Expo '86

by Vcorrigan

Enter the psyche of society's base, add in numerous illegal substances, and you've got the expo of the century. Because neither can admit their faults, their feelings, the one thing that matters may be lost through their projections onto others. Tweek/Craig

13. 3 2 Ruse

3.2 Fractal Ruses

ruse n.
1. an action intended to mislead, deceive, or trick

When a quiet retreat becomes that of shifty spies, with elaborate stories planned and executed, how can happiness ever stand a chance? Sometimes, moving the pawns forward, there is resistance as another clever move clears the battlefield of the well-thought game. A bleak moment of fawning and passion can often herald something much more, something dangerous. Something permanent.

---

The weekend passed in a whirlwind, a blustering gale of turmoil that preluded the coming December snowfall that blanketed the little rural mountain town. False niceties, false pretense, false smiles blew through the mountaintops and cozy cabin to avoid the true depths of hurt that had been founded. Regret and doubt seemed to simmer under a thinly veiled surface, waiting, waiting to spew over like a geyser and rain questions of why, why, why down upon them all.

He couldn't seem to escape the ever-formulating 'whys' that persisted in the presence of Craig Nommel.

The blistering wind frosted the car windows with the weight of indecision and apprehension. Outside, snow flurried, melding the passing buildings into a grey blur of nothingness. He barely registered the soft music enveloping the confines of the car, or the hums of his mother along to the tune as he delved into his mind, into the inky blackness coveting ribbons of technicolor, into the hollowness that let him consider himself.

If Craig were dabbling in the affairs of the illicit drug scene, again, after promising not to, what was Tweek supposed to think? He felt numb, and wary, of anything that could come out of Craig's mouth at that point. How was he to be certain any of the sweet nothings spoken weren't lulling him softly into a sense of security, into a vicious trap that would tear him apart from the inside out once more? He wasn't sure if he could survive another bitter rejection from the Nommel boy he so looked up to, the boy he so loved and endured.

I'm sorry, Tweek, really, but fuck you. He had been nine when Craig had torn apart their friendship due to the insecurities of Tweek's mental diagnoses, the insecurities of Tweek's blank affect while medicated. It had taken months to be okay with the decision his best friend had made, months of agony wondering what he could have done to rectify the way Craig had felt, months of distraction from a convoluted French boy before he went to sleep without the blue-capped boy in his mind and woke up without an empty, soulless feeling. At nine, all he had wanted was the security his best friend brought him…but now, there was so much more on the line.

'Jesus, things are so messy' he grumbled internally as he yanked at his blonde tresses. Sometimes, he wished he hadn't been caught up in the emotional hurricane that was Craig Nommel, sometimes, he wished he didn't feel so much at the sight of the brooding raven-haired boy.

Sometimes, he wished he didn't love Craig.

He jerked back to reality with a "gyah!" as he felt fingers entwine and slowly pull his clamped fingers away from his hair. Eavan smiled down at her son cautiously, the laugh lines around her eyes and mouth seeming deeper and harsh in the dull winter light, her frothy toffee hair tumbling from beneath a knit head wrap. In this light, her pale Irish skin sallow, her lithe fingers wrinkled, eyes tired, Tweek felt as if he was losing her.

"You ready, darling?" she asked with the same merry chirp to her voice as ever. He gave a slight nod as he wrapped the scarf Craig had given him around his neck grudgingly and stepped out of the sedan into the biting cold.

After years of planning and progress, Doctor Ethan Micraine Rizzo had left the Denver Institute of Psychology and had opened a private practice specializing in pediatric clients with a former colleague from whatever Ivy League university he hailed from, with a collective team of graduate students with their own affinity for psychiatric patients. Each doctor had kept their original patient load if the client wanted as such, but had split the age groups to what they each preferred, Rizzo taking the younger clients, and Doctor Tallengue taking the adolescent clients.

What had been a musty building of scholarly intent, now the office of Doctor Rizzo was warm, updated, and modern. In the waiting galley two separate areas appealing to the general populace of the separate age groups had been designed to relax the clients before their sessions with their respective doctors. Of course, as Eavan signed in her son with a cheerful greeting and feigned smile, Tweek—like always—found a seat with his back to a wall and his eyes on all doors in the room, just in case an armed terrorist decided to come through any at any opportune time. He popped in his head phones and ignored the glances his way, though he felt each and every pair of eyes boring into his soul, judging him, making up fallacies of the crazy blonde kid with the moose scarf.

His sessions had gotten less over the years, to two a month instead of every week, and his list of prescribed pills had decreased to just a hand full, but Tweek still felt uneasy in this place of solitutde so many hours had been spent. There was no joy in the "coloring sessions" he was supposed to participate in that, today, he ignored the offerings of crayons and paper and shook his head wryly.

So he felt at ease in a sick fashion when the door opened and a young grad student called, "Tweek Tweak," and with a warm smile ushered him to a small station outside of the yawning offices of the doctors to get a set of vitals and ask about any potential side effects he may be experiencing from his medicine. He answered all the scripted questions with scripted answers ("yes I sleep fine, yes I eat 3 meals a day with snacks, no I haven't thought about killing myself Jesus Christ, no I don't hear voices, my tongue stays in my mouth and I don't shuffle around, no I dn't feel threatened at home—gyah!") as the student pumped up the blood pressure cuff and listened to his heart sounds in his squeezed, pulsing arm.

"Well you seem like the perfect, well-adjusted boy to me!" the student said with a smile as she unstrapped the cuff and threw her stethoscope around her neck. "Ready to see the doc? Let me show you back to the office."

Tweek followed the peppy girl, shuffling and wringing his hands back to the large, solid oak door that he knew well, and stepped into the large office at the welcoming "come in!" that elicited from behind the door.

He could never understand why the good doctor would share his put-together office with a bunch of snot-nosed children, but in this new updated office, that wasn't a problem. Here, two areas sectioned the large room off, with a small study area to the right of the entrance with a small, round table sporting a lively green fern and an assortment of documents, with four plush leather chairs encompassing the table, and a chic brass light hanging delicately from the ceiling to light the area dimly with an orange ambiance. Instead of the "sky puke" color that had enveloped the floor of Dr. Rizzo's previous office, thick taupe colored carpet bouncing lightly with each step into the room. The walls were a deep sage trimmed in white, or what wall-space was still available; behind the desk various degrees, diplomas, certificates, licensures, and achievement awards decorated the wall, to the left a bookcase attached to the L-shaped desk dominated with various scholarly works, and to the right a small "breakfast bar" window sat staring into the room beyond covered with a pane of one-way glass and golden curtains to appear more to-do.

It was on that side of the glass that the "children's area" had relocated to its own alcove, the floors wood paneling, or what wasn't covered in big colorful foam mats with the alphabet and numbers connecting together. Book shelves for various ages in white sat across on the far wall, with cubbies featuring various bucket and baskets for different types of toys that had been deemed "safe" for any kids that could potentially have a behavior problem. On the walls were both motivational posters as well as educational posters featuring pictures of the skeleton, the organs, the muscle layers, the solar system, oceans, and the earth's crust. In one corner was a soft suade brown sofa placed next to a more professional high-backed chair that often the good doctor would conduct services in. When Tweek had first seen the room behind the glass-pane, he had panicked, until Dr. Rizzo had calmly explained that some clients needed to adjust and becoming familiar with the environment in order to open up, and that success rates for those clients had increased with this new approach to counseling in the office.

But here in this office, Tweek was more comfortable. Here in this office, the solid oaken desk that dominated the room was covered in papers and files in an organized fashion, his computer mounted in a hollow of the bookcase to his right with one solitary picture of his wife and adult children making the space personal. And behind the desk sat the well-educated man that had the appearance of aging over the years in those twinkling, grey eyes. Hair that had once been silvering just at the temples seemed to streak with handsome greys in a salt-and-pepper fashion. The once-wire framed glasses were now a more modern half-crescent black frame that softened the lines on the man's face. His dress shirt was crème yellow and a Mickey Mouse tie was knotted at his throat, and the typical white lab coat embroidered with "Ethan Micraine Rizzo, MD, PH D, PSY D" hung to his shoulders with resolution. Although married, he wore no jewelry indicating so; only on his left wrist shined a gold watch with a black face that mirrored the time to be 11:34 in the morning.

"Come in, come in, take a seat my favorite blondie! Would you like a refreshment?" he asked, waving the boy into the room.

"No, no thank you," Tweek grumbled as he took a seat in a wide leather chair placed in front of the desk, tucking his boots up under his rump.

"Well don't you just seem unhappy to see me," the doctor mused as he steepled his fingers under his chin and smiled. "No harm, no foul, I would be a liar if I were to say you were the only patient of mine that was less than thrilled to see me. What's on your mind, Tweek?"

"Nothing," he muttered as he pulled nervously on the fringe of his scarf, a scarf he wanted to hate but couldn't. He knew the doctor would see through his lie; even he didn't believe the stormy 'nothing' he had uttered.

"Mmhmm, well, your mother was talking to me about a trip to the mountains you were taking for the break that last time you had visited me. How did that go?"

"F-fine."

"I hear Craig had been a part of the trip, how is your friendship these days?"

"I don't want to talk about it right now," Tweek said, fiddling in his lap with his eyes downcast. Dr. Rizzo smiled; Tweek didn't want to talk now but with enough gentle persuasion he would.

"Well, how are your other friends, then?" he asked as he crossed his legs under the desk and leaned into his hands enough to seem interested, enough to play into the boy's subconscious desire to unwind.

The blonde clacked his knuckles as a jitter wracked through his thin frame, making everything seem in motion, and the first smile of the day cracked on those lips. "Good! Clyde is still like a puppy dog, he's way too sensitive for his own good sometimes. And he's still with Bebe which is funny since she's way out of his league and they're kinda dysfunction but that's okay because it works for them. Token is still a s-social butterfly and gets along with everyone and he's like way popular and does sports and book club and I don't know how he has time to sleep, man. A-and I'm talking to some of the other kids too and we get along well and its weird that no one treats me like the freak like they use to. It's nice."

"And how are things with Christophe now that he's in town?"

A big sigh and those sad caramel eyes again. "Good…and bad. Him and Craig don't get along. They hate each other. It's very frustrating."

Watching the blonde fidget with his clothing, eyes staring down at his toes precariously, nose wrinkled in thought, Ethan took the moment to ask, "Why do they hate each other? Why do you think that is?"

Tweek looked up at the man behind the spectacles and desk with the subdued smile and interest twinkling in his eyes. He took a breath and let it out, waving his hands dejectedly. "Christophe hates Craig because he decided I wasn't good enough then, and he doesn't think I should dote on Craig so much or give him chances. And Craig hates that Christophe was a better friend than he could ever be."

Dr. Rizzo nodded absently. "Mmhmm, it seems to me Craig feels challenged by Christophe's presence. He has since ambushed the attention Craig was receiving from you, and he isn't thrilled by the idea of sharing. Of being reminded of what he did to you, of being reminded that Christophe accepted the task of picking up the pieces without much argument. And Christophe, of course, feels snuffed that after everything he had seen you through, here you are, allowing Craig back in with open arms and no reservation. It has to be frustrating for them both."

"Even more so for me," Tweek garnered with a sigh as he slumped down in the soft leather chair. "I'm stuck in the middle of it! I want to be friends with Craig, but it's hard to do when Chris is over my shoulder reminding me why I shouldn't, why he's bad."

"And why is Craig bad? What defines 'bad' to you?" the good doctor interrupted, steering the conversation directly where he wanted it to go.

"H-he's just, he's bad news. And I want to trust him. I want to give him the benefit of the doubt but," at the moment Tweek looked up with weary eyes that met the doctor's, "why do people lie, doctor? Why do people tell you something and go against it?"

The scholarly man leaned back and rubbed at his chin in thought as he watched the boy in front of him. "Well, Tweek, a lot of people lie to spare the feelings of people they care about. Some lie to avoid consequences or a possibility of trouble they may incur. Others are programmed to lie, and do it constantly, and feel nothing about the lies they tell others. These are pathological liars, living out a fantasy life they believe to be truth." He rolled to the right and pulled a book off the enormous bookshelf, a purple bound book with colored sticky tabs popping out from the pages. "And some use lying to manipulate the feelings of those around them. These people often fall into a category called personality disorders, and often they feel the world is out to get them, that they must do everything to protect their reputation, which more often than not involves lying. Sometimes, these manipulations touch upon the realm of insane; sometimes, a girl will pretend to be pregnant to hold down the man of her life, or will purposely stop contraceptive methods to chain him to her.

"And they are masters of manipulation. They will tell people what they want to hear, what they know others expect, what will get them the most from the people involved. These people are especially dangerous when the cycle of domestic abuse is involved, because instead of having a plan to leave, the battered individual falls for the stoires and excuses every time. They have a way with words and know just what to say to get what they want from any particular situation. They will make idle promises if it keeps the person from leaving."

Tweek leaned toward the desk and the book that was offered to him, opened to a page about cluster-B personality disorders. As the man talked, the blonde's heart sank lower and lower as ice filled and squeezed his veins, suddenly feeling very cold from the inside. "That sounds a lot like Craig," he said finally, trying desperately to keep the hitch out of his voice. "He promised after he almost killed himself on drugs he had stopped. I, I knew he was acting strange on the first night of vacation. He wasn't himself. A-and I found out why after, because he's using again. But he promised. And I don't know what to do."

As the boy scanned the pages of his copy of the DSM-5 he asked, "Tweek, why do you strive to keep Craig in your life?" Of course he knew, had pieced the puzzle together years before he was sure even the blonde knew, was aware that a friendship had turned romantic somewhere along the wayside.

Caramel eyes turned up, wide, as the blood seemed to simultaneously drain and fill his face with reddened intent, cheeks a dusky shade of red. "H-he's my friend! Why wouldn't I want him in my life?"

Long pianist fingers folded in front of his lips as he watched the subtle differences in the boy. "Well, because he abandoned you, for one. Christophe's dismay by your behavior is one likened through the children, I'm sure. So let me be blunt; would you say you're in love with Craig, Tweek?"

Long eyelashes squeezed tight over those caramel eyes and fingers entwined and yanked at blonde locks as Tweek shifted his head back and forth. "I don't know! I thought so, I thought things were perfect and he gave a shit but he can't if he's just going to lie! If he can only show he cares when he's high! That's not love, that's not even like, that's fake bullshit. And…oh, god, I made things weird by kissing Christophe to see if it was just something with Craig or if it was all boys and whether I was gay or not because I didn't think I was, I like girls, they're pretty and smell like flowers and candy, but then my stomach was fluttery and I think I liked it with Christophe and now I just, I don't know what's going on anymore," he confessed, taking a deep breath after rambling. "What do I do?" he asked, pleading, eyes glassy with unshed tears.

"Well, my professional opinion? You aren't gay, Tweek," he said as he offered a box of tissues to the boy and reached under his desk to the mini fridge hidden out of sight, and handed over a mini bottle of water as well. "Instead, you are attracted to power, and what you find to be comforting, and safe. Craig was that for you as children, he was the friend that made sure no one teased you for your differences, made sure you felt included in everything, made sure you knew you were part of his gang of friends. And when he backed out of that commitment, it caused a seed of doubt when you had met him again years later. You had had time to dwell on the emotions that had been lingering before, so when he stepped back into your life, you forgave, hoping that you could explore that connection deeper.

"Christophe, likewise, is a comforting figure to you because, as brass as you make him seem, he accepted you without fault, without judgment, without concern for the baggage you brought along. By moving, even though it was out of his control, it hurt you, leaving you abandoned again…so you went back to the original source of comfort for you, which was Craig. But then, Christophe stepped back into your life, wiser, knowledgeable, as a source of common sense and conscious about all things Craig. And you, I think, are well aware of how toxic Craig can be, which is why you are trying to allow yourself an 'out' of sorts by experimenting with the idea of romantic feelings with Christophe.

"Your relationship with Craig, to me, seems like the perfect example of the cycle of abuse; however, the physical battering seems to be one of an emotional nature. Craig will hurt you, lie to you, and then come to tell you just what you need to hear to let him back as a large part of your life when you show doubt for his intentions. But now, you have someone trying to help you out of the situation, someone personifying all of the insecurities and skepticism you hold close, and you don't know what to do. And I can't tell you what to do, Tweek, I can just talk you through your misgiving. Can you tell me why you love Craig?"

Those tears spilling over, Tweek shook his head miserably as he pushed the book away and covered his face with his hands. "I…I don't know."

When Tweek had seemed to calm down, Dr. Rizzo ushered the boy into the next room, the 'toy' room, and watched as he plucked a book from the shelf and settled in to stare absently at the pages, headphones popped in, staring through the words and paper before him to something else. When he was sure Tweek was alright and lost within himself, he called the student to bring Eavan back.

He had to hide the smile at the prickled way she walked into the room, wild hair and wild eyes the perfect match for mama bear mode he had seen on more than one occasion. She smoothed her hands over her pants as she took a seat in the same chair her son had been seated in and watched as her toffee eyes softened at seeing the boy in the next room through the glass window.

"Eavan, darling, do you remember the discussion we had years ago about the possibility of Tweek's sexuality?"

She stilled at the words that flowed from the doctor's mouth and nodded. "I do recall that conversation, Ethan."

"And are you aware of his feelings for Craig," he asked gingerly as he offered her a drink from his mini fridge absently.

Again the nod, careful and calculating this time as thin fingers grasped the mini gingerale offered and popped it open with one delicate fingernail. "I am well aware of my son's status with Craig, Ethan, and it doesn't hinder my love for him or otherwise. What, ever, are you getting at?"

"I was sure you would be the ever-doting mother, accepting and forthright. But Tweek, he doesn't know how to quit. How to distance himself. I feel that too much Craig is overstimulating and not at all in his best interest."

"Who are you to question how—"

"Eavan, please, Tweek admits that Craig is nothing but noxious for him." He steepled his fingers, all previous humor aside as he stared at her seriously. "And I can see the downward spiral between those two. Tweek knows that at the end of the rainbow, there is nothing for him; he knows that is he crosses that grassy knoll, the only thing waiting is a warfield shattered and burned. I can't write their ending, but I can promise that if they continue down the path they are on, that the perfect end you hope for, you strive for, cannot happen."

At that he slid a piece of paper across the desk, an image Tweek had drawn to calm himself while the doctor had busied with paperwork to seem like he hadn't been watching the blonde so carefully. On the page Tweek was drawn crumpled in on himself, on fire, in a black, black abyss of a background. At the edge of the blackness was the uncanny resemblance of Craig's face, but those once meadow-green eyes shinned an unnerving red, and pointed teeth turned in a wicked smile that dripped the words "I love you, I need you" from the carnivorous mouth. The back of Christophe was turned from the figure of Tweek in the center and colored over in the black that nothing seemed to penetrate. He watched her face go white as she looked the picture over, shaking her head ever-so slightly.

"Eavan, they will crash and burn and there is absolutely nothing you, or I, or anyone else can do to stop it."

…

Back in the rural mountain town of South Park, the flurry plaguing Denver had blown through, leaving several inches of thick white snow to coat the frozen ground and leave the roadways slick as ice. Crystals hung precariously formed from bare tree branches, seemingly lost to time and the elements. Inside a taupe home with a shoveled side walk, a raven-haired boy sat staring unblinkingly at the television set with headphones strapped across his raggedy blue hat, a ps3 controller clutched in his palms, thumbs wildly spinning the analog controls to control the shooter game he played.

Craig knew his best friend had been acting distant at the vacation spot in the mountains, but let it slide due to the affectionate new turn of the Nommel boy. It had to startle Tweek, make him suspicious, that Craig didn't hesitate to admit his feelings or hang out with him or hold his hand in public. Tweek, ever-despising change, would just have to get use to it, and until then Craig suspected he may act weird. At first he had wondered if maybe the coffee-addict was doubting this side of Craig as genuine, which he wouldn't have blamed the boy for if that were the case. He had, admittedly, done some shitty things.

Then he had the panicked thought that maybe Tweek knew about his illicit relaxation methods, but shrugged that off to paranoia. He hadn't taken enough to be delirious, just enough to take the edge off, to numb the nagging edge of his brain, to quite the internal voices and laughter that Craig Louis Nommel was a flaming homosexual for a twitching little freak. It was a feeling that set his nerves on edge, pricked his hair on end and set ice through his veins that he couldn't seem to shake.

He wanted to be able to feel for Tweek without the sick sense of shame that coiled into his insides and struck out like an angry animal. He wanted to be able to love the blonde without being bothered by himself, letting the constant parade of torment march blatantly through his mind. But wanting, and being able to, were too entirely different sensations for the Nommel boy. But instead, he found his confidence with the small hits of drugs occasionally, found instead of sick desperation to escape, the need to wrap up his blonde and never let him go.

He laughed to himself at this realization as he absently shot an enemy soldier on the game he played. Cold, unfeeling, bland bastard Craig, so full of himself, so cocky, was nothing more than a blundering idiot in the public's eye when Tweek was involved. As much as he wanted to swallow the feeling, at the sight of the blonde frantically pulling at his hair, or laughing along to the guys' jokes, his heart hurt. If the scars and internal battling, the endless scrawled diaries and notes in dirty bound notebooks, the sleepless nights and broken knuckles weren't merit enough of the emotions he had simply lost control to, he didn't know what was.

He watched as his character fell to the ground, sniped by one coonpoon101 and clicking the mic on yelled, "Goddamnit, Clyde, get your shit together!"

Rustling, bumbling, muttered curses and then, "Dude I'm sorry I dropped my cheesy poofs and those bitches went everywhere!"

He grumbled as he respawned in the game, grateful, for even this banter had been banned from the household not long ago. After the "incident" all video games had been confiscated and Craig had been so bored. His father, somehow, had convinced Lydia to install the gaming system into the living room so he could still play, albeit in a somewhat supervised fashion.

The "incident"….he still got chills thinking how close to death he had been, and yet, excited all the while by the prospect. He hadn't been ready to face the torment of his life that chilled August day…and still, now, early December, he wasn't ready for all the implications that came with loving Tweek Tweak. He still was caught in the middle of wanting to run away, or to embrace it for all it was worth. Nobody seemed slighted in the least by the idea of himself and Tweek as more than best friends….no body except himself, and maybe the irritating French bastard that slithered around with those watchful eyes and knowing looks.

Which was why he still, unknown, dabbled in the affairs of illegal substances. Like many, he was addicted to the feeling, not of the high, but of the lack of inhibitions they caused, the way it made him feel less negative associations to his relationship with the blonde, made all doubts and concerns melt into the background like lurking wolves at the edge of a well-lit campfire.

Into the mic he asked, "Hey Stan, is Kenny over there with you guys?"

Over the sounds of gunfire and hailing grenades he heard the questioning, "Yeah, you know he doesn't have his own system. Why?"

"Tell him regular spot in fifteen, man," and with that, Craig shut down the system, placed the controller back on the television stand, and went to get ready for the blazing cold outside, feeling like steel wool was being rubbed along his conscious thoughts as the need swelled inside him.

He pulled on his insulated winter boots over his jeans, a black down coat over his long-sleeved blue shirt, his regular hat pulled over his forehead and covering his ears, slid his fingers into yellow gloves and slid out the door with a quick call upstairs to his sister of, "Going for a walk be back later loser!"

Five minutes into the biting cold and his nose had turned into a liquid faucet of snot that he continuously wiped away as he walked along the cracked, icy sidewalks of the neighborhood and turned off where he knew the footpath was located, but now stood ankle deep covered in snow. It wasn't a far trek to the small patch of trees that divided the neighborhood into two that had been deemed no-man's-land during the great Black Friday debacle of their younger years, where their fathers had all pitched in and drunkenly constructed a tree house for the boys to play in. Most of the time, eight graders would be caught making out in their fortress from the outside world, but in the bitter winter months that Colorado had to offer, no one would bother when they could instead be curled with their significant others sipping some chocolatey drink, watching sappy romance movies, coyly coping feels in the family room.

Which is something he was glad for with Tweek, he thought to himself as he pushed through the snow, watching his step at the dip in the trees as he autopiloted toward the tree house location. Tweek didn't—at least openingly admit to—the need to follow social norms with what they had acquired with each other. They didn't have to go through the relationship phases from honeymoon onward because, they were best friends and knew each other intimately before friendship had turned to something else. They knew each other's worst, and best; had seen both ends of the spectrum, and after awful fights and lost years, still somehow gravitated toward each other.

If Craig believed in fate, he would credit that cosmic force for the magnetic pull that seemed to emanate from them both against their will. But he knew better; if fate was in play, he wouldn't constantly be blundering and fucking things up.

Reaching the rickety destination put together with the sweat of drunken men, scrap wood, and probably not enough screws and nails to be safe, Craig pulled himself up the rope ladder that had somehow braved and resisted the elements of three years with minor fraying, and was mildly surprised when a gloved hand reached out and helped pull him the remaining few steps onto the deck of the fort.

"I didn't expect you to beat me here," he said as he settled in to a lawn chair they had dragged up here as kids and looked the scrawny boy over.

"Yeah, well, it's not like I actually contribute to the game, y'know," the boy said as he loosened his hood to the cold, letting messy blonde locks fall from under the down inside. With guilty blue eyes he reached into a thread-worn pocket of his hoodie and threw down a small pack of various pills on the wooden planks, looking very similar to a birth-control pack. "You know this shit is bad for you, Craig. You get a taste and you're done."

Craig cackled to himself as he swooped the pack up and tucked it gingerly in his pocket and handed Kenny over his allowance for the last month. "And yet, here you are, dealing to me in place of your dirtbag brother."

The boy sat on the edge of the deck, feet swinging out over into the abyss, casting his downtrodden look outward to the line of trees and the twinkling of house lights in the bitter grey of the winter afternoon. "Yeah, well, it's not like my parents really get into the Christmas spirit, man. Someone has to look out for Karen. I wish it weren't your money supporting that, but, at least this way I know you aren't popping rat poison."

Craig slid a cigarette from a pack that appeared from the depths of his coat and shook an extra out for Kenny—whom usually declined any sort of drugs or alcohol—but took it between his small, nimble fingers and waited until the lighter was passed his way to inhale the smoke deeply and sigh it out like a contented dragon.

"You know why I do it," he said bluntly as a hand fingered the tassels on his infamous hat.

"Yeah, Craig, but you aren't exactly immortal if you don't remember the incident that landed you in Hell Pass's ICU. You have no middle ground, you fall into extremes on both sides, and I don't think you even know your own limits. Dying due to one calculation error, one fuck up, because you can't cope with your crush for Tweek would be stupid."

"Sometimes, dying seems like a pretty decent option."

Kenny snorted as he shook his head and took a long drag from his cigarette and turned his deadly gaze on the Nommel boy. "You think? It's not. Dying hurts. There are no angel arms to slowly pull you into the afterlife. There is nothing quiet about death. It is loud, it is painful, and I wouldn't recommend it to anyone prematurely."

Craig pondered that for a moment as he leaned back in the chair he occupied. "Have you ever thought about suicide, Kenny?"

A harsh laugh was the answer. "I was seven the first time I grasped the idea and the thought that maybe, maybe if I had a hand in my death, if I controlled my untimely demise, it would be permanent. Seven, Craig, I was fucking seven the first time I took my mom's hand gun out into the backyard behind the Ford on cinder blocks and shot myself in the head. And the next morning I woke up in bed like every time before and every time after until this point."

Craig felt sorry for the sad existence of Kenny McCormick, a boy who constantly came back to life to friends that continued their lives as if nothing had happened, a boy who simply couldn't die like he wanted. Sometimes, Kenny talked about the afterlife and what happened when he died, about amazing places and amazing people he met, only to be ripped away and never see them again. Kenny had explained that the afterlife was a huge place, and through all of his times of parish, he had ever been to the same place more than once.

He had explained that the real Hell was returning to South Park and laboring through the days with no one caring a shred about the precarious relationship he had with Death.

"Why are you asking these morbid things, Craig? It doesn't become you."

The Nommel boy shrugged as he put out his cigarette on a patch of snow sitting on the deck of the tree house and threw it over into the environment far below. Running his fingers under his hat and through his hair he replied, "I don't know, man. "

Those true-blue eyes leveled on Craig, penetratingly deep. "You aren't going to kill yourself, now, are you? Because that's weak, dude. You had to experience the worry and concern and love gushing your way at almost dying, and here you are, with this fleeting idea that you're gonna kill yourself. That's bullshit, man."

For once, Craig could discern a jealous hint in Kenny's blunt voice. "Yeah, no, I—"

"Cut the shit, Craig," the blonde growled as he roughly grabbed the Nommel boy by the wrist and yanked his sleeves up to expose dribbling scars to the biting cold, the reddened, puffy lines of new marks caused by the straight-edge. When Kenny tightened his hold Craig grimaced at the pain that shot up his arm. "These? These are clear proof of where your head is at. Mister popular can't handle that his best friend dotes on him. I don't know what he sees in you after everything, but Tweek loves you, and you shouldn't take advantage of that by this cheap alternative to escape your fickle problems. He deserves better from you than that."

He pulled his wrist from the strong grasp of Kenny and rubbed at his wrist as he sighed, gaze following the tree lines and the fleeting glimpses of passing cars on the road. "Yeah, don't think I don't know that. Sometimes, I think it'd just be way easier if he didn't love me."

"Why, Craig?" he asked, more to himself as he pulled his coat tighter around himself, a small shiver wracking the blonde's body. "Man, what I wouldn't give to have someone give a crap about me like that boy does you. He glows when you're around; that one, he has no idea what subtlety is. No matter the shit you've put him through, which I can only imagine what happens behind closed doors that you haven't shared with us, he still has your back without any sort of begrudging. He is there for you 100% without fail and defends you regardless of the hurt you've caused him.

"And I know you are weird about what people think, what they say, what sort of sick judgment may be passed your way but reality check, no one gives a shit. This is South Park, where Jesus plays hide and seek with Big Gay Al and Satan has tea and biscuits at precisely nine-thirty every Sunday at Tweak Bros. Instead of worrying about everyone else, you should be worrying about yourself and trying to fix this weird depressed thing you have going on."

"You make it sound pretty easy," Craig said with a short laugh as he closed his eyes against the headache blossoming with thrilling pangs.

"Dude, it's as easy as you letting yourself be happy and letting go. God, what's that song Karen sings all the freaking time now? Let it go, let it go, can't hold it back any more."

Craig snorted, a small smile playing gingerly on chapped lips, knowing very well that song from his own younger sister insisting on watching Frozen fifty-billion times, it seemed. "Let it go, let it go, turn my back and slam the door."

By now, Kenny was grinning under his hood eyes sparkling mischievously as he pushed Craig. "And here I stand, and here I stay."

Craig rolled his eyes at the expectant look on the boys face. "The cold never bothered me anyway. God, that gay shit never happened, got that?"

The smile never faltered as those blue eyes turned serious again. "For real, though, try not to be so uptight for once, let yourself a smidge of happiness to shine on you, dude."

Craig considered the piece of advice as he caught sight of the familiar grey sedan slide through the edges of the trees, the sedan belonging to Eavan Tweak, no doubt bringing his blonde back from his typical doctor's appointment. His mind exploded with thought on what the blonde talked about, whether his name ever was mentioned, what secrets Tweek kept with the scholarly profession in Denver that he never heard about. His mind was almost far enough gone to not hear the discernible sound of the orange-clad boy's stomach grumbling through the thin mountain air, or catch the slight pink tone his cheeks turned at the noise.

He would deal with Tweek later, he decided, figuring for once he would take the advice of Kenny McCormick, but for now, he had something else to do that was equally as important. Standing from the chair he lounged in he offered Kenny a hand to get up and said, "It's almost supper time at my house and mom loves the company so why don't you bring your little sister over and join us? I think it's something like beef stew or pot roast or something like that."

"Really?" the blonde asked, caught off guard by the offer. This was Craig, selfish, self-important Craig that rarely thought of anyone else. "Yeah, that'd be great."

"Alright, see you soon," he said as he watched the blonde boy slide down the rope and dart off toward his home. As odd as Kenny was, his predicament was due to the faults of his parents and not his own choices, and as irritatingly annoying as he could be surrounded by his group of friends, he was a decent enough, if not wise, person to be around in a singular fashion. Having his own aggravating younger sister that most of the time he would die to protect, he understand the fine relationship of siblings, so as he followed Kenny's fashion of swinging down the rope ladder to the ground below, he made a mental note to help Tracie clean out the toys too young for her to keep and books that were below her reading level to give to Kenny for his sister for the upcoming Christmas season.

…

When Tweek returned home he had tromped up the stairs and into his room, like he did on every afternoon of his appointments. But this afternoon was different, because instead of feeling relieved and better, he felt infinitely worse. When asked why he loved Craig, he had drawn a blank, not having an answer at all. So now he lay on his plush down comforter, staring up at the soft shadows dancing across the ceiling from the light snow that fell outside, and sighed.

Once upon a time, he could have answered a million different ways what attracted him to the gruff Nommel boy. His glossy raven hair that curled at the ends when wet, those meadow green eyes that turned emerald when moody and muddy when angry, the nasally, bored tone of his voice, the light splash of freckles that lingered across the bridge of his crooked nose and danced delicately across those smooth, high cheekbones. How protective he would get when Tweek was involved, with no hesitation to call people out or start fights. How he hated to eat brussel sprouts and instead snuck them upstairs to his pet guinea pig to nibble on, a guinea pig that touched on Craig's gentle, caring side. How he snored when laying on his back, and insisted on having one foot stuck out of the covers to sleep.

And all those things still appealed to him, and a ton more, but now….he wasn't sure how deep those emotions ran, because of the doubts he had about Craig's own feelings.

He felt the edge of the bed shift with weight and glanced to the end, seeing a figure with long talons for nails, and scarlet eyes with no whites gleaming down on him. Lips peeled away from long, carnivorous teeth, teeth that mimicked the image that he had drawn at the office.

"Why do you sulk so, my sweets?" came the purring accent of the Bat King, loftly cutting through the air with deadly intent.

"Like you don't already know, you always know," he replied nastily, glaring at the figment curiously smiling down on him. "Why are you even here?"

"You should not let such a silly boy plague you so, his worth is miniscule in the grand scheme of your existence. Let this petty infatuation go," Curson purred as he brushed his long talons across Tweek's leg in a comforting fashion, although it raised the tiny hairs over his body.

"I don't even know why I care about him anymore, it's so goddamn frustrating not being able to just stop," he said, aspirated as he pulled his leg away from the demon and sat up, leaning his back against his head board "I just, I just want to feel nothing and I can't."

Tweek couldn't help but notice the thoughtful look that crossed the stony complexion of the Bat-thingits face, a look that could be dangerous. He stood up soundlessly and crossed the room, eyes narrowing in on the picture Tweek had kept under his pillow of Craig and himself at Stark's Pond years before, now placed precariously in a frame and set on the top of his mantle above his desk. "You seem so innocently happy, deluded to the noxious things this boy is capable of. You seem so…trapped in an emotional struggle you did not know would take play. But pleased none the less."

"That was a long time ago," he muttered, watching the Bat King curiously, drawing his knees up to his chest.

"Is this what you want, or do you truly want to feel the eternal void of nothing?" he mused as those scarlet eyes fell on the blonde, seeming so small and frail curled up upon himself as Curson crossed the threshold again, and gently ran his claws up his arms. Those claws brushed along his collar bones, and down his flat chest that rose and fell with the panicked breaths Tweek took. "Do you want to experience nothing?"

He barely let the word "yes" fall from his lips before he felt talons push through skin, bones, into his chest cavity like cutting through butter and pull the palpitating organ that kept him alive through the gory hole. A gush of bright red blood pouring like an avalanche down his green sweater, sharp yellowed teeth, inky blackness.

And then nothing.

And then the scene burst with color, exploding out from a pinpoint of technicolor ribbons into a landscape very familiar to the boy. A chainlink fence wrapped around a play structure built to entertain the children at the edge of the neighborhood they all lived in, one side built as a pirate ship for the younger kids, the other a large jungle gym for the older kids with platforms that reached into the sky, and a large orange plastic tunnel that connected the two areas in mid air. A swing set swung idly in a breeze, ominous as the chains rattled, and the merry go round spun slowly by its lonesome. Autumn leaves drifted—wait, autumn?—to the hard cold ground that prepared for the coming winter that the Rocky's always offered late in the year.

A strange wet sound sounded on the wind, drawing his caramel gaze toward the play structure again, brows knitting in confusion. He had thought he was here alone but—there, there it was again! The strange sound seemed to echo from one of the tunneled areas on the play ground. Nimbly he crossed the ground and scaled the platforms and stairs, glancing around all the while, feeling alone but knowing he wasn't.

And then the scene became surreal, as if he was having an out of body experience, seeing himself both walk up the stairs of the structure he had spent so many years on, and seeing exactly what he was seeing. The out of body version of himself was pensive, and anxious about what he would find as he continued his search, but the version of himself conducting the search felt nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Flashes of skin were glimpsed through the small cut outs in a bubble of plastic high up on a platform that had been used as a space ship years ago, that Craig had admitted his wrongdoings with Red in. The sounds only seemed to increase as he got closer, now entwined with the sounds of deep panting and skin on skin. And when he poked his blonde head through the entrance, he saw the long pale legs of Red holding Craig near, pretty pink fingernails slide down his freckled back, leaving bright red marks on pale skin, the furious motions of carnal passion, and Craig's hand placed delicately next to the clumsy carving of CN + TT BFF in a jagged heart in the plastic. And as he watched in first person Craig thrust none-to-gently into a panting Red, he felt absolutely nothing.

But as he watched the scene like a film script, his heart drained completely and dropped, eyes burning as if he had gotten soap into them. He shook, not from anxiety as he tried, desperately to turn away from the scene of the girl screaming out his boyfriend's name, but from anger that Craig would desecrate this place of truthfulness they had shared together, and from the adrenaline coursing through his veins in viscosity, unsure just what this was to be proving. But he knew as he watched the Tweek in the scene shrug his shoulders and back away with a blank, otherworldly expression on his face that proved nothing to get under his skin. Because here in this world, he felt nothing.

Tweek wasn't sure what was next on the film reel but he knew something was as the scene-Tweek walked away, out through the gate and the seasons seemed to change with each step. Winter fell in seconds, coating the cracked side walk with a layer of white embrace; flowers sprouted from the grooves of the concrete, pushing themselves up against the odds; sun beating down, wilting the flowers in an instant; autumn leaves whistling along the path with the bustling breeze. Over and over the seasons changed until Tweek estimated two years had passed and he reached his destination, and inside of his head his heart dropped again.

There he stood feeling nothing outside of the abandoned Nommel house, bushes overgrown, grass long and unkempt, a "for sale" sign posted at the end of the drive way. Tweek wanted to run, but instead his body seemed to saunter slowly up the path and entered the house without qualms. The house that had once bustled with love sat empty and quiet, a musty, dusty smell filling his nostrils as he glanced about at cobwebs in the corners and dust bunnies that collected along the baseboards. Inside his head he was panicking, clawing, wishing his body moved with an ounce of care to explore the empty dwellings of his best friend, try, try to find an explanation for this clear abandonment.

He dragged his hand along the dusty handrail, not caring as the creases of his palms swelled with dirt of a long forgotten time. Up, up, up he forced his body to the second story that once held family portraits, knick-knacks, potted plants and a warm sort of décor, now stood bare and dreary and unwelcoming. He turned into the first doorway where Craig's blue room had once sat; now, the paint was chipping along the edges, nail holes had yet to be filled from various mantles and posters, a clear outline of his friend's unmoving bed sat in the tan carpet where footprints and juice spills had lines the move trafficked area.

And there in the center of the room was a periodical that he urged and willed his body to move closer towards. His dirty hands picked up the paper and flipped to the third page almost instinctively, as if he had done this a thousand times before, and there sat a black and white image of the Nommels, sans Craig, titled "Unable to Take it, Family Moves". Curiously he read the first line through the eyes of the unfeeling and drew away in horror.

At the tragic loss of their son, Craig, the Nommel family has decided to pursue life outside of South Park in a bold attempt to forget the travesty and horror of the little mountain town.

Loss of their son? Tweek reeled internally. What had happened to Craig? He died? The ultimate feeling of loss sunk him to his knees, allowed the tears to fall freely into his clutched hands as it felt like part of himself were being ripped away.

And the scene changed again, but now, instead of watching as if it were a movie, he watched directly from the eyes of himself, but here, he was locked inside of his head with no control over his body. He was paralyzed from moving, from talking, from even outworldly feeling, but inside he felt the panic swell.

Because they had returned to the play ground, but now, they stood on the basketball court, the edges of the scene blurred into blackness so the focus was clearly on the figures before him. In his typically pressed dress shirt and slacks, Curson stood with his back turned to the intruders. But his sleeves were unbuttoned and pushed passed his elbows, and his hands dripped thick with a muddy, reddish liquid.

"Well do not just stand and stare; come, and tell me you do not feel," the Bat King ordered with a twisted smile as he turned slowly to face him.

Tweek felt his body obey, slowly approach the demon, but inside he wanted to turn tail and run, didn't want to see what his internal visage blocked with his body. He felt dread at what he would find, felt sickness swirl up his stomach and threaten to erupt from his mouth as nerves chipped away at his resolve.

And there, hanging from the tall fence of the basket ball court, attached precariously was Craig, or what was left. Oddly, his face hadn't been touched, the perfect visage of the boy he loved, albeit a bit paler with pleading green eyes clouded by what could only be pain and drugs. But below that graceful swell of neck was an almost unrecognizable mess. Although he wasn't a doctor, he was sure that the gaping expanse of Craig's chest was missing a few ribs, only to be rewarded in his assumption as the clawed foot of Curson kicked a piece of maroon meat his way with bright shining bits of white poking out of the ends, one, two, three, four in total. Visceral organs dripped and pooled at the concrete, attached by thin ligaments that stretched to their capacities it seemed. Tweek watched as his whiteish pink lungs struggled to catch breaths, or at least, the right lung; the left hung limply, making an odd suckling sound as it tried to keep and expel air from burst aveolies that had cleanly been ripped into, a jagged gash flapping musingly with each struggled attempt. And there was his heart beating wildly, fluttering, struggling to force what blood was left through the veins, struggled to keep his wracked body alive, poking through an empty hole where clearly the piece of meat-ribs had been.

If Tweek had the ability to run, or vomit, or pass out, he gladly would have as he sat shriveled in his mind, tears streaming down his face as he shook his head back and forth, disbelieving. And there Curson stood like a cruel sentinel, in one hand a solitary white rose entwined in talons, the other finding blood coated claws gingerly being licked clean with a long tongue, the action almost sexual in nature as those scarlet eyes leveled sadistically on the blonde standing feet away from the massacre.

"You desire Craig's heart, so please, take it while you can," the voice crooned wickedly, a smile blooming on a mouth stained with Craig's blood as Tweek couldn't deny the command.

Looking into those clear green eyes Tweek tried to fight but lost as his body stepped forward the last few feet to his lover. The words "I love you" fell almost silently from Craig's tortured lips as the blonde extended his hand into the slick, bloody mess, careful not to cut himself on the jagged edges of broken ribs, and clasped his hand over the still-beating heart. It was a strange sensation to feel the chambers of the heart squeeze and release, squeeze and release, the gentle pulsating of the coronary arteries pushing blood throughout the body. But with no restraint he pulled, obeying the Bat King, and tearing the organ away from the body of his shocked best friend, finding strangely no resistance as he clasped the failing organ in his hands and stared at the lifeless visage of Craig Nommel.

And while the demon stared down with a twisted smile that drew lips from pointed teeth, Tweek regained full control of his emotions and body.

And felt everything.

…

Tweek's eyes fluttered as he came to, staring once more at the flicking shadows on his ceiling, though longer and more sinister now than they had been before. He sat up, gasping, eyes wild as he looked out the window to see the snow falling gently still, but the sky almost dark, melding colors of orange and blue, purples and pinks. He took several deep breaths to rid the lingering feeling of holding a pulsating heart in his hands, to calm his frayed nerves, to clear his mind of the elaborate dreamscape he had been immersed in when he saw it.

Sitting across the room on his desk was a delicate white rose, the petals fully open in blossom, edges stained a deep red, thick liquid gellous in the cold mountain air on a note, pinned to his wall in fancy script, scrawled "Almost nothing".

…

As it were, Christophe had convinced his mother to stay the weekend at the house in South Park by himself through much prodding, poking, and angry French banter with wildly moving hands and dramatic gestures. He reminded her of his tactful way with weapons, and she reminded him not to buy too many perishables. So throughout the few remaining days of school, Tweek had that one thought to keep him calm when he saw Craig wander off with Kenny, or Eric's beady gaze landed on him for too long.

Christophe's room hadn't changed much over the years, but instead of the indie band posters that had once littered the hunter-green walls, a detailed map of South Park stretched the expanse with tiny labels in the foreign language his friend spoke so well, scrawled across in his tiny, spiked handwriting. His room still smelled like the metallic of old blood under the bitter oil scent of freshly field-striped and cleaned weapons, furnishings were still an interesting black wood with a soft red sheen, bed still a deep brown mess of pillows and blankets that now adorned a stretched out Mole, fingers steepled over his lips with one hand as the other cackled along the keys of his laptop in rhythmatic time.

Tweek felt unusually comfortable sitting at the large expanse of desk as he idly worked on algebra problems that had been assigned the day before in class. They could sit in silence for hours, neither one striking up a single shred of conversation, and be completely okay with it, comfortable. But as he wracked his brain for how to solve for x, he couldn't stay sitting in silence.

"Hey Christophe?"

"Hmm?" he mumbled back, a perplexed look furrowing his bushy brows as he growled something under his breath in French.

"Can, can I ask you something?" he questioned as he turned around in the chair, keeping his feet tucked gingerly under his rump and away from any monsters that may reside in the room, though, they would be dumb monsters for taking up residence in the Mole's room.

"If et 'as anyzing to do wiz Craig, zen non, I don't want to 'ave zis fight again," he said, raising his grey eyes up from the computer screen, gloved fingers pausing over the keyboard. "We 'ave been over et, I cannot change your mind, so zere is no point."

"But I need to talk and you're the only one that gives a crap anymore!" he said restlessly, pulling at the end of his shirt.

The brunette shook his head. "I don't want to 'ear et," he replied as he turned his attention back to his computer, rapping furiously on the keys without concern.

Tweek huffed, irritation boiling just under the surface. To claim to be such a doting friend, he wasn't seeing it. Making a bold move, the blonde plucked a stray dart off the desk and chucked it without reserve at the boy. Reflexes better than any amount of anger, Christophe pulled the dart from the air with two fingers and rolled it lithely between them, gaze flicking to the blonde, although the slight twitch of his lips proved how he felt about the attack.

"Fine, you 'ave my attention, what could be so vairy important?"

Now that he had the unwavering gaze of the Mole settled on him like a million bricks, Tweek felt silly for the display, but deep down the dread outweighed it. "I—I don't know what to do about Craig. I think he might be using again. Like drugs, man. And he promised he wouldn't!"

He closed his laptop in one motion and straightened up, still rolling the dart through his fingers. "And you zink zis, why?"

"I found a tiny ziplock bag in his jacket when we were on vacation, like the kind they show us in those assemblies to discourage drug use. Why else would he have that?" Tweek sighed, looking down now, trying to bite back the sudden disappointed feeling that welled up inside.

"Well, I mean, I use zose zings sometimes," Christophe offered, waving his hand for emphasis. "When I am on missions that may cause me to get wet. I will put cash in one of zose bags, and I do not 'ave to worry about et becoming water logged. You were at the ski lodge, presumably in snow, so maybe 'e 'ad zat zought as well."

Caramel eyes met grey ones, wavering in uncertainty. "You really think it's just that simple?"

Christophe huffed and rolled his eyes. "Wiz Craig, probably not. But, what I find interesting, ez your desire for 'im to be a bad guy now, when not two weeks ago, you defended 'is every action. So, what changed?"

Tweek buried his face in his hands as he shook his head, trying to find the right words to describe what he was feeling, the desperation inside that held him captive when around Craig. "He was so…weird over vacation! So accepting. Like he actually cared. Saying things like I was his favorite. That he wanted me to be his. That he wasn't worried if our families caught us-caught us—" At this his face flamed red as blood rushed upward, and he was glad he couldn't see Christophe through his fingers and the embarrassment licking up his ears.

"So, Craig was being nice, was being what you wanted, and et freaked you out," he considered as he popped a coffee stirrer in his mouth and chewed, his way of trying to curb the need to smoke. "Aren't you just fucked up, zen."

"It's not that!" Tweek bellowed, looking up with glasses eyes that refused to shed a single angry tear. "What if he was on drugs? What if it was all the drugs? Everything he said, everything he did, what if his comfort and feelings and everything was just the drugs talking?"

"But you don't even know if 'e was on drugs," Christophe pointed out, letting his unnerving gaze hammer Tweek to his seat. "And I zink zat says a lot about ze situation, Twitchy. You are trying to find any negative quality to associate wiz Craig, anyzing to make 'im a bad person. You are trying to get me to tell you, like I 'ave a multitude of times before, to stay away from the poison zat is Craig Nommel. Why?"

"I—I'm scared," he finally admitted, looking down as his feisty, furious attitude minutes ago, bold enough to throw a projectile at the Mole, diminished and dissolved into a puddle. "That you're right; that everyone is right, and Craig is a bad person, and I'm just a means to an end with him, and he's just using me, and he's just going to hurt me after squeezing out all the good things I have left in me."

With a sad smile Christophe slid soundlessly off of his bed and sidled across the carpet to melt in front of Tweek, taking his hands to run rough callused circles across his palms in a comforting measure. "No matter what Craig does to you, 'e could never ruin who you are, or take away all of ze good inside of you. Got zat, Tweek? Craig does not make you you, as often as et seems you forget zat. And if you are zis afraid, zis discouraged, zis doubtful of what 'e can offer you, maybe you should take a step back from ze situation."

He wiped his wet eyes on his sleeves and smiled down at the boy infr front of him. No matter who had bad things to say about the French boy, Tweek knew the truth, that he was the best friend anyone could ask for. "You think I should break up with him?"

As much as Christophe wanted to yell yes and shut the door in Tweek's heart that held the feelings for the Nommel boy, he shook his head against his better judgment. "Non, zat I don't zink eizer of you two are really ready for. As much as I wish et were not true, I can see you absolutely love 'im, for some reason I will never truly understand. I zink you need to talk, and get ze answers you need, but to be realistic about ze idea zat you two are too toxic to be good for each ozer."

Having felt terrible for the last few days, it all seemed clearer now in the perspective of an odd French mercenary. Without hesitation Tweek fell into the arms of his friend, squeezing him tight with a huge snotty smile on his face. "Why do you always have the best things to say?"

Christophe pried himself out of the suffocating gripped of Tweek, feeling both ashamed in himself for not taking the opportunity to finally kick Craig to the curb, and a sick sense of pride at doing what most would considering to be the right thing.

"Yeah, well, et ez ze revolutionary in me. Now come, let us make lunch."

…

Snow still fell when Sunday came, light and fluffy in a slowed, pantomimed time, dancing gracefully in the slight wind that passed from Canada down through the Rocky's and into their very own mountain town. Tweek had called Craig rather hesitanttly and invited him to lunch the following day, in which the Nommel boy had agreed. Now, the blonde stood outside in the cold in front of his parent's shop, a to-go cup of coffee in one hand, the other buried deep in his down-lined pockets, the scarf Craig had given him tied loosely at his throat, bobbing up and down in the cold as he looked up and down the street, anxious. Had Craig forgotten their outing? Had he forgotten where Tweak Bros was located?

A few minutes of paranoia and self-doubt and the visage of his brooding angel appeared around a street corner, collar of his jacket popped up to protect his neck from the elements, hands buried deep in his own pockets, boots crunching the snow as he paced his way over to Tweek and let a smile light his green eyes.

"Oh my god I thought you forgot about me!" Tweek squeaked as he smacked the boy in the arm with a frown. "You're ten minutes late!"

"Well, I wasn't expecting to hit ice and land on my ass," he said, indicating the wet spot on his rump from melted snow. "Anyway, how could I ever forget you, Tweeky?"

As a flush crept up the blonde's cheeks he took a sip of coffee in an attempt to hide it. "So, what's the plan?"

A brow raised into the raven bangs that fell from under his typical blue hat. "You invited me, remember? Let me forget, in typical spazz fashion, you forgot to plan something. That's okay, Whistlin' Willy's is closest, let's go, grab some pizza, play some games, y'know, have a real date."

"A date?" the blonde squeaked, forgetting all sense of doubt he had all week at the charming smile that plastered across Craig's face, coy and knowing. "Like, couples have?"

"I said 'date' didn't I, retard? I know you're a little twitchy and weird, but I didn't think you were dumb," the boy said in his own sarcastic fashion as he grabbed Tweek's wrist and lead him down the icy side walk toward the restaurant in question.

They walked in silence next to each other, shoulders brushing delicately Tweek's face a constant shade of pink that he chalked up to being wind-burn and definitely not the jittering feelings that erupted in his stomach each time Craig made contact with him. It was crazy to think he had ever had concerns about Craig, he thought to himself as them strolled naturally next to each other.

And then Craig did something even crazier—he pulled his hat off his mussy black locks left in a disarray, and plopped it on the blonde's sassy tresses'. He gave an approving nod and continued walking, leaving the flabbergasted Tweek in his wake.

"B-but Craig, you never go in public without your hat!"

"And I'm not without it, you're wearing it, and you're with me; I told you before, no one will question who you belong to in my hat," the boy said idly as he looked back, a brow raised. "Now come on, it's fucking cold out and I'm starving."

Whistlin' Willy's was only a few blocks away that they walked together in a comfortable silence, Tweek enveloped in Craig's sweet scent, Craig seemingly oblivious to the boy trailing behind him. He was actually surprised by the suggestion from Craig; double-W's was usually a hopping hangout for the kids on the weekend, especially during the months that snow claimed the town as its own and the bleak, dreary outside becoming a monotonous, boring atmosphere to play in. So it was really no surprise when they entered the restaurant that they spotted several of the kids from school that looked at them for a brief few seconds longer than they usually would have, and then went about their business.

Craig sauntered to the usual booth that their friends claimed, although it was just them, and smiled longingly as he fingered the knot of Tweek's scarf undone and let it hang loosely around his neck. "My hat, that stupid moose scarf, those pink cheeks of yours….you're pretty darn cute, Tweekers."

"Gyah-Craig! Someone might hear you," he scolded, caramel eyes shifting back and forth over the patrons as two slices of pizza magically appeared in front of them by a highschool waitress making minimum wage.

"So let them," he said, picking off the pineapple that the blonde insisted should be on all pizza and handing the chunks his way, powdered courage having already worked his shameful feelings away. "You seem nervous to be out with me, Tweek."

He picked up a stray chunk of pineapple and nibbled on it, avoiding those questioning green eyes. "I guess I'm not use to you being nice to me yet. It's a little weird," he admitted.

I'm sorry, really, but fuck you, Tweek. I think what you're missing, Tweeky, is I don't want to be your fucking friend. Sorry, Tweeky, but I'm not a fucking faggot. We can't do this…we can't do that. I didn't mean any of it.

As much as he tried to stamp down the feelings, the nasally voice of Craig flooded through his brain and all the nasty, heart-wrenching things that had been uttered over the last few months choked him up. He averted his gaze as he swallowed, hard, not letting the lingering doubts ruin what was obviously a good thing. Craig caught the tense way the boy ate his pizza, the gentle tremor that shook his hands ever-so-slightly, and kicked himself in the nuts for it because he knew why Tweek was the way he was. Because of him, and only him.

"I'm sorry I haven't been exactly good to you," he said slowly, abandoning his pizza, his appetite gone. "I'm trying to fix that. And it's hard for me, sometimes, but I'm trying. Anyway, I'm going to go get some tokens and play a couple of games while you finish here."

Tweek reached out as Craig got up and left, trying to get him to stop, but let his hand fall with a miserable sigh. God, he was good at ruining things. Here Craig was trying to do his best, and Tweek had cut him off at the knees; he felt horrible as he choked down the rest of his pizza around the lump that had formed in his throat. He watched the Nommel boy in the arcade area as he played ski-ball effortlessly, landing in the center almost every time, earning an avalanche of tickets from the machine that coiled at his feet at each score he made. The way he flowed so effortlessly, his nose wrinkled in concentration, made Tweek reminiscent of the past and how Craig and Token always played one-on-ones after school, duking it out like a couple of enemies.

Finishing his pizza Tweek rubbed his hands with a slather of hand sanitizer and walked over toward the lit-up arcade area, strobing with game lights and whimsical music, watching Craig continue to shoot his hoops and rake in the winnings like a true champion. He lost track of how long he was watching until Craig turned around with a bewildered look on his face, his hair curling gingerly at the ends around his ears and face from sweat to soften the look.

"You could have said something instead of standing there being a creep," he said as he pulled the endless stream of tickets loose from the machine and shoved them in his pockets.

"I didn't want to interrupt! You were concentrating really really hard and you looked really good—"

That knowing smirk. "I looked good, huh? Hmm. I'll have to remember that."

Tweek flushed furiously, being rewarded only in a large grin. "Oh shut up, Craig!"

"Yeah yeah, well, let's go play the racing game you fawn over," he said, taking the blonde by the hand and leading him over to the game in question. Tweek took a seat behind the wheel as he shot glances Craig's way, knowing, somehow, he had to have the courage to ask what he needed to.

As Craig popped tokens in each of their respective games and they choose their car make and model, he said, "Hey, Craig, can I ask you something?"

"Only if I get two questions," he remarked without thought as he popped his games clutch and peeled out, powershifting into second.

"Wh—what? That's not how this works Craig! We aren't eight, man—ohJESUS watch where you're driving!" he exclaimed, yanking his wheel to the right as Craig's little red sports car overtook the track and tried running him off the road.

"Two questions, Tweek, and it's not my fault you suck at driving."

"Ugh, fine," he said, enthralled with the game as he downshifted around a turn, determined to overtake his friend. He almost forgot his question until, shifting up and overtaking the little red car on the screen he asked in excitement, "Did you take anything over vacation?"

Craig popped the clutch around a corner, stalling the car on the screen and careened into a wall as he turned to face Tweek. "What? Why would you ask that? You know I promised you I'd stay clean. What's this about?"

Tweek felt those penetrating eyes stripping him down to the core, causing him to lose control of his own car before the finish line, crashing into a barrier, much like he felt this conversation was going. "You were, you were just acting really funny! And I found a bag in your jacket—"

"You went through my things?" he asked, his voice flat and angry. "What, you don't trust me now?"

"I just found the bag moving your jacket out of the way so I could go to the bathroom and you were acting weird and different and it seemed to make sense which is why I'm asking you, oh god, please don't be mad at me," he pleaded, eyes like a puppy dog. The slight tick in Craig's jaw, the way his brows turned downward, the small twitch at his eye only proved how pissed he was.

"The bag? Small plastic, with a red ziplock, like this?" he asked as he angrily ripped the blue hat from Tweek's head, flipped it inside out, and pulled the same bag Tweek had seen out of the small pocket sewn into the hat's ear flap. He threw the bag, and the hat, at Tweek and stormed off, raising a middle finger on his hasty exit.

Tweek felt crushed as Craig walked away and eyes turned to look at him questioningly. He almost forgot the things now in his lap as he went to follow Craig, until the bag dropped to the floor and he bent down to pick it up. His heart stopped as he clutched the bag in his hands and raced out the door after Craig, who had almost reached the end of the street in his angry stride.

"Craig, wait!" he called, avoiding the patches of ice as he ran to keep up with the boy. But as fate would have it, as tears sprung in his eyes he missed a step, hit an ice slick, and went careening to the ground, wailing his arms around as he fell. Pain seared up his back from his tail bone, blinding him for an instant, so he didn't see the black boots that stepped up in front of him, of the yellow-gloved fingers that extended a hand to him.

"You okay, Tweek," the haughty voice of Craig asked, and he looked up into a face that had been smoldering, turned soft with concern.

Sniffing back tears, Tweek could only put the bag that he had clutched in his hands into Craig's extended one. "What is this, Craig?"

The Nommel boy looked down on him knowingly with a small smile as he popped open the baggy and slid a silver ring from the plastic confines. It was a simple designed Claddagh ring holding a simple fauceted orange topaz jewel that matched Tweek's caramel eyes almost perfectly. That small smirk back Craig said, "I guess, in usual circumstances, the one presenting the ring is usually on their knees, but I mean, we aren't very normal, now are we?"

"W-w-what, you're proposing?!" he asked, hyperventilating at the thought.

"Well, no. We are only twelve, after all. I guess it's more of a promise to you that I'll try harder to not suck, I'll try harder to be what you need. I was going to give it to you when we were looking at stars, but I guess we got caught up doing…well, doing what we do when we're alone," he said, that suggestive smile never wavering as he pulled Tweek to his feet and gingerly placed it on his finger, seeming to revel in the fact it fit the way he imagined rings were supposed to fit. He took his hat from Tweek's hands and once more placed it over the blonde's unruly locks.

"I don't know what to say," he admitted, warmth filling him from the inside and threatening to spill from his eyes. "I thought it was the drugs. I thought everything was the drugs, how you acted, how you suddenly were so….caring. And you, you were just trying to surprise me. I'm a terrible person, gyah!"

"Well, don't cry, okay Tweek? I see that look. And you aren't terrible. I mean, if I were you, I'd probably be cautious too." He wiped away the tears that threatened to fall from those golden eyes with his gloves and brushed a soft kiss across the blonde's pink cheeks. "Now, let's go finish our date."

…

Night fell early that Sunday, promising one more week before they were officially off for three weeks of winter break, but Craig would be okay if he could relive the afternoon over and over in his head. As he lay in his bed, covered pulled up to his chin to fight away the nipping cold that seemed to seep in through the windows, he thought back to the previous few hours.

After their argument, the two had gone out to Stark's Pond and the snow covered hills and fields that surrounded the small lake. The snow still fell merrily from the sky, flakes dancing gingerly in the air, catching in the spikes of blonde that poked out from under his hat on Tweek, frosting his hair and making everything okay. He reveled in how the blonde's eyes lit up as he dodged and ran from snow balls flung his direction, and drowned in the sounds that were ellicited from the spazz as he ducked for cover behind tall evergreens or tripped in a rabbit hole and face planted straight into a snow rift. And once, he had purposely tripped the blonde, only to be grabbed by the shoulders and brought down into the snow as well.

And even with kids gleefully laughing at the frozen edge of the pond that was skatable, or the merry yells from just over the rise leading down to the path swelling around them, Craig was drawn to those coffee-flavored lips he loved so much, drawn to the hollow under the blonde's jaw that was so sensitive and brought purrs to the boy when he used his teeth.

But of course, he had lied to Tweek about the drugs, could never admit what he did to calm the edge of nerves that made him ill thinking about another boy the way he did. Yes, he had bought a ring, and had ment everything he told Twee about it—except he had bought it online as a Black Friday gift that he intended to give Tweek for Christmas, but kept with him in case he needed a ploy to get out of trouble. He had been on drugs on their vacation, had been on drugs on their date, but Tweek didn't need to know that.

Craig tried to be okay with himself like Tweek wanted, like Kenny suggested, tried to dampen the self-inflicted judgments of others he imagined, and while it was less, he still felt it, still couldn't quite rid himself of the shame that welled up within him and threatened to burst through the valve. Because inside, through all of the conditioning of the church, all of the conditioning from social conventions, he knew being with a boy was wrong. As much as Tweek made his heart leap and his body burn, he couldn't be comfortable with the idea 100%.

He tried the last week of school by even holding the blonde's hand between class periods and at lunch. He tried, as he laid with Tweek curled to his side in Token's huge bed during the first week of vacation as an "extended sleepover event of epic proportions", as deemed by Clyde. He tried, as he almost passed out clutching the blonde's hand in front of both of their family's during their annual Christmas party. He tried, as he took it a step further and kissed the blonde full on the mouth in the middle of fireworks on New Years with their esteemed and drunken parents staring at them through the exploding technicolors high above.

And even though he feared the way his dad looked at him, clutching a beer in one hand that night, nothing caused his heart to stop the way one phone call did.

Craig was in his sister's room, helping the redhead organize the new things she had received over the holiday break—which was a ton easier since she had taken his suggesting of donating some of her things to a very elated Karen McCormick—but still proved to be problematic with all of the art things she had received that she simply had to sort in a cute, OCD way reminiscent of Tweek. She had labeled bins for her arts and crafts pieces, from stickers, crayons, glitter pens, glitter, beads, all the way to paints, scissors, glue, craft paper, and pipe cleaners, and insisted everything be put in their respective places.

"Tracie, can't we just throw some of this crap away? When are you ever going to use this glitter glue? It's all dried up," he said defeatedly as he tried to squeeze it out of the stick-shut lid.

"But it's purple, which is my favorite color!"

"But it doesn't work," he emphasized. "And you have real purple glitter that you can put in some glue, and there you go, you little engineer."

Tracie rolled her eyes as if he were dumb. "It's not the same, Craig, God."

"Craig!" Lydia's voice called from the hallway. "Phone for you, honey!"

"Finally, an escape," he muttered under his breath, earning a slender middle finger being brandished his way as he got up and left his kid sister's room and grabbed the cordless phone from the stand in the hallway. "Hello?"

"Hi, Craig," came the familiar voice of a light-hearted redhead that he still considered a good friend. He smiled to himself as he went to his room and shut the door.

"Hey, Red, what's going on? You don't usually call me these days."

"Yeah, I know," came her voice, a thread of anxiety running through it. "Are you alone? And sitting down?"

His brows furrowed as he took a seat on his windowsill and nodded, realizing she couldn't see it, and said "Yeah. Why, what's up?"

A breath, in, and out, in, and out and then:

"Craig, I'm pregnant."

---

A/N: The fact I just crapped this out in two days makes me slightly ashamed of the lack of things I am doing in my life right now - damnit, I'm not use to having this much free time! Two more chapters after this and I can call e86 fini! So excited. A big thank you to the followers that remain through this mess, and a shout out especially to Goregeous whom, after having to read these ridiculous chapters, takes the time to review and make me feel like this isn't just a personal project to nurse my wounded pride.