It only takes Craig's dad about six seconds to step into the room and cross the floor to the bed, but for Craig those six seconds seem to last approximately four thousand years. His eyes are locked on the small green notebook in his dad's hand; he wants nothing more than to leap up to his feet, grab it, and take off to God only knows where, but no matter how hard he tries, Craig can't get any of his limbs to respond to his desperate, silent pleas. He's frozen, on his knees, slumped against the side of his bed, any and all energy he'd had running through his system completely drained in a matter of milliseconds.
Time slows down to what he could swear is a complete stop as the phrase, "We need to have a talk," echoes in his head over and over, the words playing over a mental slideshow of every single list contained within that green notebook. Craig knows what is written on each and every one of those pages, even better than he knows the entirety of the original run of the very first Red Racer cartoon, and none of it is anything he wants to have a talk with his dad about – not now, not ever. It had been bad enough when Clyde and Token had found the book and read the whole first list, the one about all the things about Tweek that Craig loves; as horrendously humiliating as it had been for them to find out that way, at least that list had been relatively tame. Not all of them are.
Movie Kisses I Want To Recreate With Tweek. Craig wouldn't even discuss a list like this with his closest friends, let alone his family. There are days that he can't even reread it himself, and during those times he always tells himself that he's going to rewrite it so it's not so goddamn cheesy – but when he's honest with himself, he knows that he's never going to. Because as cheesy as it might be, it's also one of the most accurate lists in the whole notebook.
The Tweek-et List (Firsts I Want To Experience With Only Tweek). Not only are there some extraordinarily non-PG things on this particular list, anybody reading it would find out just how many things on there Craig has never done before. Even worse, thanks to the fact that, from what he's seen, everyone and their fucking dog has done way more with their lives than Craig has at this point, they would probably be extremely surprised by more than a few of them – which he just knows would lead to them asking him all kinds of questions he wouldn't want to answer. Craig is already painfully aware that he's boring as shit; he doesn't need someone else having access to that kind of information unless he's trusting them with it himself.
Top Eight Fantasies About Tweek. When Craig had first started writing in this notebook, he'd honestly never intended for any of the lists to even come close to entering NSFW territory; but then one night last year, he'd been suffering from another infuriating bout of insomnia and let his mind wander. And holy shit, did it ever wander off to some…interesting places. He'd been up all night, scribbling away in the book with his favorite black gel pen, until the sun had started to light up his bedroom and he'd immediately shoved it back into the hole underneath his mattress. To this day, this list is the only one to take up multiple pages – apparently, Craig's sleep-deprived brain is fucking great at details.
There are so many more, some more innocent than others, but some very decidedly not. And now his dad has, presumably, read the whole fucking book. That's bad on so many levels it could carry the whole plotline of a fifteen-hour video game on its fucking back.
Oh, God. Craig's stomach lets out a low, dangerous gurgle and his mouth suddenly fills with saliva, two surefire signs that he's about to be subjected to another round of uncontrollable puking. He doesn't know what he could possibly even still have left in his stomach that he could throw up, aside from maybe every single one of his internal organs. Dimly, Craig thinks to himself that that can't be good and maybe he should try to do something to prevent something catastrophic; but he still is completely unable to move, even just to clamp a hand over his mouth to try to keep his spleen and all its friends from escaping and leaving him a broken and empty husk of a former human. Well, shit. If this is how he's going to go, Craig hopes it's quick.
He just wishes he could have gotten a chance to say goodbye to Tweek.
"Craig…" his dad starts, lowering himself onto Craig's bed, a heavy sigh following the word before he pauses and silence overtakes the room once again. The mattress sinks beneath his weight as he sits down and shifts around a bit, and Craig's arm slips from where it's been resting, falling back down to his side with a dull thump.
This is it. There's no use trying to fight it or deny it, not when there's written evidence, in Craig's own handwriting, no less. This is the moment he's going to be told that he's an utter disappointment of a son and a disgrace to the name Tucker, and he's going to get booted the fuck out of his house with nothing but the clothes on his back and whatever he's got shoved in his pockets. As soon as that thought crosses his mind, an odd sense of peace begins descending upon Craig, one he doesn't quite understand. He shouldn't be at peace with this, what the hell is wrong with him? Maybe it's just resignation, some kind of dull acceptance of the fact that his life is fucking over. That makes more sense; after all, It's the middle of fucking October in Colorado, it's cold as shit outside, and he has nowhere to go.
He can't go to Tweek's house for obvious reasons; there's no way he'll be able to face Tweek after this. He can't go to Clyde's because Mr. Donovan doesn't like him – based solely on an incident in eighth grade that wasn't even his fault, but fuck if anyone would listen to him back then – and would never let him live there indefinitely. Craig can't even tell Clyde he's been kicked out, even, not unless he wants to be subjected to hours upon hours of the brunette ugly sobbing about how unfair their dads are and how he can totally hide Craig in his closet, completely missing the fucking irony of that claim.
In theory, Token's house is always an option, and really Craig shouldn't feel so weird about the prospect of asking if he could stay there for a while; the Blacks have about nineteen spare rooms at any given moment and, realistically, they likely wouldn't even know he was in the house half the time. For Craig, though, it's less about how Token's parents would feel about it, and more about how he would feel. It's different with Clyde, somehow, than it is with Token. If it weren't for Clyde's dad, Craig would have no issues staying at the Donovan's, as long as he was at least able to sleep on the couch and not crammed inside Clyde's closet. Hell, he'd sleep in the fucking laundry room if he had to.
But something about taking help from Token and his family makes Craig feel weird, like he's some useless charity case orphan kid who needs to beg for scraps on the doorstep of the rich people. Even just the thought of it gives him a bad taste in his mouth. It's not the same when Token drives him around or pays for all their shit, because in those instances, Token offers to do those things – and at least Craig knows that without his friend's generosity, he would still be able to get places and afford his own movie tickets or whatever else on his own. Having to ask Token if he could live in his house because he's gotten kicked out of his own for having the audacity to be in love with his best friend, who just so happens to be a guy? Craig knows he would never be able to do that.
Both the school and the community center are out as options as well; even without his current suspension looming over his head, Craig doubts he'd be able to get away with hiding out in the gym lockers for very long. Plus, the idea of having to survive on leftover cafeteria food for the foreseeable future is one of the least appetizing things he's ever imagined. The community center should be a safe place, and in any other town it probably would be; but, because this is fucking South Park, the biggest town of idiots Craig has ever had the displeasure of being acquainted with, it's not. He's not even sure what it's being used for these days, only that there's approximately a zero percent chance it's anything normal. So far this year it's already been a temporary holding cell while the police station was being renovated, an underground zoo full of illegally transported exotic animals because the mayor wanted to boost the town's tourist reputation, and whatever that creepy Mephesto asshole had been using it for over the summer.
That, by process of elimination, leaves Craig with the streets as his only real choice, which…fuck. The SPPD has really been cracking down on the number of homeless people wandering through the town in the last few months, herding them all to the very edge of South Park, near the train tracks – and Kenny fucking McCormick's house. Not only is Craig going to have to find himself a place to live over there that doesn't encroach on any of the other hobos' territory lest he get knifed in the night, but he's also going to have to somehow keep his presence there a secret from one of the nosiest motherfuckers in school.
His chest begins to ache, his heart thumping heavily, making his insides vibrate, but it's only when his vision starts to blur at the edges that Craig realizes he's stopped breathing completely. Clenching one of his hands into the tightest fist he can manage at the moment, in an attempt to keep himself grounded and conscious, he forces himself to take the deepest possible breath through his nose. Still wary of opening his mouth, he exhales the same way, the little whistle that escapes his nostrils sounding eerily reminiscent of the sound from old Looney Tunes cartoons, when Wile E. Coyote plummets off of a cliff to crash in a heap onto the ground below resulting, in any other world but cartoon world, in his untimely, tragic death.
Craig lets his eyes drift closed, bracing himself for the inevitable crash.
"This…" Mr. Tucker clears his throat, and then the telltale sound of fluttering pages fills the air as he flips through the notebook. "This is quite the collection of, uh…thoughts, Craig."
Just get it fucking over with, Craig wants to scream, his heart beating furiously, hammering against his ribcage. He doesn't want to be here. He would give anything not to be here, anything not to have to sit through this conversation. He's always known that this is how things would go if his parents were to ever find out about who he really was; he's thought about it a lot, ever since he'd come to terms with his own feelings himself, and he's even had nightmares of this exact scenario. He'd honestly thought that all of that would have prepared him more for when it actually happened, but now that it's all playing out in front of him for real, Craig is realizing that he really isn't ready for it at all.
As much as he outwardly appears to hate everyone and everything, he really, truly does love his family – even his stupid sister, though there's no way he would ever admit that to Tricia under any circumstances. Token had hit the nail on the head the day before when he'd said to Craig, "You're a lot of things, but you're not a robot." Craig is, unfortunately sometimes, just as human as anyone else, and he has all the same human feelings, no matter how much time he spends trying to say otherwise. He doesn't want to be told he's a horrible person. He doesn't want to have to leave the only home he's ever had and go live on Hobo Avenue by himself with only the pigeons and rats for company. He doesn't want his parents to hate him for being in love with Tweek – because he is, he really is, there's no way his feelings could be anything less than love at this point.
Does that make him absolutely, unequivocally gay, like PC Principal had said? Maybe. Craig's honestly never given much thought to what the way he feels about Tweek means when it comes to the overall scale of his sexuality. He's been to so many assemblies about what it means to be LGBTQABC123 that all the definitions have all started to blend together in his head. He had never been interested in girls the way that everyone else was, but he'd also never fallen all over himself swooning over guys, either.
Except Tweek. It's always only ever been Tweek. If that makes Craig gay, well, then, he supposes that he's gay.
And, more than anything else, he doesn't want to have to keep pretending to be something he's not. So even though it's about to get him disowned, and despite how much it kills him inside to know that this is how it has to be, Craig feels that sense of peace drifting over him once again. At least when he's fighting Crazy Clarence or whoever for the rights to the newest cardboard box that's blown into the area, he'll be doing it as one hundred percent himself, the most authentic Craig Tucker he's ever been.
"First of all, I want you to know something," Craig's dad says firmly. His voice is gruff and deadly serious, just like when he'd grounded Craig for four straight months after Craig had borrowed the car at two in the morning back in middle school to take Tweek to his twenty-four hour pharmacist for an emergency refill of his anxiety medication.
Sure, okay, Craig probably shouldn't have done that. They'd only been thirteen, which wasn't even old enough to have learners' permits, let alone a real driver's license, and driving on the highway so late at night could be dangerous for anyone. But he'd had to do it – and it's not like he was just going out joyriding for Christ's sake; Tweek needed his medication and Craig had seen no other way to make it happen, since the Tweaks sure as hell weren't doing anything about it. Knowing them, they'd be perfectly content to let him self-medicate with their stupid coffee for weeks before they saw the need to make the trip.
The most frustrating part too is that Craig had actually done a great job of driving out there, way better than some of the actual licensed adults he knew, even. They would have gotten away with it just fine if the fucking car hadn't run out of gas just outside Denver, meaning they'd had to call their parents to come get them. That had not been a fun phone call. Still, Craig thinks that he would rather make that call a hundred more times right now than listen to whatever it is his dad is about to say.
Or at least, that's what he thinks right up until Thomas Tucker speaks his next words. "I want you to know," he continues, and there's a note of something in his tone that Craig can't identify, but that compels him to look up, "how sorry I am."
What? Shocked, Craig's jaw drops open a couple of centimeters, but apart from a tiny, hushed gasp, he can't make a sound. Is this a trick? This must be a trick. But why would his dad do this, why would he lull Craig into a false sense of security with a fake apology just to turn around and kick him out of the family? He can be strict and sometimes an asshole, but his dad has never been cruel.
Craig blinks, his eyes wide, as his dad lets out another sigh. He's looking down at the notebook, and Craig follows his gaze to see that it's open to one of the earlier lists. Even from this angle, he knows which list it is just based on how it's written. It's the list of all of the reasons he could never admit his true feelings to anyone.
"I have always considered myself to be a pretty decent parent." Craig's dad lifts an arm, running his hand along his balding scalp in much the same way that Craig runs his own hands through his hair about forty times a day. "Can't say I'm perfect, because hell, who can? Still, I have always done my best to do right by you kids and your mother. I'm at the office six days a week just to make sure that I can put food on the table and give you and your sister everything you need." He holds up the notebook, jabbing at one of the lines with the middle finger of his free hand. "But if you honestly think that I would throw you out of this house because of something you can't control, then it looks like I've done a pretty shitty job, don't you think?"
"Uh…" Craig stares at the notebook, at the messy letters he'd written on the page what feels like forever ago. He's having a hard time processing what the hell is going on and he has no idea what he's supposed to say. This is not the conversation he'd been expecting to be a part of. He should already be out on his ass on the doorstep by now, but… He swallows hard, wincing when his dry throat burns with the fire of a thousand fucking tiny suns. He wants so much to believe that this might mean what it seems like it means, but he's too terrified of the other possible outcome to even hope.
Craig's dad sets the notebook down next to him on the bed and slides over a bit until he's close enough to lean down and rest one hand on Craig's shoulder. "Craig," he says, just as seriously as before, "you are, first and foremost, my son, and I love you, no matter what you do or who you might…" He pauses for a moment as he ponders how to continue, unaware of the impact his words are already having on Craig, whose eyes are stinging like crazy as their tear ducts begin to flood. "...who you might be having feelings for," Mr. Tucker finishes. He squeezes Craig's shoulder lightly, his lips curving up in a small half-smile as he adds, "And between you and me, I think you could do a lot worse than that Tweak boy."
"What?" Craig whispers, his voice raspy with the promise of sobs yet to come. Unable to be held captive any longer, tears trickle down his cheeks as stares, stunned, at his dad's arm, tracing over the frayed stitching on the sleeve with his eyes. This can't be happening. There's no way this can be happening. Even as a wave of relief washes over him, so strong it would have knocked him off his feet had he been standing, Craig can't help but be confused. Where's the disgust, the anger, the disappointment that he's not normal? After everything that's happened in the last two days, how is it possible that this is the moment the universe decides to cut him some slack? "I– What?"
"You and that Tweek." Mr. Tucker gives Craig's shoulder another squeeze before retracting his arm and taking a crumpled tissue out of his pocket. He holds it out to Craig, who eyes it warily for a moment and then takes it, pressing it against his nose just as it starts to run. "You've always seemed to care a lot about him. More than Roger's kid, I've always thought, considering you never begged me to bring a friend camping until you started spending time with him." Drumming his fingers against his knees, Craig's dad frowns thoughtfully. "I suppose part of me was always wondering if there was anything more to that."
Yeah, Craig thinks, not sure he would be able to say the words out loud even if he wasn't currently silently bawling his face off into a snotty tissue. There was always more.
They're both quiet for another few minutes, during which the only sounds are that of Craig's sniffles and his dad's awkward shifting around on the mattress. Craig still can't believe that after being so scared to say anything for so long, his dad is proving to be so unbelievably fucking supportive. He feels a little twinge of guilt for having thought the worst of him, and that he'd had to see just what Craig had thought of him in that notebook; truthfully, Mr. Tucker has been nothing short of a fantastic fucking parent for the entirety of Craig's life and there really had been no basis for Craig thinking he was going to hate him other than his own stupid fucking fears. It had been the same way with Clyde and Token.
"Shit," Craig accidentally blurts out, dropping the disgusting tissue into his lap. He should tell Clyde and Token he's been suspended. Clyde's probably already freaking out about not hearing from him for the last few hours.
"Language," his dad admonishes, but there's no anger behind the word at all.
"Sorry," Craig mumbles, and then repeats himself a little bit louder. "Sorry. For, uh." He jerks his head in the direction of the notebook laying on his bed. "I didn't– You're not a shitty parent. Fuck," he catches himself, wincing when he realizes he's just corrected a curse word with a curse word after just being called out for language, "I mean, uh. You know."
Thomas chuckles, shaking his head. "Yeah, I know," he says. "You know, Craig, I'm not sure I've ever told you this, but you remind me a lot of myself at your age. Which is how I know that no matter what face you try to show the world, you are without a doubt a smart, decent, strong young man. And you're going to be just fine, no matter what happens." He hesitates, as if debating with himself whether or not to say more, before finally adding, "And regardless of what you decide to do, I just need to say, you should always remember that one of the most important things in life is honesty. And I can honestly say that I think your friendship with Tweek is even stronger than you think it is."
God, Craig wants more than anything for that to be true, that confessing his feelings to Tweek is actually something he could do without risking killing their entire friendship. Token and Clyde seem to think that it is, and now here's his dad telling him basically the same thing. "But what if I tell him and," Craig looks up at his dad's face, blinking away a few more tears, for the first time he can remember willingly letting his tough guard down around a family member, "he hates me for it?"
His dad merely shakes his head again in response. "I've watched you boys grow up for years, Craig," he reminds him, "and I can almost guarantee you that you and Tweek will be just fine." He moves as if to stand, but pauses. "Now, I have to go help your mother get dinner started, but I think we should talk again about all of this soon. I didn't mean to spring this on you out of nowhere, but I did want to make sure you're aware that you will always be welcome in this house, do you understand?"
Craig can only nod.
"Oh, and one more thing." Mr. Tucker snaps his fingers. "The school called this afternoon."
Oh, Goddammit. He'd been so close. "Oh," Craig says, his gaze dropping down to his lap. "Yeah."
"Your mom wants me to ground you," Craig's dad says as he rises from the bed, "since this is far from your first incident this year, as I'm sure you know. But given what you've been struggling with, I'm willing to look the other way a little bit." He waits for Craig to look up again, confusion written across his face, and then Mr. Tucker grins conspiratorially. "I'll tell her you've been grounded and confined to the house without your phone for these next two weeks," he says, "but, I'll let you keep it as long as you can promise she won't catch you with it. Otherwise it'll be your head and mine. Got it?"
"Got it," Craig repeats, his eyes automatically flicking over to his cell phone, where it's charging on his pillow.
Mr. Tucker stops in Craig's bedroom doorway, poking his head out and checking both ways down the hall. "And listen," he adds, once it's apparent that Laura and Tricia aren't lurking anywhere nearby, "I'm not saying that you won't get lectured to hell and back if you're caught outside this house at any point in the next fourteen days, but just in case there's any, let's say blonde, reason you need to go somewhere… I'm going to be cleaning the gutters next to your window over the next couple of weeks, so just mind the ladder, all right?"
He leaves, closing Craig's door behind him, and for the first time all day, Craig allows the corner of his mouth to turn up in a tiny, genuine, hopeful smile as he crawls onto his bed and grabs his phone.
Top Twelve Cutest Baby Animals
1. Guinea pigs*
2. Crocodiles
3. Munchkin cats
4. Sloths
5. Lambs
6. Chameleons
7. Goats
8. Pigs
9. Pekingese dogs
10. Giraffes
11. Seals
12. Lions
*Just for the record, Craig literally threw Skittles at us until we agreed which is A WASTE OF SKITTLES, CRAIG!**
**Update: Clyde ate all the Skittles, even the ones that rolled under the couch because he's disgusting.