Just A Blinking Red Light

Chapter 3

Chapter Track: Spaceman by The Killers

"I just had the weirdest dream," Craig says softly, his voice groggy from sleep. Dark hair sticks up at every angle from his head, his shirt drooping off his right shoulder. He yanks it back into place as he rubs at his eyes and glances at the clock beside his bed, the yellow numbers flashing the time. 2:43 AM; he'll have to wake up in a few hours for school, though he doesn't feel like he'll be getting back to sleep anytime soon tonight. Sighing, he looks down at his lap, fiddling with his fingers, as his exhausted brain tries to gather the correct words. He's so tired. He's not the greatest sleeper to begin with, and the strange dreams that have been plaguing him since the incident at Stark's don't make anything any better.

"I think I may have been at a concert or something, I don't know. But it was really loud, and I was close to the stage. The music was really weird, I'm not sure if it's real or not. But the singers and the instruments were playing, like, weirdly haunting songs and stuff. Kenny was there, I know that. And I was getting swallowed up by the crowd, pushed further and further away from the stage. It was getting quieter the further I got, and colder, too. Then I felt someone grab my hand and realized it was Kenny. He pulled me back up to the stage, and everything was warm again..."

Craig lets himself trail off, staring vacantly into the lens of his camera. Everything seems strange, in the silence, in the dark. He doesn't like being awake now. It's the time after dusk but just before dawn- when everything looks dusty and gray, like a picture that refuses to come into focus.

Glancing out his window, his eyes glaze over his decaying backyard. The trees and vines are getting to be out of control, because no one really goes back there any more. They keep the lawn nicely trimmed, but other than that the whole space is forgotten. His whole treehouse has a curtain of ivy sheathing it from the world, the swings rusted and the plastic slide twisted to one side. He remembers when he was a kid, how he and his friends would spend hours upon hours in there. They used to collect fire flies and line the little jars along the floor, so they'd have light to tell stories by. Thinking about everything makes Craig feel hollow.

He rolls his gray eyes at himself, scoffing and shaking his head.

"This is so fucking stupid." He mumbles, leaning forward to click off the camera.

Craig wakes with a start at the bang that erupts from downstairs, his bloodshot eyes popping open as he jolts from his position against the wall. He never quite falls asleep when he wakes up from dreams like that- he usually just toes the line between being conscious and being unconscious until his alarm blares in his ears to alert him that it's time to get on with his goddamn life, no matter how tired he is. He checks the time on his phone, squinting at the bright light.

4:13 am.

Crap, that's not a good sign.

Slipping off his loft bed, he creeps to the edge of the stairwell that spirals down to the second floor. They disappear into blackness somewhere towards the bottom, and without his glasses Craig sees something shadowy and formless trying to crawl up to meet him. This isn't the first time something like this has happened. He knows he has to go downstairs, but he doesn't want to. He really, really doesn't want to, but it's always worse if he stays tucked away in his bed. The raven quickly swipes his glasses off the table beside the stairs and slides them on over his eyes, tugging his hat off the table as well, though he only shoves it into the pocket of his plaid pajama pants. It's not really serving its purpose indoors if he were to put it on, but he's always had it with him in situations like this. He always feels braver with it near him.

Craig doesn't bother flipping on the lights as he makes his way through the darkened house, knowing that if he does everything will be worse. After a certain point in the night, his father hates having all the lights on. It's well past that point, and Craig doesn't dare go against his wishes. Especially not on a night like this.

More bangs rise through the floor below him, making Craig speed up a little bit. He's suddenly grateful that his mom and sister are both heavy sleepers. If someone else wakes up, he's absolutely screwed. As he creeps down to the lower level of the house, he can see that there's light spilling into the hallway from the kitchen, where most of the noise seems to be coming from. He winces as a pot clangs to the floor, his father's booming voice following it.

"Who's there?" The man shouts, blocking the light. His shadow seems to stretch all the way across the room, and Craig fights the urge to run back upstairs.

"It's just me, dad," Craig answers, stepping onto the little square rug at the foot of the stairs. The man in the doorway seems to sway a bit, as though he's unsure of who spoke to him. His son steps a little closer to him, the faded blue hat finally stirring the thoughts back to life.

"Craig, what the fuck are you doing down here on a school night?" His father asks, his tone quiet and calm. This, somehow, makes Craig more uneasy. He can tell that his dad has had a few drinks; the liquor cabinet is still hanging open, a bottle and glass still out on the counter. When Craig doesn't answer, his father strides the rest of the way to meet him, trapping him in the hallway. He looms over his son, staring at him like he's a stranger.

The boy inherited his eyes from his father, and that seems to be the only thing he got from him. He's like a copy of his mother, to Thomas. He's got her sharp features, her long pointed nose and high cheekbones. They're both thin as a rail, though his mother was always on the short side while her son is nearly as tall as his dad, now. He stole her coloration, her fair skin and dark curly hair; though Craig's is shorter than hers was, he's let it grow out a bit. It's nearly to his collar now, and more wavy than curly. Thomas thinks idly about how he should cut it. Craig looks so much like her, it hurts Thomas to see him.

The man rests a hand on Craig's shoulder, and Craig's eyebrows pull together in confusion. His grip tightens as the rage boils suddenly inside him, and he drags Craig into the kitchen by his hair. His stupid fucking too-long hair.

He throws Craig against the counter and pushes him back, spinning him around and holding him by his wrist. Twisting his son's arm behind him, he leans down close to his ear, wrenching his wrist further and further between his shoulders. "What the fuck are you doing, coming out of your goddamn room in the middle of the night? Huh? You have school in the morning, don't you remember that?" He hisses, his voice cold. Craig squeezes his eyes closed, his whole body stiff with pain.

"Fucking look at me when I'm talking to you, you ungrateful little shit." Craig pulls in a deep breath before he opens his eyes again, a deep wince etched into his features. "Do you know what a fucking hassle you are, Craig?"

"Yes, sir," He answers, his voice wavering. This fucking hurts. It hurts a lot. Craig's hand feels like it's going to separate from his wrist and his shoulder is burning with pain, his hip smashed against the corner of the marble kitchen counter. God, he wishes he was anywhere but here. He knows if he just let his dad work it out himself, this would be happening to Ruby or his mother; that's the only thing that propels him out of bed on nights like these. His thoughts evaporate when he feels his father's fist careen off his ribs, and suddenly he's gasping for air when another punch takes the ability to breathe away completely.

Craig crumples to the floor as his father lets him go, his arms shaking as he tries to lift himself off the ground. Thomas grunts as he delivers a swift kick to Craig's hip, balling his fist in his dark hair as he leans down. The raven can smell the booze on his breath.

"Don't ever let me catch you out of bed on a school night again." He hisses, his words wavering in the air around them. Craig nods stiffly, feeling lightheaded when his father lets him go. "Get the fuck off my floor and go to bed." Craig shakily obeys, sinking into himself as he hugs his arms to his chest and scurries up the stairs.

Thomas watches him go, his whole being crumbling at the sight. Sighing, he rubs a hand over his face, setting his favorite whiskey in its proper place and closing the cabinet. He looks around his house for a moment before slowly ascending the stairs as well, feeling exhausted.

Craig never does fall back asleep, and when his alarm screams at him that it's time for school he barely reacts. He pulls jeans on over his boxers and blearily makes his way downstairs, sure to already be wearing his hat. He knows his father hates his hair; he's said it to him too many times on nights like those. And Craig knows his dad hates looking at him, even while sober. There's something in his eyes that screams that fact to the heavens.

The raven barely remembers to put one foot in front of the other on the way to school, thanking God that Tweek somehow knew to bring him a strong cup of coffee this morning. He's freaky like that, sometimes. He and Bebe look at him with concern, sharing a knowing glance between each other and mumbling questions at Craig, though they can tell that nothing is really sinking in. They just guide him to his locker, watching as he stares blankly into it before sluggishly gathering his books. Tweek finally breaks through the veil, shaking Craig's shoulder.

"Dude, what the hell is up with you?"

It just now occurs to Craig that he might seem a bit off, especially to someone like Tweek, who notices every little thing about everyone. He blinks up at his friend, his expression blank.

"Nothing." He says, his voice equally as flat. It's not like Craig shows much emotion anyway, but Tweek's green eyes widen slightly at the croaking sound that falls from his friend's lips. Craig never talks like that to him, and he hasn't since they were kids. Before the blonde can say anything else, the bell rings in their ears, signaling the fact that they all need to get to homeroom. Craig steps backwards away from his locker, leaving it hanging open as he floats down the hallway in a clouded daze. Tweek watches him for a moment, gently closing the door to his locker before Bebe pulls him towards the stairs.

Craig drifts into the boy's bathroom down the hall, feeling as though he's both high above the ground and weighted to the point of crushing holes in the floor with each footstep. There's someone in front of him, staring at him. Oh, shit, wait. That's him, in the mirror. His eyebrows furrow and he sighs, turning the sink to cold and bending down to splash some water on his face. He's got to pull it together; someone's going to call home, and that's the last goddamn thing he needs today.

He remembers the few times he went to the nurse because of his dad. For the first visits, he was able to explain away the cuts and bruises, saying he and Clyde got too rough in the gym, or he fell and hurt himself or something simple and meaningless like that. She's just patch him up and send him on his way with an ice pack. Then it kept happening, and she kept asking, and he kept denying. She called his house one day after he left, and it happened to be one of his dad's early days. That was the night mom had taken Ruby down to Boulder for a dance competition, leaving Craig and his father alone; he ended up at the hospital with a broken wrist and a fractured collarbone, under the guise that he fell off his bike. Needless to say, Craig didn't return to the nurse after that. What he does know, however, is that the staff is bored here. They'll do anything they think might help, or anything that might mean some drama to gossip about. It's been that way since he was a kid, and it'll stay that way for a long time. Craig finds it easier to just hole himself up in his bedroom and avoid all of it.

Craig stares at himself in the mirror, disgusted. He's always hated the way he looks, especially when he doesn't get enough sleep. The bags hanging under his eyes show almost as dark as the bruises along his neck, and his gray eyes are bloodshot. He's skinny and pale and overall unhealthy-looking, no matter what he does to try and combat it. And his fucking hair. He got his mom's goddamn hair. Some is poking out from under his hat, curling around his forehead and the nape of his neck. He snorts, pulling his hat off so it's hanging on his shoulders so he can tie his hair back.

The bathroom door swings open and Craig jumps, blinking at the blonde in the doorway. Kenny seems equally as surprised to see Craig, and they stare at each other for a moment before Kenny speaks, breaking the silence that fell over them.

"I, uh, I didn't know you had curly hair." He says quietly, rubbing the back of his neck through his hood. The glassy look in Craig's eyes is freaking him out, stirring something strange in his mind and in his chest. He can't put his finger on it exactly, but he definitely feels guilty looking at Craig. After Saturday, he wasn't able to get the raven out of his brain. He looks so... tired. Kenny knows that kind of tired, too well.

"Yeah. Why the hell do you think I cover it with my hat so often?" Craig mutters, looking around his wrists for a hair tie.

"It's not a bad curly. It's actually kind of hot." Kenny says with a shrug. The raven cracks a smile, rolling his eyes. Kenny can feel the knots in his body begin to loosen a little as he watches Craig finish tying his hair back. "It's way nicer than Kyle's. His just looks like a rat's nest a lot of the time."

"Did you just insult your best friend?" Craig chuckles, pulling a paper towel from the dispenser to dry off his face a bit. Kenny glances over at Craig from the urinals, an impish grin pulling over his expression.

"I'm not wrong, am I?" Craig finds himself laughing once more, the image of Kyle with rats crawling through his hair fueling his glee.

"I guess not, no." He admits, taking a long swig from his coffee. Kenny finishes up and zips his jeans, joining Craig at the sinks to wash his hands. The silence blankets them once again like fresh snow, though this time it's more casual than tense. Kenny watches Craig for a moment, his eyes moving over the sharp planes of his face. Craig glances over, raising an eyebrow. "What?"

"Nothing." Kenny answers automatically, patting his hands dry on his jeans. His gaze falls to the floor for a moment as he tries to pull his words together. "I just, uh.. About Saturday?" Craig feels his mood sour instantly.

"What." Kenny almost wants to flinch away at the sound of Craig's voice, the change in tone so dramatic it's almost frightening. And it's not like Craig is a particularly scary guy. Tweet grew up to be scary as hell; super tall, well built, scruffy blonde hair, hooded eyes.. the kid looks like he's constantly ready to beat the shit out of everyone, now. Craig, on the other hand, has always just been more of a blank slate. He can definitely hold himself in a fight against the right person, but when he walks down the hall no one dives out of his way.

Right now, he looks like he wants to splatter Kenny all over the walls.

"I'm sorry," Kenny says, standing his ground. He sees a range of emotions flicker through Craig's eyes, though his stony expression never changes.

"I don't want your apology," He says monotonously, pushing past Kenny to get outside. He needs to get outside or he feels like he's going to explode. Or punch Kenny so hard he swallows his teeth. Or both. He's sore, he's exhausted, he's late for class. He's everything he fucking hates being, and some dickhole like Kenny trying to level with him is definitely not going to help anything. "I don't want anything to do with you or your Neanderthal friend, so don't even fucking try."

Fuck. Kenny thinks, feeling panic creep up his spine and take hold of his lungs. He can't let Craig go! Acting on instinct, he reaches out and and tries to snag the elbow of Craig's sweatshirt, though he only pulls up the sleeve a bit. His blue eyes widen when he sees more bruises lining Craig's wrist, but the raven yanks his arm away and shoves out into the hallway before Kenny can get another word in.

Kenny can't Craig out of his mind after that. The bruises circling his wrist stick inside Kenny's brain like glue, mostly because he used to have some matching ones around his own wrist. He knows what a hand print looks like, and he definitely knows that those weren't there on Saturday; though he can't remember if Stan ever touched Craig's wrists, something in his gut is telling him that something else is going on. The blonde watches as Craig walks around all day in a daze, finally approaching him in English class.

"Craig, wait," He says softly, stepping in front of the raven on his way into the classroom. Craig just blinks at him, his gray eyes struggling to focus.

"What do you want." The words fall from his lips like rocks, and Kenny nearly flinches. God, it's worse than he thought. Clearly, Craig has gotten worse as the day wears on, what little energy he has draining with each passing moment. He's slept through nearly every class he's been to, leaving a pool of drool behind on his notebooks. Thankfully, he sits at the back of class for most of his classes, and this was they way he'd planned to spend the rest of his day.

"You look seriously exhausted." Kenny says, rubbing his arm as he leans against the wall beside the door. Craig rolls his eyes.

"Thanks for stating the obvious." He mutters, folding his arms over his chest with a yawn. Something occurs to him, breaking though the fog surrounding his brain: he doesn't want to be talking to Kenny right now. Or at all, frankly. Without another word, Craig turns on his heel and heads to his desk, his backpack hitting the ground with a thud as he slides into his usual desk.

He doesn't understand why people can't just leave him the hell alone. He's not exactly warm and fuzzy and inviting, even on a good day. Why anyone, let alone Kenny McCormick, would want to approach him today, especially since a corpse looks more alive than him.

He falls in and out of sleep in English, avoiding Kenny's worried glances the whole time until the bell jolts him awake, signaling that he can finally leave. Naturally, though, his teacher calls him over after class. A sickly warm feeling of dread washes over him; if she saw him sleeping, she'd send him to the office, and there would be a call home. she stares at him for a moment before sitting down at her desk, leaving him to stand awkwardly beside it.

"Craig, I have a favor to ask of you," Mrs. Dixon says quietly, smiling up at him with all of her perfect teeth. Craig suddenly feels self conscious of his own crooked ones. "Since you're one of the top students in my class, I was wondering if you'd be interested in some peer tutoring."

"Um.. Sure, I guess that would be okay." Craig says quietly, tying to keep focused.

"Perfect! He's in your grade, and he's agreed to meet once a week with you do the homework I assign." Craig blinks for a moment; did she say who he'd be tutoring? Or did he just blank out for a second and not hear her? As if reading his mind, she continues.

"You'll be tutoring Stan Marsh."

Craig feels a wave of sickness wash over him, nausea crashing over every part of his body. Mrs. Dixon just goes back to what she was doing, smiling as he drifts out of the room in a daze. He heads back to his locker immediately instead of going to his next class, texting his mom on the way that he feels sick and he'll need a ride home.

When he gets there, a small slip of paper catches his eye, the handwriting on it cramped and slanted. He struggles to focus on it, his thoughts swirling and tumbling over one another. It looks a little bit like Kenny's handwriting, or what Craig has seen of it at least.

Spaceman by the Killers

Thought you could use a little bit of a pick-me-up, and Tweek told me how into space shit you are :)

-Kenny

Blinking in surprise, Craig peels the post-it off his locker and slips it into his pocket, leaning against the wall to wait for his mom to respond to his text.

"I don't know what to do," Craig mutters at his camera, pressing a hand to his mouth. He's actually taken the time to set it up on its tripod this time, in front of his window beside his bed. He can't sit still when talking about this. The name alone woke him right the fuck up, and he was jittery the rest of the day. The split second he got home he went right up to his bedroom to set up his camera, feeling the anxiety welling in his chest.

He doesn't know how he's going to survive this.

"I mean.. Nothing's ever happened between us at school, so it's not like they'd know about anything. And I'm not fucking about to tell them, that's for damn sure... I need a cigarette," He mutters, taking his hands through his hair. "Between how last night went and what happened with Kenny this morning, I feel like drinking until I pass out. And it's not even Tuesday." A bitter laugh falls from his lips as he digs the heels of his hands into his eyes, leaning against his bed.

"I feel like I'm gonna throw up," He whispers, swallowing thickly. "I don't want to do this. I don't know what to do. I can't tell anyone about this; they'll wonder why I can't do it." Craig drags his hands down his face, covering his mouth as he pauses in front of the camera.

"Maybe… Maybe I can get Kenny to talk to Stan or something..? They're still pretty close, plus he helped me out on Saturday." Thinking of the blonde's name makes Craig recall the note he'd stuck to his locker; Craig never took it out of his jeans when he got home and changed into some pajamas. The raven walks over to the heap of clothes at the foot of his bed, rummaging through the pockets for a moment before finding the crumpled slip of paper. Biting the corner of his lip, he unfolds it and types the song into his phone, playing it through his speakers.

Of course Tweek would talk to Kenny. Tweek will talk to anyone and everyone about what he's worried about, and Craig can guess that Kenny spoke to him the moment he found him, especially after what he saw of Craig in the bathroom. Craig sighs again as the song begins to play, his nerves gathering into a heavy ball in the pit of his stomach.

"I'll… I'll figure something out." He says softly, rubbing a hand through his hair. "Over and out."