Kenny stares at his hands. He's missing his ring finger, and half of his pinky. His skin is dry; he runs his hands over his flesh and squeezes his eyes shut. Tears fall from his eyes, onto his hands. His mind reels, his heart aches.

He can't cope with this.

What is he supposed to do?

How can he come to terms with what has happened to him when he's half convinced it was the right thing to do? They say it was wrong, but for seven years, seven fucking years it's all he knew. It was what he was supposed to do. They say it isn't his fault... but he can't help but wonder if he got himself in the mess in the first place.

And now his sister is dead. Now his baby sister who he cared for more than anyone else in the world, but can't fucking remember, has killed herself because of him. Because he left her. Because he hadn't been there for her when she needed him the most.

He cries for what he has lost. The time, the connection, his memories... his sister.

Seven years of being there with his friends and family is lost.

All of his memories are virtually gone from his mind.

He cries for what could have been, should have been, rather than what was and is.

His sister's blood is on his hands... and he doesn't even remember her face. Her voice. Her laugh...

He doesn't remember her. And that's what hurts the most. How can he grieve when he doesn't know who he's supposed to be grieving for?

Kenny doesn't want to be here anymore. The hospital is cold and uninviting. It feels like the basement. He is trapped, constantly watched and observed, they poke him and prod him... make him do things he doesn't want to do... it's all the same to him. He just wants to sleep, wants to be warm, but the doctor suggests otherwise, and here he is, sitting in physical therapy to try to regain the strength he isn't quite sure he ever had.

He was just fifteen when he was taken away.

He didn't have the chance to grow.

He's stuck, frozen in a teenage boy's body, as a young man, ha. Hardly even that.

This is his day everyday. Wake up, eat, physical therapy, sleep, eat, physical therapy, sleep, eat, cry, sleep.

No one has had much time to visit him. They've been busy with press and awards and figuring things out. And here he is... back in their lives and no one knows what to do with him. Maybe he would be better off with Master. He'd be dead. He'd be with Karen... and Oksana. Everything would be better.

His breath hitches and tears drip from his eyes. God, he's so fucking tired of crying.

He rubs at his eyes and the physical therapist lets go of his leg. He tucks his head in his hands and shudders as he sobs.

Master. Why the hell does he miss him?

What he did to him is awful, unforgivable. He lived in hell for seven years. He took him away from everything and everyone he ever knew and cared about. But maybe Master is right. Maybe no one will be able to love him, after all. Considering he is nothing more than a burden, he could believe that. He doesn't want to bother anyone. He wants to die. But if he tells anyone that they'll put him away even longer.

He just wants out of here. He wants to be free. Seven years is long enough.

"Why don't..." his physical therapist trails off, "why don't we call it a day, huh?" Kenny nods and grunts in pain as he slides off of the bench. He clutches his stomach and limps out of the room, to his hospital room, where he'll stomach about three bites of soup and request some medicine to make him sleep. He can't sleep otherwise. Falling asleep is almost and possible and if he falls asleep then the nightmares wake him and leave him in paralyzed terror. The doctors and nurses are used to giving him medicine so that he didn't wake up the other patients, or wet the bed. So he isn't an inconvenience.

Hush up the problem and everything will be just fine.

And none of the other patients talk to him. He doesn't try, he doesn't want to. He doesn't want attachments; as soon as he gets out of here he's going to be free. Nothing and no one can stop him. He can't live like this, he can't be dependent on everyone he knows. He's just a burden. They will be better off without him. At least they'll have their closure.

He doesn't deserve closure. Closure over what? Being stuck in a human trafficking ring and tortured for seven years, all the while having Stockholm Syndrome and being in love with his captor? No. There is no closure for that. He knows he's a lost cause. He just feels bad for the doctors who are wasting their time and money on him. He feels bad for whoever has to pay his hospital bills.

Kenny opens the door to his room and turns on the light.

He covers his mouth as he screams and falls to the floor when seeing someone sitting in the chair by his bed. He howls in pain, he scrambles to adjust himself in a position that doesn't hurt, and he starts to cry- for a different reason now. Now he's feeling seven years of rape. It feels as if his insides have been torn apart; they are.

"Hey, hey..." he hears the voice he recognizes and swallows air. Kenny wipes his eyes and trembles as Craig bends down next to him. He sees him wince and clutch his chest.

Kenny remembered Craig had been released a week ago. He hasn't been by to see him at all.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to scare you, I kinda dozed..." Kenny nods and reaches for the bed, then takes a deep breath of preparation to stand. Craig offers his hand; he doesn't take it. He doesn't want to be touched. It's difficult enough having his physical therapist's hands on him.

"It's fine..." he trails off, then winces as he sits on the bed. He turns on his side and lays down; his eyes are still on Craig. "Why are you here?"

Craig looks surprised at the question; perhaps it's the tone. He sits down on the chair, and coughs quietly.

"I wanted to see how you were doing," is Craig's reply. Kenny closes his eyes, "and I wanted to tell you I don't blame you for what happened. I know you feel like it's your fault."

"I-it is!" Kenny gasps, then buries his head in his pillow, "everything is my fault... you... me... Karen... it's all because of-"

"No, it's not. It's the opposite, okay? Just..." he feels a hand on his shoulder, "don't worry about it, I can't... I'm sorry. I don't really know what to say."

"I-I just... my sister killed herself because of me. And my family and friends are here... I don't remember them. I don't... where is my mind?!" He yells into his pillow.

"Hey," he hears Craig's voice, then feels a hand on his shoulder. He flinches and trembles. "Hey, it's okay, it's-"

"No, it's not!" Kenny cries, his voice breaks. "I-it's not... I... I shouldn't have gone through this! I should remember, y'know if I had, she wouldn't have died? I would have been there... a-and I don't even know what my fucking sister looked like!" he punches his pillow now, and grunts in anger and a little pain, "I should have been there! For everything... I didn't graduate school, I-I could have been someone. I could be in college... o-or have a job... I could have a family. But he took everything I have. My life, my past, my future... my sister. I'm nothing, Craig. He always said that. He made me nothing... just a number. 41... 42... 43..." his eyes settle on Craig finally, in defeat. He's tired. He aches. All he wants is to understand and remember.

Craig isn't sure what to say. He gazes at Kenny in disbelief. The fact he can just say all of that amazes him. It's only been two weeks and he knows what happened is wrong. He is showing his grief and anger, he's coping. He's grieving, and able to realize that what happened to him isn't right. Two weeks ago Kenny would be curled up saying he deserved it. Now, he's angry... he doesn't understand how someone could do this to him. And that's so much better than where he has been.

There is nothing he can say that will make Kenny feel better. Words escape him and he just looks at the blonde, panting and rigid with fury he can't help, and he's proud. He's sorry, he wants to change things, but he can't. That's the thing. They can't go back and have a do-over. So for what it's worth, how far he has come is amazing.

In two weeks Craig has been nothing more than passive. He doesn't quite care, and doesn't want to think about what happened to him. He was just another casualty, he took the fall for others, and that's something he could live with. At least it wasn't Kenny.

"It's not fair, I'm sorry," Craig says; but his words mean nothing. There are a lot of things in this world that aren't fair, and pointing out the obvious won't change anything. Kenny just nods and lets out a soft sigh.

"Why aren't you with them?" Kenny finally asks. The dark-haired man blinks in mild surprise. "You were invited, why didn't you go too?"

Craig bites his lip. Because he doesn't want to receive an award for a pat on the back when the ones giving him the honor are the ones he's fighting against. Because it's not fair to take money for himself when it could be used for rescuing other slaves. Because Kenny should be up there instead of them. But he's here, and so is Craig.

But it's not like he's going to tell Kenny that. He's pretty sure Kenny is upset that he didn't go in the first place.

"I didn't feel like it," the blonde accepts this answer with a slight shrug to his shoulders before he lays down. "And I felt like you should have been there. Butters didn't go either, he has some final for school that he couldn't miss." Actually that isn't for another week. But Kenny seems to lighten up at this.

"So, Kyle, Stan, and Eric went?" Craig nods, "that makes sense." He can't help but chuckle; yeah, they're still assholes. It makes perfect sense. But he knows Kenny doesn't need to hear any of that. "Craig, I don't know how to feel."

"Well..." he isn't good with feelings. He isn't sure he can say anything to make Kenny feel better. But he'll try. "That's understandable."

"A part of me is so... confused. And angry. But then there's this other part... I miss Master. Why would I miss someone who did this to me?"

"Because he's all you knew, he made you believe he was the only reason you were alive. You're not going to walk away from that without feeling anything."

"He tricked me. Why am I so... stupid?!"

"You're not," Craig offers. Kenny is getting upset again. The doctors say his anger has been flaring up. Perhaps if he has all kinds of questions no one tries to answer without sugar-coating he'd be angry too. "Just misguided. You were fifteen, I probably would have done the same thing." Kenny perks up and tilts his head slightly.

"You would have?" Craig shrugs. He wouldn't have taken a job opportunity like that, no. But given the chance his fifteen year old self would have run away from home. "I don't feel free," Kenny says before Craig could even think of getting a word in. "I don't know what I can do when I'm out of here. I don't mean anything. I'm useless." The black-haired man sighs heavily and shakes his head.

"What do you want to do?" He asks. The blonde stares at his hands, touches the nubs that used to be fingers. He closes his eyes and tears slip from his eyes. Unsure of what else to do, Craig puts a hand on his shoulder. "It's your choice, dude. There's a whole world out there waiting for you."

"But here I am..." he looks down at himself. Craig laughs.

"Yeah, here you are... after all these years. It's kinda crazy," it kind of feels like those seven years without him were a few days. It's hard for everyone to wrap their heads around, especially Kenny. "You have two weeks left, right?" Craig can't help but worry that those two weeks remaining would be more permanent than just leaving the hospital.

"Yeah," it's been a trial to get him to stop saying "yes, sir", or "yes, ma'am," to everyone, so Craig's heard. He can see he struggles with the informality of his words.

"And then what?"

Kenny fidgets, then scratches his arm. His eyes focus on the blankets, and then he finally sighs.

"I don't belong here."

The words are like an anvil. Craig closes his eyes and lets his words hit home. His heart pounds in his head achingly and he bites his lip. What is he supposed to say to that? He knows the intentions behind his words. He knows what Kenny means to do as soon as he's out of the hospital.

"You can't do that..." he can't listen to anyone talk about killing themselves, let alone... "you're home, and..." he's terrible at comfort. He doesn't know what else to say. He can't convince Kenny that killing himself is a terrible decision. It just is. "Karen would-"

"Who cares?!" He screams, tears streak down his face, "you do?! All of you...?! I was a pawn. I was your claim to fame. You forgot about me, you didn't care! I didn't matter until you thought you could make a quick buck. I am that quick buck. To you, to Eric, to Kyle and Stan... to Master... to EVERYONE!" he's breathing heavily and shaking. Craig's jaw is dropped in awe at the fury in his eyes. "And who cares what Karen thinks?! She killed herself for the same damn reason! And what about what I want?! Huh? I thought this is what that was all about, Craig!"

"I-it-" he's interrupted by a snarl from Kenny.

"This is my life and I don't want it anymore! I'm tired, Craig... I'm useless. When an animal's lame, you put it out of its misery, right? Well I'm lame. I've been lame for years..." he's speaking in a whisper. He doesn't care to wipe the tears from his cheeks and hands. "I'm tired..." his voice cracks and wavers.

Craig's eyes burn and he squeezes them shut for a brief moment. He's trembling as he listens to each and every word Kenny says. What scares him is he can't argue, except to one thing.

"Don't tell me I didn't care, or we didn't," he says in a calm tone, "I became a private investigator to find you. I..." he shakes his head, "I don't need to explain myself to you, y'know. If you want to die... then die." He doesn't say this to evoke a reaction; it's the truth. It doesn't startle Kenny, anyway. He just blinks and stares at his disfigured hands. There is no swaying someone who is set on their decision. Kenny's included in this idea.

"What other option do I even have, Craig? At least you'd all have some kind of closure about what happened to me."

"Yeah."

"I'd probably end up out there again in two weeks. It's what I know... I'm a really cheap, really good lay."

"That sounds like you, alright..." Craig can't help but chuckle at that. Kenny furrows his eyebrows. "You used to say that before you were taken. Bragged about it."

"I was just a kid." Craig smiles sadly. He still is.

"...yeah, I guess." He pulls out his phone, "wanna hear a song?" Kenny shrugs, then sits up a little. He winces and Craig gives him a stern look. The blonde lays back down and presses his hand to his stomach; his fingers dance along the stitches. More scars.

Craig presses play on his phone, and watches as Kenny takes his phone. He's hanging off every word of the song, and by the end of the first chorus his eyes are wet once more.

"But I'm a creep
I'm a weirdo
What the hell am I doing here?
I don't belong here..."

When the song is finished Kenny's ear is pressed to the phone. He's rocking back and forth and his eyes are closed as he listens to the music. Craig puts a hand on his arm; he doesn't flinch. Kenny listens again and again, to the point Craig is half-tempted to take the phone and play any other song he could possibly find. But it resided with Kenny somehow, and that's reassuring to him.

"Want to see pictures from when we were little? Kyle has some on Facebook." Kenny's giving him a dumb look, "shit, you don't remember Facebook?" he tries not to laugh at the blank stare and half annoyed eyes that glare at him in response. "Has no one seriously showed you?" He shakes his head, and moans in pain as he scoots a little closer to Craig. "It'll be easier to see if you sit up, but-"

"Or you could lay with me." Craig blinks in surprise. "Just don't touch me."

He shrugs and pulls his arm from Kenny, who actually smirks a little. Although he doesn't have his memories, he's sure acting like the Kenny he knew years ago. It's kind of nice.

And so they flip through pictures on Craig's phone, from pre-school to first grade, to fourth and sixth. All the way up to sophomore year of high school. Kenny laughs at some of them, touches the screen, Craig zooms in on some of them.

"So... that's us," Kenny mumbles as he stares at a photo of their sophomore year homecoming dance. Craig nods. "I recognize all of you... but I just can't remember."

"You will."

"What are you going to do? Are you going to go back to being a private investigator?" Craig nods.

"Probably, except I went rogue on this. The firm I'm with... ugh, don't get me started." Kenny tilts his head, "we mostly get angry husbands or wives to watch their spouses. And I wanted to do actual work, not make another episode of "Cheaters"." The blonde didn't so much as blink; that's Craig's attempt at a joke. "So I'm really not looking forward to doing that again."

"What would you do?"

"I'll tell you if you tell me."

"Tell you what?"

"Your other option, besides dying." Kenny tenses next to him and takes his phone once more, then flips through the album.

"Kay," he finally says. Craig leans on his left arm and feels his limb shake from the awkward angle; he's really uncomfortable. But Kenny seems to be content so he'll probably stay there.

"I would probably go into photography or something. Everyone's doing in these days so it's pretty fucking pointless. Or I'd work with animals."

"You like animals?" Craig nods. "I really want to pet one." He smiles a little; when Kenny gets out maybe he'll take him to a pet shop before he gets the endless pizza that Butters has also promised him.

"You liked cats when you were younger. I was more of a guinea pig kid."

"Craig the guinea pig kid. That has a ring to it," Kenny laughs at his little joke, then clutches his stomach and grimaces. Craig can't help but roll his eyes and smile softly.

"Okay, what would you do?" He asks. Kenny shrugs; he doesn't know. He isn't sure what he liked before, besides music.

"Live, I think. I don't know what I would do. Go to Egypt... I don't know why. Eat the best chocolate in the world, get a cat, read a book, sleep in my own bed."

"Is that all?" Kenny shakes his head, then curls up in the blankets. Craig scoots farther from him as he sits up. Kenny doesn't react, except he pulls the blanket tighter around him and closes his eyes.

"I would want to feel loved. Not used." Craig considers arguing, saying he is loved, but then he realizes the three who should say it to him are in Washington DC accepting award and giving grandiose speeches about their bravery in saving their friend. To Kenny, that seems like they're using him. Maybe in a sense they actually are; they just don't realize it. Craig feels like that happened a lot when they were children.

"You don't now?" The blonde shrugs his shoulders and doesn't say anything. "Well you should."

"But I don't."

Craig can't say anything. He lets out a shaky sigh and clenches and unclenches his hand to get the pins and needles feeling to stop. He wants to say it, but he can't, because he never says it to anyone and doesn't want to give the wrong impression. But Kenny's trembling and looking at him with the saddest eyes he has ever seen and he really doesn't want to come this far only to find out Kenny McCormick killed himself because no one gave a damn. And he really doesn't want to lose Kenny again, for good.

So he says nothing. But he wraps his arms around Kenny and pulls him into a gentle hug. He isn't quite sure what he expected from this, but it definitely wasn't Kenny sobbing into his shoulder and digging his nails in his shoulders as he clings to him.

"I'm here..." Craig finally whispers, he can't say it. He's never said it before. But his intentions are understood.

And it hurts him to know no one else has done this. Because it's not over, not really. They got him out of there, all right. But they still have to save his life. And right now that seems impossible.

Saving someone from their torment is one thing. Saving them from their own self is an entirely different battle.

But as Craig tries his best at soothing Kenny, he knows it's worth it. He just hopes he can help Kenny believe that as well.