2.2 Clashed Egos Among Stroke of Dawn
clashed v.
1. To collide with a loud, harsh, usually metallic noise: cymbals clashing
2. To come into conflict; be in opposition: factions that clashed on tax increase; an eyewitness account that clashed with published reports
3. To create an unpleasent visual impression when placed together: colours that clash
Fate remains a cruel hand, twisting with the tantalizing falsities flowing delicately from a mouth or two. So easily come by is the feçade, sugar-coated and dripping with sweet, tempting venom. It may be a long drawn out death, played with cards held close to the chest, but while it may be agonizing to let the Queen of Spades have her play, the game is oh-so fun to draw out.
Tuesday morning, the sky was a delicate shade of roiling grey, blocking out the soft morning sun, casting a haze over the small mountain town. Fog hung in the air, shielding the outside world from sight, thick and tangible like hands, caressing, molesting. Windchimes sung a hymn of despair in the distance, notes echoing in the emptiness. Morning birds cawed in an eerie rhythm, notes clinging, echoing through the cloud of impassible moisture.
Cakaw ca.
Untamed grass, limp in morning dew, clawed desperately at the cracked sidewalks, luring any innocent bypassers into the lost world beyond the fog. Passing cars slid through the haze, parting it for an instant before it slid back into shape and the vehicle was lost.
Ca cakaw.
Tweek darted glances around him nervously, twisting and turning, batting at the fog to try to see anything recognizable, anything to make the path to the bus not quite so similar to his mental abyss. Cautiously placing each step before looking around, he felt vulnerable, watched, as if there were rifles trained on him and he didn't know where his escape would lay. Each step was a trap in his mind to some new horror that lay beyond the fog, some new way to die a horrible death.
But maybe that was the trap; maybe he had fallen so far in himself, he couldn't discern reality from fiction. Perhaps he was walking his Self, perhaps he couldn't recognize it from not having delved. Maybe this was a dream, a recreation of karma after such a wonderful day before. Maybe he was lost in a world, a dreamscape few and far between, left to wander idly until the elements and survival needs grew too strong and Thanatos was a whisper of pleasure. Maybe…
Ca cakaw!
Tweek squealed as he was broken from his thoughts, a crow snapping angrily at him, black feathers falling slowly, held aloft by the fog as the bird climbed into the sky and was gone. He grabbed his chest as his heart beat heavily against his ribs, breathing slowing from the abnormal pace as he shook his head, telling himself to calm down.
"Hey Tweek."
"OH GOD!"
His eyes drew from the ground and he jumped, heart in his throat and the taste of blood filling his mouth from biting his lip as he looked onto Craig, looking smug and questionable. Tweek took a deep breath, swallowing the metallic taste and shook his head, jittering uncontrollably.
"Jesus Christ, Craig, you scared the fuck out of me."
The Nommel boy just smiled slow and sweet as he slumped over on the stop sign, hands sliding gradually into his jacket pockets. His charcoal striped shirt rode upward, showing off a glimpse of pale tummy that made Tweek flush furiously. Seeming to know what his deliberate actions were doing to the poor blonde, Craig's smile only broadened, but never reached those clouded, red-tinged eyes.
"Mm, well what're you doing here at my busstop?"
Tweek tilted his head indifferently as he glanced up at the stopsign were the street signs were mounted. Monte Carlo and Elm…no wonder Craig was standing there. He smiled sheepishly, trying to shake off his embarrassment of having walked several blocks passed his own bus stop, which meant he must've walked out of the house quite early. Instead of answering he just wrapped his arms around himself, looking down at the wet sidewalk, heart pittering in his chest, but not from fear now.
"Must've walked by it," he finally said, glancing up into the brilliantly neon eyes in the grey fog. His brows furrowed, seeing them bloodshot and pink. "Have you been crying? Your eyes are all red."
Craig raised a brow in inquisition as his smile turned to a scowl and pushed off the stop sign, stumbling a bit as he raised a hand to smack Tweek playfully. The blonde wrapped an arm around his waist as Craig giggled to himself.
"Oh Jesus! Dude, what're you on?" Tweek squealed as he held Craig at arms length, searching those tainted eyes for the information he needed. Seeming to understand the accusation the Nommel boy pulled away roughly and raised a middle finger aggressively.
"Nothing you sonuvabitch," the raven-haired boy muttered darkly to himself as he pulled out eyedrops from his coat and dropped them into his eyes with a hiss, blinking rapidly and rubbed them with the back of his wrist. He glared, giving Tweek a look of utter dismay and loathing as he threw his bag over his shoulder and shoved his hands in his pockets.
"Wh—what're you doing?" Tweek asked, voice cracking as the Nommel boy grabbed his arm, dragging him through the thick coat of fog.
"We're walking to school, fucktard," Craig growled, dropping his hand and glanced to Tweek disjointedly. "Like Alverez is really going to see us in this fog. Hell, he'll fucking run us down."
"Oh Jesus!" the blonde exclaimed, clasping a hand to his mouth in desperation of the thought, the other lacing around Craig's long fingers, causing himself to turn a steady shade of pink. But after what they'd done and said yesterday, it was completely alright, right?
Right.
Craig looked down at their joined hands, a brow raising slowly, but made no move to stop Tweek from squeezing his hand. Instead he snorted softly, repressing an obvious laugh. "And we need to talk."
"About?"
"Us."
Tweek cast him a sidelong glance, frowning at the look he received. He hesitated in his step until their hands were suspended between them, linked at the second knuckle only now. Craig stopped with a heaved sigh and looked back at him with a faint smile. "Us? What do you mean, us?"
Nommel lifted their joined hands to eye level, the smile fading as his expression turned serious. "This, Tweeky, we need to talk about this."
Brows furrowed, Tweek tilted his head, wisps of the fog snaking around their hands, tantalizing, teasing. "But…I thought we talked about it yesterday? I thought we figure it out. What do we—?"
Craig let his hand fall to his side, gently unlacing their fingers with a shake of his head. "Yeah Tweek, that's what we need to talk about. We can't do this…we can't do that."
Unabashed, he licked his lips, feeling the familiar sting in his eyes. Tweek let his hand slip to his thigh, clasping at the air emptily. What was Craig talking about? Why did he look so torn…and yet so firm in his decision? This wasn't how it was suppose to be, this wasn't how he imagined it. "But…why?" he asked, voice cracking under the weight of strain.
He snorted indifferent like it was obvious, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets and glared casually. "One; you're a guy, I'm a guy, and two dicks do not go together. Two; I have a girlfriend that I like and can do a lot more things with her. Three; I didn't mean any of it."
I didn't mean any of it.
That one phrase rang through his head, the tone lashing his heart, reminding him exactly of the simple sentence that had gotten them into this mess:
I'm sorry, Tweek, but fuck you.
Before he knew it, desperation and oblivion turned to striking anger, fist clenching until knuckles strained against skin, teeth ground painfully down on the inside of his teeth until metallic copper was swallowed. He spit out blood, chestnut coloured eyes turning a hard amber. "You didn't mean it? Fuck you, Craig! You were obviously into it yesterday or you wouldn't have moaned so goddamned hard! And this guy bullshit, who gives a damn? The whole world, huh, that's really why they hired a flaming teacher for third graders, and let his fuckbuddy take all responsibility, right? This has nothing to do with anyone else, Craig, it's all some plan you've come up with in your head, that if you're with another guy the rest of the world is going to stone you to death. Jesus Christ, and you say I'm insane? Look at you!"
Craig's expression darkened as he pursed his lips, grimacing at Tweek's voice. It was odd seeing him so worked up, and distasteful. "Heh, see, this is why I can't be with you Tweeky, you work your own misconception as an argument. And even if any of that nonsense was true, I've still got a girlfriend."
Spitting more blood onto the concrete Tweek rolled his eyes. "Should've thought of that before getting hard, huh?"
"Shhh!"
Tweek laughed bitterly as Craig shot glances around through the fog like he had earlier, making sure no one was just out of sight, waiting to tease at his expense. "See Craig, you're so paranoid about what could happen, who could hate you, that you don't see who already does."
He smirked, though he felt something clawing at his stomach, wanting to escape and cause about as much pain as possible. The blood on the concrete and dripping from Tweek's lips seemed brighter in the grey haze, turning insides sickeningly. "Oh, so you hate me now?"
Tweek laughed, a sharp, cutting note through the air, mimicking the echo of the crows' caws and gave Craig the most serious expression he'd ever displayed. "Unfortunately, I don't have an insecurity complex like you, nor am I fickle at the expense of others. I still love you, sorry."
Craig bit his tongue, feeling like he was just punched, hard, in the stomach by the vicious Kyle, or hulk of Cartman. He swallowed back the taste of breakfast and bile, trying to find the words that clawed at his throat, bringing tears to his eyes. This was an unfamiliar feeling, and one he didn't like. Maybe it was the marijuana, hopefully it was. "Why?"
"Why do I still love you?" A nod. "Well, you've been haunting me for years, Craig, this little imperfection isn't going to just cut that off. Oh, and I wasn't faking when I moaned your name in the bathroom," he said with a twisted smile, walking passed Craig, feeling his resolve beginning to break, intended on heading home.
"Sorry Tweeky, but I'm not a fucking fag. Find yourself a different fuckbuddy, I won't have any part in it."
"Whatever Craig," he muttered to himself, crossing his arms over his chest, hugging himself as he turned the corner and ran blindly through the fog.
---
The bus seemed utterly quiet, despite the ruckus the girls were making in the front, giggling in highpitched waves that grated on his nerves, seeming like a dagger being thrust into his temples. Craig leaned his head against the window, watching the thick greyness disjointedly, eyes unfocused, lost in the high of drugs. He shifted his weight, spreading out over the blue leather seat he had to himself, a hand falling to his thighs where he knew a lovebite was.
He didn't understand Tweek's logic. How could you still love someone that called you a fag, told you they didn't love you? How could he be so rational, so calm under the scrutiny, the loathing of someone else? What was he doing now, eating cereal and watching television at home? Working at Harbucks? Out wandering town, relieving his mind?
He didn't know, but he wanted to be right there with the blonde, doing whatever it was, laughing at some stupid joke, instead of riding the musty bus to school. He hated himself for what he'd done, what he knew he'd continue doing, because Tweek was right, he had an insecurity problem with who he was and how others might perceive him. He wanted to get over it, he had to if he ever hoped to stop hurting Tweek.
"Yo', Craig, dude, you're out of it," Clyde's voice rang, laced with amusement and an undercurrent of worry. His eyes flicked slowly to the brunette, the world crawling at the motion and smiled faintly, trying to focus on his blurry friend. "You okay?"
"Absolutely, just imaginin' birds hitting things in this fog," he said with a short purring laugh and raised a brow, the movement making his face feel tingly. "You guys okay? Look a bit restless."
Clyde laughed to himself, though it was full of nervousness. Fluffing his hair he gave a brief shrug, looking over at Token. Williams flashed an uncanny smile as he pulled his coat around his neck and shivered. "Just that Tweek isn't here, on the second day of school. A bit bothered that he's already running."
"Maybe he's just being driven to school," he lied, the false words tickling off his tongue, though it felt like everyone was watching, listening, waiting for him to be exposed as a fraud. "It is pretty nasty outside."
"Except that Conner said he heard you and Tweek," Token snapped, looking over with a raised brow in inquisition. "So who is the liar? And where is Tweek?"
Craig stilled, paralyzed in fear, a shudder running down his spine, gooseflesh appearing, hair standing on end under his jacket. He licked his lips, gaze flicking to Conner a few rows up, laughing cheerfully at something Butters had said. How much had that coy redhead heard, how much did he learn? More importantly, how was he going to use what he did hear?
"So Craig, what happened?"
Snapping back to his attentive friends, he shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant and uninterested in what he was saying. "You know, just shouted "Oh shit!" and went home. Probably forgot something or another."
Before either of them could argue, the bus screeched to a halt, slamming them against the seat in front of them. Craig let out a curse that faded into a moan as he clutched his ribs, feeling like something had cracked or bruised as he hung his head over his crotch, doubled over, trying to regain lost breath as his vision fuzzed over in white. No wonder new buses were equipped with seat belts, bus drivers got crazier each year.
When his lungs finally decided to intake air, and the stabbing pain became a dull ache, Craig stood up, swinging his bag over his shoulder and looked to see how his friends faired. Token seemed fine, a bit irritated but otherwise unfazed. Clyde, on the other hand, was clutching his bruised and bloody nose, curses spilling out of his mouth at every other word.
"Fucking busdriver, who the fuck does that bean think he is? Cocklicking bastard, that's a better job for that shithole…"
Craig grinned to himself at the expense of the Donovan boy as all the groaning kids filed off the bus, flipping Mr. Alverez off along the way. Standing out in the fog, moisture clinging to everything, the girls seemed absolutely dandy, reiterating his idea that girls were invincible and felt no pain.
He glanced around, things much slower then they should have been, looking for the strike of red hair, the florescent jacket, annoying laugh, even Butters. Through the fog he spotted the kid he needed to speak to and bolted, the surreal feeling of traveling back in time taking hold, clawing at his stomach. In reality, he was tripping all over the place as he caught up to Conner and pulled him roughly away from Butters, almost taking both of them to the ground.
"Dude, Craig, what the fuck?" the redhead said with furrowed brows, yanking his arm back and straightened his shirt. Next to him Butters clacked his knuckles, licking his lips nervously at the encounter.
"We need to talk," he said, trying desperately to be coherent, despite wanting to giggle at the way Conner's eyes seemed to swirl between blue, green, grey, purple.
"After being such a dick to me yesterday? I don't think so."
Grinding his teeth painfully, the Nommel boy reared a fist back, seeming slow to him and slammed it into Conner's shoulder. The redhead sucked in a breath and shoved Craig away from him, a hand clasping around the tender spot that was no doubt going to bruise. Glaring dangerously, Conner glanced to Butters and waved him away, saying, "Important business, go find Van and Esther, I'm sure they need some talking to."
"W—well, okay, but don't be fightin', okay?" Seeming satisfied by no response, Butters trotted off to find the two mentioned. Conner's glare never ceased as he rubbed his sore arm, but seeing that he wasn't going to retaliate, Craig lowered his arms and let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding.
"That wasn't fucking necessary," Conner hissed, pulling the collar of his shirt over his shoulder to point out a bruise that was already forming. "Jesus, I would've talked to you, you didn't have to hit me."
"Sorry," Craig muttered, irritation melting to nervousness as the bright colours faded, leaving the grey fog to swat at his thoughts, tearing away pieces in a teasing manner. "I just…I had to distress myself, and you looked like a good target."
"Well next time hit Butters, or yourself. Right in the nuts so we know you'll never have little baby Craigs," he muttered, walking toward the school building, tired of standing out in the disgusting wetness. Craig followed, dragging glances around him as he shoved his throbbing fist in his jacket. "Ask away, Nommel."
"How much did you hear?" he blurted out, nearly tripping up the stairs as he did.
"Well that's one way to be blunt," the redhead said with a small laugh, pulling Craig back up to a stand and held open the door. "But I think the proper question is, how much did I not hear?"
"Shit," he cursed under his breath, kicking a locker they passed and bit his tongue at the pain. Putting hands on his shoulders, Conner lead him away from anything that he could possibly damage and have to pay for, or from things that could break his feet.
"Why shit?"
Craig glanced up, shoving him away into a group of second graders. Conner apologized at his expense, flashing smiles all around to melt the hearts of the little girls before jogging to catch up to the weaving Nommel. He grabbed him by the back of his jacket and raised a brow. "Why are you being such a fucking jerk?"
"Because you know," he hissed, struggling in vain to get Conner to release him. Surrendering, he hung his head, biting his lip, fist uncurling in submission.
"What's your goddamn point? I know, who cares? It's not like I'm going to run off and write an article to the South Park Times, 'Oh Em Eff Gee, Craig Nommel, bully and bitch of the sixth grade is gay. Gasp! Looks like we won't have little Craig's plaguing the Earth in twenty years time!' I'm not that shallow."
A small smile lingered over Craig's lips before he looked back to Conner, raising a brow. "But—"
"Look, man, if you swing that way have at it, as long as you aren't riding my ass I don't care. It's none of my business if you'd rather stick it in the stinker instead of the pinker. And as Tweek said, I doubt anyone else gives a damn because of Mister, uh, Missus Garrison and Mister Slave."
"I'm not gay, I have a girlfriend," Craig growl, glaring now, frustrated that he had to keep reminding everyone of this little fact. What were they, stupid?
Conner shook his head, frowning now, loosening his grip of Craig's jacket but didn't let go. "Yeah, you might, so what? That's just a bit problematic. If you don't love Red, why be with her?"
"I don't love Tweek."
A sigh. "This is what I have a problem with, Craig, not your utter denial, not how your arguments taper down to a nil point, but the way in which you treat Tweek like an object or a puppy that pissed on your carpet is bullshit. It's not a matter of relationship or romance, sex, whatever at this point, it's a matter of mending your shattered-to-Hell relationship, and you're beating around the bush lalala attitude isn't doing it. No wonder he went off to be homeschooled, went to be the Mole's friend, even being a crazy little French fucker he was still a lot more supportive then you. And you know, take timing into consideration. You were a great friend up until the fall of third grade, what happened then?"
"I'm not having this conversation with you," Craig growled, smacking Conner's hand in vain.
"You wonder why he's changed, become harder, thinks for himself? He has to, because of you, Craig, because of assholes like you that will exploit him. Hope you're proud of yourself." Shoving him away, Conner snarled and walked off.
"Fuck you!" Craig called, raising two middle fingers. Underclassmen put hands to their mouths in shock, a few giggled and pointed at how foolish he looked. Kevin raised a brow and patted his shoulder on the way up to class with a,
"There, there, Craig, Conner's just an irritating butthole."
Whirling on his feet, Craig swung his hand but missed Kevin all together, so disjointed by the drugs now there was no thinking clearly. Growling to himself, he put his head in his hands and followed Kevin's babyblue coat up the stairs, consciously registering each one before taking the step. One hand stayed on the rail, clasping with sweaty palms as the other dug into his pocket, bringing out a small pink tablet with a crescent moon printed on it. Grinding down on his teeth he popped it in his mouth, dry swallowing as a smile crossed his face, the bitter taste a relief.
"Hey Craig, heard you made an ass out of yourself," Clyde said, spotting him as he cleared the stairwell and stumbled toward the classroom. He glanced up, everything taking on a neon glow, edges more profound and sharp.
"Maybe," he muttered as he stepped into the class, taking a chance glacne to see if Tweek had arrived, but his spot was empty. Instead he caught Red's cerulean eyes and bashful smile, and felt a wave of nausea rock through him as he lifted a hand and waved. Bebe raised a brow, glossed lips quirking into a smile and made kissy lips, eyes flicking over to Clyde, who blushed a shade of pink.
"Clyde baby, you've gotta talk to Craig about his lack of affection for his lady," she said with that I-dare-you smile, gaze darting back to Craig. He lifted a brow as her ears turned pointed and fury, teeth sharper, face longated to that of a fox as her eyes became more sharp and devious. Running a hand through his hair, he just shook his head, going back to his seat, feeling Clyde close behind.
"Yeah, why not give your lady a nice poke'n'ride, Craigykins?" Cartman asked, turning in his seat, a shit-eating grin plastered to his face that warped like Bebe's into that of a canine. "I'm sure we'd all like that."
"Don't be such a pervert, Theodore, or I might have to do something nasty," Esther said, grey eyes narrowing sinisterly as she bared teeth in a hateful smile. "It's too early for your horseshit."
"Don't defend Craig," Conner muttered as he raised his head from the desk, shifting position to glance at Esther. "Being oh-so manly and correct all the time, I'm sure he can do it himself." Everyone turned to balk at Conner, the usually timid, calm, self-controlled of them all, who usually never had a bad day. Not wanting to argue, Esther shrugged and turned back to the homework she was finishing.
"Dude, what did you do to Conner?" Token asked, resting his cheek against his hand and shoved Craig's chair with his foot. "Besides punch him in the arm."
"Bet they had gay sex and he couldn't make Conner come so he's just all pissed off," Eric retorted as he took a bite from a Snackey Cake, chocolate and whip crème making a ring around his mouth.
"Shut the fuck up you conniving fox," Craig growled, his voice sounding foreign to his own ears. Eric turned in his seat, mouth gaping open in horror, along with several of the other kids.
"Did you just call him a fox?" Kyle asked, a brow disappearing into his amber curls, an arm thrown over Stan's desk as he turned to stare at the pale, sweaty Craig.
"Fuck you Jewsus."
"Dude, he looks sicker than a dog, he's probably just seeing things," Stan offered, his overly sensitive and nurturing side showing passed his hate for Nommel. "You okay Craig?"
"Fucking fine."
Twisting in his seat, Conner glared, ignoring how colour-washed he seemed, how his eyes were unfocused, breathing a bit raspy. "You weren't sick earlier, what's your problem? Guilt getting to you?"
"Maybe I caught your super AIDs," Craig mumbled, mouth feeling a bit too dry, air like lead as he breathed, and all around him were canines, ready to rip into his organs, take strips of flesh and laugh at his pain, insulting, teasing, joke and prod. As the floor turned to a sea of blood, as it seemed they were all ready to pounce with claws and ready teeth, an angel stepped into the room resembling an egret, backwards legs walking over the terror and death to the front desk.
"Settle down, it's time for class to begin. Take out your homework as I take roll," Ms. Coxnbahls said warmly, words weaving tangibly through the air in those damned technicoloured ribbons. Craig leaned on his desk, a hand wrapping in his hair painfully as the other dug into his pocket, pulling out another tablet to dry swallow.
Clyde looked over as he tilted his head back and popped it in his mouth, whispering, "What was that?"
"Mint," he mumbled back as his vision starburst outward, and imploded back. Clyde shrugged, uninteresting as Ms. Coxnbahls scanned the classroom for missing children and tsked.
"Does Tweek miss a lot of school? He seemed like such a sweet boy, I hope nothing is wrong with him."
"He's usually always in attendance unless something really bad has happened, like a child molester kidnapped him or something," Kyle said with a yawn as he read over his homework for corrections.
Look flabbergasted, Ms. Coxnbahls put a dainty hand to her mouth, eyes widened a tad bit. "And does that happen a lot?"
"Not too much, last time it was the Visitors that took him. Or was it the Vikings?"
"No, I think was those Amazon chicks with the one boobs," Stan corrected, scribbling his name in caps on the top of his paper.
"Oh, yeah, you're right."
"No," Craig mumbled, not looking up from his desk, crawling in slugs that left a trail of sticky, congealed blood. "You're not. It was mimes from Quebec last, not Amazon chicks."
Ms. Coxnbahls cleared her throat, drawing the attention away from the subject of kidnap. "Alright children, let's go over the English worksheet. I'll read a sentence, and call on someone to give the preposition. Then that person will pick the next person to answer, but it has to be someone of the opposite gender, alright?" Receiving a few 'yes's and nods, she smiled and perched on her desk. Craig glanced up, hearing a squawk and just stared. Her suit was white, but not the white of clouds or snow, more like the white of feathers torn viciously from a luxury pillow at an expensive hotel. Climbing those scaly, bird legs were those blood soaked slugs that seemed to grow at each slither.
"Alright, hmm…Bebe. Alex rode the skilift up the mountain to get to the top. What's the preposition?"
Running fingers through her bangs, a fluffy canine ear twitching, she bore teeth in a shy smile that seemed more like she was going to rip someone to shreds. "Up? The phrase is up the mountain."
"Very good, that's right!" Ms. Coxnbahls cawed, beak clacking blackness onto the floor. "Who is next, Bebe?"
"Clyde."
"Okay then, Mister Donovan. You should consider reading the notes before class."
"Before, but it's not actually a preposition, it's like an adverb or something. I don't know. But the phrase is before class," he said, looking up briefly from his stick figure drawings of Bebe rather naked. His ears were floppy with little tuffs of fur on the end, and Craig knew if he turned around that Clyde would look like a puppy dog in the midst of the wolves, dingos, foxes and other animals.
"Very true, and also correct! Who now?"
"Kal."
"Okay Kal. A flying saucer appeared above the lake and disappeared."
She nibbled a clawed hand with long sparkling fangs, wolf ears laying back in uncertainty as hazel eyes flicked up to the egret. "Appeared? And appeared above the lake?"
Ms. Coxnbahls smiled, or tried with that beak. "Not quite, but good try! It's actually above the lake, but you were close!"
Kel smiled sheepishly, trying to play it off as she glanced over to him with those feral eyes and said, "Craig."
He shuddered, flicking his glance at those teeth, the pointed muzzled face and shook his head. He was not going to answer to a wolf, he wasn't going to become their meal. Did they think he was crazy enough for that? Yanking out strands of his hair he muttered a, "No way," between clenched teeth.
"Craig, honey, are you okay? You don't look so well. Do you want to go to the bathroom, splash some water on your face? You seem tense, is everything alright?" Ms. Coxnbahls asked, concern dripping from her beak in a thick, red liquid. The slugs crawled over her face, leaving trails that burned through feathers to bone underneath.
"Can I? Please?" he pleaded, tearing his gaze away as the slugs snaked to her eyes, sliding through the gap behind her skull.
"Yes, go ahead, just grab the pass on your way out."
Craig stood up and looked down at the whirling sea of blood that was the floor. How deep was it? Would he drown in his guilt, or be slayed by the canines surrounding him, ready to tear through his mental barrier with insults. He swallowed hard; which was the better choice, what would cause less pain?
"Craig?"
He ignored the voice as he watched the sea swirl and words rise upward, blood sliding off bright white words that made a bridge to the door. He sighed with relief and took a cautious step, testing his weight before actually taking a step.
I still love you, sorry.
He smiled , keeping his eyes down on the words that coaxed him from his desk, across the mass of blood that eat away at his feet, wanting him to fall, to drown. But with Tweek's words, how could he?
"Craig?"
You're right, Craigers, who else do I have after you…?
No one, that's who. He shook his head, frowning, feeling himself sink a bit into that sea of guilt. He'd have everyone in the world. Token, Clyde, Conner, his parents, Christophe, his extended family, the doctors…everyone. He was the only one that didn't deserve Tweek, and yet he had him in a way no one else did.
"Craig?"
I'm not crazy.
Of course he wasn't. Tweek was everything but crazy, paranoid maybe, a bit frazzled at the edges, but he wasn't crazy. He knew what he wanted, how to express himself, how to forgive. Who else really could wholeheartedly forgive someone after being so cruel? That's what made Tweek Tweek, something he'd never change in a million years.
"Craig?"
Hearing the urgency he looked up, seeing Token hovering near a door, completely normal, no animalistic traits whatsoever. He glanced around the room, the cracked mirrors, grey tiles, hand dryer that was leaking things thicker than blood, stuck faucets pouring out the scarlet death. From the corners of the room spiders clung, murderous intent vivid in beady eyes, venomous fangs squirting a clear liquid that sizzled where it hit like hydrochloric acid. He backed away from the spiders, from Token, until his back hit the wall and he slid to the floor, knees to his chest as he darted his gaze around.
"Craig, what the fuck man?" Token asked as he walked over, Craig clamping hands at his hair.
"Leave me the fuck alone, man, they might not see me if you just piss or something!"
Token balked, looking around the bathroom, seeing it unoccupied except for a stain on the floor that resembled something Stan had done. "They?"
"Yes!" Craig shrieked, looking up at him terrified. Was he so oblivious to the spiders, the slugs crawling in? The blood, even the animals back in the classroom? "They're everywhere, man, just shhhh."
With a brow raised Token walked over to Craig and knelt down, putting hands on his shoulders and shook gently. "Craig, yo' Craig, you're scaring me. What's wrong?"
"Everything!" he squealed, clamping his eyes shut to make the sights go away. "He hates me! He doesn't say it but he does, how can't he? I totally fucked up, I totally lied…and he saw through it. He saw through it and was the bigger man. He made me feel shitty, he changed, he doesn't need my help, my protection."
Brow still cocked he tilted his head, rubbing Craig's shoulder softly as tears spilled from his eyes, making those freckles of his stand out. But something was still off, something still wasn't quite right about this scenario.
"I..I don't know what to do, man, it's all so fucked up. I mean, what if I go find him? What if I just go, go see hi, go tell him I'm sorry and shit? If I do those fucking canines will eat me! Or I'll drown, I'll drown in the blood…he can't save me, he can't keep me from falling, there's only so much that he's said that can keep me floating. Shit Token…I'm going to fucking die in this shithole."
"You mean Tweek, right?"
"Yes damnit! Who else?" he questioned, looking up through blurred eyes, but it didn't stop the spiders from leering, slugs from slinking toward them. "Would I be this tormented over anyone else? I mean…damn Token, I'm about to get killed for fucks sake and all I'm thinking about is him and those shining blonde locks of his, coffee coloured eyes, pale cheeks that turn a shade of pink anytime you mention sex."
Token licked his lips, understanding what he was saying, but not why he was trembling so violently, or crying so hard. This wasn't the normal symptoms of rejection, and it bothered him how crazed Craig's eyes did look before, the pupils shrunken in on themselves, lost in the green blaze, almost like a corpse. He shuddered at the thought, remembering Craig's earlier mood, how slow he seemed, how he deliberately looked around the classroom in an obvious panic.
"Dude, chill, it'll be okay, alright? Just please stop."
"No it won't," Craig mumbled, shifting to so he was sitting on his knees and bowed his head, tasting blood in his mouth. He gagged on the metallic copper, spitting it out, but it didn't stop. His hands yanked from his hair, clasping at his shirt now, short fingernails digging into his abdomen painfully, but it didn't relieve the feeling that he was vomiting knives. He choked, looking through the tears to see slugs spilling from his mouth along with baby spiders that crawled away, escaping. He shrieked, swatting at the floor, ignoring the lancing pain each time he slammed his fist into the hard tile.
"Craig, fuck, stop it!" Token yelled, grabbing his arms and shoved him back, straining against Craig's bunched muscles, nails digging into his friends' skin as he pinned him back against the wall to keep him from hurting himself more. Just seeing the blood mixed with bile dribbling down his chin made him sick. He could see Craig's skin was bruising at the strain to get free, but Token wasn't going to stop, even if his muscles felt like bursting. "What the fuck did you take!"
"Nothing—"
"Nothing my ass!" Tokewn growled, anger fueling him as he shoved Craig back into the wall at the inch he'd gained. "That was not a goddamn mint you took in class, asshat. What was it!"
Before Craig could reply the world swam in red, bursting in black as he felt lightheaded. His muscles relaxed as he fell forward, the only thing keeping him from hitting the floor being Token. Jumping up, he left Craig laying there, his face turned to the side in case he vomited unconsciously and went running into the halls, screaming bloody murder for help.
---
It was noon, the fog had diminished to a dewy sheen covering anything it could get to, the moisture turning into grey clouds that hung low, hiding the mountaintops, dripping long, slow rain showers down their peaks. Tweek hardly noticed the change of weather, though, as he sat in bed on his stomach, face buried in his pillow to his nose, staring blankly at his headboard, watching a dust spider crawl lazily across the cheerywood sheen, unfazed. It didn't register in his mind that the spider could possibly be poisonous, could possibly lay eggs in his sheets; that seemed a miniscule problem to what he was dealing with.
He'd come home, thrown his things down in an angry heap by the door, and ran up to his room, not caring if the stairs collapsed and he died, it'd be better. With a slammed door he fell into bed, completely drained emotionally. Sure, he'd shown Craig he meant business, he'd shown a tough face and hard resolve…but that was for show, that was to prove that no matter what Craig threw at him, he could take it. In reality, he wasn't sure he if he could, wasn't sure if he was even capable of dealing with the flipper's antics.
"Fuck you, Craig, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you," he cursed under his breath, strained, feeling the familiar tingle come into his eyes.
"So your resolve has broken, hm," the familiar, sadistic purr of Curson's voice rang, cutting through the whirring sound of the heater. Tweek didn't bother to look up, he knew what he would see, that smirking drawn back from pointed teeth, solid eyes narrowed in amusement. It was always the same with him, didn't it ever get dull?
"Go the fuck away from me, aren't you supposed to be in Hell?" he murmured viciously into the pillow.
"After begging me to stay last night? Please, your indecisiveness alludes me."
Finally rolling over onto his back, sitting up on elbows he gave the Bat-King the attention he seemed to crave. He leaned against the door like a brooding omen of death, arms delicately crossed, long talon-like claws shining brightly against his off-white shirt. He wasn't looking directly at the blonde though, which was oddly unnerving, instead those eyes were turned toward him at a painful angle, staring coldly. His lips drew away from those teeth in a faint smile, honestly entertained.
"Anyway, it does not take much to break Hell's reigns. Satan does not rule as he should."
"As you would, you mean," he hissed angrily, annoyed by the chill that was sweeping through the room, emitting from the Bat thingit. "I don't even know why I'm having this conversation, you aren't real."
"Oh? And since when has this unpredictable delusion haunted your pretty little head? You should known better than all the world what your are dealing with," Curson sneered, pushing away from the door and stretched, arms popping out of the sockets disgustingly as he did.
"Yeah, an imaginary friend," he scoffed to himself, crossing his arms and pouted grumpily.
"Please, your imagination does not delve so deep. Do you really believe that the trips into your subconscious are just reveries of your imagination?" By now the amusement had faded to something fierce, chilling the air to a sting. "Are you so thoughtless, so dumb, to really believe such things?"
As he shuddered, a wracking chill crawled over his skin, raising gooseflesh, twitching muscles he hadn't known was there as raw fear held him captive. But what good would running have done? Approaching him from the door was a guarded Bat King, the only other escape was through the window and he wasn't quite up for a two-story fall. Instead he coward, burying his face in his knees, short fingernails clasping wildly at his pants, digging in for the pain, pain to try to forget the looming figure.
"Go away," he breathed, voice a mere whisper, tasting his pulse at each word. "Please."
"Why recoil from pure imagination? I am at your bidding, you so cleverly believe."
"Leave me alone, just go."
"Look at me."
"No."
"Look at me," the pleasant purring voice hissed, threat laced between those three, calm words. Before Tweek was given the chance claws worked into his hair, pulling his head back at impossible lengths, exposing his smooth throat and wide eyes, shining with the beginnings of hysteria. Shocked from movement, the blonde did nothing as Curson raised his other hand, placing his claws gently across the boy's cheek, thumb under his chin, digging in just enough to prick.
"Should I truly be just a whisper of your mind, could you not control my actions? And yet, it seems quite clear, that is not possible. Perhaps a bit of pain will draw you down to reality?" An instant of realization, recognition of the word and Curson smiled, digging the claw of his middle finger in under the skin and drug downward slowly, tantalizing. Blood seeped in a dark, scarlet line as the skin split down to the chin and the Bat-thingit pulled away with a look of triumph. As the contact faded, Tweek shrieked at the immediate pain that flared across his nerves, turning the whole left side of his face into a steady, pulsing, ache. He raised a hand to his cheek, catching the blood before it had time to drip onto the bedspread, the scalding liquid pooling into the palm of his hand as if he was trying to force it back into him. He looked with wide eyes at the King of all things nasty, tears sliding in a hot line, burning at the cut, but the sting was nothing compared to the betrayal he felt.
"You've never…hurt me before," he choked, throat contracting around the words, staring at the Fallen solemnly, looking as if he could break.
"A simple reminder of who I am, sweets," he said seriously, the voice of the perfect torture-master, business man talking to a new employee. It was a voice of careful restraint, charming logic; the voice you'd use to discourage the acts of a crazy man about to take the final leap to death. And maybe, above all else, that was true and could be applied to this situation. Not a physical leap to the known, but a mental dive through the levels safeguarding the inner core, the Self, that would tear a mind to pieces should it be broken through.
"Please don't," Tweek said, but it was inaudible, soft, the sound of someone breaking from the inside out. But Curson was already sitting gingerly on the bed, wrapping arms around the blonde, pulling him delicately into his lap. He resisted at first, fighting numbly against the hold that kept him pressed to skin too warm to be normal for nil. He relaxed against the claws stroking at his hair, the arm lazily thrown around his waist, knowing that despite the threats, reminders, this was what he considered safe, a haven from the real. It was almost as good as his mother's arms, but here, clinging to Curson's shirt for life, hicoughing sobs escaping into his chest, he knew no harm could ever come to him.
"Hush, sweets, is Craig's attention, is his adoration and love worth this?" Curson cooed, letting his voice wrap around the boy like velvet, fighting off any internal chill he might have as his hands rubbed soothing symbols down his back. Tweek buried his face into his shift as if he could crawl into Curson and disappear, calmed to sniffles that caught the scent of cinnamon and sage.
"Everything and more," he mumbled between a yawn, letting a hand curl around Curson's waist as his eyes drifted closed, exhaustion lulling him to somewhere better. He felt a shift in his weight, releasing the strain against the knees and sighed more comfortably as he nestled into Curson's warmth. Feeling movement, he forced himself to look upwards, the Bat King kissing his forehead and whispering something that brought sleep in a crashing wave.
Or maybe he'd just imagined that.
---
Tweek had never considered the feeling of rousing to the pulsating warmth of something inhumane, curled around it, wanting that security only something immortal could give. It was an interesting wakeup call having claws trickle down his spine, soft purrs murmured in a tongue he couldn't place, but it didn't matter, the meaning flowed through freely with the tone. It wasn't a thing like waking up with Craig at a sleepover, this had nothing to do with sexual tension and everything with parental comfort.
Of course, it hadn't lasted long. He'd stretched, sat up with a yawn, and saw by the lines between Curson's brow something was terribly wrong. He'd had a fleeting thought to consider how strange it was that he read the demon so well before his cheerful, content mood fell with four simple words:
Craig's in the hospital.
At first the blonde thought he'd have to hoof it, catch public transportation, until Curson grabbed his mother's keys from the counter and lifted a brow in inquisition with the comment, "Despite the Church's misleadings, while humans evolved and grew in technological advances, the Divine Kingdoms have as well. We are not as barbaric as many perceive, and we do know how to drive."
That was an interesting experience. Being dragged to the edges of the subconscious seemed normal, threatened to an inch of life, caught between the clutches of dominance and comfort. However, riding in Eavan's car with the Bat King pulling off tricky maneuvers, other cars passing and making no move that it was at all weird t have one of the Grigori driving, was plain strange. Though he had to admit, it beat running all the way to Hell's Pass in the icy rain.
It was quarter-till two by the time the car slid to a halt and Tweek was bailing out, making a mad dash toward the sliding glass doors most medical establishments seemed equipped with. He shook his head like a dog, water flying into the hall as he shivered in the hospital air, biting back a disgusted noise at the smell. Even here at the edge of the waiting room, the place reeked of oxygen ventilators, 409, bleached sawdust that was used to absorb vomit, medicine, and bodies being eaten away by illness. He swallowed hard, dark eyes taking in the sight, searching for what he needed to see.
And there they were curled at the far corner of the waiting room, clambered into the uncomfortable chairs side by side, touching in that casual comforting way most people tend to do when something horrid has happened. Clyde had the hood of his Cows sweatshirt pulled up around his face, blocking out whatever it was that had happened, guarding himself, an arm tucked under Token's. The Williams boy flicked his gaze toward Tweek as he approached, shoes squeaking on the grey tile, and seemed to brighten just a tad at his appearance, muscles in his shoulders relaxing and a dim smile bloomed on his face.
"Tweek, God, it has never been better to see you," he said, voice sounding as exhausted as he looked, but it had nothing to do with physical tiredness. He offered a smile as he wrung his hands together, bolting into his question.
"Where is he?"
"Upstairs, he's with Conner right now."
Tweek cocked a brow at that and looked around the couples and old woman to spot Esther on the other side of the room, impassive grey eyes watching carefully, gauging some sort of reaction, Butters asleep on her shoulder. He felt a chill run down his spine at that impervious gaze, wondering why they were here as he turned back to his friends. He knelt in front of them, resting his arms on Token's knees and looked up into his face, letting the strained worry show in his eyes.
"Tell me what happened."
Token let out a shaky breath and tried to laugh it off, pinching the bridge of his nose. "He was really out of it this morning, I mean, really out of it, more than usual, couldn't concentrate for shit, and his lies weren't smooth, crafted like he can usually play it off. He actually had to think about it, was nervous, but we didn't think anything of it, we were too busy being worried about you not being there so we—I hounded his ass."
"'So who is the liar? And where's Tweek?' is what you said, if I remember correctly," Clyde said, voice thick with an accent Tweek had forgotten he had, but then again it only showed under the stress of emotion. He had to smile though, Clyde was always better at recalling dialogue, but knew shit when it came to events.
"He just disappeared when we got off the bus, turns out he went and had a shoving match with Conner. But he seemed so disoriented going up the stairs, took too long concentrating on the task, and I knew something was wrong, but you know Craig, he'll deny anything you ask up front. So I let it go, but even the others noticed, Stan was the one to ask if he was okay."
"'Fucking fine' was what Craig replied with, after calling Cartman a fox," Clyde muttered, hazel eyes seeming dull with the knowledge. Tweek looked to Token for confirmation.
"Yeah, he called him a fox, but…it's not what you or anyone else think. Fuck, Tweeky, he was yanking out his hair, pale as a fucking ghost, sweating, really truly sick. He left to the bathroom, shooting glances around and skittered out, and you could tell he was near tears. I followed to make sure he was okay, but he didn't even hear me, he just fell back against the wall in the bathroom and started spouting shit. He was fucking hallucinating, God, and he spit up blood…" Token swallowed hard, breathing a bit heavily as he remembered. It was a shock to hear Token curse, which just reiterated that I wasn't anything good. "It was scary seeing him brought down, upset, physically in pain, that's not Craig, and…just Jesus. I never want to see him like that again."
Tweek rested his forehead against Token's knees, taking it in. He didn't want to imagine Craig like that, stripped from his cocky self, eaten away with guilt. That's not what he meant to do, he didn't want Craig to hurt himself over him. He tried to speak around his pulse, voice sounding a tad too high. "De talked about me, didn't he?"
"What's going on between you two?" Clyde asked calmly, enough that the blonde looked up into those startling hazel eyes.
"He—"
"—overdosed," Token finished with a dark, intelligent look that told the blonde he knew exactly what was going on. "He took two Ecstasy tablets after doing pot and LSD blotters. Shit, he was going to kill himself, go down doing drugs. He was set on that goal, set on suicide. If he hadn't been puking up blood, if he hadn't needed a blood transfusion, he probably wouldn't be alive. It took loosing a pint orally, losing some of the toxins and having new blood pumped in to save him."
Feeling his eyes sting he buried his face in Token's knees, knowing well enough the attempt was over him. And that all in itself hurt. "You're kidding."
Token wrapped fingers in his damp golden locks, petting him soothingly. "He's still got a lot of it in his system, but it's not as bad. He's just sluggish from the morphine and a bit exhausted from the trip. I think you should go see him."
Tweek raised his head, sniffing back the urge to cry and just nodded, putting on his best blank face, though the worry still shone through. He got to his feet, squeezing Token's knee affectionately and slipped a hand under Clyde's hood, ruffling his hair before asking the nurse for admittance upstairs. He signed the sheet and walked through the doors into the silent hall, passing by the cafeteria as he went toward the elevator and climbed on, hitting the button to level three.
"Shit Craig you fucking dumbass," he whispered to himself, staring at the floor, afraid. Afraid of what he'd see, how his friend would react, afraid that Craig might try it again if given the chance. But under that, he was worried about what the Nommel boy was caught up in, how he'd gotten the drugs to begin with. He had an idea with the marijuana, he probably harvested that himself, but the LSD, XTC? How had he gotten a hold of that?
He glanced up when the doors whooshed open, sending a blast of that heated air in his face and stepped out, looking down the hall to where he'd been told Craig's room was. Walking from it was Conner, head hung, shoulders drown up, lines of exhaustion around his eyes. The redhead stilled hearing his footsteps and looked up, cringing slightly but offered a week smile anyway.
"Fuck, I'm glad you came," Conner said in a hushed voice, meeting him halfway so they were two doors away from Craig's room.
"How is he?" Tweek managed to ask, searching Conner's bland blue eyes for something, and only found guilt.
The redhead leaned up against the whitewash wall, hands crammed deep in his pockets and slid down but remained standing, and sighed. "He's better, but there's still some of the drugs in his system so he's a bit…forgetful, disorganized, just out of it, which some of it has to do with the morphine. But he's not tripping anymore, however…he's restrained because he had a few fits at first and they aren't taking chances."
Swallowing back his heart, Tweek just shook his head, "I heard you got in a shoving match with Crag."
Conner snorted back a half-assed laugh and pushed back his sleeve, showing off a colourful bruise. Seeing Tweek's eyes widen, Conenr grinned and let his sleeve fall back. "A shoving match is one word for it."
"So…so you know too?"
His smile faltered, blue eyes finding the tile intensely interesting, but nodded nonetheless. "We got into an argument about you, I think…I think it might've pushed him over the edge. But I didn't want him to fucking go off and try to kill himself because of what I said. I didn't want to nearly murder him."
Tweek smiled sincerely, knowing the feeling all too well. He placed a hand delicately on Conner's shoulder and squeezed, shaking his head. "It wasn't you fault, and you know it. He's just—"
"Unstable," the solid purr of Esther came, drawing the boys' attention to her, face set in a frown as she crossed her arms, hair a frothy mass around that chiseled face. "And has been since the day you left to be homeschooled. He's been building himself up for a let down for two years, and what did he get instead?"
"Acceptance," Tweek whispered looking to the floor.
"No, he got your love and was not excepting that. So what did he do? He ran, hid, denied it up front to keep you both safe." She flicked her glance to the redhead before he could say a thing. "Woman's intuition is a wonderous thing. Now come on, Conleth, we have things to do and so does Tweek."
He watched the two disappear as the elevator doors shut with a mechanical clink and took a breath, turning to the doorway that would lead him to Craig. He could turn back now, lie through his teeth, but what would that gain him besides the knowledge Craig might to it again?
Swallowing back his pulse he poked his head in, surveying the room. It seemed like it was to hold a few other patients, but either there weren't enough injured to fill the occupation limit, or they'd moved the patients out during Craig's "fits". It was like every other hospital room in existence, whitewash, windows done in shatterproof, two-inch thick safety glass, an uncomfortable looking chair beside each bed. The rhythmic beep of the stabilizer pulsed with Craig's shallow heartbeat, IVs forcing the blood transfusion and pale yellow coloured medicine into thin arms, bringing Tweek's gaze to his friend.
Nothing seemed too off about him, despite being held in the hospital. His Germanic complexion was ghostly, tinged a sick grey, dusted freckles seeming blotchy and dark against it. His messy hair curled wildly, soaked with sweat, brushed back from his face, and if Tweek didn't know better he'd have said his hair looked like it was bobby-pinned. Dilated neon eyes glanced to him sluggishly and a small smile formed on Craig's lips as he raised bandaged fingers in greeting, wrist strapped down to the bed-bars by buckled restraints.
"You look awful," the blonde offered as he shuffled over, eyes shifting over Craig's chest, pale and bare, rising in steady thumps with two suction pads stuck on to monitor the beat.
"I feel like shit," he muttered, voice a purring slur as he struggled to sit up as far as the restraints would allow. He shook his head, pain flashing across his face for an instant and gave up, settling into the pillows uncomfortably. Biting back a sob at Craig's condition, Tweek pushed the button that shifted the bed into a sitting position, hands shaking as he did.
"How are you?"
Craig lifted a brow with a normal cocky smile and laughed, though the effort seemed to hurt. "Been better, Tweeky, damn have I been better." Confusion crossed his face as he looked up to Tweek, a frown taking hold now. "Why are you here?"
"You're hurt, I came to visit," he replied, voice sounding small and foreign to his own ears. He placed a trembling hand on one of Craig's, taking care not to touch the gauze across his knuckles that had bled through, leaving small brownish dots against the stark white. "Am I not allowed?"
"You yelled at me, we're fighting, why come see me?"
"I told you, I love you, and you're in the hospital because of it. I—I'm willing to forget our argument, if you are."
Craig licked his chapped lips, considering the deal and gave a slight nod, pain flashing across his face for an instant at the motion, a small whimper escaping. He stilled under the tightening hand of Tweek, a small smile appearing to mask the ache. "I can pretend it didn't happen, but I can't promise to forget, I was so terrible to you."
"Don't you dare guilt trip yourself"
He laughed, the sound harsh from a throat burned by bile. Tweek raised a brow, shuddering at the sound, so unlike Craig's normal coy, perverse laugh. The laugh melted into an impish smile that promised none of the pleasure that smile was usually laced with. "Where's your stutter, the tremour, the fright? What, it's been a year, two since I saw you that summer? What's happened to you in that short amount of time to twist your personality to this…hardass," he said, whispering the last as a promise to what should come.
"I think it's what hasn't happened," he replied weakly, feeling vaguely like he was staring into Curson's dull gaze.
Again that flash of a smile as Craig pulled against the restraints, sliding forward as far as allowed, fighting against the pain. "Maybe, but there's always time to rectify that situation."
Tweek couldn't help the smile that formed despite being well aware he was looking into drug induced Craig's eyes, not sane, understandable Craig. It didn't stop him from reaching a hand across the bed and wrapping cold fingers around the bar, shoulder forcing the Nomml boy to lean back. Tilting his head he gave Craig a long hard look before kissing him, tongue running along the inside of his lower lip, tasting the cold tingle that Icebreakers mints created. Tweek leaned back, licking his own lips as he savoured the particular flavour, deciding that by the harsh mint it had to be something along the lines of spearmint.
Leaning into it again he paused for a brief moment before yanking his hands back from the bars and jumped a good two feet backwards, tripping over his feet, sending him toppling backwards onto his ass, momentum sliding him back even further a few inches, hands brushing the opposing wall now. He let out a groan and bit back a curse, tears springing into his eyes at the ache now radiating from his posterior.
"Was that completely necessary?" Craig asked, a hint of amusement laced in his hoarse voice as he stared down at Tweek, a brow cocked into his hairline. The hospital scene taken out, and the dilated pupils to those dazzling emerald eyes, the blonde would've said this was the real Craig.
"I—uh—no I didn't mean—I wasn't planning on—my butt hurts," he settled with, using the wall to his advantage and pushed to his feet, hands rubbing his bum as if the friction would help dull the pain.
"And you pulled away because?"
He shook his head, droplets from the raining sliding along his locks and fly around him, splattering in glittering spots where it touched. "I'm not helping you cheat on Red, I won't do that."
"But—"
"No, Craig," he said harshly, raising a hand to cut off the argument. Staring at his befuddled, bedridden friend he felt a pang of guilt, but he wasn't going to be the instrument that broke them up. "I'm not doing it. If you think this is as important as I do, then you can talk to her." That look of sheer horror, panic that crossed Craig's face made him feel like the boogyman but it had to be said. "You need to talk to her."
Expression turning stoic, the only thing left of disapproval was the uncertain look in his eyes. Craig gave a brief nod, licking his lips nervously, and if his hands weren't tied down Tweek was well aware he'd be running them through his hair. "I'll talk to her. Can I at least have a goodbye kiss?"
It took a long few seconds to realize Craig wasn't implying he'd chosen Red over the blonde. With a begrudging smile he walked back over to the bed, leaning forward slightly, letting the Nommel child strain as far as he could, revering in the control he had. At his friends' irritated grunt he pressed forward, brushing his lips against Craig's in a chaste kiss and pulled away. Again that irritated grunt that crossed into a low moan as Tweek ran teeth across the sensitive skin of his neck, where a lovebite already resided. Craig bit back a hiss of breath, skin crawling with delight as he shuddered under the touch.
"Get off, Tweeky, there's some things the nurse does not need to see," he mumbled, head thrown back as Tweek sank teeth above the pulse for a moment and pulled away, giving Craig a strange look.
"Ashamed?"
"I was more referring to the hard on I'm going to have if you continue," he said a bit breathy, giving his blonde a naughty look. Blushing furiously, Tweek yelped and jerked away, clenching his eyes against the images.
"Gah! Shit, Craig, don' t tell me that! I'll have nightmares!"
"Wetdreams is more like it," Craig said, giggling. Tweek cocked a brow, coming to his senses at that girlish sound and remembered the drugs his friend was being pumped with, how he had to be straining to keep his thoughts together. Shaking his head, Tweek walked around to the other side of the bed and raised a hand, waggling fingers, eyes drifting to the pile of clothing on the chair, a set of dogtags glittering on top. Hiding a smile behind his hand he watched Craig queerly; so that's where his own set had come from.
"Maybe," he said with a light laugh, grinning as Craig's face softened, eyes falling half-closed as he put on his own dopey smile. Folding his hands behind him Tweek shook his hair from his face, walking backwards toward the door. "I'll see you later, okay? I love you."
He kept walking before turning on his heels and fled, throat tightening as reality came crashing down, spilling down his cheeks as he crashed into the elevator and slid to the floor, sobbing, silence echoing after.
---
Before noon the next day Tweek found himself sitting in Dr. E. Micraine Rizzo's office that hadn't changed much from the first day he visited, heater whirring in the quiet setting. The chairs from years ago were replaced to something softer and more cooshy, a brave off-white colour that seemed to made the wood-paneled room glow under the diplomas and bookcases chock-full with medical bindings, covered in a thin layer of dust. The only addition to the room was a sofa-lounge in front of the one tiny window, blocking light with heavy shades and deep blue curtains. Tweek kicked his feet, toes of his Converse making dull thuds against the edge of the desk as he looked up to the man that he'd known most of his life.
Dr. Rizzo still had the gentleman's air about him, but within the two years laughlines had creased his tanned skin to add a sense of sincere honesty, along with the perpetually disapproved lines between his neatly trimmed brows. His hair was done modestly with gel, thinned, silver patches at the temples spreading into the receding hairline. Behind goldframed glasses intelligent grey eyes stared down at the paperwork spread in a neat arrangement across his desk, long pianist fingers steepled over his lips as he filled something out. He'd left off his doctors addition coat, leaving it laying across his office chair, showing the slateblue dress shirt to best advantage, a dark plaid tie done to the collar in a perfect knot, tacked down with a gold cross.
Tweek sighed, hands fidgeting with the dogtags flashing in the dull florescent glow of the desk lamp, kicking on reflex, hitting the desk fullforce and yelped. Dr. Rizzo didn't even flinch, instead he set his ballpoint pen down, smoothed the tie over his chest and smiled brightly, ignoring Tweek's harsh, whispered curses.
"My favourite blonde, just as twitchy as ever I see! Now, now, I heard your friend—Craig Nommel is it?—is in the hospital. How'd that happen?"
Shifting position to tuck his injured foot under his butt Tweek glowered at the floor, biting his lip and glanced upward into those storm-coloured eyes. "What about picture analysis? We always do that first."
Dr. Rizzo let out a breath, lifting a sheet of plain white paper up, drawn on in black gelled ink. Most patients tried to keep a strict schedule, avoiding change if at all possible, and the young Tweak seemed no different. His eyes scanned the paper, formulating his answer.
The image was rather extraordinary, and different, for Tweek's usual. It showed a young Tweek, crosshatched and shaded to perfection, falling backwards over the edge of a squiggle. However, while tipping off balance a hand was wrapped around his waist and entwined in his hair, from a completely blacked out figure of an older male by the height difference. The male was leaned at the waist, face close to Tweek's, a wispy patch of white left untouched from the blacked out surrounding of the blank background, minus a few fingerprints. Over the males head was a thinned ring of uncoloured paper, along with a small white outline that kept the figure from disappearing into the inked backdrop.
"Well, let's start simple, like the figures depicted. This," he pointed a slender finger at a childlike illustration of the blonde, "Is obviously you. You aren't submerged in the black, like the other figure, but you still added harsh sections of shade to bring out certain aspects, the frailty of a young boy's body, like yourself. You're bent, falling backwards. Falling is associated with many things, insecurities, instabilities, and anxieties being most common. In other circumstances it could reflect a sense of failure or inferiority to a situation you find yourself in. In good ol' Freudian theory, falling can indicate a crumbling self-control to a sexual urge or impulse.
"But take into account you're letting it happen—your hands are on either side of this figure, but loose, as if just the shock of letting yourself fall into this pit of whatever it is, grabs hold of instinct to reach for something. So you're accepting and playing into the fall, letting it happen freely instead of restraining against it any longer. The body language shows you're relaxed, a bit anticipatory, with unrestrained longing of whatever the fall brings.
"However, then you must take into account this male holding you back. He doesn't want you to go through with the fall, and by the tense set of his shoulders and near painful grasp he has around you, it seems he's angry about it and resentful. The positioning, being almost coiled around you and setting down to your eye-level shows a complete understanding and trust. He wants to be your protector and is trying, it seems, but then there's the signs of aggression within the stance as well that shows he wants to be the dominating figure of your life, as he holds the reigns of whether you do indeed fall or stay on your feet. There's something unspoken going on between you two by the white swirls between you, which would signify a type of peace offering.
"Of course, the figure is blacked out, hiding any identity he might have. Black is the colour of mystery, danger, unknown, malice, and it seems you both know that well. The lack of colour or identity shows even you aren't quite sure as to who he is, or his motives. However, by the thin line of white around him, you acknowledge that there's some good or innocence in whatever the motive is, even if it benefits the male."
"You say male, why?" Tweek asked, looking up at him with dull eyes, revealing nothing. Dr. Rizzo smiled to himself and cough behind his hand, considering how to word the answer.
"Well, Tweek, most boys your age would take great care to…endorse the female physique. This figure, however, has a clear masculine body, and it's hard to come by a woman that tall." Sobering he set the image down, elbows resting on his desk. "May I ask who it is?"
"Curson!" he squeaked out, not even trying to hide it. "He's a, a fallen ang—"
"Secrets not yours to utter, sewn shut the chasm that echoes," the purring voice rolled through his mind, sending a shuddering up his spine.
"Angel? Oh, quite aware," Dr. Rizzo's cheerful voice said, raising Tweek's gaze to him. Smiling broadly the doctor opened his desk drawer and pulled out an elaborate silver letter opener, sharp enough to slice through flesh if given the chance. The blonde watched, not registering what was going on until Dr. Rizzo splayed a hand on the desk and raised the letter opener above it, still smiling.
"CURSON, STOP IT!" he yelled angrily, flying to his feet, chair toppling backwards at the downward motion of the letter opener that thunked between the doctor's middle and forefinger, slicing an inch into the antique desk. Tweek let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding, muscles slowly pulling from the tight grasp, eyes closing against the sight. Feeling a brush of cold air against his face he cracked an eye open to see the demon-in-question standing behind the doctor to one side, a delicate smile curving his stony lips, pale yellow teeth catching the light as he ran a claw along the immobile, statue of Ethan's jawline.
"It is not a wonder why he has so many plaques glittering in a showcase of intelligence, he is quite the psychologist, knows too much, I think, for his own good. The best in the state, I presume? Could only be with such an accurate reading, just from an illustration as well! Yes, the fine doctor here knows far too plenty."
"Don't y—you even dare," he said shakily, fist curling menacingly as he glared at the Bat King. Curson just smirked as he pulled the letter opener from the desk in a fluid motion and twirled it dazzlingly between his claws. Tweek resisted the urge to throw himself to the floor, knowing that if the demon wanted to he could toss the small knife in a quick movement and hit something vital.
"Oh, you do not think Ethan Micraine Rizzo is intelligent? Are you just that predictable, my sweets?" He swept a considering look over the boy, sending chills dancing down Tweek's skin. Curson gave a brief shrug as he ran the blade's flat across Dr. Rizzo's temple in a sharp movement, rolling the blade around his skull. "No, I do not believe you are. So why is it you will stand against me now for this man?"
Idly the blonde wondered if anyone was going to come running to aid him by his yells, but he realized a second later the room was reinforced and soundproof to keep conversations as confidential as possible, putting the doctors in risk of danger should a patient decide to get violent. If that was the case, then the security cameras guarding locked drawers of patient information would have been turned off during meetings, unless sound didn't go through with the government cameras. That was probably more logical, so why wasn't a single nurse trying to break the doors down?
Simple, divine intervention. Normal technology doesn't capture what many are skeptical about—only true believers would see the Bat-thingit on camera and the violent intent taking place. However, not many people were true believers, and the amount that was hired as security was nil and zip.
"He—he's helped me. Please d—don't do this," he pleaded, licking his lips nervously. He'd be outmatched with brute force, and a struggle of the mind would resolve in a collapse of consciousness—and the subconscious. There was nothing he could do but sit back idly and watch Curson tease.
Curson tsked, clucking his tongue against his teeth as he did and tocked a claw back and forth in disapproval. "No, he has disillusioned you, made you trust the untrue and simple drugs to solve what takes a strong will. He does not deserve this," he said, waving a hand around the room. "He has gained this on science falsities, not the reality of the mind, which psychology is all about. Ethan is just another observer of many that believes that medicine is the cure-all for any given problematic situation."
"It—it works! You just—you don't like being restrained," he said with a pout, glare only intensifying at being told he was wrong. Curson smiled at how fretful he was being, the blade resting just below Ethan's earlobe, gingerly placed at the soft spot the jaw connected to the skull.
"It happens to work so well, I am standing here with a knife resting on a crucial point of the body. It takes just a jab and a bit of muscle behind it to work this pretty little mail opener into the groove of the jawline. A slight tilt, a nice shove, and it shall be imbedded into the temporal lobe, and should the aim be well planned, it would grace the frontal lobe. How ironic, that within a second this intelligent, Princeton graduate could be reduced to simple retardation, having all skills stripped away that he once lectured and 'cured'. An adequate death, if any."
"I'll kill you," Tweek said calmly, voice evening out with the anger that overcame anything else. Curson grinned, eyes flashing something; triumph, maybe.
"And I shall ask, is it possible to destroy that which plagues your existence, knows the farthest corners of your subconscious? Should it be possible, please, do, go right ahead."
Tweek looked disheartened at the floor, the same sky-puke colour it had been for years as he rubbed his hands together, delving for the answer he needed. "I'll give you a kiss, I'll fuck you, I'll do whatever sexual thing interest you if you don't hurt him."
Curson raised a brow indignantly and huffed, shaking his head, despite the fact his eyes trailed over Tweek's body in a lusty manner. "It would not be sincere, so therein I refuse the offer."
Tweek bit back a sigh of relief, but by the Bat King's smile he knew that Curson felt his panic dissolve. "My first born."
"You do not seem to be the candidate to be having children, with your attraction to men. I will give you a last chance to save the doctor's poor excuse for existence before the knife plunges deep."
Swallowing back fear Tweek considered a gift that would be worthy, finding the answer relatively quickly. "I'll let you in my mind at any time—"
"Now." Before Tweek had a moment to protest, he felt the chill brush against his mind before slamming him offguard downward into the spiral he only seemed to enter when Curson was around. However, this time there was no Bat King to stop him from shattering his Self, instead before even reaching the line of Awareness he hit a thick restraint, like trying to force through a wall of Jell-O. He pulled back, standing on the barrier and looked down into the depths of his mind, the three layers shimmering translucently, and far off was his mental demon, taking the steep dive like it was nothing and spiraled off out of sight. It seemed like minutes he was left, standing on the squishy layer keeping him from entering his own subconscious, with nothing better to do then try out buoyancy. He bounced around for a while, doing summersaults and rolls in midair, giggling to himself a if it were a trampoline before being slammed back into his body without a single moments hesitation. He stumbled, mind fuzzy and disoriented, trimming over his feet and tumbled to his butt, smacking an elbow against the chair he'd knocked over earlier.
"Gah! Shit! A little warning next time," he moaned, rubbing his eyes painfully as his vision funneled to a small line of sight before breaking in a burst of coloured dots, blinding him for a moment. He stared up at Curson, leaning against the desk, clawed hands trembling slightly as he laughed drunkenly. "Find what you wanted?"
"Oh, yes, enough to have predictable outcomes for quite some time. Mmm, yes, this man is yours to do as you please. Right yourself and the chair, as soon as I leave he will be back into the evasive questioning," he said with a slight slur, purring accent noticeable too well as he flashed a grin, stumbling over his own feet as he pushed off the desk. Tweek took his time getting to his own feet and set the chair back to where it has been, plopping down in it with a brow raised.
"So you won't be invading my mind anymore?"
"Do not misinterpret me. All in due time, sweets."
Before he could argue the Bat King was gone, the chill disappearing with his vanishing. Dr. Rizzo hardly seemed started as he shifted his papers, tapping his fingers rhythmically against the wood, unaware of how close he was to death, how his mind had flipped a switch and turned off to easily against foreign invaders. Instead of running screaming he lifted his eyes and asked, "Anything wrong, Tweek?"
The blonde smiled. A smile, forced smile that hid the tension wonderfully. A smile of an innocent bystander, a little boy that knew no better. A smile laced with nervousness that formed a tic in his jaw; a smile that promised everything would be hunky-dory.
A smile he'd use later as a sadist.
Instead, he just shook his head and said as cheerfully as possible, "Of course not Doctor, what could possibly be wrong?"
Everything.
A/N: Er. Hi. So it's not dead afterall. However, don't expect updates. I refuse to let my baby fizzle out, but I'll do it in my own time. I'm jugglin' many-a task at the moment that get kicked ahead in the priority line then E86. But I refuse to give up on this completely, damnit. Not enough bloodshed yet xP When school start (August 8th), I promise nothing. Sorry, I hate to leave this beast hanging but AP work is more important. I want those damn college credits -shakes fist-
-Cor