Kyle and Cartman were disgusting. Ever since Stan and Craig had caught them returning from their little escapade, they'd been attached at the hip. And not in the sense one would think. They were far from being love sick puppies. Perhaps the hip wasn't the right body part for the analogy. No. They were at each other's throats. Even more so now than they had been when they first met. Stan wondered if fooling around had broken any barriers between the two of them that had been put up because they were strangers. The disgusting part of it was that it was clearly some weird foreplay that everyone had to fucking listen to now.
It started the same way every time.
Cartman would say some sort of slur, call Kyle a Jew, or a Kike depending on how mad he wanted to make him. Or he'd go into some extreme, holding a finger to his upper lip and holding his arm out in a salute before saying some bullshit in German. No one knew what the hell he was saying, since he was the only one who spoke it. But Kyle sure as fuck knew what 'tod für die Juden ' meant, judging by the screaming and subsequent incandescent rage it sent him to. Kyle would kick Cartman's ass, tackling him to the ground and throwing punches and kicks wherever he could while Eric laughed and just wrapped his whole body around the redhead. Kyle would scream he was a racist fat fuck, he was going to kill him, rip his throat out with his teeth. Whatever horrible threat popped into his head.
Then they'd disappear for several hours and return holding hands. It was gross. Then they'd be fine for the rest of the day, not leaving each other's side and looking at their counterpart with so much love in their eyes that Stan wanted to puke.
Stan figured it was good, though. Cartman never kept a partner because no one would put up with the bullshit he spewed from his mouth-hole. When he'd been with Kyle himself, years ago, Stan couldn't keep up with the fighting. He should have known better, that it was just Kyle. Cartman could take his wrath and Kyle wasn't going to leave because fat boy couldn't keep his mouth shut. Stan was happy for them.
But it didn't negate the most disgusting thing Stan had seen or heard them do in the week they'd been whatever they were. Which they were doing now, much to Stan's horror.
Cartman was staring at Kyle like he was the most delicious thing he'd ever seen. And Kyle was no better. Stan could feel the lust roll off the two of them in waves. It wasn't like they were talking about anything nasty in particular. The two of them had the sense not to subject everyone to their sex life. They were sitting there, and it had been a while since he'd heard it, but Stan knew Kyle's sex voice like he'd heard it only yesterday. If they were talking about fucking each other or the stuff they were going to do to each other, Stan could live with it.
But they weren't. They were talking about food! They were talking about food in the same tone someone had phone sex in and Stan wanted to scream in horror.
"...hot chocolate chip cookies smothered in ice cream and caramel sauce, a Spanish coffee with mountains of whipped cream," he heard Kyle say, eyes on Eric as he brought his hand up to his mouth to slowly suck a piece of juicy fruit between his lips. Kyle's voice was low and seductive, Eric's eyes were dilated, and Stan watched him lick his lips.
"Fuck, babe, I love when you talk desserty to me."
Stan got up and left.
It had been three weeks, and by now everyone had become well acquainted with their island home. There wasn't much left to explore, but it was large enough for people to get away from the group should they need it. Stan needed it. They all needed it, really. If he was going by his own irritability as reference, Stan could understand why most people had begun to separate. Either alone, such as in Stan's cause, or together like Bebe and Wendy. They were going stir crazy.
Or, Stan thought, just crazy. At least in Craig's case.
He couldn't help but feel mostly responsible for that. They'd all figured out Craig's weird day time nap schedule a few weeks ago, once he started getting crotchety and Tweek finally made him properly sleep eight hours in the middle of the day. He'd done fine up until the night Stan got a little affectionate with him, happy to take the night watch and sleep through the day. But now, Stan hasn't seen him sleep maybe more than twenty minutes since his little admission of attraction. He couldn't say he understood, or knew what it was like. Stan always got a solid six to eight hours a night, having learned to sleep when he could due to legally needing the rest before operating an aircraft. But he was concerned.
Especially now.
Stan had needed to get away from the Kyle and Eric show for a bit, and had decided to go talk a walk. Find something to eat. Maybe steal some eggs, despite the pang in his heart about killing some animals unborn child. But Kyle and Kenny had convinced him to start eating some sea food, simply so he would get some form of fat into him. Plus, Bebe had talked about making coconut oil and Stan figured it would be a good excuse to go gather some. He knew he'd probably come across at least one person on his adventure, but for some reason Stan did not expect Craig. At least, he didn't expect Craig like this.
Craig stood tall, of course he did. But his wasn't solid in his stance, swaying around and jumpy. At every sound in the island jungle, he jumped, staring at where it could possibly have come from. He had his tee shirt wrapped around his head, tied in the back like some sort of du-rag. In his hand was his blue hoodie, faded by ocean water and sun at this point. And he was using it as some form of weapon, whipping it in the air. In the beginning, Stan thought Craig had been rather cool. Stoic and unfeeling. Of course it was a ruse, everyone had emotions and Craig was just keeping his to himself.
But watching from several feet away, concealed by bushes, Stan wondered just exactly what kind of crazies Craig was hiding from everyone else. He was half tempted to laugh, but he kind of felt sorry for the guy. Craig was tired, and refused to sleep. Somehow, in his head, there was something preventing him from doing so. There was no way Craig wasn't forcing himself awake at this point. Whatever he saw while he was sleeping was somehow worse than whatever he was seeing now.
Stan had to help him.
He moved, foot cracking some fallen branches. Craig heard, whipped around wildly. Stan could see his pupils, blown so wide that he couldn't even see the dark blue of Craig's irises. Like this, Stan couldn't believe how much darker Craig had gotten. He was shirtless, of course, since it was wrapped around his head. But the tan lines showed the great contrast of before and now.
Slowly, Stan stepped closer, holding his arms up to show he wasn't some sort of threat. But Craig stepped back, long legs wobbling like those of a newborn foal. "Hey, buddy," Stan spoke slowly. "You okay?" Craig nodded quickly, eyes flitting about their surroundings. "Yeah, yeah," he said, nearly jumping out of his skin when his back his the tree. He brandished the blue hoodie like a sword, albeit a limp and lifeless one. Ready to snap it at Stan should need be.
"Stay back," Craig said, his voice breaking between syllables. "Prove it."
"Prove what..?" Stan asked, hands still raised in front of him.
"That you're not one of the shadow people!" Craig was panicking, and Stan took a few steps backwards to give him more space. He doubted Craig could hurt a fly, let alone him, like this. He'd lost weight, and was a bit on the malnourished side but there was little else to do on the island so he and Bebe had taken to becoming work out buddies in the morning to keep themselves fit once Stan's chest had healed up. Craig was thin, and Stan doubted he had much strength in him. But he was crazed, and Stan had learned long ago not to underestimate someone in a panicked state of mind.
"I'm not, dude. I promise. See," Stan smacked his chest, trying to prove he was solid and not made from the absence of light. How else was he gonna do it? It seemed to appease Craig a little, though. Stan took a few slow steps forward, watching as Craig gripped his sweater tighter in his hands. "Come on, man." Stan remains as soft spoken as possible, extending his hand to Craig. "Let's go back to camp. When was the last time you had a nap, huh?"
It must have been the wrong thing to say, because Craig started swinging the fabric at Stan, sliding around the trunk of the tree to get further away.
"No! You're one of them!" Craig screeched, and Stan wanted to just go and grab him and drag him out of the fucking forest.
Fucks sake.
"I'm not a shadow person!" Stan snapped, and Craig growled at him. Actually growled. Fuck if that didn't remind him of Kyle when they were kids. "Yes you are! They want me to sleep!" Craig dropped the hoodie, bringing his hands to his face and scraping his chewed nails down the skin and leaving red marks down his cheeks. "Drag me down there! They're gonna drown me!" Craig's voice was hoarse, like he was dehydrated. Stan wouldn't doubt he was, if he was fucking hallucinating about the shadow people he doubted he'd distracted himself with eating or drinking anything recently.
"No one's gonna drown you, man, I promise." With his hands empty, Stan took a few steps forward quickly, too fast for Craig to really do anything about it. He grabbed the taller man by the shoulders, trying to ground him. "You're like, tweaking out man, fuck. Focus on me for a second!" Instantly, Stan regretted his choice of words when Craig shoved him backwards, screaming.
"What'd you do with him?! Where is he?! Tweet!" And Craig was off running, stumbling over the debris on the island ground. Fuck that, Stan wasn't going to let Craig go running into anyone else in this state. Stan took off after him, easily catching up and jumping on his back to tackle Craig to the ground. He hadn't play football in ages, but damned if he didn't still have a trick or two up his sleeve. He sat upon Craig, who was screaming bloody murder, thrashing wildly and smacking his hand on the ground whilst trying to beat Stan off of him. It took several moments, but Stan managed to grab hold of his wrists and pin them above Craig's head. "Calm the fuck down! Tweek is fucking fine!" Craig lunged his chest forward. How general length of body and limbs allowed him to smash his forehead square into Stan's nose.
Stan wanted to punch him in the head for it. He could feel it break, and instinct had him wanting to just straight up knock Craig into unconsciousness. Instead, he bit the inside of his cheek and pressed down harder on Craig's torso. "Stop!" Stan commanded, desperate to take control of the situation.
"Let me go!" The tears were starting to stream down Craig's face, and Stan felt his heart fall. "Please... just let me go! Please, let me go," Craig begged. Stan had half a mind to, but he felt Craig's heart pound violently in his chest. So hard Stan could feel it through his legs. Stan was no doctor, that was Kyle's job, but the last thing he wanted was for Craig to run off and give himself some sort of heart attack. He held Craig's wrists together in one hand, using the other to pull the shirt off his head and stuff it under to make some sort of cushion so Craig wouldn't knock himself out. He left his hand in Craig's shaggy black hair, trying somehow to soothe him. Stan always enjoyed someone playing with his hair, it was worth a shot to try.
"Listen," Stan said, voice calmer but no less authoritative. "I won't hurt you. I promise. Please believe me. You need to sleep." At the mention of sleep, Craig's light crying and heavy breathing turned into sobs. "Please... please don't. Don't make me go to sleep," he begged, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to worm away. "I don't want to! Please, Stan, please don't."
"Why?" Stan asked. "Why is it so bad?"
Craig continued to cry for a few moments, before eventually tiring himself out or something since they died down to panting. "I don't wanna see dad," he whispered, opening his eyes to stare up at Stan. "I don't wanna see him." Stan didn't know what to say. Not sure of what Craig saw in his sleep. Not sure if he wanted to know. "It's real," Craig said. "It's real!"
Craig looked so young, so scared and Stan didn't know what went on in Craig's life but he hated this suffering he was going through. Stan felt his throat close up, worrying he would start crying himself. He was always empathetic, and now wasn't the time to feel someone else's pain. "I'll help," Stan said, bringing his voice down to a whisper. "I'll help keep him away, okay? I promise. I'll make sure you won't see your dad." Craig's lower lip wibbled, and Stan eased some of the pressure on his chest and sat back a little.
"He hates me," Craig whispered, eyes looking a thousand years older. "He hates I like boys. He says I'm not his son. He says mom is a whore." Stan wondered for a second if Craig was even speaking to him, because he looked as if he was seeing straight through Stan. He wasn't crying anymore, either. Speaking calmly as if it was fact. Stan figured it was. Craig was burning through moods at a rapid pace, his eyes and expressions changing quickly. It flashed through acceptance, then anger, fear and sadness in a matter of seconds, and Stan wondered what was going on in that exhausted little head of his.
"Craig?" Stan whispered, fingers massaging at his scalp. "I'm gonna get off you, okay? Promise you won't run?" Craig nodded, eyes dropping as if he was finally accepting the fact he needed to sleep. Stan could only imagine how he felt, because he was exhausted just dealing with him. Rolling off of him, Stan sat on the round beside Craig. Ready to pounce should Craig make another run for it. He didn't move, just laid limp as he stared up at the leaves and sky. Stan wiped the blood from his nose that dribbled down his face and neck. Fuck, Craig had a solid head to him.
"I'm sorry," he said after several long moments. He sounded almost normal, voice deep and rough from his earlier screaming and carrying on. "I'm tired."
Stan couldn't help but laugh, the tone of it dark. "No shit, dude. Why the fuck aren't you sleeping right?" Craig rolled over on to his side, looking at Stan as he curled up as small as a guy his height could. He pressed his palms into his eyes before smacking at his face, the desperation to stay awake still there even if his shadow people hallucinations were gone. For now anyway. If he didn't sleep they'd return, and if he didn't sleep he'd probably die. And Stan doubted that he had Kenny's special gift of resurrection.
"Nightmares," he said after a while, and Stan watched the tears well up in his eyes again. Fuck. He couldn't stand to see a grown man cry anymore. Least of all someone he'd only thought capable of making one face, the real life version of the colon and back slash emoji. To watch him scrunch it up in terror or anguish was heartbreaking. "They keep me up anyway!" He cried out, jagged nails digging just above his brows. "Easier to stay awake. I can't even be on this fucking island to escape him!" Craig's voice dropped low, pulled his hands away from his face and forced it into a stern, nasty look. "'I'm gonna fix you, Craig!'" His tone indicated mocking, before he started laughing. "What a great fucking job he did! Still like boys, dad!" Once again Craig spoke like he wasn't talking to anyone and that Stan wasn't even present. It was uncomfortable. Both to be basically ignored, but also the implications. Stan's mind kept jumping to the worst, hoping for least abusive one possible. Stan felt disgusted with himself for hoping that Craig's dad just beat him or something, maybe send him off to some Christian fix-it camp. Craig spoke quietly, and if it wasn't for the fact there were next to no sounds in the trees, Stan wouldn't have heard him. "Too drunk to fucking remember..."
Stan leaned forward, over Craig's body and watched as he tensed up. All Stan wanted was Craig's shirt, using it to wipe up the drying blood from his broken nose. "Please don't tell Tweek," Craig mumbled, sounding just as pathetic as he was looking.
"I won't," Stan promised. It wasn't his place to do so. He had the feeling that he already knew more than Craig would have liked to admit already. Part of Stan hoped he'd fall asleep and would wake up unknowing of his weird little crazy fit. "Anything I can do to help you sleep?" Stan asked, and Craig reached out to wrap his fingers into the thinning fabric of Stan's uniform pants. "Stay with me?" Craig asked, soft and sleepy. Stan just nodded, watching as Craig's eyes fell closed. Stan wondered just how quickly he actually fell asleep. To be safe, Stan sat there with him for what felt like half an hour or so, figuring he was completely out of it when Craig began to snore. It didn't take much effort to pry Craig's weak fingers from his pants, nor did it take much to scoop Craig up into his arms. For his height, he was far to light. He didn't wake, which was a plus. Stan even gave him a hard pinch on the back of his bicep for good measure, and maybe partially to get revenge for the broken nose. He figured it would leave a bruise, but Craig didn't wake up.