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

14. 3 3 Abyss

3.3 Dizzying Finality of the Descending Abyss

Abyss

1. a deep, immeasurable space, gulf, or cavity; vast chasm
2. anything profound, unfathomable, infinite

Sometimes, we build ourselves up, expecting the bitter fall; sometimes, we guard our most valued players with dispensable pawns in a twisted game. Sometimes, we coast through a war zone in the hopes of the better ending, and sometimes, we lay ourselves out for mercy, knowing the end is something that truly cannot be fathomed in such a state as these. But of course, an end is what we near, so one must understand how we get to such a bitter descend to madness.

---

January was bitter – the wind blustered, bringing warmth to her knees, causing noses to weep and hands to entwine as the storm seemed to develop over the small murky mountain town. Tension turned the frosty air thick and dangerous, everyone seeming to steer from the edge that wrapped the town tight. The sun never seemed to rise or set, but hung behind curtains of grey clouds, painting the town muted and dull. Barren trees reached pitifully toward an obscure heaven that may not exist, flailing naked branches in the bitter wind that tormented all in its wake.

But amiss the glacial conditions of the Colorado winter, one boy seemed oblivious, elated in his own world. Tweek had never been happier or so sure of himself than ever before, than he was when he was in the confident presence of Craig Nommel. All doubts, all illusions, all misgivings of grandeur he had felt had been erased by the simple weight of the Claddagh ring that rested snugly against the knuckle of his middle finger. The ache in his heart that had rendered him useless, that had driven him to exhausted remorse had simply melted away with the fleeting brush of lips under the New Years fireworks under the watchful eyes of the adults in their lives. It was a risk Tweek hadn't known Craig could be capable of; it was a risk that spoke volumes about the change the Nommel boy was trying to achieve.

He had never seen fear as he had when they awoke the next morning, tangled under Craig's slate blue sheets, with his father staring at them blankly from the door way with a mug of steaming coffee in his burly hands. Craig had turned a sickly shade of pale as Thomas walked in, placed the coffee on the bedside table for Tweek, and jerked his head to the doorway; he had followed in a march of the dead, eyes turned down to the floor, oblivious to the hyperventilating breaths of the blonde left behind on the bed. It had seemed like forever when Tweek – hidden away in the closet as a panic attack had taken hold – heard the bedroom door shut roughly and saw Craig return with a blank look and flaming red cheeks. It had turned out the man they feared finding out had instead given Craig an uncomfortable sex talk that included squished bananas as props and embarrassed the both of them. Thomas had waved off Craig's blundering excuses for the midnight kiss, which had been blamed by alcohol, by incoherence, by mistake, and instead gave his nodding approval with new household rules, including no more doors shut during sleepovers and no touchy-feely willy-nillyness.

Tweek had found relief that Thomas had shrugged off the idea of his only son with another guy by approved acknowledgement. Craig had seemed more at ease with himself since, relaxed, flashing more heart-stopping smiles and joking like they had as kids. It was a sight to behold seeing Craig sprawled across the stained carpet of the living room, a videogame controller clasped in his hands, feet kicking behind him in violent time to his attacks in-game, tongue stuck out in concentration, compared to his usual brooding channel flipping nonchalantly. It was even better to visibly watch the tension melt from the black-haired boy when Tweek laid his head on Craig's back during his matches.

Of course, not everyone was pleased with their turn of events. Richard was furious, and Tweek often listened guiltily to his parents' hushed, angry whispers long into the night. He blamed Eavan for knowing, for encouraging, for not making him aware that his son was insanely infatuated with the boy had so easily run away from his friendship, that had put him in the hospital, that had tried killing himself with chemical abuse. Richard found it irresponsible to allow Tweek to be so close to the terrible influence that Craig oozed, the terrible intentions he seemed to tread. He couldn't condone the troubled friendship-turned-relationship the boys shared, that Eavan shielded so. He wanted Tweek evaluated by an outside source other than Doctor Rizzo, unwilling to accept his son was nothing short of delirious for the fabricated relationship he made up with the conniving Nommel boy. Eavan, of course, had none of it and refused to allow her husband to ruin the happiness Tweek exuded since Craig had been reunited in his life.

He had never wanted to disappoint his father, but couldn't help the way he felt about Craig, despite everything that had happened between them. His dad had been the one to comfort him as fear crossed his face as Tweek puked blood in the third grade when stress took over and destroyed his stomach. His dad had been the one to teach him the finer points of coffee, had been the one to bring him a fresh brewed cup in the middle of the night when congestion from a cold had kept him fitfully awake. His father was the one to let him pick out a puppy when he was in second grade, and had been the one to hold a private memorial when the dog had been hit by a car one fateful afternoon. His father had only wanted the best when Tweek had begun to ramble incessantly about things no one else could see, became paranoid about everything and hysteric when his routine was thrown off; he never thought the therapists would hinder or harm Tweek, never thought his son may resent him for the medical interventions of a different little boy.

Instead, his father had taken up spending long nights at the coffee shop cleaning, experimenting with new brews, accounting, planning renovations to stay away from his home life to cope with the idea that his son may not be insane, but instead, may be beyond help by a magnetic attraction to a boy that was no good, a boy he considered family.

Which is exactly where he was when Craig had called, acquiring about the status of Tweek's evening plans. Eavan tried her best to respect Richard's wishes, but when her son's caramel eyes stared at her pleadingly and lit up like fire in happiness, she couldn't help but give in. And so she watched from the doorway as the blonde ruffled through his clothing, trying on various pieces and shaking his head at his reflection each time.

"You know, honey, I don't think Craig will be overly worried about what you're wearing," she said with a smile as she crossed the room and placed her hands on his shoulders, meeting his eyes in the mirror. "You look fine. Why are you getting so worked up over this?"

"I don't know," he confessed, his cheeks turning a flattering shade of pink as he shook his head. "It just feels different now than it did when we were just friends, like I should try more than I did before."

She smiled as she ran her hands through his hair affectionately and kissed the top of his head, easily seeing through his excuses. "Why are you really freaking out, darling?"

He took a deep breath through his nose and let it out through his mouth, watery caramel eyes meeting hers uncertainly. "I just don't want him to change his mind again, mom. Things are finally how they should be. I don't want it to get ruined again."

"Oh, honey, I know," she said as she wrapped her arms around him with a sad smile. Before she could say more the doorbell sounded, causing the blonde to still in her arms and squeak.

"Gyah! He's here, he's here, and I'm not ready! Oh my god, what am I going to do?"

"I'll get the door and keep him entertained, okay, honey?" she replied, releasing the squirming hulk of boy and went down the stairs to let their guest in. Each step she took, took the smile that had radiated across her face, leaving laugh-lines that had increased in depth, making her seem much older and wary than she once had. Her curls were a box away from wiping out the greys that had begun to come in around her face since the stress of her son's toxic relationship had taken place. Even now, having seen the way the two reacted to each other, having witnessed a transformation between the two, she couldn't shake the feeling of lingering destruction, couldn't shake the last words Doctor Rizzo had spoken to her.

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

She shook her head, curls flying as she opened the door, a false smile plastered on his rosy lips as her murky green eyes landed on the lanky boy on her door step, one hand shoved deep in a thick blue jacket, the other curiously behind his back, a lopsided grin flashing deviously in his spring-green eyes.

"Hello, Ms. Tweak," he said, tipping an invisible hat charmingly at her, his own blue lapringer barely moving from his cranium as he did. "You sure look lovely today, even more so than these," he said as he handed her a bunch of flowers.

"Why isn't that sweet, Craig, please, come in," she said, her smile turning genuine as she stepped back and let the boy enter as he stomped the snow off his boots and wiped his feet on the rug in front of the door. She observed the boy turn his attention upward, watched as a brow raised curiously into his bangs, noticed how the freckles against his pale skin made the hard edge that had always exuded from Craig Nommel turn soft, turned him into the young child she had placed band-aids on skinned knees, fed Tylenol when he'd spiked a fever playing outside too long, and loved as her own. This was the boy that had been missing from her life for so many long, hard years.

"Go ahead and make yourself comfortable, Craig, Tweek isn't quite ready just yet," she said, gesturing toward the sofa in the living room as she plucked her fake bouquet out of a vase and busied herself placing the new flowers he had brought in it. "Would you like something to drink?"

"No, thanks," he said as he plopped down on the couch, eyes still trained upward to where Tweek's room was located upstairs. "Wouldn't be Tweek if he didn't keep me waiting, huh?"

She smiled at the boy as she perched on the recliner she often knitted at. "You should have known he'd be late."

"Some things never change," he said, drawing his gaze away and meeting her eyes. He pulled at the flaps of his lapringer as he said, "I'm sorry for everything that has changed."

She stilled, caught off guard by his apology, the nervous way he tugged at his hat and chewed on the insides of his lips. Here before her was the boy she knew and loved all those years ago, acknowledging the hurt he'd caused. "I really appreciate that, darling. And I just hope that things don't change too much, now. But you have to know, I don't know what I'll do if you hurt him again, Craig. I love you, but Tweek…he won't survive it again."

"I know," he said, meeting her eyes seriously. "I probably won't either."

Before either of them could acknowledge what was said between them, a clumsy "gyah!" echoed at the top of the stairs with a loud bang, and they both turned to look as the blonde tripped over his feet and caught himself on the banister, gripping tightly, face turning an ungodly shade of red as he realized they were staring. But what Eavan saw on Craig's face made her mistrust melt away; his attention was held rapturous by her gravity-challenged son, eyes turned soft just seeing him standing there on the stairs, a smile lit his face hotter than the sun.

Tweek shirked against their looks, a twitch wracking his body as he edged slowly down the stairs, testing each one in his own familiar fashion. "H-hi, Craig."

"Hi, Tweek." Eavan hid her smile, finding that even Craig's voice had changed at the mere sight of her son to something warm and buttery, welcoming, loving. "You okay?"

"Y-yeah, I'm fine. Perfect! N-nothing to see here, man. Just my feet not cooperating, y'know, it's like they have a plan to get me."

The raven-haired boy stood up and walked to Tweek, and Eavan's heart ached as he gently brushed a stray blonde lock into place and kissed his cheek. "You don't have to be nervous around me, Tweek."

"I'm not nervous! Oh my GOD," he said, shirking away, hiding his face in his hands when he caught the eye of his mother. "Mom! Stop staring! Gyah!"

She coughed back a laugh, hiding the grin behind her delicate hands as she stood up and turned away from the two, feeling like everything would be okay. Tweek couldn't meet Craig's eyes with his mother standing there, feeling like the flush of his cheeks couldn't fade away as he grabbed his jacket and allowed Craig to wrap his moose scarf across his shoulders and loosely around his neck as he wrestled it on. As the taller boy reached for the door knob she stopped them saying, "Hold it, guys. I want a picture of this."

They turned to her smiling visage holding up her cell phone and obliged. With the front door ajar and the muted light of the setting sun drizzling through the few cloud breaks there were, she snapped the picture, Craig to the left with an arm thrown protectively over the blonde, a wholesome smile lighting up his otherwise bored expression, Tweek's face a steady shade of pink as he was squished against the Nommel boy's side. She watched as the two loaded up onto one bike, Craig in the front, Tweek riding on the back spokes, clutching desperately to his friend's middle, and rode off. She slowly shut the door and leaned against it as she attached the picture in a text message and sent it to her husband, a sad smile on her face as the tears finally fell. 'Is his happiness really worth your anger?'

…

"Oh my god where are we going?" Tweek asked directly into Craig's ear as they rode down the icy streets, the blonde's breath sending shivers down his spine. He had to admit, it was a lot more work riding with Tweek now than it had been where they were younger, and after a few blocks his legs burned with the effort, but he'd be damned if he'd admit that. It was the tight grasp of his blonde around his chest, and those panting, nervous breaths tickling his cheek and neck that kept him going.

"Oh my god, you'll see, like I told you five hundred times now," he said, blowing out a breath as he rolled his eyes, but truth be told, he wasn't mad, he was just glad that Tweek was clasped to him so.

"But you know I don't like surprises," Tweek whined into his ear, and he could hear the pouty frown in his voice. Taking a hand off one of the handlebars he ran his fingers across Tweek's hand and fingered the metal band on his middle finger.

"You seemed to like that one," he replied pointedly, smiling to himself in victory as he heard the boy grumble to himself.

"That doesn't count, Craig!"

"Well lucky you, we are almost there," he said as he stopped the bike at the edge of the small alcove of trees that split the neighborhood. "Hop off, the rest of the way we walk." As Tweek carefully and painstakingly got off the bike he parked it up against a tree and took the blonde's hand in his own, twisting his fingers together until they locked palm-to-palm.

"Are you planning on killing me and dumping me in the woods because that's really weak, dude," the blonde said, a jitter wracking his body as he darted his glance around, but couldn't fight the fluttery warmth that tickled from his toes to the top of his head and settled like a weight in his stomach. He couldn't recall the last time he felt like this, felt at home with his fingers laced with his best friend's.

"Killing you with kindness, maybe," Craig mumbled as he flashed a dazzling smile to the blonde, green eyes gleaming under those long lashes. "Stop nervously rambling, Spazz, it's just me."

"I know, I just, I'm afraid you won't like me," he said, casting his eyes to the snow-covered path. He startled himself as he ran smack into the front of Craig, whom had stopped and turned on the trail to stare at him in consideration.

"Stop thinking like that, Tweek," he said firmly, a trace of sadness laced in his words. He stared off into the distance, brows furrowed as he contemplated his words. "I know I put us through Hell. I'm sorry. I hate how you think you can't trust me. You can. I hate how you think I don't care. I do. I just, it—"

Craig couldn't finish as Tweek grasped the flaps on his hat and pulled him down, pressing his lips roughly against the flavor of coffee. Craig stilled against him before slowly melting into the touch, his hands finding the way under Tweek's heavy jacket to grasp roughly as his hips, a small tremor of control shaking his hands. The blonde pulled back first, determination in those caramel eyes.

"Don't you ever assume I don't know that, Craig."

"Damnit, Tweek," he said, voice breathy as he stared into those hard eyes. He dug fingernails into the blonde's hips, causing him to involuntarily jerk forward and grind against Craig. A hitch in his breath at the contact, Craig caught his lips with his own, teeth grating against the gentle skin there, not stopping until both of their heads swam. They pulled away breathlessly, the heat between them palpable.

"Shit, man," Tweek said as he caught his breath.

"Yeah, I know."

As the blonde bent down to grab a handful of snow to cool the fire that burned deep within, his eyes widened, and he stumbled backwards. "Oh my god is that blood?!"

Green eyes followed the finger that pointed behind them to the snow and Craig cracked a smile, a laugh tumbling from his lips. There on the snow were the red rose petals he'd strategically left on the path to their destination before he'd gone to collect his blonde at home earlier. He reached down and picked one up between his fore and middle finger and held it out as a token. "No, retard. It was my, apparently failed, attempt at romance."

Tweek blinked at the petal offered to him and stuck his tongue out, embarrassed, as he climbed to his feet and brushed the snow off of his butt. "You don't have to be mean," he mumbled as he walked ahead of the brunette, following the trail of flower petals, stomping through the snow, darting glares back to his friend that was having a hard time keeping his face blank. Huffing, Tweek followed the tail directly to the rickety old tree house that the father's of the neighborhood had spent months piecing together, and looked back at Craig with a questioning look.

"You know I don't like the tree house, it creeps me out! There were no plans, or regulations, or permits applied to build this and and—"

"Our dads don't suck that much, Tweek, and I'm here. I won't let anything bad happen. Now, you go first and I'll follow, so if you slip I'll catch you."

Huffing Tweek agreed and taking several deep breaths grabbed hold of the swinging rope ladder and took it a step at a time, Craig following behind, humming approval at the sight of Tweek's rump wriggling upwards. The blonde cleared the edge and pulled himself up with Craig following close behind. He reveled in the bewildered, surprised look that overtook Tweek as he looked onto the scene the Nommel boy had painstakingly pieced together.

The old tattered sheets that had been nailed to the windows were replaced with Craig's old black, starry curtains and fluttered in the gently evening breeze, flashing glimpses of the world outside. Where old wooden milk crates had been stacked in the corners to hold assortments of the kids' lives over the years – from comics to scavenged porn - they were draped in white clothes with a various assortment of candles littering the tops, along with more rose petals sprinkling across the floors and crates. In the center a crate was turned over, draped in linens, with a droopy bouquet plunked into an empty beer bottle as a center piece and place settings, albeit paper, set up facing each other. As Tweek gawked at the scene Craig stepped around him, pulled a lighter out, and began carefully lighting the few dozen candles that were introduced to the tree house.

Finally the blonde shut his mouth that had been hanging open at the sight and blinked back tears as he watched Craig. "Did you, did you do all of this?"

"Mmhmm," he hummed his response as he flicked the lighter and lit another candle.

"I, I can't believe this," Tweek said slowly as Craig put the lighter away, finished with his task, and pulled a thermos out from under the makeshift table and poured two Styrofoam cups of steaming coffee. "You did this by yourself?"

"Don't act so surprised, you're making it seem like I'm a total asshole," he said blandly as he handed over a cup to the blonde and took a seat on one of the beanbags he'd placed in front of the table.

"You're not! This is just, well, out of character for you," Tweek admitted as he took the offered coffee and sat down next to Craig, taking in the scene with a smile. He took a sip of the coffee and his eyes watered.

Of course, Craig took it differently than what it meant. "Oh, man, dude, don't cry, okay?"

Tweek forced himself to swallow and shook his head. "No, no I'm not, it's just—" he held out the cup, sticking his tongue out in disgust. "This is the worst coffee ever."

Craig frowned as he looked into the murky depths of the steaming cup and looked up into those wide, caramel eyes. "Well, I tried, maybe the sandwiches are better," he said as he pulled out crustless mini sandwiches from a lunch box hidden under the makeshift table and offered one to the blonde with a half-hearted smile.

"You didn't have to do all of this," Tweek said as he took a bite of the sloppy peanut butter and banana sandwich with a smile. "We could have just hung out in my basement and it would have been fine." He leaned in and kissed the brunettes cheek, fawning in the slight pink tint that colored his cheeks. "You sure know how to make me feel special."

"You were special before I came along, Spazz," he said thoughtfully, staring out as snow began to fall lightly, shimmering in the evening sunlight. Slowly his green eyes, bright in the muted light, turned to face him. "I don't think you realize how special you are, sometimes."

A slow flush crept up his cheeks as he averted the solemn gaze Craig had settled on him. A shiver, from the penetrating look or the cold, he wasn't sure, wracked through his body, raising goose bumps across his arms. Without a word Craig removed his hat and plopped it on the blonde's tresses, and draped a thick down blanket around his narrow shoulders.

"I don't think you realize exactly the kind of madness you bring me to, either," the Nommel boy said carefully, eyes trained out the window once more.

Tweek couldn't read the troubled, cautious look on Craig's face as he pulled the blanket around himself and pulled the hat that smelled so much of his friend lower over his ears. Craig sucked on his lower lip in consideration, and Tweek saw his hands working into fist and out and knew he had to be restraining himself….but why?

"What do you mean?" he asked carefully as he looked up at Craig.

The boy dropped to his knees in front of Tweek, a trickle of blood dripping down his lip where he'd bit too hard, eyes hard and lusty, cheeks a husky shade of pink. His hands wound into his hair, shaking in bitter control. "You're so oblivious to the way you make me feel, Tweek, how my heart hammers to escape when I'm around you, how the smell of your apple shampoo drives me wild, how seeing you in my hat makes me need you so fucking much," he said, tearing his eyes away from the blonde. "You're like a drug I can't get enough of."

Tweek swallowed back the pulse in his throat, head swimming with the heat he suddenly felt. Slowly he reached out and pulled at Craig's hands, untangling his wispy fingers from his messy black locks. "Do—do what you want," he whispered, coffee eyes almost pleading.

He drew in a breath unexpectedly as Craig shoved him back roughly onto the hard wooden floor, mouth pressed hard against his, fingers clumsily working at the large buttons done down the front of the blonde's jacket. He squealed against Craig's mouth as cold fingers shoved his shirt up and paned against the flat expanse of his stomach. Craig drew back breathlessly, eyes green whirlpools that seemed blinded as Tweek sat up on his elbows and pushed Craig's jacket off his shoulders.

"Shit, Tweek," he mumbled breathlessly as shaking hands pulled his longsleeve shirt off, exposing his freckled flesh to the bitter cold. He shivered as clumsy hands trickled down his ribs and pink chapped lips kissed their way down his neck. He leaned his head back, hands covering his eyes as his head swam in ecstasy under the influence of Tweek's carefully placed kisses. "You're so unfair."

"Do something about it then," the blonde taunted wickedly as he dug teeth gently into Craig's shoulder, and all was lost. Craig pushed the blonde back down roughly and straddled his waist, naked back exposed to the cold as he undid the buttons furiously on Tweek's shirt, exposing his lithe chest to the elements as well. He leaned forward, his own lips brushing across the blonde's collar and reveled in the soft sounds that escaped.

"Jesus, Craig."

He smiled to himself against the gooseflesh of his best friend as his rough kisses dribbled down Tweek's chest, holding himself aloft with one forearm, the other hand quietly undoing the buttons of the blonde's pants. The blonde raised his hips to the touch as Craig's hand pushed passed denim and boxers and touched the quivering flesh beneath, a small purring moan escaping his throat.

"You don't know how much I need you now, Craig," the blonde said breathlessly as he wiggled against the boy's hand.

"Tell me what you want," he whispered, his voice husky as he stared down at the bow underneath him, hand continuing to rub, finding his own sense of pleasure in the small sounds that escaped Tweek.

"You," the blonde groaned, pulling Craig's lips to his own in a rough, haughty kiss that sent electricity between the two.

"Are you sure?" he mumbled, nuzzling Tweek's neck, breath lost as the blonde's hands dug deep into his back. A quick wordless nod was the answer as they wound together passionately, both lost under infatuation, intoxicated by each other's touch and taste, completely gone to reality as it were. Nothing mattered at that point but the fluid movement between the two, each knowing exactly what the other needed, lost to the cold, lost to the gently falling snow, lost to the twinkling of the stars far above in the sky.

As they lay entwined, covered only in their jackets and the down blanket nestling them together, Craig ran his nimble fingers through the mussed up locks of his friend, the world an ebbing hum in the aftermath of their fervor, the exhaustion barely setting in under the glow of the burning candles. Softly he sang, "Brown eyes I hold you near, you're the only song I want to hear, melody softly soaring through my atmosphere."

…

Everything seemed to be working in their favor after their passionate night in the tree house. The kids at school fell into the routine that was Craig and Tweek, hardly passing a single look their direction in the hallways as they travelled the school house holding hands. Christophe, begrudgingly, kept his tongue in check and his head down in the presence of Craig, and found himself relieving his stress in the form of abhortant digging in the frozen fields and chain smoking much more than before. Even Richard slowly warmed to the idea of the two, allowing Craig to come over and spend time with his son in doses as he adjusted.

And then, everything changed.

Craig drew in to himself after that fateful call from Red, shut himself off from the world shut himself off all together. Functioning was the most basic of skills as he carried through the days, drifting, aimless, trapped in the desolate world inside of his head. Outside it was a subtle change, but inside, Craig waged war with himself and the battering emotions and thoughts that bruised at his delicate being. Inside, he built his own solitary comfort from the effects of the chemicals he abused to feel less, to calm the quelling fears that threatened to overtake him.

He was unbelieving of the quiet, two worded future that Red had handed him: "I'm pregnant". They had had sex once in a drunken haze, how could she be pregnant? He was a twelve year old boy that barely had a handle on his own life, was just now beginning to come into the light and feel comfortable with himself, and now, now he was being thrown an incredible responsibility he had no idea how to handle. He couldn't possibly be a father, there was absolutely no way; he hadn't even liked helping feed and change Tracie when she was a baby, he couldn't fathom the idea of doing it for a life time. He was barely responsible enough to keep his best friend happy, how could he keep a baby happy?

And Tweek…Tweek couldn't find out. He could imagine the heart break in his head, and he shook from the effort not to give in to the tidal waves of emotions that filled him. In one moment of hatred, of revenge, he had committed the ultimate act of betrayal by conceiving a child. He had never felt regret as much as he did now; he had never felt this level of shame and guilt that crushed at him. He knew nothing would ever be the same again, if Tweek found out, and he was determined to keep this secret from him until a solution appeared. Because he wouldn't, couldn't survive without his best friend in his life.

It was irony he couldn't fathom; Craig was finally happy, truer than he ever had been before, only to have it ripped and shattered before his eyes. At first, he had considered it a cruel joke, that Red had felt slighted by his happiness with another boy, but that ideal was instantly erased by the fright he'd heard in her voice. It was a curle string of Fate that had been handed to him that he was always reminded of when he delved too far into his chemical habit and saw the grinning, Cheshire-cat grin of his personal demon lingering at vision's edge in his subconscious. But the Technicolor ribbons that burst in his sight and wrapped around him being from the inside comforted the anxiety and fear that welled up, stamped down the need to run and hide, numbed the thoughts he couldn't shake so he could sleep.

There was a storm brewing over the mountain town that chilled to the bones and built high in the atmosphere, sending swirling gusts to displace freshly fallen snow. In the distance thunder rumbled, echoing throughout the crannies and vallies of the Rockies, a low warning of what was to come. Craig hardly noticed as he stumbled through the snow drifts, hat low over his glazed eyes, intent on a destination he knew by heart. The ribbons of light danced at the edge of his periphery as he trudged toward Stark's Pond, taunting his numb and confused mind, an eerie cackle whispering through his head.

Carnal intrigue tampered with alcoholic indulgences often come with terrible consequences.

"I know," he moaned as he looked out over the frozen landscape before him, the lake's waters murky under the sheet of icy that cracked around the bank and bobbing cattails.

I told you he was nothing more than a bad high for you. One instance of terrible revenge and you are a sire-to-be. Because of him, you are where you are.

He kicked the snow angrily as that taunting laugh echoed through the barren wasteland of the frozen fields. "It's not his fault. It's yours."

"Who are you talking to, Craig?" came a lithe, breathless voice. He turned around to see Red, brows furrowed in confusion, looking nothing how he had imagined. Since her admittance, he had pictured her huge with child, but standing ankle-deep in the snow, a deep purple-plaid coat brushing the back of her knees, scarlet locks under a charcoal beanie, she looked no different. And then he noticed the subtle changes; the dark circles proving her guilty of sleeplessness, the worried lines around her mouth, the chapped lips with evident chew marks in them.

"No one," he said, feeling sick at her visage. Here was a girl he had tried to love, that was selfless and an incredible friend, his own perfect angel, looking torn and confused and making him ill at the thought of why. "You look okay."

She rolled her eyes as she let out a breath. "I'm not, okay? You have no idea."

His eyes narrowed as he heard the trace of anger in her voice. "Neither do you, what about me? What about all of the things I have going for me, Red? What about Tweek and—"

The sound of flesh on flesh echoed in the thin mountain air, and his face stung like a million ants had bitten his cheek where her palm had landed painfully as she slapped him, hard. He stilled at the contact, fists curled in desperate control.

"This isn't about you and Tweek anymore!" she spat, blue eyes blazing under her blood-red bangs. "For once, this isn't fucking about you Craig! I did everything I could for you, everything, sacrificed my own feelings for you, and here you are making this one goddamn thing about you and Tweek? Get your fucking head straight! For once, this is about me!"

Moments passed between them, fogged breaths gliding passed each other as they stared in a dead lock. Finally he heaved a breath and asked, "What do you want to do about it?"

She crumled before his eyes, shoulders slumping forward as the tears sprang hot in her lost eyes and that fire that had been there a moment before dispersed. "I don't know, Craig, I really don't. I'm angry, and scared, more scared than I've ever been before."

He took her hand and slowly lead her to the makeshift bench made from a fallen log and sat at her side, keeping one of her pink gloved hands in his own. "We're twelve, Red. We can't have a baby."

"I know," she whispered miserably, eyes trained downward. "You thought you had it hard with all the false-pretenses you made about the kids at school. Thinking they'd make fun of you for liking Tweek. But imagine what I'm going to go through walking through the halls, pregnant. Imagine the talks, and whispers; I won't have friends, and you probably won't, either. Everyone will know it's yours."

He stilled, anxiety sliding through his veins like ice. "You're talking about it like you're going to stay pregnant."

She glanced at him sadly. "I don't know, Craig, there's a lot of people in the world that desperately want children. I could give them that gift."

His head swam with those words; how could she even consider such an irresponsible thing? "Your dad will absolutely slaughter me."

"I won't tell him it's yours," she said slowly, looking downwards again, tears falling onto the tops of her black fuzzy boots. "I won't tell anyone anything other than I'm going to make a mistake right for some other people."

"You really think he won't ask questions or blame me?" he asked incredulously. "He knows we were together. Everyone does. You haven't been with anyone else. Everyone knows that too. Everyone knows what happened at that party, Red. There's no denying that or chalking it up to something else."

"These are the consequences we live with," she said sadly, a hand hovering over her abdomen. "What are you suggesting, Craig?"

Gaze level on her, he swallowed back his hammering heart that had crawled into his throat. "We could…terminate it."

"You mean abortion," she said without emotion, her grasp tightening on his hand as she shook her head. "Doctors would be involved. People would still know, would still talk, and then we'd rob a couple of having a child of their own, rob this baby of having a life."

He shook his head as well, voice void of any emotion. "You can't be that far along. There's chemical abortions. It'd just be like a heavy period or whatever. No harm, no foul."

She narrowed her eyes as she pulled her hand away from him, face twisting in disgust. "How long have you been thinking about this, Craig? About what I should do with my body?"

"You aren't the only one affected by this!" he hissed. "I just don't want to see your incredible chances for the future ruined," he rationalized, blinking back the lights dancing at the edge of his vision. "You're amazing and smart and will have great things going for you, and I don't want to see this be the hiccup to throw you off your path."

"I don't know," she confessed, brows knitted together as the seed was planted in her head. She rubbed at her eyes as she fought back the tears. "I know we can't have this baby, Craig. I know, but I'm scared of the idea, of the guilt I'll feel, of how unfair everything is."

He wrapped her in his arms when he saw the tears fall and felt a pang of guilt in his heart to see his friend upset, and lost, unsure of what to do. If they had been older, if circumstances were different, he would have probably backed her selfless decision; instead, he swallowed back self-resentment, knowing he wasn't going to let this ruin what he had with Tweek.

"I know it's unfair," he said, watching demons dances on the ice, cackling at him, scarlet eyes gleaming at him. "I know it's cruel and unusual and a shitty situation all around. I know it hurts you, and it hurts me, too. But we can't keep this baby….and I think you know that, too."

She looked up at him tearfully as he gently stroked her crimson hair back from her saline-soaked face. "I—I know. What do we do?"

Carefully he pulled a small plastic bag from the depths of his jacket pocket, containing five pills; four small white hexagon shaped, scored in the center, and one capsule containing tiny brown grains inside. She looked up at him, a lost look morphing her face as desolation seemed to take over and she took the offered drugs. "Take two of the white ones now, and the others after you eat tonight. In forty-eight hours, it'll be done, and no one will know the wiser"

She nodded solemnly as she dry swallowed the two pills, fighting back the sick feeling that clawed desperately at her throat. Her eyes burned at the finality of it all and as her stomach burned at the chemicals introduced, she broke down and sobbed. Craig whispered soothing words as she bawled into his chest and clung desperately to him, but inside he felt nothing but grim satisfaction as he descended into the depths of his mind and locked himself in the thought of Tweek, his sweet taste, his appley scent, the jitty feel of him under Craig. As he wrapped the one thing that soothed his wrecked nerves, thunder boomed across the expense of sky overhead, and a whisper floated across the glen.

Sweet words mean nothing when spoken by the devil.

…

The wind whipped outside, howling between houses eerily, blustering the snow that fell in a steady rhythm as the storm threatened to open up over head, blocking out all starlight visible to the eye. Craig woke with his clock flashing 1:13 am when his phone rang, and a frightened, little girl voice whimpered, "Craig…I'm bleeding". Those words froze him to his core more than the wind did as he grabbed a jacket and sped out into the storm, unafraid of the consequences his parents would have knowing he left in the middle of the night.

Unoccupied by chemical dependency, Craig was afraid. He had never heard Red's voice so strained, so full of anguish as he did bleary-eyed and half-asleep. His insides turned to ice when the image of her holding his offered pills flashed in his mind's eye. How could he have suggested what he did? And then the bright smiling face of a blonde appeared, and despite the bitter self-loathing he felt, he knew he'd do it again in an instant.

When he arrived to Hell Pass's ER, he walked passed registration without hesitation and stopped dead. He gazed passed the thick, gellous blobs of blood that dribbled down the hall to an ashen face distorted by pain. Crimson dripped soundlessly from the stretcher, pooled on the bright iridescent white towels between bony knees, shined slick in the florescent lights of the hospital as doctors and nurses whizzed by to attend to the writhing image of Red. He stood still as a statue by the nurses' station as her face twisted in pain and a violent gush of blood filled the stretcher. Wails of desperation shattered the silence of the night shift ER and made him sick.

He watched, mind in an icy fog as carts were pulled into the room, nurses tied off tourniquets and poked into veins as she writhed away, face a mask of misery. He watched multicolored tubes filled with blood and sent running to the lab, watched as pain medication was pushed through the IV, watched as her face softened and fell slack as unconsciousness took hold. He watched it all as if curtains were being drawn from his peripheral vision, clouding out everything but the business swarming the girl on the stretcher.

"Craig? Craig, come here," came a voice that snapped him out of his trance and he turned to see Token's dad, Steve, dressed in teal scrubs with a questioning look on his face. In his younger years he'd made his fortune as an attorney working high profile homicide cases throughout the country and retired at the tender age of 33, burned out by the criminals he saw and the lacking duty of justice in the court rooms. He still held his licenses and often was called to counsel with Gerald Broflovski's law firm or in cases close to home throughout the state, but he had went back to school and became a renown surgeon that worked cases throughout the likes of John Hopkin's medical centers. And when Doctor Gouche travelled the states, Doctor Black would step into the role and help the people of the town he called home, performing surgeries or reprising role of the ER doctor.

Head bowed low, Craig walked over to the man he'd known most of his life and followed him into an empty room, not having the courage to meet his eyes.

"What are you doing out so late?"

"Red called me," he finally answered, a sick feeling bubbling in his stomach when he looked up and saw the look written on Doctor Black's face.

"Craig, I need to ask you some questions. And it may be hard, but I need you to be honest," he said, kneeling down to get on the boy's eye level. "Red isn't in good shape and anything you know may be the difference between her leaving this hospital or not. Okay?"

He nodded slowly, shoving his hands in his pockets to keep the shaking tremors from being noticed. Even in the chill of the hospital, beads of sweat slithered down the back of his neck under the scrunity of his friend's dad. "Okay."

"I know you and Red had a school yard crush and were dating, and I don't want to know what happens between you two, but we ran stat blood tests and it showed high levels of hCG. Craig…did you know Red was pregnant?"

He stilled, feeling like he was choking, drowning, couldn't find enough air and he knew his face betrayed him. Slowly he nodded, panic taking hold deep within. "She—she told me. Yeah. I knew."

Steve took a deep breath as he let that sink in, as he fought the feeling of disappointment and anger building up within. This was a kid he had watched grow up, a kid he loved like his own, a kid he never wanted to imagine in this situation. But he stamped down the inner dilemma, knowing Red was the priority here. "Did she get an abortion?"

Craig shook his head back and forth, squeezing his fists tight, relishing in the quick, sharp pain of his nails breaking skin. "No—no, not technically. We knew we couldn't keep it. I looked stuff up online. I gave her some pills."

"What did you give her?"

He shuffled under the stern gaze that kept him from bolting from the room. "Something to prevent stomach ulcers that was in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. It said it could cause miscarriage. Cytotec?"

A look of dawning filled Steve's face as he bolted upright and pushed out of the room into the hallway and started shouting orders. "Get room 7 prepped and to the OR stat! Get her cross and type matched and two units of compatible blood sent to the OR to transfuse! She has a ruptured uterus."

Craig cringed at the diagnosis as Steve popped back into the room, a hurried look on his face. "Is that all she took, Craig?" He nodded slowly. "Are you absolutely sure?" Again, a nod.

"Are you going to tell on me?" he finally asked, throat dry, the shaking evident now as anxiety filled him to the core. "I didn't mean to hurt her."

"I won't risk losing my license for you, son," Steve said as a considerate look filled his face. "But what you gave her, anyone can take. Ruptured uterus is one of the serious side effects that can happen taking Cytotec to anyone of child-bearing age, but with an increased risk in those that are pregnant. I won't falsify my report for you, but what I share outside of the report can be vague."

As Steve left the room Craig felt a sense of relief wash over him, the tension oozing from his body, leaving his muscles worn and achy from how taut he'd been. He fell into the visitors chair by the empty bed and rubbed at his eyes, suddenly feeling exhausted. This was just an unexpected complication to the persuasive edge he'd weaved around the situation. He hadn't lied when he said he hadn't meant to harm Red – she was a good friend, but expendable. He may not have been completely truthful about what all she had taken, though, as he recalled the grain-filled capsule he had painstakingly packed with arsenic and sealed with a careful flame.

Running his hands through his hair, he pulled his phone out of his pants pocket and cleared the browser history, the last search having been "chemicals to hurt mom and fetus".

He popped a blotter on his tongue and relaxed as the final drops of tension melted from his shoulders, eased from his neck. He cracked his knuckles as the anxiety and fear slipped away behind the numb wall the drugs built around him. He was clear; the doctors thought it was an act by scared kids that didn't know how to cope, a botch self-abortion attempt through volatile over-the-counter medications. The parents would never find out the reason, and Tweek, Tweek would never know of his part in this.

At least, that's what he told himself until he met familiar stormy blue eyes from a room across the hall, a wad of gauze taped under dusky chocolate bangs, a look of odyssey written across the bland, watchful face.

Christophe raised a knowing hand in acknowledgement, and Craig's plans crumbled from beneath himself.

…

Speculation ran amuck the small mountain town the first day that Red missed school. Usually a studious girl that rarely missed attendance, the girls were in a tizzy with worry. Hushed whispers danced through the chilled halls of the school, and crumpled pieced of notebook paper exchanged hands between furious scribbles during lectures. As the third day of an empty seat progressed, the teachers' brows knit in worry and gazes shifted uncertainly, almost certainly withholding information from the students that sat pensively curious about their missing camaraderie. Rumors of a terrible car accident on an infamously dangerous back road up the mountain spread through the school at the realization the Allan's both hadn't appeared t their respective jobs since Red had begun her absence.

Seeing a haggard looking Mr. Allan tiredly existing, walking guilty from the town's liquor store had quelled those rumors, and soon it was uncovered by Wendy Red's true location – Hell Pass Hospital. Voices erupted about the mystery of Red's condition, or how she had found her way admitted into the hospital, from rare autoimmune diseases, to uncovered terminal cancer, to a more questionable diagnosis of illicit childbirth that had been hidden from everyone for months.

Only two people outside of the hospital system knew the truth, a truth that had yet to surface. Craig had been anxious, hardly sleeping at night, seeing those knowing, grey eyes staring at him from across the ER every time he laid his head to rest. A taunting French accent floated through his subconscious when he was alone and exhausted, tantalizingly whispering his secrets, teasing him that he would tell everyone. And when it wasn't Christophe in his mind when he laid down to sleep, flashes of crimson blood scattered across the antimicrobial whiteness of the hospital played in his mind's eye, small pictures of Red writhing in agony, of her small, breathless voice screaming out to him – and he would awake in a cold sweat, unable to return to the troubled depths of slumber.

School was worse. As he tried to focus on the lecture being given, furiously writing notes as his mind wandered, he could feel the boring stare of the French boy stabbing into his conscience, picking apart the small bout of reserve he had left. He was jittery, panicky, unable to keep things straight that had been so easy for him before. Numbers and words jumbled together as his sense of anxiety tripled and his muscles were pulled taut at the possibility of exposure at any moment. It hardly helped that the girls – despite knowing of their amiable split – questioned how he felt about Red's condition, seemed to sympathize and dote on the boy that merely wanted to escape it all.

And his usual sense of escape was coming to a clear halt as Kenny had refused to deal to the boy that was so on edge and jumpy, worried that Craig was becoming too dependent upon the chemical distractions that drugs offered, worried that his friend of circumstance needed to find a healthy way to cope with the realities of life. And so Craig had to ration what little supplies he had left, cutting and taking smaller doses to merely wipe the edge of fear from his blood and give his mind a small sense of relief.

Tweek noticed the way the dark circles under those meadow-green eyes appeared as deep, splotchy bruises; he noticed the nervous, suspicious way he dodged questions, people, and remained silent on the issue of Red. At lunch, he was drawn into himself, eyes clouded in thought, mind checked out from the conversations that sprang up. He picked at his food, moving the portions around with his fork to appear to be giving it attention. His emotions became volatile, like a whirlwind that was unpredictable in the changing currents. One moment Craig would be lost in himself, ducking out of any social responsibility, only to appear hog-wild at the latest indoor sporting event; one moment he would shy away and close himself off from those around him, only to shove Tweek roughly back against the nearest wall and passionately, unheedingly, steal his breath with rough lips.

Tweek had caught the curious, sad gaze of Kenny more than once, watching the raven-haired boy from across the classroom or cafeteria, a pensive look hidden under those dirty blonde bangs of his. And anytime the coffee-addict had looked for the boy in the orange parka, he had simply disappeared from existence, vanishing from the ramshackles of the town without anyone seeming to notice.

Christophe, as well, had been on edge as of late that seemed to stem from his new battle wound that drizzled across his left brow into his temple and were held shut by nine stitches, a wound caused from "a tunneling accident" he had announced. And as oblivious as everyone thought Tweek was, he couldn't help but catch the stares between his two greatest friends, the tension that raised the hairs on his neck anytime he was caught between the two, the knowing, angry fecade they both harbored. It left him wondering what Christophe knew that made Craig be so on edge, made Tweek sad to think they were keeping secrets from him.

And it was when Tweek had apologetically cancelled a night that was supposed to be spent with the Mole to go out with Craig instead, the brunette had snapped, becoming the volatile mercenary he had first met years before, spitting curses in his native tongue, backing the blonde into a wall. He had been afraid for the first time since meeting Christophe as his blue eyes turned to stone and his face became cold, all empathy having been overcome with the pure anger that shook the French boy's muscles in restraint. For a split instant he had thought he was a goner when Christophe's taut fist drew back…but it smashed with a sickening crack into the brick next to his head, the sound reverberating through his skull over the hammering of his heart. Christophe had merely stared down at him, a hint of sadness crossing those grey eyes as he cocked his head dangerously, seeming to not feel the pain lancing up his arm. He took a breath before dripping the vile words that turned Tweek's world upside down.

"You lie wiz ze devil, maybe you should ask your precious Craig about zat night at ze hospital."

He had turned, and ran. Away from Christophe's accusing words, away from Craig's pleads to come over and spend the night with him. He had ran straight down into the depths of his mind where the cage that had once stood to harness his inner demon was blown outward in a ruin, and climbed inside, barricading himself in by the illicit Technicolor ribbons that always seemed the float around his subconscious tantalizingly. As he rocked himself into oblivion, white roses blossomed from the inky blackness in a wave stretching as far as the eye could see, white roses dashed with the thickened liquid of imaginary blood that spelled out "almost" in the air before him.

Perched upon a wall of ugly words that rained syllables downward like a rushing waterfall, only to rearranged and return to position, was the Demon King, scarlet eyes piercing through his reprieve, a small bundle nestled in the crook of his wicked arm. Tweek watched curiously as the Bat King tenderly swayed, whispers of an unknown tongue falling from his carnivorous lips in a sweet melody that even left the blonde feeling at ease, all sense of worry melting from his anxiety-driven body. Curson's voice echoed in the eternity of nothingness that was Tweek's subconscious, billowing outward, bringing a palpable warmth to the blonde as clawed fingers gently held the bundle closer, taking care in his actions.

"What is that?" Tweek finally asked.

"He who will reside in the halls of Purgatory for eternity, He who never had a chance of ascension. A clever pawn in the game of Fates cruel tangled skein ," he said with a hint of melancholy in his voice, stony face unreadable as he stared down at the bundle in his arms. "What was, and what could have been."

Tweek was too mentally drained to consider the riddle the Batthingit spoke and drifted lullfully to slumber by the resonating lullaby that was sung in tongues of old. He dreamed of his life before; as a toddler breaking eggs on the tile floor and flinging pancake mix in the air as he "helped" his mother make breakfast in bed for Dad on father's day; of joyfully swinging a sopping mop across the glistening floor of the Tweak's coffee shoppe, knocking assorted brews unceremoniously off the display on the back wall, cheerful in the idea of helping his parents open their lifelong dream; of spinning in a whirlwind on a merry-go-round in the center of the neighborhood playground, a blue-hatted boy watching him with a mischievous grin on a freckled face as he spun him faster and faster and jumped on at incredible speed to introduce himself as Craig.

And when he awoke the next morning, Tweek knew it was at that moment his life had forever changed as he was sucked into the spinning storm that was Craig, knowing that exiting the merry-go-round would have hurt worse than staying on and swallowing the nauseating feeling the boy had brought to him.

Craig was intoxicating for the blonde, a stimulant that rivaled the relaxing effects of the coffee he drank religiously. He had known it then, as a mere child of six frightened of the spinning contraption he was trapped on, as he reveled in the fact now that Craig held a part of him that he didn't know if he could live without. It was as if their blood vessels had burst from their skin and melded together, their life blood sustaining each other through the years. Even during the years they had been separated by Craig's selfish decisions, neither had lived without thinking of the other. Tweek knew they were like volatile chemicals waiting for the right mixture to explode and destroy all in their path, but he couldn't resist the magnetic pull that drew him close to the brooding, green-eyed boy. Despite the amount of times he was cut deep, he couldn't stray away from Craig for long.

But now, he wasn't so sure. Now, he held an ounce of doubt that boiled in his brain like a fungus. Christophe was not a creature that knew how to lie; he had nothing to gain or lose either way, so what he spoke had to be truth. Which bothered Tweek; what did Craig know, and over the last few days, why hadn't he mentioned anything about Red? It was a mystery he knew he had to uncover, a mystery that made his stomach turn at the possibilities he may unfold.

After school on Friday, the two decided to walk the distance home like they always did, enjoying the quite company of each other in the bitter January cold before the weekend panned out. A front was coming, could be felt in the bitter wind that picked snow from the drifts on the side of the road and swirled snowflakes dancing through the air. Without thought Tweek twirled the ring on his middle finger in the depths of his brown down gloves and pulled his thick scarf tighter around his neck, a slight shiver rocking his body as he nervously walked to the side of Craig, lost in his own thoughts.

He knew it had to be now or never, and as he watched Craig jam his hands into his jacket and stare forward, nervously nibbling on his lip, he wondered what the boy was thinking about. What the boy was hiding in his blue-capped head. Nerves firing impulsively, Tweek felt like he was swallowing his heart as he watched Craig; here was a boy he grew up with, and grew to love through arguments and fights, through cruel words and lingering touches. Here was a boy that had caught his eye as a chubby faced six year old with wide, mischievous eyes and a dusting of freckles under the curling ends of dark black hair, a six year old that had loved to play pranks and watch Red Racer, loved to teach his fat guinea pig tricks and take pictures of the neighborhood animals. In six years time, the fun-loving attitude had become jaded, had been numbed under suspicion and self-loathing, those green eyes bore the brunt of emotional pain and longing. But Tweek loved him all the same, despite everything that had changed.

So it was hard when he finally squeaked out, "I wonder how Red is doing."

A funny look, bored and unconcerned. "I wouldn't know," Craig responded blandly as he kept his head down and continued their journey home.

"You weren't at lunch this afternoon, but Bebe was saying she went to visit after school yesterday, and she seems lost. She wouldn't tell Bebe what happened or what was wrong with her, just that she would be back to school sometime next week. Isn't that great, Craig?"

"Yeah."

Despite his calm front, inside, Tweek was shaking. "Do you think she's okay?"

"I don't know, Tweek, shit, can we stop talking about it now?" he said, eyes flashing dangerously as he shook his head, shoulders dropping a tad as he released the breath he was holding. "Sorry, I'm just tired is all."

"Yeah, it's okay," Tweek said with a forced smile as he looked down at his feet. "So, Christophe said you were at the hospital with Red." So, it was a stretch of truth, but Craig didn't have to know that, did he?

Tweek yelped as he ran straight into the back of Craig, a solid wall of pent up anger. He stepped back, clasping desperately at his scarf as Craig turned on him, eyes alight with fire, face a snarl as he glared. Involuntarily he took a step back at the hate he felt directed his way.

"Did he, now? And what, you're just going to be his bitch and believe every precious little word that falls off his piece of shit tongue, aren't you? How fucking cute, Tweek. And here I thought you were my boyfriend."

"I—I am," he stuttered, wringing his hands nervously. "You don't have to be like this."

"You don't have to accuse me of stupid shit your dumbass little friend says," Craig growled, gritting his teeth as he glared daggers at the trembling blonde in front of him.

Tweek narrowed his eyes despite the feeling like he was standing on sinking sand and falling fast into the abyss. "Stop talking about Christophe like that. He has no reason to lie to me."

"Except maybe to take you away from me," the Nommel boy said with a snort, rolling his eyes like it was obvious. "Jesus, you really must be totally blind to everything around you."

"Knock it off, Craig, you know that isn't true," Tweek said with a huff, feeling his face starting to turn red as he equally became angry. "Were you or were you not with Red?"

Craig opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it, and shut it. Although his eyes were narrowed, his arms were crossed defensively, he seemed lost as he looked down at the snow-covered sidewalk. "What of it, Tweek? She called me, she was afraid, I went. Here I was, trying to be a good friend to someone, and you're treating me like a criminal."

The blonde let out a breath that drained the tension form his body, feeling better by what Craig had said. He felt silly now. "Why didn't you just tell me that before?"

"I didn't know it was a big deal."

Tweek took the few steps to Craig and wrapped him in a tight hug, feeling warmth that the boy risked being grounded for going. But then it dawned on him; why would Craig of the unfeeling have cared so much to go when Red called? With his arms stilled wrapped around the boy he asked, "Why was she afraid?"

Craig stilled in his arms, becoming rigid, a slight tremor wracking his body as he looked down at the inquisitive, nervous eyes of the blonde. He shut his own eyes tightly, hiding the wetness that had enveloped there. He grit his teeth, fist clenched tightly. "I did it for you."

Tweek had never been more on edge, had never felt the intensity of the anxiety that fluttered through his stomach, flipping it in roiling waves, making him sick at those simple words. He took a step back, keeping the taller boy at arms length, but not letting go, not yet. "You did what?"

"Red was pregnant."

Tweek didn't know which was colder, the winter bluster outside or the ice that slid through his veins and made his head spin. He felt off balance as he took a jittery step back and clutched shaking hands to his stomach, the words like a physical blow. In his mind he imagined the outcome, imagined many sessions of furious passion that had lead to the conception, even though he knew in his heart there had been one night. And then it hit him.

"Was? W—what do you mean, she was pregnant?"

"I mean she was pregnant, Tweek, was, as in the past, as in not currently," he spat desperately, hands pulling at his hair under the lapringer he wore compulsively. "I gave her some pills and—"

"You forced an abortion on her," he said, the statement ringing true in the cold air, leaving a gap between them. "You gave her no choice."

Craig exploded outward in a mess, pacing in circles before the blonde, hands tightening painfully in his hair. "We're fucking twelve, Tweek! We couldn't raise it, she knew it, I knew it, every fucking one with a brain would have known it. What was I supposed to do?" he asked, momentum stopping suddenly as he turned to face the blonde, tears streaking down pale cheeks. "What was I supposed to do?" he echoed, looking forlorn.

"Anything but that," Tweek said, his voice sounding far away as if in a vacuum. The shock of it all had yet to wear off and he felt fuzzy, lost himself by the words they spoke in the thin mountain air.

"I—I couldn't lose you," Craig admitted, a hand reaching out, and falling. "I did it for you."

"For me?" Tweek screeched, his voice loud to his own ears as he shook his head, unbelieving, and took a step back. "Because you think that's what I wanted? You robbed an innocent being of the choice to live. You took a baby's life! If you think that's what I would have wanted, you—you don't know me at all."

A flash of horror crossed Craig's face, a flash of a man watching his life crumble before his eyes, before his face turned angry once again and he snarled. He strode forward, grabbing Tweek by the wrist and twisting painfully, eliciting a yelp as he pulled the boy against him roughly. "I don't know you, huh? I don't know that you cry every time you watch The Lion King. I don't know your favorite coffee is banana flavored. I don't know that you only like macaroni if it's made with Velveeta cheese. I don't know you like your dick sucked best if there's teeth involved," at that, he ground hard against Tweek's crotch and leaned down to whisper in his ear, "And I sure as shit don't know that you love when I moan your name when you put your dick in my ass, huh, Tweek," he moaned breathlessly, but the harsh edge to his words cut deep.

"Get off of me," Tweek said loudly, pushing at the boy angrily, trying to get him off as he slid a hand under Tweek's beltline into his boxers. "Stop it Craig! Stop!"

"Don't tell me you don't like it now," the boy said sadistically as he licked a line down Tweek's cheek and worked his hand on the blonde's lower parts.

"Stop it, goddamnit! Craig, stop!" he yelled, pushing the boy away with all his weight and landing a fist with a solid crack on Craig's jawline. Blood sputtered to the white, white snow as Craig's eyes lost all emotion and he stared deadly at the boy, spitting a mouth full of blood at him. Tweek stepped back as he rubbed his aching fists, shaking inside, feeling dirty by the actions of the boy he thought he loved more than life.

"Yeah, okay, I see how it is, how about you take your scrawny ass back home and ride that French piece of shits dick now, huh, Tweek? You're such a fucking bitch, you know that, I can't believe I wasted my time with you if this is how you're going to be."

Taking a shuttering breath Tweek glared as he took a few steps backwards, feeling his insides turn roughly, sending a wave of nausea through him. "I can't do this anymore. I just can't."

"Yeah, well, fuck you too, Tweek. Those words sound familiar?" he sneered, turning on his heel with a middle finger raised as he walked away, like all the times before.

But this time, Tweek didn't try to follow, or beg, or grovel. This time, Tweek dropped to his knees in the snow and emptied his stomach until he couldn't feel the burn of disgust coil through him anymore. This time, through the burn of hot tears that streaked down his face, he knew it was final.

He knew this was the end.

…

He let his rage guide him. Craig had been sure that Tweek never would have had a clue about the truth; Red never would have told a soul about their mutual decision, and he was far from willing to talk about a circumstantial mistake. But no, that French piece of crap had to wag his tongue and let the secret slip to the only person that had ever completed him, that had ever cared about him despite his immense flaws. And now he had lost that; he had lost his other half, the part that grounded him, made him sane.

And he was going to get the revenge he needed.

Like the first time Craig had showed up the night after the Halloween party, Christophe seemed to expect his presence as he stood on his porch with a cigarette gleaming from his downturned lips, grey eyes tracking Craig's every move warily.

"You're a piece of shit, you know that," Craig snarled as he moved closer, stopping just outside the edge of the porch.

"And you are a liar, a thief, and an attempted murderer," the boy replied nonchalantly, shrugging. "What, exactly, is your point?"

"You just want Tweek all to yourself," Craig accused.

"Non, I want Tweek to know exactly what you are so 'e can make ze educated decision 'e needs aboot you. Do not blame me because you are a sheety person," Christophe said as he stamped his cigarette out in the ashtray on the railing of the covered porch. "I did not put you in zis situation – you got zere all by yourself."

"You fucking told him I was there," Craig spat, clenching and unclenching his fist. "He never would have known except for you! He never needed to know! It had nothing to fucking do with you."

"Most people in serious, committed relationships don't keep such secrets close to zier 'earts," Christophe pointed out, unphased by the shaking boy before him. "You are manipulative. You fucked Red to get a rise out of Tweek, and you got what you deserved from zat. You constantly manipulate 'is emotions to fit into your petty little game. Well, 'e made 'is decision. 'e knows better now. Et ez your fault, not mine, zat 'e 'as learned zat you are a sadistic little bastard."

Craig grit his teeth as those words pounded at his resolve, but he wasn't about to be undone by the Mole. He made the first move, lunging up the steps toward the boy, but Christophe was faster as he vaulted over the railing and dashed out into the open with a smug smile. Craig snarled as he followed, body tense as he focused in on the Mole, bouncing lightly back and forth on his heels, hands loose at his side, that smug look unchanging.

"Not going to fight me?" Craig asked tensely as he shot forward and attempted to land a blow, only to be easily dodged by the lithe brunette.

"You really don't want me to try," Christophe said smartly as he cracked his knuckles, side stepping another slippery attack sent his way.

"Stop being a pussy and fight."

One moment Craig was staring at the boy he hated with every fiber of his being; the next he was staring up into the dark winter clouds, his head spinning, his backside cold as the snow seeped through his jacket. He tried to sit up on his elbows but was pushed back roughly into the snow by a combat boot on his chest, pushing hard enough to make it hard to breathe. Craig clawed at the leg that held him still, only to find the boot lift slightly off his chest and slam into his already sore jaw. He saw stars as dots floated across his field of vision and felt weight on the crooks of his arms, painfully pinching the tender nerve bundles, leaving him unable to fight. He blinked away the stars and stared up into the brooding face of his nemesis.

"Remember, Craig, fury makes you weak," he said as he jumped lithely to his feet and turned away.

Of course, Craig wasn't willing to accept defeat yet. Rubbing his aching jaw he pushed himself up to his feet and brushed the dirty snow from his rump. As Christophe walked away, humming under his breath, Craig used it to his advantage. Or at least, that was the plan. He lunged forward with fist flying, only to be side stepped, his feet swept out from under him in a fluid motion that had him cartwheeling forward. With a gentle push to ease the process, Craig found himself face down in the snow this time.

"Mother fucker!" he snarled as he spat snow out and glared daggers at the boy that stood untouched with his arms crossed over his army green sweater.

"I can do zis all day, Craig. Can you?"

"You're too much of a pussy to hit me," Craig coaxed as he spat into the snow and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"You don't want me to hit you."

"You can't, is more like it."

Christophe considered this as he stared down at the haughty boy before him, knowing exactly what Craig was doing by trying to manipulate him into close quarters. He shrugged and cracked his neck; what Craig didn't know was there was no way he was going to land a single blow to the Mole.

"Ef you say so," he said before taking a deep breath and letting it out with the small bit of tension that had worked into his shoulders. Craig smiled smugly as he raised his hands in front of his face, ready, or so he thought. In one solid motion Christophe knocked Craig's arm out of the way, ducked under the other fist aimed at his face, and slammed a shoulder directly under Craig's chin, sending him reeling backwards. Caught off guard Craig didn't have time to react to the fist that took the breath out of his lungs and sent him to his knees gasping for air, or the boot that knocked him back onto his face in the snow. Christophe sat directly in the center of his back, knees dug in between the shoulder blades, and yanked Craig's head up painfully by the hair.

"You can fuck wiz Tweek, but me, I am not your playzing. Do not forget zat." With one final tug he dropped Craig's head into the snow and got up, casting a furious look at the boy sprawled out in the snow before sauntering off back toward his house.

…

Night fell early behind the clouds blanketing the heavens far above, dropping the temperatures and leaving the small town in a dark fog. The wind had picked up as the front rolled closer over the great Rocky mountain chain, howling between the cookie cutter houses of the small suburban neighborhood. It was a sound that frightened young children, a sound that startled young couples, a sound that lulled the sleepless into oblivion, a sound that comforted the disturbed. In a bedroom painted slate blue with black plaid curtains pulled back from a frosted window, a bedroom littered with the mementos of a lifetime of childhood memories, Craig sat on the stained floor with a notebook between his knees, eyes glassy, a bottle of assorted pills spilled out on the carpet next to him.

He drew, but he was far from reality as his fingers scribbled across the blue-lined paper. Deep inside himself he stared at a blank screen before him that twisted with wicked shapes, and words, voices drifting through the incredible blankness of his mind.

You aren't going to kill yourself, are you, man? Because that's weak, dude.

He saw a kid about his age down the breakfast aisle of the supermarket, a blonde kid clutching desperately at the wired bars of the grocery buggy that he sat in, making strange noises of terror as large, brown eyes oogled up at a woman with frizzy hair, no doubt his mother. He, as well, was perched inside the buggy his own mother pushed, stacking up items by whether or not he liked the food, ignoring the soft coos of the baby sister his parents had gifted him one day without his approval. As their mothers crossed paths Craig's eyes met the large ones of the boy in the other buggy, and stared after him long after the woman had left the aisle.

Of everything that was given to me, I got a twitchy, spazzy, paranoid blonde kid with mental issues.

His mother didn't believe in pre-k, instead took the time to conduct short home classes in bursts to keep his mind entertained. And when boredom waved from his four-year-old self, Mom would cart him on errands with the new baby he couldn't stand. On one such occasion on a fateful spring day, his mother pushing the baby in a stroller, his hand on the side as he was instructed when they walked down the street, he caught sight of a familiar blonde kid in the window of a new store he didn't recognize. He watched the boy curiously as he stood an arms length from the window, sprayed a stream of Windex, jumped back to avoid any splashing residue, and vigorously attacked the window with a paper towel. Craig couldn't resist his small self as, walking by the store, he rapped loudly on the glass, startling the kid behind the window. He cracked a wide smile as the blonde fell with a screech to his rump, and their gaze lingered.

Go away. I don't need you.

His sister was a walking ball of drool that couldn't keep the simplest things out of her mouth. Craig didn't understand the appeal of babies anymore than the appeal of a two year old that pushed the limits to extremes sometimes, which is how they had landed themselves directly in the waiting room of Hell Pass's ER after baby Tracie had gobbled up some loose change that had appeared between the couch cushions. He was bored, and antiseptic smell bothered him, the lights messed with his eyes, and the happy way his sister pulled at the flaps on his hat made him very dismissive of any danger she could remotely be in at the moment. Rolling his eyes he caught the hesitant gaze of the boy he'd seen around town over the years, the caramel eyes that turned gooey as Craig stared at him. He didn't look injured in any way, but as a rotund nurse popped out of the triage door and announced "Tweek Tweak" he shuffled to his feet, eyes downcast, and followed the woman back with his frizzy-haired mother.

I know you, Craig, and I won't let you get hurt.

It was a weekend, and despite the fact his bratty sister had decided today was going to be the day to get sick and throw up all over the place, Craig was going to enjoy his one day at the park. His father was left to attend to his sick "little princess" while Craig got to fend off some boyish energy while Mom read a book on a park bench beneath a blooming oak tree. He loved the thrill of playing pirates with the other kids, of rolling in the dirt and scraping knees in the mulch. And then he saw the lonesome blonde of his childhood sitting on the merry-go-round by himself, swinging his feet over the edge to some internal rhythm. Resistance was futile for a rowdy boy at the tender age of six as he snuck up behind the boy, grabbed a bar, and began running as fast as he could, spinning the screeching boy with a delighted laugh. At the last moment, before it spun too fast for him, he jumped up onto the toy and crouched down next to the terrified boy with a smile on his face. "Hi, I'm Craig."

Sometimes I wonder why I stay; we can't be together, but we stumble to stay apart.

They became fast friends, despite the oddities that the blonde seemed to suffer from. Craig noticed the small tics, the eccentric behavior, the habits that meticulously had to be followed, but he shrugged it off, and didn't mind, because something magnetic intrigued him about the boy. He couldn't place it, but he felt better having the twitchy boy as his friend than as a distant acquaintance seen throughout the tiny mountain town. He missed the boy when he was gone from class on Wednesdays, felt an odd sense of remorse when the boy ducked under his radar and kept a distance he didn't understand. He stuttered lies and excuses irritated him as he prodded, hoping to get closer to this new friend he desperately wanted to keep in his life for a long, long time.

Who else do you have?

The first time his hand brushed the blonde's, an incredible feeling burst through his abdomen, fluttering like crazy in his stomach in a way he had never experienced before. He wondered if Tweek felt it too, but was too embarrassed to ask, so instead he began to have more "accidental" hand-touchings and relished in the high it caused him. Every brush of shoulder on the bus, every bump of head watching movies on a Saturday night, every tired touch during a slumber party made his head spin in ways he couldn't explain. It was that fateful day when Eric Cartman had "bumped" into Tweek and sent him sprawling directly onto his mouth that he knew exactly what it was he felt for the curious blonde that had come into his life.

Push me away now, or forever hold your peace.

He had spent countless hours reenacting the scene in places far away from the probing eyes of their classmates, countless hours creating a bizarre storyline attached to feelings that had welled up at the contact of Tweek's lips on his own. He spent nights sleeplessly wondering what his curious blonde was doing, spent nights wondering what was wrong with him for being so attached to his friend. As the months progressed, he found shame in the thoughts that ransacked his mind about his friend, found guilt in all of the things his brain wanted to do. And so, he bled.

You need to know I'm so deep in this there's no getting out. You need to know I love you.

He dabbled in the illicit affairs of the underground drug scene of the tiny mountain town. He found the fluttery feelings that threatened to consume him by the mere thought of his twitchy blonde counterpart were numbed by the drugs he took into his system, found the incredible sense of shame nothing by his chemical indulgences. It was his way to cope against the feelings that swelled like a rising tide to take him over, that ripped at the delicate footing he had in life. And then he realized.

And you know what? That blonde kid is perfect. And I wouldn't have you any other way.

Tweek had lived with the same incredible conundrum, the dizzing feelings, the fluttering all over, the swelling sense of pride and shame. Tweek, as well, had been sucked under in the gravity-defying tides of their emotional war. He, too, felt the teeth-gritting pleasure in his company and Craig felt in the presence of the blonde. Tweek loved him, as he, loved Tweek.

As the images flashed to a sputtering halt, Craig realized he wasn't alone in his mind as he had thought. The visage of his terrible bat counterpart stood silhouetted against the screen of his mind, a ragged smile pulling lips from yellowed, sharpened teeth. But then the visage changed, and the bat monster morphed into something more humanoid, the tatted wings still intact, long clawed fingers still flashing dangerously in the dimmed light of his subconscious.

Do you think you can survive the devastating blow of losing the one piece of you that has been there from nearly the beginning, the Bat King voice, though his mouth never moved.

"I don't know," Craig echoed as he stared at the monster, tears streaking his cheeks from the memories that poured through his head.

Do you think you can let someone else hold that piece of you so dear, the monster asked with a slight cock of the head as he moved closer.

"I don't know," Craig responded again, shaking his head as he buried his fingers in his hair. "I can't survive without Tweek in my life. I never wanted this, I never wanted him to leave me like this."

Can you let someone else have him so? the voice asked again as scarlet eyes glittered in the darkness benevolently.

Craig shook his head, knowing that he couldn't let anyone else have the part of him that made him a better person, that made him strive to try, that made him fuck up beyond all comprehension, that made him whole. He looked up into those crimson eyes and knew what he had to do; if he couldn't have Tweek, no one could.

---

A/N: We are a chapter away from the end. One chapter, and I recently decided that an epilogue will be put into play as well to really stamp out any questions that may linger after the next chapter. How exciting! A few notes: in my profile you will find a link to my tumblr, which answers a lot of questions regarding e86. Notable songs of the chapter include:
Curson's forever theme "Counting Bodies Like Sheep," by A Perfect Circle
Tweek's theme "I hate When You're Around," by Motion City Soundtrack
and Craig's theme "Leave," by Matchbox 20.
Thank you again to all the reviewers, followers, and favoriters that have stayed to play with me through the long process of finishing Expo. Without y'all, I probably would have left this to rot, abandoned. Until the next (and almost last!) time! xoxox -Corrie