Disclaimer: I do not own the cartoon South Park, nor am I affiliated with the creators, Matt Stone and Trey Parker, in any way what so ever. This piece if purely a work of fiction.
Author's Notes: Thank you so much tazrr., InsomniaticFrenchToast, trulybliss08, Ketamine. Methanol and Mizuni-no-neko for reviewing the last chapter. I apologize for this chapter. Not only does it blows ('nuff said), it took me forever to finish it- which is very, very sad. But on a lighter note, I am home and have a sweet ass Professor Chaos helmet.
Just a few little things:
"Thou shalt cry, and he shall say, Here I am." - Isaiah 58:9b
"Thou shalt stretch forth thine hand against the wrath of mine enemies." -Psalm 138:7b
Garth is the name of my car, not a real guy... How embarrassing of me.
---
I Get A Kick Out Of You
Chapter Six
The exhausted and sore teenage boy lay perfectly still on the four wheeled hospital bed. His legs, which were skinnier than most remembered, were covered with lines upon lines of squishy, purple bruises. They layered the skin as the legs curled around the generic- patient issued scratchy white bed sheets. His arms, like his legs, were littered with scratches and bruises, slumped to his side. His face however, was the worse for wear. His dark brown eyes which normally bore the look of utter disinterest to nearly everything he viewed, had large, shadowed circles surrounding them. His black hair was slicked back away from his forehead, matted and greasy; the by protect of not showering in more than two days time. His mouth, though currently the best feature upon his face, was still dreadful. It was covered in a thick and clear, plastic made breathing mask which held the elongated tube that ran down his throat; the result of a collapsed esophagus from being nearly strangled to death by his best friend and boyfriend. Although the machine strapped to his face and throat kept him alive and breathing, his chest quivered in irregular spasms.
A long, scraggly blonde haired woman sat by his side in an uncomfortable cushioned metal chair, her hand clutching at his hand in sadness and disbelieve. Her large green eyes, which hadn't blinked in nearly five minutes, stared at his pathetic, pale face. "It's just so horrible, Thomas," she mutters softly, finally turning to face her husband just a few feet next to the bed and herself, tears once more threatening to spill from her doe like eyes.
Thomas Tucker puts his right hand on his wife's shoulder and his other down upon his son's left leg. "We love you Craig, so much," he manages to choke out, looking away briefly from his oldest child to his younger daughter wrapped firmly around his leg.
"Daddy?" The long, red haired child frowns, tightening her arms around her father's thick thigh. "Is Craig goin' be okay?" She questions, sadness apparent in her voice, although her mind hadn't fully grasped the situation at hand involving her brother.
Thomas smiles and nods quickly, a little too frantically for his liking. "H-He's goin' be fine, darlin'," he answers back, "Don't you be worried too much 'bout your brother." Thomas stares back at his only son, the tears beginning to fall from his eyes as well. "He's got a head of concrete, that boy. Ain't nothin' gonna hurt him, Ruby." Pulling his hand away from Craig, he lays it softly over his daughter's long, red hair. Stroking it softly, he sighs. "Soon, he'll be back to normal beating your little head up with his smelly Football socks."
"That's gross, Dad!" Ruby hollers, detaching her arms from around her father's leg and raising her hand, middle finger in an inappropriate salute. Lifting up the end of the bed sheets, she looks in curiously. "He ain't wearing socks anyway! I checked!" The girl cocks her head to the side in wonder. "So, everything will be normal again?"
"Sure, it will. Sure, it will," he assures.
Ruby smiles widely and nods. "Great!" She smacks her hands together in a clap. "Craig better get outta this bed soon, he's so lazy! Because then Tweek will come over to our house and make me nice warm drinks and play dolls with me and have tea parties with me and brush my hair like he always does!" Ruby smiles brightly, her small body bouncing up and down in excitement. Her red pigtails follow her actions, bounding up into the air as well. Unaware of what she said, her parents suddenly grow quiet. The only sounds in the room now, besides Ruby's giggles, are Mr. and Mrs. Tucker's quiet, soft sobs. Unnoticed, she continues, the bright smile still present on her face. "I like Tweek a whole lot! I think maybe when I get older, I'm gonna have to marry him!"
Mrs. Tucker stares down at the most likely uncomfortable hospital bed which currently housed her poor teenage boy. Sniffling softly, she wipes at her face with her free hand, mascara and tears sliding innocently down her face. "We…" She pauses, her eyes completely closed as she runs the sentence carefully and disbelievingly through her head over and over again. "We like Tweek a whole lot too, honey." Mrs. Tucker feels her husband's grip tighten on her shoulder. Opening her eyes, she looks up at him and softly smiles. He gives one long, saddened nod to her before turning back to his bruised son in the bed.
Inside the small, shared hospital room of Craig Tucker and his anonymous roommate, the atmosphere was depressed; his tired parent's cried, his little sister whined and the plump, overworked nurses gave their pity whenever they happened to enter (of course at their convenience). Although, the events happening deep inside Craig's subconscious, were far from the likes of his agonizing, rented out hospital room. In his mind, he laid perfectly in a large, king sized bed, his arms and legs wrapped deliciously around the soft fleece like fabric belonging to the goose feather down comforter. His body, no longer in pain, worked as it had before: perfectly. As his dark brown eyes opened to look up at the artistically painted ceiling above him, it was then that Craig noticed he wasn't at all alone. Next to him, equally pulled around the wonderful blankets, was Tweek, nearly invisible- although white blonde tufts of hair stuck up from under the crevices of the white pillow. His breathing was steady, steadier of course than Craig's, who was currently staring down at the boy in absolute wonder. "Tweek?" He questioned softly, removing himself carefully from the blankets and putting his hand down upon the boy's back. The pillow lifts up and out pops the blonde, his whole face instantly lighting up; from his glowing light green eyes to his humongous smile plastered awkwardly over his face.
"Good morning, Craig," Tweek whispers as he slides his head out from under the pillow to meet the gaze of his disbelieving boyfriend. He uncurls himself from around the blankets and lifts himself up. Leaning forward, he pecks his soft lips carefully against Craig's. He lifts a hand and places it gently on the strands of feathery black hair. "How are you?"
"I'm… I'm fine," Craig replies, closing his eyes only briefly at the nearly forgotten touch of the boy. "What are we doin'?" He asks, pulling Tweek heavily into his lap, his fingers sliding over the obnoxious red cotton fabric of his boyfriend's pajamas. "I mean, like, doing here. What are we doin' here?" He sighs heavily and rests his forehead against Tweek's. "Fuck, I just feel so confused."
Tweek smile weakens. "Don't be confused. There's nothing to be confused about. It's just you and me. And that's all that matters." Tweek wraps his legs around Craig's midriff and sighs contently, his arms grasping around the older boy's torso a second later. "We're here because you wanted to get together." He whispers into Craig's ear seductively, his tongue slipping out to lick at the soft skin of cartilage.
Craig chuckles at the sudden display of affection and smiles. "Alright," he nuzzles his face against Tweek's neck, his fingers continuing to fiddle with the loud red fabric. "God, I can never really tell you just how much you mean to me." He mutters, almost silently. His digits wrap around the fabric of the shirt; the fibers twisting with the movements of his fingers. He plants a soft kiss against the smaller teen's pale skin and grins. "So, when are we going for another round?" Craig assumes as he takes in the facts around them; the large bed, Tweek's oddly seductive actions, the box of condoms carelessly thrown to the ground beside a heap of torn clothing. He lifts his head from off Tweek's neck and shoulder. Kissing him passionately on the lips, Craig sighs in delight. He can feel Tweek's delicate fingers glide up his naked boney back and slide to his hair, tugging gently on the dark locks. "I want you so bad," he moans, his voice deep, laced with pure frenzied ecstasy. He snakes his tongue out and against Tweek's pouty lips, a second later only to be accepted by his boyfriends.
"Well," Tweek begins, softly biting down onto Craig's tongue, a large, teasing smile plastered on his face. "You're just going to have to wait, now aren't you?" Tweek grabs Craig's face and kisses him ardently before unwrapping his legs and standing up from the bed. Now standing a few feet away from the king sized bed and completely turned around, Tweek raises his hands and unbuttons the shirt, letting it fall to the floor in a heap beside the other articles of clothing; the red fibers contradicting with the entire white atmosphere of the bedroom. Turning around, Tweek cocks his head up and bites his lip, looking curiously over at Craig's mostly unwrapped body on the bed. Slithering his fingers down his flat chest and stomach, he stops briefly at the cotton pants, his fingers toying lazily with the black elastic drawstring. He slides his fingers at the sides of his pants and pulls down; red pants soon meeting the other forms of clothing on the ground. Biting his bottom lip even harder to the point Tweek was sure he drew blood; he looks at Craig and grins, his bright white teeth seeming oddly brighter in the low light levels of the bedroom lamps. When he sees Craig's eyes hungrily look at his simple black boxer briefs, Tweek dips a few fingers in, the tips just managing to grace the skin of his hardening member. His other hand moves down the front of his briefs, his palm massaging his elongated organ against soft, cotton fibers. Just as he closes his eyes in partial satisfaction, he hears Craig give off a shaky moan. Tearing his hand from inside his pants, Tweek throws them to his side and smiles. "I told you, you're just going to have to wait." Tweek mutters, moving his arms up to cross over his chest. He turns around and struts toward the black door, his flat hips purposely swaying as he reaches the exit on the far side of the room. When his fingers grip the glass encrusted doorknob, he turns back briefly to Craig. "Come outside when you're ready," Tweek blows a kiss and winks, his other eye flashing a shade of deep red. "I'll be waiting."
As soon as Tweek leaves the room, Craig leaps from the bed and runs to the door. Shaking his body out, he smiles and sets his hand to the doorknob; a sudden cold chill sparking through his entire body. His smile fades as he twists, his mind working in overdrive to remember what was on the other side of the door. When he finds he can't exactly remember, he shrugs his shoulders and heaves the heavy, black door open. What he finds on the other side is not what he assumed it'd be. He pictured a kitchen, maybe an attached living room complete with a coffee table, chairs and a sofa but instead he found himself looking at nothing but absolute darkness. Daring not to take a step forward, he merely dips his head in. He looks curiously down and frowns. "What the-," Craig suddenly gasps as he looks down to his naked feet. A hundred tiny hands gripped at his toes, tearing and clutching at the elastic skin, forcing it to stretch uncomfortably. In an attempt to throw them off, Craig trips and falls to the clean, white carpet floor below. The hands held on tighter and eventually start to pull. Craig watched helplessly as his now aching body disappeared within the depths of total black. "Some help-," a hand smacks over his mouth, blocking his flow of oxygen to his lungs; an all too familiar sensation of death gripping to him. As the last bit of hair from his head falls into the darkness with the rest of his body, the black door closes and the perfect white room was once again completely forgotten.
Craig fell. He fell for what felt like miles, down a skinny black tube as his legs continued to be tugged at by those little misshapen, pale hands. Besides the hands, he was alone; alone, and more confused than he ever felt before. And with the loneliness and confusion came pain; excruciating, unbearable pain. It gripped at his chest, forcing his heart to beat rapidly. He lifts his hands to squeeze at his chest if that were to help the pain surging through his tired body. It failed to disperse and Craig, for the first time in his life, felt all will to live fall right down the long, black tube and land in a disgusting mass of black ooze on the floor. He closed his dark eyes for the last time, his breathing choked from his mouth once more.
---
"Oh, Garth dear, I love you," the petite brunette boldly announces, clutching the broad chested masculine man to her small body, her lanky arms wrapped tightly around his uniform covered torso. She smiles happily against the decorated navy blue uniform, her ski sloped nose taking in a quick breath of dark cologne, her bright sapphire eyes fluttering in happiness. Her perfectly manicured nails trail across the wrinkles of his uniform shirt, forcing the creases out little by little. She moves her face from off his chest and stares up into his dull, broken eyes. "Please don't look so sad, darling. We're here, together. Finally, we're together again." She sets one hand to his chest and strokes softly, fingertips grazing across the sharp, little bristles covering his chin and cheek (the result of having not shaved in two days time). "We're together," she mutters quietly, supple tears falling mercilessly down her perfectly made up cheeks. "Don't ever leave me again, Garth. Just don't ever leave me again." She throws her arms back around his muscular body, tears now soaking into the dark cotton fabric.
"Grace, please…" Garth quietly mutters back, his head dipping to rest cautiously down upon mounds of curly brown hair. "Don't make this harder than it already is," a loud sniffle later and he begins to cry as well, tears reluctantly plummeting from his dull, death seeing eyes. He lifts his head to gaze down, watching her curiously as she fiddles with the silver and gold metals decorating his uniform. "I'm home. Let's make this as great as possible." He lifts her delicately from his chest and wraps his arms delicately around her hips. He begins to sway, falling in time with the beats of the music filling the atmosphere around them with grace. "We'll never be apart again, I promise you that." Garth closes his eyes and sighs loudly, his fingers caressing the cotton fabric of his girlfriend's soft white nurses uniform.
A large crack echoed in the overpowering, brilliant dance hall. As the decrepit body falls from the elaborately decorated ceiling, the overtly excited dancers and party goers continued their festivities, paying absolutely no attention to the mangled looking body of the black haired teenage boy. As he laid helpless on the dance floor, a few dancers actually had the nerve to step over his body, some not even being as nice as they jabbed their high heeled feet right against his aching torso, causing jolts of pain to surge from his head to his chest.
"Son? Hey son, you need any help?" Garth asks curiously, immediately releasing Grace from his grasp as he kneels down to stare at the boy on the floor. "What's wrong? Were you in the war?" He asks, inquisitively taking a glance to his equally confused girlfriend by his side.
"N-No…" Craig mutters, eyes lifting from the ground and into the muted ones of Garth. Placing a scratched hand to his naked chest, he groans. "I… Oh God, my head," he gripes. Slowly sitting up on his hands and knees, he shakes his head and sighs. "Where the hell am I?" He blindly lifts a hand into the air, only slightly surprised to have it grabbed a moment later by Garth. He lifts a second hand and it's immediately grabbed by Grace. The duo lift him into the air and perfectly down upon the ground. Once fully up, Craig softly smiles. "Thanks…" Tearing his eyes away from the sight of the beautiful crowd in front of him, Craig's attention swerved immediately to a spastic looking naked blonde situated in the corner of the room beside a second large black door. The blonde drags his sharp tongue over his lips before he bites his bottom lip, his face full of absolute seduction. Behind him, the black haired boy can hear the couple continue to question him. Choosing to ignore them completely, Craig runs to the other side of the room as soon as he witnesses Tweek's left eye wink. On the way, he ran into many dancing people, tripped on highly poised women swaying with their male counterparts, and slid carelessly against the newly polished white marble floor. When he finally did make it to the other side of the room, Tweek quickly slid in the door, his hand giving off a soft wave as his body disappears from behind the large oak door. In arms reach, Craig stretched and grabbed for the blonde, failing miserably as the door heavily shuts. Growling to himself, Craig rested his hand down upon the doorknob, an even greater chill than before flowing through his nearly naked body. Shoving off the instant feeling of fright, Craig throws the door open, an ever determent look present on his face.
The room was decorated completely in shadow. Though from what Craig could see, the tall, floor to ceiling length windows were covered in large sheets of black velvet, preventing all light from entering the imposing room. A large unlit red brick fireplace was in the opposite corner. On top, resting along the shelf above the fireplace stood a hefty professionally painted portrait of a man. A long rectangular wooden table set in the direct middle of the entire room. Much like the dance floor in the previous setting, the nearly fifteen foot long table was packed with individuals (Craig counted about thirteen). Though instead of the moving individuals in the previous room, the figures at the table remained perfectly still; their hands thrown in place, their mouths slightly open as if they once talked, their stances precariously perched in uncomfortable positions against the shining wood. Glimpsing away from the figures, Craig's eyes fell upon the only moving person in the room: Tweek. His hips swayed just as they had before, his long legs gracefully walking away from Craig and to the table. Once he reaches it, he stops, his head slightly cocked to the side. Craig watches with utter interest as Tweek's hoists his body onto the table in front of the person sitting directly in the center of the group. His head juts up, his blank eyes gawking up at the portrait above the fireplace. Once he looks away, Tweek lifts his middle finger to his chest, making an impression of an inverted cross on his naked chest. He slides off the table and throws his lanky legs off, his bottom still perched. Craig can tell, even from the distance, that the other teen whispers something quietly. Jumping off the table, Tweek situates himself on the immobile person sitting in the large, red thrown like chair. Craig watches as Tweek's hands grab at the arms of the chair, crushing harshly at the person's long pale fingers. Without a moment to spare, Tweek's body jolts; his hips thump into the air, his red glowing eyes wide in fear, his face that of utter agony. Then at last, when Craig was just about to cross the room, Tweek's eyes close and his body evaporates and seems to soak into that of the still immobile figure in the red chair. Craig takes a quick step back and throws his hands behind him, a look of shock forming as he turns around to find his once only entrance now completely disappeared. When he turns back around, Craig gasps. The once immobile man sitting in the middle of the table stares off into the distance beyond Craig's head, his head tipped back, blonde turning black hair caressing down his perfectly angled face, his mouth slightly ajar to show off sharp, jagged white teeth falling from light pink gums. The dark figures head snaps back and he throws a goofy grin. "Well, hello Craig Tucker," the figure announces, the grin broadening across his pale face.
Craig's back hits the empty black back wall, his eyes wide in shock. "W-W-Who are you?"
The figure crosses one leg over the other and sits up in the chair. "Please, call me Damien, Mr. Tucker." He lifts his arms to remove the stark white suit jacket from his shoulders, letting it slip from his body and fall to the back of the red, cushioned chair. "Don't act so weird. We're all acquaintances here. We're all business men. There's no need for you to be nervous." He waves a hand in the air and the top button of his black long sleeved dress shirt comes undone. The blood red tie around his neck looses, the knot falling to the middle of his chest. He sighs in contentment and leans back into the chair. Damien makes a small face of restlessness at Craig's eagerness to flee the room. Waving an irritated hand once more in the air, a simple wooden four legged chair scrapes across the floor from the fireplace and lands right behind Craig. It nudges him from behind, forcing his knees to buckle; his body falling against the chair. Once he is planted highly uncomfortably in the chair, it slides across the floor, falling just five feet short from the front of the table. Craig grips the sides of the chair, his knuckles turning white.
"Please…" Craig mutters, his heart beating so loudly, nearly planted right in his ears. "What… What am I doing here? What happened to Tweek? Where is he? Please tell me he's okay. I just need to-"
"He's around," Damien smirks, quietly interrupting the half naked, deranged looking teenage boy. Cocking his head to the side, the smirk fades and becomes that of a caring smile. "Now, for a moment let's just forget about the Tweek lad and discuss what you came here to talk about: business." Damien carefully places his hands onto the table and entwines his fingers.
"Around?! Fuck off! You tell me where Tweek is or you're not getting' a word outta me!" Craig frowns. "And business?" He scoffs, "Buddy, I don't even know who the fuck you are and you expect me to just start talkin' to you like we're old friends?" He makes a move to stand up from the chair and pauses only to look Damien straight in the eyes, dark brown meeting fiery red in an instant battle of dominance. "Forget it, man." Craig lifts his middle fingers in an angry salute.
Damien, looking less than impressed, frowns. "Please, Mr. Tucker. Take a seat."
"Screw you."
Damien's left eye twitches in irritation. The arms of the simple four legged chair fly from their place and wrap tightly around Craig's limp wrists, small brown splinters scraping into the pale skin. The boy falls back into the chair. "Care to repeat what you just said?"
"Screw you," Craig's middle finger flies back into the air, though barely shown as his wrists fail him miserably.
Instead of thrashing out as he normally would, Damien remains completely still; fingers intertwined, one muscular leg folded firmly over the other. His face bore an expression of complete concentration, though faintly mixed with a hint of confusion and interest. "You know something, Mr. Tucker?" Damien inquires, his large front canine tooth pushing down into his thin bottom lip. A small bead of blood falls from his lip and tumbles down his chin. "I like you." His pointed tongue snakes out and licks the blood from his chin in one quick motion.
"I'm not sure whether to be flattered or creeped out," Craig decides, his body shifting uncomfortably against his wooden chair.
"In my opinion, it would be wise to be flattered more so than frightened."
Craig grimaces. "I'll keep that in mind."
"Wonderful," Damien's fingers tap against one another. Releasing his fingers from their holding grasp, he slams them onto the table, the luxurious crystal china placed sporadically on the table shakes within their spots, some threatening to fall over the edge. His eyes flicker a lighter shade of red and soon after, a large pile of perfectly organized papers slams down onto the table from somewhere above. One slender hand falls to his side where he reaches into the pockets of his expensive black slacks and pulls out a pair of slim, black rimmed glasses. He slides them up and onto his face, delicately rubbing the bridge of his nose. A light cough erupts from his voice as he lifts one sheet of paper up, his eyes squinting behind the glass window of his eyeglasses. "Oh, yes. Just if you still were wondering, your little Tweek friend is perfectly fine. At this particular moment, I do believe he is asleep on a cot in jail. Now, back to business," he mutters softly, demonic black pupils reading over the small black printed words on the beautifully embroidered paper. He takes a quick glance down to the wrist watch adoring his arm before he looks at Craig. "Happen to know what day it is?"
Closing his eyes, Craig rattles his brain for any information indicating the present day. He shakes his head and sighs, black hair obscuring his vision as he looks back up. "I… I don't remember."
Damien rolls his eyes. "Care to tell me what day you partake in unnecessary aquatic activities at your high school?"
"Wednesday, dickwad." Craig blurts out quickly, his mind completely sure on the fact at hand.
Damien nods his head, forgetting momentarily at the childish name he was called and adjusts the glasses on his face. "It would be Wednesday, wouldn't it? That would make today Thursday then."
Craig rolls his eyes, turning his head away from Damien to the other silent occupants at the table. His mind still lingered on the subject of his poor, defenseless Tweek in jail. He imagined the slender thing sitting amongst huge, muscular men, all wearing matching orange jumpsuits with serial numbers longer than pi itself. The longer he thought, the longer he could plainly see Tweek's pale face contorted in pain, blood dripping down his nose from a no doubt punch to the face by another burly inmate. "What's this all about anyway?" He thrashes his hands about in frustration, his eyes still straying to the others. "Jesus fucking Christ, you asshole! Let me go!" Much to his dismay, the harder Craig pulls, the tighter the restraints seem to become; digging harshly into his skin, surely leaving long angry marks stretched over his skin.
"Well Craig Tucker," Damien begins, a smirk forming on his face as he removes the glasses, setting them firmly down onto the large stack of papers in front of him, "it would seem that in precisely three hours, forty minutes and thirteen seconds, you will be dead." Glancing back down at his watch, he grins. "Pardon me, three hours, forty minutes and five seconds."
Craig rips his eyes away from the frozen bodies and back to Damien. Cocking his head to the side, he scowls. "Excuse me?"
"I'm sure I did not stutter, Mr. Tucker, you obviously heard me." Damien entwines his fingers back together, the grin growing steadily on his face as he makes small glances down to the expensive, black and silver Rolex watch.
"Who the fuck do you think you are? What is this? Some kind of sick joke?" Craig makes another move to stand from the chair but fails miserably as he is thrown back down, the restraints on his wrists digging down tighter into his skin; the wood now cutting through the mandatory plastic hospital band. "How would you even know that?"
Damien drags his eyes from the watch for seemingly the last time and quirks an eyebrow toward Craig. He rests both feet firmly to the ground and pushes back, the flat wooden bottoms of the chair scrapping against the shiny, diamond encrusted marble floors below. "I assure you Mr. Tucker, this is no joke." As he stands, the papers immediately disperse to the other members of the table. He takes a quick step to the side and delicately pushes the large chair in. Gazing over the table, he makes sure every single non moving member has a small stack of papers before slowly walking around to the front. He crosses both arms over his chest and leans against the front of the table, his feet outstretched. "And as far as whom I am, I am sure I made that perfectly aware to you earlier."
Craig's eyes widen as the realization finally sets in. "I'm dyin'?" He questions, his face full of ever present confusion. "But… I don't really understand. Back in the locker room, with Tweek… I thought I, well… Died."
"Well, technically you did." Damien pushes himself off the table and stands fully straight. "Though, it may seem that the paramedics revived you a few minutes after."
"So, how am I dying?"
"Good question," Damien smirks wildly, his sharp canine teeth falling from glossy pink gums. Uncrossing his arms from his chest, he shoves them into the pockets of his pants. "You're in a coma."
"That doesn't mean I'm dying, asshole!" Craig screams harshly as he flails his head about, greasy black hair clouding his vision.
Damien's smirk falls, replaced moments later by a short, sloppy frown. "Let me clarify just a few things for you then." Taking his right hand from his pocket, he snaps. Craig watches in utter surprise as the person on the far side of the table, dressed completely in dark blue, stands straight up from their crooked, hunched over position. Their eyes were completely clouded over, a silken white glaze painted outwardly over the balls. Their face, though very human in all their features, from the full, thick brown beard gracing their chin to the awkward lopsided shape of their pointed ears, appeared very inhuman. As they stood fully, their bones cracked with years of malnourishment and abuse. The man's hands slammed to the table in a blind mess and grabbed at the documents. Once in his skinny hands, he sauntered over to Damien and held his hands out. The more presentable suit clad man grabs at the papers almost immediately. He lifts his fingers and brushes the dreary looking man away, allowing him full access back to his uncomfortable position at the end of the table. Forgetting altogether of his black rimmed glasses, Damien shoves the paper closer to his face and begins. "Cerebral Hypoxia is, for I am sure you don't know, the condition in which brain tissues are starved of oxygen. It occurs from many things; carbon monoxide poisoning, cardiac arrest, head trauma, or in your case, strangulation. Once Tweek Tweak wrapped his skinny little nasty fingers around your neck and squeezed, your lungs failed to bring the appropriate amount of oxygen into your lungs therefore causing your body to shut down from the inside out. Sometime later, your brain failed to operate appropriately triggering you to fall into a coma a little bit later." Damien removes the paper from his face and grins. "Now, isn't that just wonderful," he muses as he tosses the paper uncaringly to the marble floor below. Making eye contact with Craig, he smirks, eyes immediately sparkling a lighter shade of red. "Please, take a moment, all the time you need. Let it soak in."
Craig stares back at Damien, refusing to break eye contact with the demonic figure. "I'm dying…" He mutters softly, raising an eyebrow in confusion only to see Damien nod a second later. "You mean… Oh shit, man. I'm dying."
"And tell me, how does that make you feel?"
"Like shit. You couldn't have guessed that before?"
"Let me just be the first to say your facial expressions aren't entirely the easiest to read," Damien nods and leans back against the table. "And besides," Damien begins, "I want to hear you say it."
Arms completely relaxed against the makeshift wooden restraints, head lay back against the back of the chair, legs drooped out in front, Craig felt more depressed than he ever had before. In an instant he imagined every single thing he had ever done; walking to school with his friends, riding his bike to work and back through the harshest of winters that produced nearly three feet of snow in a single clump, winning first place in the butterfly for swimming last month and of course, every little coffee coated peck on the cheek he received from his blonde, spastic boyfriend. His heart burned in complete agony and his dark eyes turned to small slits below his forehead as he harshly held back pathetic tears. Craig, bottom lip now trembling, attempted to keep a straight face, though deep down he knew full well that he would never, ever experience any of those things ever again. "I can't die," Craig whispers, eyes drawn down to the crease in his pants. "I can't die, not now! Not fucking now!"
Damien's long fingers tap against the wood in a well exercised steady tempo. "And why not?"
"Fuck, man! There's shit I still need to do!" Craig sighs heavily, his breath hitching in his throat as he exhales. "I need to graduate, get a job, get married, have little, dumb kids for god's sakes!"
"Perhaps it is just me, but don't you find those things a little redundant?" Damien frowns, "Getting married and having kids? Is that truly what is entirely keeping you from not wanting to die? There is nothing else you want to do?" Craig frowns heavily, his crooked two front teeth biting down into his lower lip. Craig watches with complete disinterest as the darkened man pushes himself from off the table, causing it to shift backward; the frozen occupants of the table moving along with the table as if they were permanently attached. "There is nothing else out there for you, Craig Tucker?"
The room before both men began to grow even darker than before, the shadows hiding in the far corners of the room uncovering themselves from their secret spots as they trailed across the floor and up the walls. Though without the help of his now closed dying eyes, Craig can still hear the soft cracking of bone against bone, clothing tearing to bits, small whimpers of delight produced from an open groaning mouth. As he hears the last staggering snap of bones shortening and tightening into place beside a loud pressured cry, Craig's eyes fly open. He's instantly met with the same sparkling light green eyes he'd woken up to several times, the same green eyes he gazed hungrily into as he wrestled for dominance on his bed, the same green eyes he secretly wished he adorned on his boring, uncharacteristic face, the same green eyes belonging to that of Tweek Tweak. "Tweek…" Craig mutters softly, exhausted eyes half shut.
"There's nothing else you want, Craig?" Tweek asks sadly, his bottom lip trembling in distress. "Jesus Christ! How could you say that?" The smaller of the two boys seats themselves carefully down onto Craig's lap, knees uncomfortably drawn up to his naked chest, sharp toes digging into Craig's flat, muscled stomach. "How could you say that to me?" He argues, his unstable girlish voice cracking.
At that moment Craig can feel the restraints around his wrists begin to fall away, sliding back into the original position on the chair. Forgetting completely about the ignorant pain coursing through his arms, Craig stared lovingly into the ever appealing eyes of his blond partner. "I didn't mean that…" He whispers, hands finally rising to touch either side of Tweek's pale, perfect bone structured face. "I can't die now… I can't die without seein' you one last time. I can't die without telling you how much I care for you. I can't die without you, Tweek." His thumbs stroke carefully over flawless rosy cheeks.
"Please, don't die, Craig," Tweek stutters out, eyes now fully closes as he leans forward to rest his forehead against Craig's. "Jesus Christ, I just, gah, couldn't stand living without you…" He gently slides his face to the side and strokes Craig's awkward shaped nose against his own pointy one. "Please, don't leave me. Don't leave me again."
"Tweek, I'll never leave you. I swear to you, I'll never leave you," Craig promises, his own eyes closing, his face perfectly content. As he lets his fingers fall from the other boy's face, they wrap tightly around his chest, bringing him even closer than before. Craig feels Tweek's long legs tentatively fall from their place in front of his chest to either side of his weakened legs, gripping a second later around the back of the chair. As he grips tighter and tighter, he hears Tweek's breathes grow steadier and steadier. "I'll never leave you again," he cries, black hair obscuring his vision. With one last squeeze, Craig feels Tweek stop breathing; the boy's pale arms and legs instantly growing limp against his body. Quickly pulling away, Craig screams. Swiftly letting the boy fall from his arms, he falls to the ground, disappearing into the ground with a cloud full of ashy black dust. Craig's eyes grow wide in surprise and his breath jams itself stuck in the back of his throat. Tearing his eyes away from the empty sight of his boyfriend, he looks forward, tears streaming down his face. "Where is he?! For God's sake Damien, where is my boyfriend?"
"As I said before," Damien begins, the same cocky smirk plastered on his face, "he's around." The tall, demanding older teen leans down in front of Craig and rest both hands on top of sore, nearly bleeding wrists. He squeezes the bone tightly and cocks his head to the side. "Now tell me, is there anything else you want, Mr. Tucker?"
"Tweek, you asshole! Please, I want Tweek! I can't die! I need to see him again! Bring him back, please!"
"That's what I thought," Damien chuckles, fingernails digging deeper into pale, abused flesh. "I don't normally do this," Damien begins, eyes rolling as he continues to gloat, "but, seeing as how I like you, how about we make some kind of deal?"
"A deal…?"
"That's right, a deal." Damien removes his hands from Craig's and stands to his full height, shoving both hands into his pockets. "You do something for me and I'll do something for you. Or how you say it, I'll scratch your back, you scratch mine."
Craig thinks for a moment, his head dipping low to his chest. "What do I have to do?"
"We'll worry about that later, now won't we?" With a snap of his fingers, Damien makes a move to sit down. At last possible second, a chair from the darkest corner of the room slides across the floor and lands beneath Damien's bottom, cushioning him fully. "Let's talk about what I can do for you." Resting his elbows onto his knees, Damien leans forward, his sharp, canine teeth jutting out in an unusually caring smile. "In exchange for something very, very small, I will let you leave this horrible haven you call your subconscious and return to your dull, meaningless life on Earth. I'll make certain you live a horribly wonderful life."
"I don't understand…" Craig mutters, raising his head only to stare into Damien's eyes just a few inches away. "That's not possible. How can you do that?"
"I hold power over life and death, Mr. Tucker." The red in Damien's eyes sparkle against the complete darkness of the large room. "I have given away and I can take away whatever I please."
Craig raises an eyebrow and scoffs. "This is crazy," he mutters as he brings a hand up to wipe away the tears falling from his eyes. "I honestly don't know why I am listenin' to you. That's not possible. You know that and I know that."
"Mr. Tucker, you'll never know then, if you don't try." Damien leans forward and brings down Craig's hand, an instant chill running through the injured boy's body. "Thou shalt cry, and he shall say, here I am." He wipes away the tears cascading from Craig's dark eyes with a quick swift of his thumb and grins. "You have three hours, fifteen minutes and thirty two seconds to decide. After that, your mother and father will make the decision to pull the plug keeping you alive and you'll fade away from this reality and all of this will become nonexistent, as it was before you were born. After that happens, your precious Tweek will be sent to jail and will rot there for the rest of his miserable, aching life, terrorized by visions and dreams of you dying. He'll replay the same horrid scenes over and over again in his mind before he finally goes crazy and throws himself off the room of the maximum security prison." Damien leans back in his chair and smirks wildly, "Choose wisely now."
"I…" Craig closes his eyes and whimpers, "I'll do it. I'll do whatever you want me to do. Just please, don't let me die… I can't die. Please, I just can't. Not now. Let me go home…"
"Thou shalt stretch forth thine hand against the wrath of mine enemies, Mr. Tucker." Damien smirks to himself and crosses one leg over the other, the raised leg reaching out and stroking the soft tortured skin of Craig's leg. Damien's eyes fully close, his long black eyelashes and messy raven hair fluttering against the light breeze in the air caused by the slightly open window on the far side of the room. Once his breathing grows to a steady tempo, the room begins to fade to complete anonymity, fading to black almost instantly. As Craig looks around the room in mild fright, all he can see is the sparkle of perfectly sharp, white canine teeth and all he can hear are the sounds of the party in the next room carry on as if nothing else happened; as if nothing else mattered.