunette drifting in and out. Finally he let out a breath. "What happened in the bathroom earlier, Tweek?"

The blonde shuddered, pulling his knees closer. Why did Craig know where it hit the hardest? Or maybe, he was completely oblivious. "Nothing."

"I don't believe you. What happened?"

"Nothing."

"What happened?" Craig asked a bit more forcefully, glaring at his friend as if to impel him. Not receiving an answer Craig pushed on. "Tweek—"

"Oh my God, okay! It was the gremlins, they jumped out of the sink tap and wanted my spleen! Their plan didn't really work, so they tried anal raping me and gyah! It was horrible, so then they knocked me out, and before they could do either I guess you guys found me. Yhey, arg!"

The sleepy one shook his head, lips quirking at the story, which he knew it was. He had to give Tweek credit, though, he could really weave a nice tale on the spot. He grabbed one of his friend's hands, rubbing soothing circles on the back, noticing the normally well-kept fingernails were bitten terribly. New concern blossomed and he asked, "Is something wrong?"

Of course. There's always something wrong around you. Tweek didn't voice his thoughts, though, instead buried his face in his arms.

"I'm on the pills," he muttered, almost imperceptible, but Craig heard. His rubbing ceased, hand now a warm comfort and nothing more.

"What? Why? Does it have something to do with being late?"

A nod. "I was at the doctors, and shit, I'm crazy! Crazy like all those Goth kids, or what they try and be. I'm the real deal, man, the whole enchilada. It's weird, y'know, knowing that you're labeled by society as 'crazy'. And now I've got all these pills and shit; I'm exactly what I didn't want to be. I'm fucked up in the head already, pills will just make it worse, fuck, fuck, fuck! Christ, it's like, when the Hell will I ever be normal?"

"You are normal," Craig said, mind not recognizing he'd blurted it out.

"And that's why I've got Schizophrenia, right? Why the Underpants Gnomes target me, the government has a conspiracy going on at the Pentagon for me, why illness just happens to strike and the bat population grows? Right, that's normal? Why my best friend has this look of doubt, a look that says 'I shouldn't have invited him over', right?"

Craig turned his gaze tot he ground, biting his cheek to keep from shouting. Tweek was stubborn, never letting off of his views, pushing them until someone either broke and was convinced or said "fuck it". He was Socratic in his maneuvers, making sure to answer someone in a question.

He took a breath, exhaling and counted to ten before asking, "So what does this mean?"

Tweek glanced over, chocolate eyes dark and hollow in the dark. He shrugged, letting his eyelids drift closed. "Who knows, we'll see, won't we?"

---

Craig noticed it, the reaction to the drugs. It wasn't immediate, gradually taking Tweek hold in the symptoms. It was exactly how the blonde said, and Craig hated it. As autumn came crashing to the ground with two feet of snow and unbearable cold, Tweek became a medicated-cold, distant being. He hardly spazzed in class, never feel from his chair in a fit of hysterics about dustmites and illicit acts, rarely spoke of world plots against the civilizations of ants, nor really spoke unless addressed. His eye became dull, movements slow an uncertain, instead of the rapid sharpness accustomed to the godly reflexes, shirts buttoned correctly. Every quirk that had made the blonde Tweek had been stripped away by a few bottles of expensive pills.

He wasn't the only one to notice. The children in school gave him peculiar looks, more attention than he had before. The teachers strayed from the subject, distancing themselves from the boy, until Chef and Mr. Mackey were the only ones that really gave a damn. When he saw the Tweak's, Eavan seemed torn between motherly intuition and what the critics said would help, while Richard seemed completely stunned at his son's change.

Complete and utter hate wasn't something Craig was use to. Sure, he got pissed at the other guys and snotty girls, but he wanted to kill Dr. Rizzo for prescribing so many damned pills and saying anything was wrong with Tweek; the Tweak's, for not intervening in the beginning and going to see a psychologist in the first place; himself, for not knowing what to do, what to say; Tweek for not being mouthy and telling the adults what he wanted.

It was a frigid, early December morning hate turned to unconditional confusion.

Like every winter morning the students roamed the halls before bell, or went to class early in an attempt to regain feeling to numb limbs. This Tuesday was no different as Craig plopped down at his desk fifteen minutes before bell, peeling off soaking mittens to rub his hands for frictional warmth. A puddle of ice water dripped from his pants to the tile floor, giving the prison-cell grey linoleum a glistening, almost glasslike effect. In the back a group of girls huddled, playing with each others' hair, but Craig paid them no heed as Clyde shuffled in, cheeks vivid pink, wheezing and took a seat behind him. After an incident involving hot-glue in tied condoms, the Nommel child had been placed in the front, much to his disappointment.

"You alright, dude? You don't sound too good," Craig mused as Clyde gave him the finger and took off his scarf.

"Shut up, jus because I have Strep throat doesn't mean you can make fun of me," Clyde retorted, voice hoarse and barely above a whisper. Craig shook his head, grinning, but decided that pissing off his bigger friend wouldn't be too pleasant. Turning back to the front of the class he watched as the edgy blonde entered the classroom and crossed toward his desk. It as an interesting change in Tweek's medicated personality, but it was only so long before the cold grated the nerves enough to a mild-variant of his normal twitching.

He leaned over the desk, elbows resting in the icy mess Craig's mitts created, though he didn't seem to notice. "We need to talk."

Hiding the concern and gleeful lurch of his stomach, Craig sneered, resting on the desktop in the same manner, but made sure to miss the puddle on hi desk. "I might make some time after school, but you know, I'm a busy man."

"We should talk now," Tweek persisted, normally monotonous voice raising a few pitches for emphasis.

"Well I think—"

He was cut short as Tweek squealed and fell onto his open mouth, lips crushing against his intensely. The blonde jerked away, jumping back nearly three feet, glancing around at the students that had abruptly stopped their chatter to stare at his reddening form. Humiliation, it was a step above nothingness, he had to give credit.

Craig growled deep in his throat at the source that had rammed his fat ass into Tweek, now breaking into tittering giggles. "Oh ho, ho! Did I just spy the gaywads kissing?"

"No, that was your fat ass getting in the way of something you shouldn't," Kyle muttered as he walked to his desk, punching the fat boy in the arm. Cartman hissed his displeasure, waving his hands threateningly at the Jew.

"Ay, I didn't ask no fuckin' Jew, okay Kyle? Jesus Christ, I feel way up hyah while you guys are way down nyah," Eric muttered, rolling his eyes, oblivious to Craig curling and unfurling his fist in a way that suggested he had five seconds to run. Reaching out he grabbed Tweek's wrist, whom had been edging slowly toward the door relatively unnoticed. He yipped, thrashing out of Cartman's grip as if it burned.

At the contact Craig was on his feet, shoving the ninety-three pound boy backwards, sliding over the wetness on the floor into Mr. Garrison's desk. Feet flipping out from under him, Eric fell hard on his butt, smacking his head on the desk in the process. He let out a string of profanities before he set a firey gaze on Craig.

"What the fuck was that for, Nommel?"

"Don't touch Tweek," Craig hissed, voice amazingly calm for the anger that was laced in his posture.

"Ooooh! Only you can touch him, huh? Like only you can make fun of him, or treat him like shit. What is he, your bitch? Take it in the ass, Craig, hit on both sides of the plate?"

His muscles tensed, and Craig found it hard to resist the urge to lunge forward and slam that shit-eating grin into the floor repeatedly. Instead he grit his teeth painfully and raised his index finger, growling a, "One," over the grinding.

Cartman, knowing well what the countdown was for, laughed. "Oh, what's Craiger's gonna do, kill me? Fuckin' hilarious."

"Don't forget he killed me," Kenny's muffled voice warned, though a quick look to the parka'd boy would find him scanning a playboy rather than watching the excitement. As were a group of the boys behind him, huddled closely together to get better views of the half-dressed women.

Another finger. "Two."

"Is Tweek really worth going to jail for? He's definitely got AIDs you know, the way he's been acting," Eric said in a warning tone, eyes following the figure of Tweek dive behind Craig. "Just like Kyle, you know."

"Shut up, fatass!"

"Three."

"Just take your chance and go, Cartman," Stan said from his corner, pinching his nose at his friend's stupidity. "Be glad you're even getting a five-second head start, I would've nailed you on sight."

"Ooooh, big words from Stan Darsh," Cartman mocked, ignoring the trembling fingers shoved in his face. Like Craig really would…

"Four."

..he wouldn't, right? They were cool. Okay, maybe not, but still. If he really did go ape-shit and decide to pummel him senseless, then that proved there was definitely something going on between Tweek and Craig. If not, he was a big fat liar and big fat liars got their penises bitten off by ponies. But then, if so, what did it mean? There was one logical answer, hot butt sex in the boy's bathroom, but Tweek was too paranoid to use public restrooms, and the two best friends hadn't hung out together as constantly as they usually did. A lovers spat, perhaps?

Craig was raising his thumb when Mr. Garrison burst through the door and stopped dead at the sight, mouth agape. He placed a hand on his hip as Mr. Hat waved idly around, Mr. Slave taking up post behind.

"What the Hell is going on here?" With no response from the now-silent classroom Mr. Hat took the opportunity.

"I think Craig was about to kick Eric's ass, Mr. Garrison."

Striding to his desk Ethan muttered, "Well isn't that nice," as he placed his things on the top and faced the students, who still hadn't moved. "Okay you little bastards, get in your seats right now or we'll go over the fundamentals of The Love Boat season three once again."

Not wanting to ever touch the subject again, they hurried to their desk in an attempt to appease the teacher. Mr. garrison, however, smiled cruelly as he grabbed a piece of chalk and raised it to the board. "Anyway, The Love Boat started—"

A collective sigh filled the room as the children scrounged for notes they'd taken thirty-seven times, yet couldn't seem to keep a copy of. It was going to be a long day.

---

Out of the adults, there were two he trusted to be intelligent; Chef, and Mr. Mackey. Everyone else was on his shit-list after the idiotic things they'd done, quite possibly the worst sending them off so they couldn't "kidnap" their own children. Craig sighed as he remembered those four days among the Mongolians, away from the stupidity of adults and media, just he children's friendship and a few brutish men keeping them alive and sane.

Shuffling his feet he nervously tapped on the door, littered with inane posters that really had no business being hung on the councilor's door. With seconds the stick-like man opened it and stood framed in a dull light, brows knitting in confusion.

"M'kay, Craig, I don't believe you got called down here so you can go off to lunch now, m'kay."

Craig scratched at his temple, looking up at Mr. Mackey. "I know, I just came by…to talk."

The councilor visibly startled, raising his brows at the child, instantly knowing something was wrong. Craig never wanted to "just talk", when forced he flip the person off and go about his business as if nothing happened. This change of character was surprising, but Mr. Mackey didn't have the heart to throw him out, despite the protest of his stomach.

"Well come on in then, Craig," Mr. Mackey said, standing out of the way so the slumped boy could shuffle in. He closed the door behind him and crossed to his desk, where he feel graciously onto the chair, and eyed Craig. He seemed flustered, uncertain, and absolutely giddy at the same time. His cheeks were flushed, from cold or otherwise, he couldn't care. "M'kay, what's on your mind?"

"You know how Tweek's on all those medications, and his personality is really different?" A nod. Craig twiddled with his earflaps, the usual nervous gesture of the flipper. "Well he came up to me today, right, saying we had to talk, and I was kinda a jerk about it, but was really worried 'cause he's just alien now and arg."

Mr. Mackey let it sink in before he spoke, the gibberish coalescing to form a comprehensive sentence. "And did you hear him out, figure out what he wanted to say?"

Craig felt his face redden, both from embarrassment and anger. He crossed his arms and sighed loudly before standing and bent over Mr. Mackey's desk in the fashion Tweek had done his. The councilor gave him a look, but didn't argue. "No! Okay, it was like this, Tweek was over my desk like I'm yours, and I was mimicking the position. Cartman waddled in and slammed his fat ass against Tweek, and he fell forward, right? But that happened to be on my mouth." He fell back into the chair, freckles standing out noticeably against the red of his skin. "I didn't know who to kill, Cartman, Tweek, myself, or the other kids."

The councilor considered this new information as Craig settled himself down, blush slowly creeping away. "M'kay, you wanted to kill Cartman for touching Tweek and makin' it happen, and Tweek for doin' it—" two consecutive nods "—yourself for bein' the victim and the other kids because…?"

"They were there!" Craig exclaimed, looking upward with a heat in his eyes. At first his mind took it as "they were there to witness the embarrassing event", but soon realized Cartman was excluded as well, meaning that hey were all there at a private moment. He wondered if Craig understood the meaning of such a simple sentence as well, the subject he'd tumbled on, and seeing the boy bite his lip, he decided Craig indeed did know.

"Well, what do you want me to help you with?"

"Everything, Cartman, the kids, Tweek, myself. Ev-er-y-thing."

Crossing his legs and folding his hands on the desktop Mr. Mackey hmmed. He was asking questions that could potentially get him fired, if Craig decided to run to his parents and tell. The answer was all in how he worded it, if he wanted to keep the position as elementary councilor or not.

"First off, m'kay, you can't let other kids get to you, Craig. Killing them, threatening, would get you in a lot more trouble than just blowing them off. You just have to take them in stride, even Cartman. You've got to believe in yourself and tell the other kids to screw off, m'kay? It's the whole 'I am rubber you are glue, whatever you say bounces off of me and sticks to you' theory.

"As for yourself, only you know what's goin' on in your head. But I can tell you my opinion. This age is where puberty sort of sets up its foundation to come crashing down hard on you as a teen, m'kay, so you might be experience mental changes, noticing things about people. Because Tweek is your best friend, and you're around him a lot, it's only natural to see notice changes and certain qualities in him that make him attractive, whether or not you're 'funny'. But you might be feelin' emotions toward him because of it, if this makes you a fag, only you can decide that.

"Now Tweek, I think you should talk to him, see what he wanted. Explain yourself some. If one-on-one seems awkward, try a note; girls seem to find this method easy."

Craig gave a nod as it sunk in. "Yeah, that sounds good." He stood, his own stomach growling dangerously. "Thanks, I appreciate it."

Mr. Mackey offered a smile and wave. "Goodluck, m'kay." As Craig left he sighed; he'd be needing all of the luck he could get.

---

The left corner of the cafeteria, at a table hidden away but an indention in the wall was Tweek's normal seat nowadays. Today he took extra precautions, sitting up against the wall where no one could see him, but he had a view of the entire place. So it was a surprise as Death's playmate slid into the bench across from his, and slipped his hood off, revealing a toothy grin and busted lip, probably caused by Wendy in an attempted to rid his "malicious intent of chesticles". A hand glided upward to his chin in slow, deliberate movements, the other remaining under the table doing only Hell knows what.

"Hi Tweek," Kenny crooned, batting blue eyes at Tweek. The boy twitched, scowling.

"What do you want?"

"Ah, just came to congratulate you on your kiss of Craig, it was pretty hot. Though I can't say it was the best performance ever, I think even Stan yarfing in Wendy's mouth was better."

"I didn't kiss him!" Tweek squealed, burying his face in his hands. This was what he had tried to hide from, the accusations he'd been receiving.

"Your mouth met his, that's a kiss, end of story."

"It wasn't on purpose," he moaned though his hands.

"Yeah, yeah, Cartman's fatass did run into you, so? Alcohol creates a lot of babies and then love, and that's not on purpose either." It was an analogy he didn't yet understand, but soon would out of experience first-hand.

"Go away, Kenny.'

"You're falling for your best friend." This, a statement. Being the kid that was left out of many things due to his lack of money, he'd taken to watching people and how they reacted with each other, noticing subtle hints and touches to mean things. Best friends always seemed to be very friendly, on the border of flaming gay.

Tweek didn't feel up to argue, the point moot, and confusing him as well. He was the living example that medication fucked you up, for the worst.

An intake of breath and a hand on his shoulder. Tweek glanced up to meet Kenny's eyes, instead of devious now soft and compassionate. "Cartman will be coming out of line soon and will screw you over, I suggest you find a better hiding place."

Giving Kenny a look he got up and dashed out of the cafeteria. What was that he saw flashing in those blue eyes, envy?

He surely hoped not.

---

Watching the frozen lake from the cold bank, Tweek sighed, breath creating a fog in the bitter air. He'd trudged to Stark's Pond after lunch, cutting the rest of the day. It was time he didn't care if he lost, annoyance of notes and paper balls, mocking words behind his back was something he would rather strip from his day than keep. Of course, being out in the elements for nearly two hours couldn't be good, and probably insured a cold, but it was fine with him.

Talk to you after school, normal place.

That was the short note he'd found crammed in his locker in the distinctive blocking writing of Craig's, which fated the rest of the day be spent playing in subzero temperatures waiting. And he did, he waited, what was to come being what initiated the rift between them.

---

The only real advice Cartman had ever given that was plausible stated:

"Eliminate the problem at the source."

That's what Craig decided he needed to do, and such a thing involved confrontation. Recess would have caused too much of a scene considering "the kiss", and of course Tweek couldn't be found. So he voted for after school at Stark's Pond, where the blonde waited with snow-flakes dusted in his hair, giving the honey-colour a lighter look. He whipped around at the approaching footsteps, nearly toppling onto his rear, but didn't shout his usual "Don't kill and/or rape me!" line.

"Hi," he said, standing and waved around a neon-postit note. "I got your message."

Craig shrugged it off, glancing at the ice coating the surface of the lake. "Yeah, I figured that out, buttpipe. So, you wanted to talk, what were you gonna say this morning?"

"Nothing, you go first," Tweek persisted, shaking at his hair, snow falling from it in a shower of glistening droplets. Craig crossed his arms, shuddering against the cold—it was best to get it over with quickly so neither of them got hypothermia.

"Tweek, look, I want you to understand you're a really cool guy and friend, and I'll always be here for you when shit goes wrong, right?" The blonde gave a nod, chocolate eyes hinting nothing. The raven-haired boy sighed, warm breath fogging. "Well, I can't fucking do this. You're doped up on so many medications it's crazy, and it's fucking with me too. I can't be your friend anymore."

Tweek stared at him, the words like a hit from a freight train. Breath gone no words escaped, only a choking sound. After thirty seconds he took a ragged breath and tried to compose himself. "What?"

By now Craig looked uncertain, almost guilty, watching the frozen ground instead of the reaction going on in front of him. "I can't be your friend if you're like this."

"That's…you can't…why?"

"I told you, I can't take you like this. It's too difficult to deal with right now. I'm sorry, really, but fuck you, Tweek."

With that he shoved his hands in is pockets, averting his gaze from the widened eyes, turned and walked away. Tweek, too stunned to chase after, let his outstretched hand fall to his side. Wrapping his scarf tighter around his neck he headed home, lips quivering at the sudden cold he felt. What had just happened? Craig came, broke their friendship, and left. It was as simple as that.

So why did if feel like so much more?

He sniffed, the sudden weight of emotion tiring after two months of nothingness. Why did Craig make him react this way, make him pathetic? After many rejections of friendship, one would think it wouldn't hurt so bad to have one brushed off so casually.

"Fucking Craig," he muttered harshly to himself, voice betraying the anger in a croak. It was his fault he was on so many damn pills anyway, with the constant worry Dr. Rizzo had enforced after suggesting he had undefined feelings for the Nommel boy. Undefined feelings, Hell! They were pretty damn defined in his dictionary.

He yanked at his hair in frustration as he kicked open his door, muttering a soft, "Hello" to the carpet near Eavan and ran up the stairs before either parent could ask what his problem was. Slamming the door closed and locking it, Tweek fell onto his bed, ignoring the fact his wet clothes created icy patches on the sheets. His attention was too engorged out the window on the slate roof of his "best friend's" house a block over, where presumably Craig was.

He growled, tearing his eyes away from the sight. There was no way he could go back to school with this canyon between him and any of the other kids. His mother had brought up the issue of homeschooling in the beginning process of the drugs, but he hadn't taken I seriously. He was still the twitchy kid the other's pretended to hate but really couldn't love without. Now, he was the blonde Goth, second anti-Christ, sonuvabitch with no friends, and one that was a backstabbing hooker.

The choice was obvious.

---

A/N: Holyshit sorry for the late update, you know how school is, that Neo-Nazi conformist bitch. I don't know how long I plan on keeping the boys children, another chapter or two, and then they've got to grow up where the plot really starts to unravel. Oh yes, hot hot hot.

That story about Curson my parents told me, just I revised it a bit to fit what I need later (aka completely butchered it). His dialogue might be hard to follow for a few reasons, one for Tweek's comprehension, andthe literary devices. Pay attention tohim, he gives great clues :3

Yes...I couldn't help giving Christophe a part. Shutup.

And my reviewers, you know who you are, thankya tons:D