The bizarre images were pushed aside, banished to the back of my mind for me to contemplate later. Right now, in a place that feels like home, with his arms wrapped around me, his form pressed against me, and his breath on my neck, nothing else matters. Whatever pain medication I'm on? It's wearing off, and on top of that I'm pretty sure I'll soon be paying for having ignored doctors advise, but he's worth every ache. Pressing myself back against him further, as if in some impossible attempt to lose myself within him completely and blur the lines which separate us, I let out a small happy sigh, smile pulling at my lips as his lips graze my neck. Letting my eyes slip closed I actually let out a small hum of content, which is cheesy as fuck I know.

Every action however, has a reaction. My obvious signs of approval to his actions had of course caused new ones, and in the next moment as he squeezes me slightly, my chest is on fire. As a long low pained groan tumbles from mine, his body goes rigid, hurriedly pulling away. Even with the sharp physical pains currently assaulting me, the feeling of his body leaving mine leaves a fresh wound, and without meaning to I'm whining. Good god, what is wrong with me? The slight rhythmic movement to the lower half of the bed alerts me to the fact his leg is shaking; he's anxious. Taking a deep breath I bite down on my lip before attempting to roll over to face him, and after a few tries, curses and yelps I'm successful. With my good hand I reach up, thumb grazing his cheek softly before my fingers push through his hair slowly. Squeezing my eyes closed I grin at the familiar soft and silky feeling before blinking them back open to meet his questioning ones.

"Ugh, wh-what happened? W-why are you all beat up?!"

Questions can only go unanswered so long, lost in the moment he'd managed to push it aside, but of course it was always going to return. I am not known for my tact, generally perceived as blunt and uncaring; Tweek is the exception. So as I look into his panic stricken eyes, I try, I really fucking try, and it pains me when I'm unable to come up with a less stressful answer than the truth. "I um, I got hit by a car."

I had predicted his reaction perfectly. Wide saucer like eyes almost glazing over, body stiffening as he sits bolt up right, my hand tumbling from his hair immediately replaced by both of his own, only they're tugging at it. The volume of his scream has fresh waves of pain roll though my head.

"WHAT?! Oh Jesus Christ! You could've died!"

Squeezing my eyes closed again in an attempt to combat said pain I take a small breath, fingertips reaching to lightly graze over his lower back. "Tweek, honey it's okay. I didn't. I'm here."

Despite the conversational tone, my touch has him shiver, and I suppose also reiterates my point. It's something justifiable to freak out over, but regardless I'm alive and here. Tracing over his skin softly I let him have a moment to himself, though still reminding him that he isn't alone. And within minutes he's repositioned himself beside me, the unease in his eyes shines clearly as I look up at him. "I'm here Tweek, I'm okay, just a little sore." His brow furrows, letting me know that he remains unconvinced towards my level of downplay, but fuck, would it really help to give details? I don't think he'd like the idea of a coma. Chewing anxiously on his already chapped lips, he studies my face, frowning a little before letting out a heavy sigh.

"Fine. But ngh! Don't ever do that again?!"

Blinking a little, I bite down on the insides on my cheeks to stifle the laugh and instead lean to press my lips softly to his as a grin forms. What he's asked is impossible, but I understand it. "I'll try babe."

Though facing the other way now, I once again find myself wrapped up in his arms, the one of mine which is a willing participant mirroring this. Forehead resting against his chest, my eyes slip closed again. I want to stay awake, to savour every moment as I know for sure he won't join me in slumber at this time of day, but I can't. Whether its mind or body I'm not sure, regardless sleep takes over. It comes on far easier than I'd expected and writhing minutes I'm out cold, allowing thoughts which had earlier been pushed aside, the space to resurface.

The vision of Kenny McCormick that my subconscious mind has managed to conjure, dressed in a female nurses uniform, wears an expression which is far too smug for my liking. Almost mocking? Hell its like he expected this.

"If this were a dream you'd have imagined me in a nurses uniform."

The words sound, but the visions mouth doesn't move, instead that smarmy smirk sits still in place. As if the words are separate entirely from the dream, being processed by a different part of my mind. Memory perhaps? Is that possible?

"I can't die."

This time my eyes never left the figure which I can now only assume is mocking me. And still it's his fucking voice but it didn't come from this version. Shaking my head I sigh rolling my eyes. "Everyone dies." The unmistakable tongue cluck echos around the room, only this time it is from the vision before me, which now seems even more smug. Even fake versions of this asshole are annoying as shit.

"I've experienced death multiple times."

And that one wasn't him. Why the fuck are there two of him? Oh god please don't tell me another turned up while I was out cold?

"And this time?"

My blood runs cold, that voice was mine. This is unlike any dream I've ever had before and it's fucking weird. Literally makes zero sense, and is slightly disconcerting.

"I floated for a bit, I was there longer than you anyway. But I'm back now."

Him again. A conversation I'm somehow both a part of, and listening to from the sidelines. So many gaps within this need filling in, yet my unease only grows as I seem able to do so without the help of these voices. This time? What time? Scrunching my face I struggle to navigate through my foggy recent memory. Something happened at the pet store, other than my own incident I mean. But what? As my heart begins racing a sense of dread begins to take over. Logically I'm aware that a coma will do that, mess with your memory I mean. But a sinking feeling in the depths of my stomach suggests to me that instead my memory is purposefully blocking something. Some kind of self preservation or something. Mentally I tell t to fuck off, I'd rather just know. However as usual my mind remains unwilling to comply.

Throwing my hands up in frustration I sigh as I blink my eyes back open, and in that moment I regret everything. I'd be near willing to beg to go back. Never know. Cold chills run down my spine, hairs standing on end as my jaw drops. I feel the blood leave my cheeks, eyes bulging as every part of my being screams at me to run. Only I can't, I'm locked in this nightmare; forced to watch. My memory shows flashes, relenting and giving some answers in the moment I've realised I may have been better without them. Swirling colours fill a doorway impossibly, my step backwards in reaction. Hell I practically feel the metal of the cage upon my back. And the Kenny before me no longer wears a dress. Instead he lays lifeless in a pool of blood, flesh torn from his limbs and surrounded by rats. I did that. Oh my god, I fucking killed Kenny.

"I can't die."

I can't focus anymore, rational thought is lost. So I consider it. This has been different, not like a dream. More like a memory. Is this a memory?

With a heavy groan I'm pulled from sleep by my again anxious looking lover.

"C-Craig.. your mom is here. She says you have to go home."

A louder groan follows with a mutter of 'for fuck sake', before my eyes soften a little, I feel I was in the middle of something important? But fuck it, he's more important, and about the only thing that'd make returning home tolerable. "Come with me?"