A/N Ha. Another one of those short-but-important chapters. Um, yeah... only three more after this! Three more and then this fic is OVER! Well, anyways. Reviiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiew. And enjoy. I retain the explanation from last chapter about things not making sense at times. ;)

Thanks to NightmareMyLove

Disclaimer I don't own South Park or any associated characters, events, etc.

Stage 12. ([[{p.a.r.t.i.a.l—r.e.a.l.i.z.a.t.i.o.n}]])

11:05 pm

July 30th, 2011

South Park, Colorado

Bebe: Just wait. As long as it takes.

Me: I am...

i-

Bebe: okay.

Me: he won't answer...

Bebe: What room is it?

Me: His bedroom

Bebe: okay...

he's not upset enough to be hurting himself, is he?

Craig heard the beeps and the clicks of rapid, frantic typing from outside. He was shaking harder than he ever had in his life, and in his hand was a gun. Just a handgun, his father's, fairly small, dark silver… it felt cool and smooth in his sweaty hand, its contours fitting into those of his hand. He could hear the unmistakable sound of Tweek's sobs outside, but they didn't matter. He was doing this for Tweek. The last part of the plan, the final part… he'd be removing himself from the blonde boy's path for good this time. He wouldn't hurt him anymore. Wouldn't hurt him. Breathing very heavily, he allowed himself a seat, lowering down into a chair. Oh, God, how am I doing this? How can I do this? Unwillingly, his dark blue gaze drifted towards Stripe, who was pushed up curiously against the bars of his cage. Craig groaned silently. The guinea pig looked curious, and a bit worried, something that was visible in the sheen of his dark eyes and twitching, whiskery, soft little nose. Craig felt the dominating urge to stroke his pet's soft little shoulders, feel the narrow, tiny muscles moving in them, but he resisted, brought into reality by a dull clunk as the gun hit the edge of the chair.

Okay. Time to do this. Squeezing his eyes shut to block Stripe out, he tightened his grip on the weapon.

Me: well...

That's...

he-um...

Bebe: okay, BREAK THE DOOR DOWN if you have to.

Me: he is more than likely...

Bebe: GET IN THERE. Talk to him. Do whatever you need to, but DON'T LET HIM ABUSE YOU. Take the reins. Take control. Okay? Can you do that?

Me: i-i don't know if i can

Bebe: scream at him. Or anything. through the door

tell him you love him

tell him that the officer is gone

just don't tell him that it's okay for him to hurt you

because, I promise, that will not help.

"CRAIG! CRAIG PLEASE! IT'S ME! PLEASE OPEN UP! PLEASE? I-I-I LO—I love you... I ALWAYS HAVE, NOW GODDAMMIT OPEN UP PLEASE!"

The screams, so desperate, so pleading… he had to ignore them. Tears burned in Craig's eyes, too hot, painful. He lifted the gun slowly to his head. It shook violently, ridiculously, the chilling metal knocking against his skull. There was no way he'd get a direct shot, when he was in so little control of his extremities, but that didn't matter. A shot this close to the head… it had to be fatal. There was no avoiding that. I have to do this. I have to. It's for him. He doesn't know what's good for him. Never has. Now, come on… do it… his finger wrapped around the trigger. He'd have to time it with thunder, which had been coming about two seconds after each lightning flash, so that Tweek couldn't hear… he didn't want the blonde boy to discover this alone. He couldn't break into Craig's bedroom; doubtless, he would call the police again in the end, and then the door would be forced down… and then, at least, he wouldn't be alone…

Okay, no more dawdling, just do it, it's like jumping into a pool—cutting into his thoughts was a huge, brilliant flash of lighting, which illuminated every corner of the room, seeming to wash it all in silent unearthliness. Knowing that this would be his thunder crack, he counted—one, two—and then pulled the trigger.

Me: no answer

no...no answer...

Bebe: damn...

crack under the door? look through it

or keyhole, anything

The thunder was magnificent, a huge, echoing, booming blast, sharp yet massive, lingering, echoing. But Craig didn't hear it. The gun fell from his hand as his whole body jerked violently to the side, toppling off the chair, rolling to a halt sprawled against the door, completely limp, unknowing, gone.

Me: no...he blocked them all...

what is he hiding?

Bebe: ...

Me: wha?

Bebe: how are they blocked?

Me: the bottom...blocked by...what the...

i don't know what that is...

Bebe: tell me.

describe.

Me: the key hole has tissue paper in it...

Bebe: what's on the bottom?

Me: but i dunno what's blocking the crack between the floor & the door

i-i can't tell what it is

Bebe: describe it!

Me: it's...soft...warm...

Bebe: color?

Me: slightly squishy

umm...

Bebe: ...

Me: it looks blackish?

Bebe: okay

okay

so...

Me: i dunno there are no lights n is house the power went out with the storm

Bebe: and it's solid?

Me: yes

Bebe: okay.

Me: why do you ask?

w-what is going on?

Tweek had passed beyond fear. He was terrified. That thing on the bottom of the door… what the hell had Craig put there? What was going on? "I just want to see you!" he rasped weakly, lips pressed to the door's wood, eyes shut tightly. "Just tell me you're okay!" But there was nothing. Nothing.

Bebe: Stay there…