Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

What is human existence?

Craig boredly ponders the question while gazing out his window far past his ideal bedtime. He doesn’t care that he has to go to school in the morning. He doesn’t care that he’ll likely be exhausted, passively taking it out on his friends and family as if they’re to blame. He doesn’t care that he’ll have to stop Tweek from chewing what little fingernails he has left down to the bone at the sight of Craig’s dark circles and drooping eyes.

He knows he should care. He wants to care.

He just doesn’t.

Craig can’t really pinpoint the moment he noticed his differences, he just knows that one day it became painfully clear that he was not wired to feel in the same way as the people around him. He can rationalize, theorize, and strategize anything he wants, but an apathetic front determines every move he makes. He can tell when he should feel upset or happy or mad or confused or bored. He can tell when he should want to throw himself on the ground, kicking and screaming like a toddler. He can tell when he should want to grab Tweek by the shoulders and kiss him like they don’t need oxygen to survive. He can tell when he should want to laugh maniacally at Jimmy and Clyde’s antics.

He can tell when he should feel, but the feelings seldom come.

He doesn’t blame his parents, not really. He was raised as well as possible by Thomas and Laura in a middle-class home. He was always fed and usually gifted anything he expressed even a hint of interest in for his birthday or Christmas. He was allowed to have a pet guinea pig from a young age, he was allowed to take over the TV whenever a new episode of Red Racer aired, and his mother would take him to the library to rent any books he wanted whenever he asked.

He doesn’t blame his sister, either. He felt removed from himself and different from the world around him long before Tricia was born. He remembers the thought process he had when his parents first told him that he was going to be an older brother and nowhere in that sequence was there a crushing sense of disappointment or jealousy. No, if there was anything he felt at all, it was confusion due to his own lack of concern for the situation.

Nothing changed when Tricia was born, either. There was no overwhelming change of heart that would forever compel him to protect the infant in his arms. There were no visions of threatening her bullies as a scary big brother, no ideas for celebrations when she gets her driver’s license or graduates from college. There was no interest in dancing with her at her wedding or having a partner to handle their parents’ eventual death with.

How could he feel anything for her when he couldn’t even be concerned with himself?

His friends have always tried and they’ve never given up, never even threatened it. Clyde has remained steadfast in his companionship since preschool, and Tolkien and Jimmy since kindergarten. They’ve all respected his boundaries as far as personal space, expressions of any form of emotion, and lack of social understanding. They’ve always included him in their activities, whether it be studying after school or having a sleepover during spring break. If he declined an invitation, they were all accepting of his decision and hoped to see him next time. If he accepted, they were excited to have his company, though he couldn’t understand why.

He could feel more for them than anyone else. Perhaps it’s because they’re all the same age, making them comrades rather than supervisors like his parents or inherent responsibilities like his sister. Perhaps it’s because they’re all so much different from his family. Perhaps it’s because they’re the first, or, rather the only, people to tolerate him without being obligated to do so.

Despite their efforts, he can only harbor so much emotion for them. He can only muster a twitch of his lips in response to Jimmy’s jokes. He can only offer an accepting nod of his head when Clyde has a tearful fit over whatever seems to upset him that day. He can only produce an affirming thumbs up after Tolkien rejoices over passing a difficult class.

Even Tweek could only inspire so much emotion from him.

He knows that he loves Tweek. He would do anything to protect him from harm. He prefers to pass his time with Tweek in his company. If his thoughts drift to anything other than outer space or his own absent thoughts about how he ended up so different from the world around him, they drift to Tweek. He’s always been fascinated by the boy’s compulsive twitches and constant anxiety. He predicts that this interest comes from Tweek being quite possibly the most different being from himself that he’s encountered thus far.

Again, though, even Tweek could only inspire so much emotion from him.

Craig could only gather so many comforting words to soothe his anxiety and panic attacks. He could only listen to so many conspiracy theories before shooting them down with hard facts. He could only hold his tongue so well to prevent landing himself in detention, a place Tweek hated to see Craig.

He could only be so convincing when he promised he loved him. He does love him, but he can’t show it.

Not traditionally, anyways. Tweek says it shows in the little things.

Craig’s love shows in the fidget spinners and monkey noodles he bought for Tweek with the money he’d been saving from his birthday. It shows in sneaking out through his window to sneak into Tweek’s window if he was summoned, regardless of the time of night. It shows in the hours spent sitting at Tweek Bros., waiting patiently for Tweek to get done working his unpaid shift and keeping him company while doing so.

It showed when they came out.

The first time Craig considered how monumental their coming out had been was because of Kenny McCormick.

They were at the school playground after school got out, two older brothers supervising their younger sisters at their parents’ request. Well, Craig was doing it at his parent’s request. He and the rest of South Park knew Kenny worshipped the ground Karen McCormick walked on, so he assumed Kenny would be there whether his parents asked him to or not. Come to think of it, his parents likely didn’t know where either of them was. They likely didn’t care, either.

“Tucker, my man, congratulations on coming out. That takes balls in a town like this,” He’d said, sitting next to Craig on the picnic bench and gazing up at the sky with a huge grin. “Like, serious balls. Like, really, massive, hairy-”

“Shut up, McCormick,” Craig had droned, unenthusiastic despite the bite that should’ve been behind his command. He couldn’t even be bothered to flip him off.

Kenny chuckled heartily as if Craig had just returned a friendly sentiment.

“No, in all honesty, dude, I’m impressed. I’d have to kill myself if my parents knew I was gay.”

Now, that sparked something within Craig. He couldn’t tell what it was at the moment, but he could acknowledge that it was something.

“You could kill yourself?” He asked without entirely meaning to. He thinks the most proper response would have been “why would you have to kill yourself,” or even “are you really gay?”

That’s not what he asked, though, because that’s not what caught his attention. That’s not what sparked something in his chest.

“Well, sure, dude. Anyone can kill themself,” Kenny replied with a raised brow. “I can do it as many times as I want,” He added in the form of a floaty chuckle.

Craig didn’t respond to Kenny’s cryptic implication of his own immortality because he didn’t care. He didn’t follow up with any other questions regarding how, who, why, or anything he probably should have been asking.

Instead, he just turned his head to look up at the sky. The clouds were pale and gray, swallowing South Park whole from the angle he saw it.

He wondered what it would feel like for the Earth to swallow him whole.

Chapter Text

…Or maybe he’d rather be swallowed by the sky.

He’d never felt tied to this planet, really, so it would make sense for him to be buried in the sky instead. He could join the stars he observes every night, the planets he studies with never-ending fascination. He could become something beautiful.

He could be a star.

The thought makes his heart stutter uncomfortably in his chest.

Is it discomfort or excitement? A bit of both, he thinks.

It’s not wrong to idolize the night sky. It’s not wrong to want to be a part of something beautiful.

Father Maxi once preached that life on earth as we know it is the most beautiful of all God’s creations. He said that our ability to create our own paths or choose to follow God’s will for us is something we should thank Him for.

Craig never believed in God. He attended church when his family went because he was never given a choice. He always listened, though.

He listened to Maxi preach about homosexuality being a choice. He listened to sermons about depression being a challenge from the Devil and suicide being the choice to obey him instead of God. He listened to Father pleading with his congregation, begging them to make the choice to repent and beg God for forgiveness for their mortal sins.

He made the choice to listen.

A streak of light brightens his face minutely, a twinkle flickering in his eyes.

Craig watches the shooting star appear and vanish before he could take a full breath.

That must be what God thinks of humans. He probably thinks that about all of His creatures, really.

He’s worshiped as the highest power, but he still sees the beautiful things he creates turn to monsters or die, whatever comes first.

Craig doesn’t want to be a monster.

If God is out there, then Craig will be a shooting star for him; he’ll die before he’ll turn into something evil. He’ll die before he gives into himself.

Perhaps suicide is giving into himself.

Father Maxi would argue that suicide is giving into the Devil.

Are we all devils on our own? The Devil was an angel once.

Craig closes his eyes, face still upturned to the sky.

He doesn’t want to be either; he wants to be a star.

He wants the sky to take him into gentle arms, too airy to feel but bright enough to sense their presence. He wants the people he knows to see him at night without expectations. He wants them to acknowledge him as nothing more than something to look at as a guide when it’s too dark to see anything around them.

He wants to be a star.

He can’t be a black hole because he’s not exhausted enough to collapse on himself. The thought makes his contemplation sound invalid, but he doesn’t believe death requires exhaustion. He can join the stars at his own hand whether he’s tired or not.

He can’t be dark matter because he wants to be seen. He wants to be perceived and not predicted. He’s tired of people expecting things of him; reactions, information, effort. He just wants to be a star.

Perhaps the most appropriate outcome would be that of a supernova. He’ll be done with his time on this planet, creating his own finale like some stars do. There’s no rule that says he can’t come back as a real star afterwards.

Perhaps, if he becomes a star, he’ll be able to feel everything he never felt. Everything he’s known he should feel burning in his chest or fogging his brain or racing through his veins or tingling in his fingers will be expressed in the form of burning light. There will be no denying his feelings that have been present all these years.

No one will be able to tell him that he’s broken, not even himself.

He identifies the North Star. It blinks back at him, quivering under his gaze.

Craig wants to be a star.

Craig will be a star.

He’ll be a star for his mother. He’ll guide her through the nights where he hears her crying through the wall over her corporate job where her male counterparts treat her as if she were nothing because she’s a woman. He’ll guide her through the nights where she comes home exhausted but still helps Tricia with her homework, still makes the family a warm meal, still ensures that everyone has clean laundry and a fluffed pillow.

He’ll be a star for his father. He’ll guide him through his struggles with maintaining a relationship with his daughter, the light of his life, who just can’t see eye to eye with him. He’ll guide him through the nights where he fights with himself to avoid joining Randy and Stephen at Skeeter’s because he promised Laura he’d get sober for her and their then unborn children.

He’ll be a star for Tricia. He’ll guide her through the trials and tribulations of growing up, every up and down that he’s already experienced and every up and down he won’t get a chance to see. He’ll guide her through the nights where she comforts Karen McCormick after things got dangerous at her own home because he sees how hard it is to be strong for someone else.

He knows how hard it is to be strong for someone else.

He’ll be a star for Clyde. He’ll guide him when tears clog his eyes and his thoughts and his throat because he was just a boy when his mother died. He’ll guide him when his soft heart takes damage from the slightest things around him because there’s a sense of innocence there that he’ll never admit wanting to protect.

He’ll be a star for Jimmy. He’ll guide him when he bites his tongue hearing others complain about things they’d know they take for granted if they spent ten minutes in his shoes. He’ll guide him when the looks he pretends to ignore make his cheeks burn and eyes water and skin crawl because he’s a normal guy in a broken body and no one can look past his shell.

He’ll be a star for Tolkien. He’ll guide him when he considers giving up on his dreams because he wants to challenge the thought that success is the only way his parents will love him. He’ll guide him when carrying everyone’s issues on his own back gets to be too much.

He knows how heavy the burdens of others can feel, especially when you ask to take them away from those you love.

He’ll be a star for Tweek.

He’ll be Tweek’s own personal beacon to save him from himself, from his parents, from everyone in this goddamn town and every evil he’ll ever encounter from this moment on.

He’ll shine brighter than the North Star for Tweek.

He’ll put the moon to shame just to show Tweek that even though he’s leaving, he loves him.

Even though he can’t show it, even though he has to remind himself it’s true at times, he loves him.

He thinks that as long as he’s a star looking down at everything he’s known, he’ll be alright.

There will be no loneliness and no misunderstanding of himself or others. There will be no thoughts of ‘what if’ and no one to treat him like a project. There will be nothing that he hates.

There will only be him and the stars and his family and his friends and his Tweek.

He closes his blinds and settles into bed, focusing on the artificial stars stuck to his ceiling with putty.

He’ll be a star in this vessel for one more day.

He’ll go through another day of listening to his father berate the reporters on the news for feeling too little empathy.

He’ll go through another day of watching his mother take deep, steadying breaths by the kitchen sink before grabbing her purse and heading off to work.

He’ll go through another day and eat cereal next to his sister before school without exchanging any words.

He’ll go through another day of listening to Clyde pick fights with classmates and cry when he gets his feelings hurt.

He’ll go through another day of Tolkien offering to help him study to keep his grades up because he just can’t help but worry that other people’s parents equate success and love as well.

He’ll go through another day of listening to Jimmy’s latest jokes and puns and giving no real reaction aside for the occasional supportive nod.

He’ll go through another day of holding Tweek’s hand, always being mindful of the bandaids and bloodied fingertips from bitten nails and torn hangnails. He’ll give more reassurances and more subtle looks that have proven to be grounding for the blonde. He’ll give more attention to the boy he loved in a way he’s never loved anything before.

He’ll be sure to kiss the bruises on his knuckles, a byproduct of anxious tics that cause pain for both of them; Tweek feels it, Craig sees it, and neither wants to be a part of the experience.

He’s always wanted to kiss those bruises.

He’ll go through another day as Craig Tucker before becoming a supernova.

Then he’ll be a star.

Chapter Text

As predicted, dragging himself out of bed the next morning is not a task for the faint of heart. He’s so tired that he feels ill, nausea wracking his frame and dizziness clouding his sight. Nevertheless, he perseveres in order to fulfill every step of his plan.

He sits at his desk before dressing himself to write out the only note he decided was absolutely necessary. He doesn’t fully anticipate either of his parents recovering. He doesn’t believe that Tricia will fall apart, but he trusts that she’ll be forever changed in some aspect. His friends have each other to lean on.

There’s one person who needs to have something in his words, forever.

He finishes the arguably lackluster suicide note, dresses, and joins his sister at the coffee table. She has a bowl of cereal waiting for him with a glass of milk and a glass of juice; she knows it bothers him when the milk makes his cereal soggy, so she waited for him to prepare it himself.

“Morning, asshole,” She says around a mouthful of Reese’s Puffs, abandoning her spoon in the bowl just long enough to flip him off in greeting.

He doesn’t say anything, but he spares her a middle finger in greeting as he sits beside her. He finishes preparing his bowl of Golden Grahams and stares at the
television with glazed eyes.

“They’re playing Red Racer reruns,” Tricia announces as if Craig hadn’t immediately recognized the show just from hearing the sound of it while coming down the stairs.

Craig hums in acknowledgment, watching the car on screen fly around the track at unreasonably high speeds. The visual makes him realize that he needs to get as much time with his friends as possible. He’s known Tricia all fourteen years of her life; he’s only had twelve years, give or take, which the guys.

He inhales the remaining cereal and brings his bowl to the kitchen, rinsing it out to save his mother the task. She sits at the kitchen table behind him, head in her hands as she pours over what appears to be a report of some sort. She’s always had a bad habit of bringing her work home. Then again, she’s always had the disadvantage of being the only woman in her line of work.

“Mom,” He says, grabbing her attention. She looks up at him and blinks a few times as if she were surprised by his presence.

“Hi, sweetheart. What do you need?” She asks patiently, tiredly. Her hair has thinned over the years and the lines between her eyebrows have grown deeper. Even though her elbows are propped on the table, her shoulders hunch forward as if holding them back is exhausting in itself.

Craig just stares at her for a moment, debating his next words. He never tells her that he loves her and just the thought of doing so feels foreign on his tongue. He wants to tell her he loves her, that she’s doing the best she can and he acknowledges that, and that he’s proud of her for everything she’s ever accomplished and proud to be her son.

Instead, he just steps forward and moves her chair away from the table just enough to lean down and hug her.

The angle is awkward and strained but Laura Tucker laughs lightly despite this, bringing her arms up and wrapping them around her son’s shoulders. She plants a kiss on his cheek and he can feel her smile stuck there when they part ways.

“What was that for?” She asks, still smiling. Her tone is nonaccusatory, just confused.

She doesn’t suspect a thing.

“Just nervous about a test I have today,” Craig lies, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge.

“Oh, well, I’m sure you’ll do great, sweetheart.” She tilts her head thoughtfully when he faces her again. They both hear his father clambering down the stairs in a rush. “Have a good day, alright?”

Craig returns the sentiment before returning to the living room. His father is putting his shoes on while Craig situates his schoolbag.

“Thanks for getting my cereal, Tricia,” He says without looking at her. His eyes remain locked on the note as he slides it from his pocket to his folder, but he can sense both Tricia’s and their fathers’ gaze land on him.

“I get your cereal for you every morning.” She snorts, and Craig looks up just in time to watch her wipe chocolate-tinted milk from her lip. “Why are you thanking me?”

Craig shrugs, standing and shouldering his bag.

“I never asked you to. You just started doing it one morning and I’ve never thanked you.” He says, huffing at her patronizing smirk. “Don’t be a dick.”

“Fuck you,” She says, flipping him off again. His lips twitch into the closest thing to a smile he can muster.

“Fuck you, too,” He says, turning and following their father outside.

Thomas is already climbing into the family’s minivan when he gets outside, so he acts fast.

Craig jogs up to the van and pats the hood of the car a few times, just hard enough to get his dad’s attention. The man looks up, brows pulled together in perplexion.

He rolls the window down.

“What?”

Craig just shrugs and then presents him with a thumbs-up.

“Have a good day at work,” He says flatly. If the statement itself weren’t so out of character, he’d sound sarcastic.

Thomas just stares back, expressionless, before returning a thumbs-up.

“Have a good day at school, son.”

Craig nods and turns on his heel, beginning his walk to school.

He stops at Clyde’s two houses down as he does every morning, letting himself in.

“Hey, buddy! How are you doing? How did you sleep? I had a crazy dream, dude. There were these big ass bugs and-” Clyde immediately starts rambling, which is normal.

This is their morning routine; Craig goes to Clyde’s, they go to Tweek Bros., Tolkien picks them up, then they grab Jimmy on their way to school.

Craig never responds to Clyde’s morning messages aside from the occasional hum and nod.

“That sounds gross,” He answers to the graphic description of a massive grasshopper with “mommy milkers” trying to throw a bowling ball like a football.

Clyde just about chokes on his breath having not anticipated a response from his friend. He looks up from tying his shoes with his mouth just slightly agape, stares for a fleeting moment, and then grins broadly.

“Well, yeah, to you, maybe. It was awesome for me.”

Craig looks down at his own shoes and feels the urge to smile again. He never really feels the need to smile more than once or twice a day, but this is the third time today and he’s only been awake for an hour.

Maybe it’s because he knows he can rest soon.

“You wanna fuck a bug?” He asks, pressing his lips together in an attempt to hide his amusement.

“Uh,” Clyde stops short as he processes the allegations he’s brought upon himself. “Shut up,” is his decided scapegoat.

“Whatever,” Craig mutters, still fighting a grin.

The two head outside and toward Tweek Bros. while Clyde continues to talk about whatever comes to his mind. Craig honestly has a difficult time following along.

“What’s a hippocampus?” He questions mildly, interrupting the elaborate plot of an animal rights presentation that he has to do with Stan for their science class.

Clyde stops dead in his tracks and stares at Craig, who holds the door to the coffee shop open for him. He just shrugs, face scrunched up in disbelief, before continuing on.

“It’s where hippos go to school, dumbass. God,” He scoffs, and Craig realizes that he’s being completely serious. “Anyways, so the hippocampus is, like, riddled with trash and shit-”

Again, his voice fades into a dull whir as they sit at an empty table and he prays he can stay aware of the ever-changing conversation topic until Tweek comes to his rescue.

He doesn’t have to wait long for Tweek to come skittering out of the back room labeled “ P EE ONLY” bearing a cardboard cupholder of coffee cups. No one knows who chiseled the other letters off the sign.

“Oh, god, are you talking about your stupid hippo campus again?” He says in greeting to Clyde. He sets the cupholder on the table in front of them, plucking Clyde’s, Craig’s, and his own out of place. The blonde stoops down to peck Craig’s forehead before leaning against the table nonchalantly.

“Yes, dude! I’m telling you, I think Stan’s gonna love the idea. It’s totally monumental because-”

Craig stares straight out the window, sparing sneaky glances at Tweek while he talks to Clyde about monumental hippos.

He has his blonde hair pulled into a stubby ponytail and recalls Tricia teaching him how to do it when he was at their house a few nights ago. He’s wearing one of Craig’s sweatshirts. The shadows under his eyes are dark as ever, but his eyes aren’t bloodshot, which means he slept well last night.

His phone vibrates in his pocket.

“Tolkien’s out front,” He announces, standing and grabbing the cupholder for Tweek.

They make their way to their friend's SUV.

Clyde takes the front while Tweek and Craig pile into the back. Tweek will move to the middle seat once they pick Jimmy up, as he’s the smallest of the three, and Jimmy’s crutches will just lay across their laps.

Jimmy’s on the phone with who they all presume to be Leslie, so none of them exchanges more than a nod in greeting when they get to his house. He continues what sounds like a fairly tense argument in the car, Clyde bombards Tolkien about his hippo campus, and Craig sits comfortably squished between Tweek and the door.

“Are you mad at me?” Tweek grumbles quietly, though his raspy voice makes it hard to be truly discreet.

Craig furrows his brows and faces his boyfriend.

“No,” He says dumbly, before thinking to elaborate. “Why would I be mad?”

Tweek grunts, grits his teeth and snaps his head at an angle briefly.

“I don’t know,” He groans, looking down at his lap. Craig’s eyes follow and see that he has his hands clenched in tight little fists, bandaids straining to stay in place over a few particularly marred fingertips. “You were staring at me. Do I look weird or something?” He looks back up at Craig, eyes wider and more frantic than before. “Oh, god, is there something on my face? Is my skin peeling off? Oh, Jesus christ,” He squeals, bringing his hands up and dragging his worn excuses for fingernails down his cheeks.

The outburst barely inspires the attention of their companions as this is normal behavior for him.

Craig, wordless, pulls Tweek’s hands away from his face and toward his own. He presses a gentle kiss to each fingertip, never looking away from Tweek, even though the blonde’s eyes dart everywhere except his own.

“Calm down, honey,” He mutters, lowering Tweek’s hands back into his lap. “I just thought you look nice today. Your hair is cute like that.”

His boyfriend stares with wide eyes, mouth agape, but an undeniable blush coats his cheeks and ears.

“Thank you,” He whispers after recovering, looking straight ahead. Craig can see out of the corner of his eye that he’s smiling.

The rest of the day goes by smoothly and in a similar fashion. Craig goes out of his way to acknowledge his peers, whether it be positive or negative. He doesn’t do much more than usual, just answers questions with more than a shrug or a middle finger.

By the time they’re dismissed, he feels like he’s walking on air. He can see the end in sight and is ready to jump the last few hurdles to get there.

“Do you wanna walk home today?” He asks Tweek while they’re all walking to Tolkien’s car. They’re hand-in-hand, trailing behind Tolkien and Jimmy. Clyde stayed behind for football practice, but Craig made sure to say goodbye to him.

“Hey, Clyde, wait,” He called, jogging down the hall to catch Clyde on his way to the locker rooms.

The brunette in question turned around, intrigued. Craig thinks he may have been concerned, but he could never read facial expressions that well.

“What’s up, dude?” He asked, dropping his backpack off his shoulders and holding the top strap in his hand by his side.

Craig just stared at him like he’d done with his mother that morning. He had the same internal debate before deciding on the same outcome.

He lunged forward and wound his arms around Clyde’s neck before he could talk himself out of it. Clyde grunted in surprise at the gesture and the force behind it, but he quickly returned the embrace.

“Dude,” He asked, voice betraying what Craig could then confidently identify as concern. “Are you alright?”

Craig didn’t say anything because he didn’t trust his voice to not betray his own motives. He just pulled away and clapped his hand against Clyde’s shoulder before turning on his heel.

“Good luck at your game tonight.” He said. “You guys’ll win.”

He didn’t look back.

Now he stares intently at the asphalt below them, growing wearier of escaping everyone’s farewells without arousing suspicion.

“Yeah, that sounds good. It’s,” Tweeks pauses, yelping and bashing his head against his own shoulder. “It’s a nice day out.”

Craig nods, looking up at Jimmy and Tolkien as they reach the car.

“Hey, we’re going to walk today, guys.”

Their friends turn around to give him an affirmative nod. He lets go of Tweek’s hand to dig around in his backpack.

“Uh, take this,” He says dumbly, holding out a textbook on human resources that his mother had left over from college. She didn’t care for any of her school mementos. Craig thinks it’s because her degree landed her such a miserable job. “You should be able to use this as a source for the essay for Mr. Rocktoff.” He glances up to gauge his friend’s reaction. “You said you were having trouble finding good sources, right?”

Tolkien raises his eyebrows in either surprise or annoyance. “Dude, yeah, this is great. Thank you so much,” He says, beaming. Surprise, probably.

Craig nods, looking to Jimmy next.

“For you and Cartman’s joke-off tomorrow, don’t bother attacking him being fat. Go for his mom. That always pisses him off.”

Jimmy tilts his head thoughtfully before his features resolve into understanding.

“G-Good idea, Craig. Thank you.”

Again, Craig just nods. He stares between them for a moment longer before giving them a thumbs-up, just like he had with his father. Tolkien chuckles and returns the gesture and Jimmy rolls his eyes, shifting his weight so that he can smack Craig in the side of the leg with one of his crutches.

Craig just chuckles, the sound being airy and a reasonably poor excuse for a laugh.

“See you guys,” He says, taking ahold of Tweek’s hand once more and departing.

They walk in comfortable silence for a while. They get off the school grounds and just around the block from Tweek Bros. before either of them speaks.

“Are you on drugs?” Tweek blurts, immediately shrieking as if he shocked himself by asking. “You’re on drugs, aren’t you? You’ve been acting so,” He pauses, snarling out a tic before continuing, “weird today, Craig. Oh, god, fuck, dude, that’s so much pressure, ack!”

“Honey,” Craig stops walking, stepping in front of Tweek so that he stops too. He looks up at Craig with wide, watery eyes. His lower lip trembles even though it’s clamped tightly between his teeth. “I’m not doing drugs.”

Tweek just continues to stare, blinking harshly here and there while breathing laboredly through his nose, little huff, huff, huffs coming with each breath.

“I’m not doing drugs,” Craig repeats gently, raising his hands and cupping the boy’s cheeks. Confusion interrupts Tweek’s panic because Craig rarely initiates physical contact more drastic than handholding, especially not in public. “I don’t plan on doing drugs, either. I just got a good night’s sleep and felt talkative, okay? Everything is fine, honey.”

Tweek groans again, furrowing his brows in disbelief.

“Are you sure everything’s fine? I’ve never seen you this talkative.”

Craig just nods, lips curling into the closest thing to a genuine smile he could ever conjure. He stoops down, pulling Tweek’s face up to meet his own in a kiss. It’s chaste, short, and perfect. When they part, the blonde’s eyes well with tears.

Craig’s smile fades into a frown. “Why are you sad?”

Tweek shakes his head, tilting his face down against Craig’s palms and wiping his eyes.

“Nothing, nothing, just,” He takes a shuddering breath before smiling weakly up at Craig. “That was nice. You’ve never kissed me in public.”

Craig hums, nodding. His smile returns as he turns, taking Tweek’s hand in his own again and continuing forward.

They stop in front of Tweek Bros..

“My mom has some stuff she needs me to take care of at home, so I can’t stay for your shift.” He states, tone bordering on apologetic but never quite reaching it.

Tweek nods. “Oh, that’s okay! Will you let me know when you get home?”

“Yeah, I will.” He swoops down, kissing Tweek again.

One last time.

The boy giggles when they part, and Craig’s teeth peek from behind his lips. Smiling is a strange sensation.

“You should do that more often,” Tweek suggests, patting Craig’s chest supportively.

“Okay,” Is all Craig says.

“I better get in there before my parents freak out,” Tweek frowns.

“Yeah, probably. Take this, though,” He says, pulling his backpack off his shoulder and digging out the note. “Read this before bed, alright?”

Tweek takes the paper looking between it and his boyfriend, face unreadable.

“Just trust me, Tweek.” He chuckles, before adding, “Before you ask, it’s not anthrax.”

Tweek’s shoulders relax and he laughs again, looking down at his feet. He was absolutely wondering if the envelope contained anthrax.

“I love you,” Tweek sighs, turning toward the door.

“I love you, too, honey.”

His boyfriend stops and glances at Craig, only mildly surprised. He doesn’t always return the statement, but he does it enough to not floor the blonde in shock. He grins before entering the coffee shop, leaving Craig behind.

He’s light on his feet as he strolls to the bridge that joins South Park and North Park. The bridge between South Park and Middle Park is closer, but the one he’s going to is higher. By the time he arrives after an hour of walking, the sky is beginning to darken and the moon sits in the sky like a stamp that’s running out of ink.

He’s a stamp running out of ink, too.

He drops his backpack on the ground beside him, leaning against the railing to stare down at the rushing river below. He knows this’ll work. It’s a harsh drop into harsher waters that seem to rage no matter the time of year.

Nevertheless, he just waits for the road behind him to clear. There’s a man a few yards away from him fishing. Everything is normal.

He thinks he should feel anxious, or excited, or something, but he’s just as numb as he’s always been. Maybe he used all his energy on entertaining his classmates.

The sun continues to drop with his time on earth. The fisherman leaves and the car driving between cities behind him becomes more sparse until they’re gone altogether.

He becomes aware of all of this and takes a deep breath, the force of what he’s about to do hitting him. This is where he should have second thoughts, he knows, but he doesn’t have a thought in his head. If he could feel anything, he’d feel sad that he can’t deem anything around him worth staying for, not really. He loves them all so much, so, so fucking much, but he just wasn’t meant to love them on earth.

He’s ready to love properly from afar, from the sky. He’s ready to be a star.

He swings his legs over the railing, sitting his butt atop it for one last second.

He shuffles closer to the edge.

The wind is colder than he expected it to be when he falls.

Chapter Text

He hisses in both pain and shock when his shoulder skids across the concrete of the bridge. He struggles to catch his breath after having the wind knocked from his lungs so unexpectedly, but he still scrambles to his feet to finish what he started.

“Craig!”

It’s Tweek, hands desperately seeking purchase on any part of Craig he can reach in order to keep him in place.

He shimmies out of the blonde’s grip and scurries back over the ledge, scooting closer than he’d gotten before when a strangled cry erupts from behind him.

Against his better judgment, he glances over his shoulder.

Tweek stands a few steps away from the ledge, hands held out in front of him and shaking worse than he’s ever seen before. He’s wearing the same clothes he was in earlier, though his hair’s fallen from its little ponytail and now sits in a scraggly mess against his shoulders. He’s got dirt on his cheek and one of his arms, and his clothes are soaked, and only then does Craig realize it’s raining.

Tolkien stands outside of his car several yards away from them, hands clasped behind his head. He’s staring at Craig with wide, horrified eyes brimming with tears. His mouth keeps opening and closing like he wants to speak or scream. Maybe he just can’t breathe properly, but he’s too far away for Craig to really tell.

“Craig, please, fuck,” Tweek mutters, airy and trembling.

He looks back at his boyfriend and realizes he’s crying too. There’s a piece of paper hanging out of the sweatshirt’s pocket, which must be Craig’s note.

“You read it,” Is all he says in response. His voice sounds foreign to his own ears, hoarse but light. He wants to feel betrayed, but something much stronger burns in his chest.

“Jesus Christ, please,” Tweek’s begging stops abruptly to allow a broken sob out. “Get on the- get on the bridge. Craig, please, please don’t do this.”

He hiccups out another coarse wail. It sounds primal; like it’s coming from the very fabric of Tweek’s soul rather than just his chest or throat.

“I’m sorry,” Craig whispers, glancing behind Tweek to look at Tolkien again. He’s brought a hand to cover his mouth, tears now flowing freely while he speaks into his phone. “I’m sorry,” He says again, turning around to look back down at the water.

There’s a sharp scream when he scoots off the railing, deeper and smoother than Tweek’s. Something, a pair of hands, latches painfully tight around Craig’s forearm now scratched from being knocked off the railing. It hits him then that it must have been his boyfriend who bodyslammed him onto the ground.

They all remain still then, Tolkien clenching his fists in front of his chest while his phone lays abandoned by his feet, Tweek holding onto his boyfriend’s arm tightly enough to make Death himself shiver, and Craig balancing precariously on the sliver of concrete now separating him from the end.

“Stop, ACK, Craig, just look at me,” Tweek pleads, scream-crying unabashedly and shaking Craig’s arm as if to help gain his attention.

Craig doesn’t say anything, nor does he look back. He simply raises his other hand and brings it to where Tweek tries to keep him tethered to this world. He rests his palm over Tweek’s bandaged, marred skin for a moment before gently prying one of his fingers out of place.

“No, no, Craig, no,” He shrieks, stumbling forward to instead loop an entire arm around Craig’s, leaving the hand Craig tried tampering with free. He locks it around Craig’s wrist, flipping it upside down to that pale veins face the sky.

“Please, I ca-” He gasps for breath, leaning his forehead against the back of Craig’s neck. “I can’t do this wi- urgh -without you, man. I need you here,” He gasps again, trailing off into a particularly pained strain of sobs. “I need you here with me.”

Craig hears the words, but he doesn’t comprehend them. He looks up at the sky and ignores the rain that stabs at his face to gaze at the moon.

“I’ll always be with you,” He breathes, still resigned to the fate he’s prepared for himself.

“No!” Tweek shouts, nearly startling Craig off the ledge. “No, Craig!” He raises his head from the back of Craig’s neck only to slam it back again. The sensation aches straight away, but it’s not unfamiliar or unwelcomed. Craig has been the target for plenty of Tweek’s anxious tics before and has always been met with an unnecessary apology.

Not this time though.

Tweek doesn’t apologize. Instead, he repeats the motion. He does it again. He does it again, his sobs having morphed into rapid, shrieking breaths combined with fat tears that flow heavily down his cheeks.

Craig doesn’t recall turning around to gain this visual, but he finds himself facing Tweek’s absolutely distraught expression. The thrashing of his head has stopped, but the ache at the back of Craig’s neck remains. When Tweek looks up into his eyes with an unfamiliar enraged determination, he understands that this was his plan all along.

“Look at me,” He begs through gritted teeth, horrendous spasms in his diaphragm making him sound insane.

Craig‘s eyes don’t move, but his vision clears and focuses on the blue ring around Tweek’s green irises. He’s always found it fascinating.

“Everyone, everyone you love, everyone you h-hate,” He starts, teeth still clenched so harshly that a vein in his temple protrudes. “They’re all just, urkh, just fucking water, Craig. We’re all just water.”

Craig looks away from his eyes as a car he immediately identifies as Clyde’s father’s squeals to a halt behind Tolkien’s. Clyde himself tumbles out of the driver's door and he sees Jimmy clamber out of the passenger side, joining his two friends on the other side.

“Craig!”

He looks back down at Tweek and the movement pushes tears he didn’t realize he’d been harboring down his face.

“Listen to me, please! We’re already stardust, Craig, like you told me! Do you remember, all those years ago?” He yelps, knocking his head against his shoulder before continuing. “You said we’re all fucking s-stardust, man! Stardust and water! Don't you remember?” He tilts his head at this, leaning forward slightly like he wants to collapse. Either that, or he’s desperate for Craig’s response.

Despite himself, Craig nods weakly because he does remember. Tweek was having an anxiety attack because someone looked at him strangely in the hall at school and he convinced himself that he was going to be stalked and murdered.

“Don’t let that get to you, honey,” He’d said, “We’re all just a bunch of water and stardust. Think of it that way.”

Now, Tweek uses his own words against him.

“It’s not hard to make water and stars h-happy, Craig! You make us all happy, even if- if you don’t know it, okay?”

Craig shakes his head at the words, averting his eyes in shame.

“Yes, you do! Y-you make your parents, ragh, so proud, and- and you give Tricia someone to look up to,” He yelps again, but it gets caught in his throat and causes him to put out a few harsh coughs against Craig’s chest.

“I don’t belong here, Tweek,” Craig whispers, voice breaking on his name. It hurts to admit it aloud. It was uncomfortable explaining it all in writing for Tweek, but saying it to his face is an entirely different sort of agony.

“Bullshit!” Tweek chokes, slamming his head against Craig’s chest before pulling back to glare somehow warmly at him. “The sky’s no home, either, alright? You don’t belong there anymore,” He says sternly, digging his fingers into the tender flesh where they cover one of Craig’s wrists.

“Look, okay? Just look at- look at your wrist, okay? The- You- The veins, remember? The blood there is- it’s- it has hemo- hemoglobin? You called it something like that, remember?”

Craig hesitates but nods sullenly, and he feels his face contort into something ugly as the first sob wracks his own frame.

“It’s from- You said it’s made of iron, okay? You said that stuff’s made of- made of iron and, hurgh, and iron only comes from-” He pauses, pulling the wrist to his own chest and cradling it there like it’s the only thing tethering the both of them to the planet.

“It only comes from dying stars,” He whispers. He’s regained control of his breathing for the most part, but tears still threaten to drown him and his entire frame still vibrates with panic.

Craig looks at him through clouded, teary eyes as another sob claws its way out of his own throat. He’s the taller of the two by a few inches, but he feels impossibly small under his boyfriend’s gaze. He feels small in a way he’s never felt before.

Despite where they are, what they’re doing, and how they got to this point, Tweek smiles a crooked, broken little smile. His eyes crinkle minutely but somehow still sag with despair.

“You were a star before, Craig. You came from the stars, just like me. We’re not stars anymore, though, okay? If- If you do this, we won’t really have you forever.”

Craig closes his eyes. Tweek pulls the hand away from his chest and up to his face, and Craig immediately opens his palm to cradle the blonde’s cheek.

“Nothing is forever, not even the stars. You- It-” Tweek grunts and Craig can’t decipher the sound as a tic or as frustration for his struggle with words.

“We’re all stars and water, Craig,” He breathes out after a moment. Craig opens his swollen, stinging eyes to meet Tweek’s. “We’re all just stars and water, and I get why you want to go back to that, okay? I get it.”

Craig furrows his brows.

“I know what it’s like to feel like a prisoner in your own skin, in your own life. I know what- I know what it’s like to feel out of place in your own fucking head. I know what it’s like, and I hate it too, but you helped me find a safe spot.”

Craig’s head aches. He closes his eyes again and leans forward, pressing his forehead against Tweek’s as he continues to cry softly.

“You- Craig- I had a plan, too. You found me when I- when I couldn’t, and- and you helped me find myself,” His voice breaks again, and he moves Craig’s palm just long enough to press a kiss to it before setting it back against his cheek.

“You’re made of the seas and the stars, and one day you are going to find yourself again.”

Craig holds his breath in a crude attempt to keep his resolve from shattering wholly. He’s so close to the edge, he’s so close to the sky, the water, the end. He’s so close.

He doesn’t want to be this close, now.

He finds himself imagining what it would feel like to be in control of his emotions or to feel them at all. The idea sounds insurmountable. He thinks of Tweek standing in his place and is grateful that he never made it that far. The sky is especially heavy where Craig stands.

Looking at Tweek and their friends who still watch with rapt attention, though, he wonders if it’s heavier for them.

He’s always considered himself to be the only one of them to carry burdens for the others. He never minded too much because he never particularly felt any of the emotions the weight entailed, which is how he made it this far before finding it just too heavy.

Clyde, Tolkien, and Jimmy all clinging to each other and sobbing openly, and Tweek still digging shaky fingers into his arm and wrist makes him think it may be heavier where they stand.

“Fine,” Craig whispers, broken and tired, “Okay.”

Tweek gasps out a relieved sob and nods vehemently, immediately beginning to pull Craig’s extremities closer to himself in an effort to help him over the ledge. Clyde and Tolkien are sprinting toward them and in seconds, they’ve dragged him over the ledge and back onto the ground. The four of them collapse in a heap on the concrete, and Jimmy drops himself onto the pile just afterward.

Craig is curled beneath all of them in a ball leaning back against Tweek’s chest, his head on his shoulder. Jimmy sits on one side and Tolkien on the other, both of them sobbing and holding each other’s arms over Craig’s chest. Clyde kneels in front of Craig, leaning over all of them with his arms wound tightly around Tolkien and Jimmy’s backs. He rests his forehead against Tweek’s other shoulder and keeps peppering kisses against Craig’s cheek while they cry together.

Tweek keeps his arms locked around Craig in a vice grip and he can’t tell if the liquid trying to drip into his ear is someone’s tears or rain that still sprinkles around them.

“I’m sorry,” Craig whimpers, tilting his head to the side and burying it against Jimmy’s chest.

“No,” Is all Jimmy says, voice broken and wobbly. Clyde just chokes out a particularly harsh wail and Tweek sighs out a miserable breath.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Craig,” Tolkien grits out, clearly speaking through a thick lump in his throat. “Just let us try to help you and you’ll have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Just let us love you,” Clyde wails, tilting his face more downwards to cry into Tweek’s shoulder. “We love you so much. We love you so, so much.”

Craig lifts his head from Jimmy’s chest and turns it to look at Clyde. The brunette senses the movement and pulls his eyes off Tweek’s shoulder to meet his gaze.

They just stare at each other. Craig can see the same anguished little boy who knocked on his door in the middle of the night after his mother died. He can see the same dejected little boy who the girls lied to just to use him for his father’s job. He can see the same loyal Clyde who would refuse to give up on making his best friend smile.

“I love you, too,” Craig says, and his blood stops flowing for a moment, he thinks.

The words make his tongue feel heavy and his head feel detached from his body and his memories fade to black.

They make everything feel unnatural.

He wants to say them again.

“I love you, guys. I love you. I love you,” He trails off into a renewed blubbering wreck, desperately repeating the words in hopes that he can atone for everything he’s ever done, both good and bad. He has the overwhelming urge to make up for everything he’s ever done because none of it was ever adequate for Tweek, for his friends, or for his family. Nothing he’s ever done has been good enough but he wants to make up for it instead of giving up because they all deserve so much better than what’s he given them, than what his death would give them.

Someone’s shushing him, someone’s stroking his hair and his back, someone’s repeating the words back to him. He doesn’t know who anyone is anymore; he just knows he loves them.

“Craig,” He hears after an indiscernible amount of time has passed. He doesn’t know when he stopped crying and declaring his love. He doesn’t know who’s talking to him.

“Craig,” They repeat gently, and he knows it’s Tweek.

He tilts his head back to look up at his boyfriend. He stares down at Craig, eyes glistening with pride and drooping with exhaustion.

“We’re going to leave, okay? We’re going to Tolkien’s, all five of us. Is that okay?”

Craig can’t find his voice, so he just nods.

Everyone starts to shift then. Clyde pulls Craig to his feet and Tolkien helps Jimmy with his crutches. Tweek grabs Clyde’s hand to pull himself up, and the three of them all lean against each other while they limp to the cars, Tolkien and Jimmy holding each other closely while they follow suit.

They split up again and meet back at Clyde’s house so he can return his father’s car. They climb right back into Tolkien’s and head to his house. Everyone is quiet in the car as if they’re all afraid that any words will ruin this outcome and they’ll end up right back at the bridge again.

Once they’re at Tolkien’s, they all split up to shower in different bathrooms, desperately needing to warm up. Tweek and Craig share a shower as none of them, including Craig, trusts him to be alone right now.

They all have their own sets of clothes and toiletries because any sleepover they have is here. Tolkien’s house has become a safe haven for all of them over the years, as it’s the only one of their houses to support them all comfortably.

Warm and exhausted, they curl up in a pile of Tolkien’s bed together. It’s understood that they can’t all sleep on one mattress comfortably, but they need to be together in the moment.

“We want to help you,” Jimmy breaks the silence for the first time in what’s felt like hours.

Craig untucks his face from where it’s tucked into Tolkien’s shoulder. He has Tweek curled around him from behind. Clyde is sitting at the head of the bed, Tweek and Craig’s heads resting in his lap. Jimmy sits between Craig’s and Tolkien’s legs, leaning back against Tolkien’s hip for support.

“I want help,” Craig croaks, pleased by the sigh of relief that Tweek breathes onto his neck in response.

“We can do some research tomorrow, yeah?” Tolkien says.

Craig closes his eyes and nods, suddenly too drained to respond with words.

“We’ll find a therapist that takes your insurance. We know that you’re struggling now, so we can be here for you better than before.” Clyde clears his throat like he’s fighting another lump.

“We’re gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay, Craig,” Tweek says, pressing a kiss to the tender bruise where he slammed his head so aggressively earlier.

“You’ll find yourself again,” He says, and Craig believes him.

Chapter Text

“So the nightmares have stopped?”

Craig clears his throat, nodding sheepishly.

“Yeah, they’ve stopped, I guess. It’s been almost two weeks.” He readjusts, crossing his legs. “I’m afraid that saying it out loud will reset our progress or something. I don’t know.”

Dr. Rempfer nods in understanding, jotting something down on his notepad. Craig used to hate when he’d take notes, but somewhere along the way, he realized that it was an effort to better keep track of his growth.

On some level, it was an expression of care.

“Tell me about that fear.”

Craig furrows his brows, looking away when the doctor meets his eyes.

“I’m… I feel like if I talk about it, or believe that they’re gone, they’ll start again. I feel like celebrating them being over will make them come back out of spite.”

“Can nightmares be spiteful?”

Craig tilts his head, still not looking at Dr. Rempfer.

“Is that what you were saying last week? About me giving my thoughts too much power?”

Rempfer chuckles and jots more notes down. Craig looks up.

“Yeah, that’s kinda what I meant. Do you know what I mean, now?”

Craig clears his throat, nodding.

“Nightmares aren’t, like, people. Or, they’re not physical. They only have as much power as I assign them.” His gaze wanders away to a motivational poster on the wall. “If I don’t let them make me feel guilty, then they’re just… They’re just bad dreams. That’s all they’re supposed to be.”

Rempfer doesn’t respond or move to write, so Craig looks at him again after a moment. He’s just staring, smiling proudly.

Craig smiles back.

“You’re showing a lot of progress here, Craig. How have things been going outside of the office? How are you and Tweek?”

Craig smiles even wider.

“Tweek and I are good,” He gloats, “We’re really good. He’s been a lot happier the last couple weeks since the nightmares stopped. I assume he’s just sleeping better without them, so of course he’ll feel better during the days. He’s even hanging out with our friends on his own. That’s, like, really huge for him.”

Rempfer nods, “Tell me more about that. Why is that so important?”

“He’s not so dependent. Not like he used to be,” Craig admits, looking down at his lap again. “I feel like I don’t need to look after him the way I used to. I mean, he’s always been able to hold his own, but I never wanted him to. I never wanted him to have to. I kinda knew how it felt, and it sucked. I didn’t want that for him.”

Craig pauses, glancing up to see Rempfer looking at him, pen motionless in his hand.

“I think seeing him be so strong on his own is, like, gratifying.” He continues, scrunching his face at his own words and looking back up at Dr. Rempfer. “Does that make sense? I don’t know if it makes me sound like a dick or not, but I know what I’m trying to say. It’s good to see him not needing me, but still want me.”

“Oh, sure,” Rempfer nods, and shrugs as if what Craig’s said is a given. “Needing and wanting are two completely different experiences. They come with their own forms of… Hm, how do I put this?” He touches his pen to his lips, scrutinizing his notepad.

“Their own, like, pros and cons?”

Rempfer huffs, shrugging again. “I suppose so. I can’t think of a word for it.”

“There doesn’t need to be a word for it,” Craig says, and the doctor looks at him with something akin to alarm written on his face. “Being needed gives you a sense of purpose and responsibility. Being wanted makes you feel like you’re worthy of someone’s time, I think.”

The alarm melts away and Craig realizes it wasn’t alarm to begin with; it was intrigue and confusion.

“I understand that,” He agrees. “That’s a good way to put it.”

Craig smiles, small but proud of himself.

“We’re almost done with our hour, Craig. Is there anything else you’d like to talk about?”

“Uh,” Craig shifts, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing and small box. “I guess so.”

Rempfer smirks.

“You’re gonna make me say it, aren’t you?” Craig groans, and his therapist fucking laughs at him.

“I definitely am. What’s in the box, Craig?”

“A ring,” He answers, genuinely unable to suppress the smile that crawls onto his face when he reveals the contents. “I’m going to propose to Tweek soon. The guys helped me plan this big, extravagant night for just the two of us.”

Rempfer nods slowly, leaning back in his seat away from where he’d been examining the ring. He furrows his brows after a moment. “Jus the two of you?”

“Well, yeah,” Craig shrugs. “Tweek doesn’t like crowds. They freak him out. I don’t need to declare my love for him in front of, like, the whole world. I don’t care what anyone else thinks as long as he knows how I feel.”

The doctor grins widely as the ring is pocketed once more.

“You’re a good man, Craig. Tweek sounds like a lucky guy.”

“Yeah, well,” He glances at his phone to see Tweek’s ‘imm outside’ text. “I’m lucky, too.”

They conclude their session after that, setting up an appointment for the following week. Craig exits the building and switches spots with Tweek; he prefers driving and Tweek prefers not driving.

“Hi, Craig,” Tweek greets, reaching over the center console to hold his boyfriend’s hand.

“Hi, honey, how was lunch with Clyde?”

Tweek huffs and Craig chuckles but prepares for the impending rant.

“It was fine, it was good. I mean, it’s Clyde. I love him, but, ngh it was kinda hard sitting through almost two hours of his gay crisis.”

Craig nearly slams on the brakes.

“Gay crisis? He’s having a gay crisis?”

“Yeah, man!” Tweek laughs, raspy and content. Craig smiles. “Like, full-fledged gay fucking crisis. He’s got a crush on Tolkien, Craig!”

Craig actually does slam on the brakes now.

“He has a crush on Tolkien?”

Tweek doesn’t answer with words, but he cackles wickedly.

“What the fuck? We’re talking about the same Clyde, right?”

“Yeah,” Tweek pants, collecting himself, “He said he’s been helping a friend with something for his boyfriend and it’s just making him think a lot. I don’t know whether to think it’s sweet or bullshit.”

Craig hums, biting the inside of his cheek to avoid grinning.

“I’d say it’s a fifty-fifty chance.”

Tweek nods, “I think so too. Only time will tell.”

They’re quiet for a moment after that, content just being in each other’s presence.

“How’d your session with Dr. Rempfer go?” Tweek asks after a while. He sounds quiet, almost hesitant. With all Craig's progress, he still doesn’t prefer to talk about himself.

“It was fine,” Craig says, and the corner of his mouth turns upward. “It was just fine.”

Tweek smiles, a miniscule thing that Craig catches out of the corner of his eye.

“Good,” He says. “I’m glad.”

“Me too, honey.”

Chapter Text

Craig grunts as he drops another box in the cluttered living room. Unpacking was going to be sooo boring.

“You’re lucky I love you, Craig,” Clyde taunts, heaving as he drops a box beside him.

“Whatever,” Craig rolls his eyes, turning to head back out to the moving truck, but he’s stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, don’t whatever me, dude. You’re cool, okay? We’re cool,” Clyde promises, searching Craig’s eyes.

Craig just stares back and tries to keep his face blank, but when Clyde pulls him into a crushing hug, he knows he’s failed.

“He hasn’t let it stop him till now,” Craig whispers, unsure of why he can’t use his voice properly all of the sudden. “Cancer or no cancer, he never gives up when it’s for us, when it’s for me.”

“I know, dude,” Clyde sighs, rubbing his hand on Craig’s back. “He’s smart for sitting this out though, yeah? I know they’re not giving him, like, crazy chemo, but I don’t think heavy lifting and sweating his balls off with us will help his liver at all.”

Craig chuckles weakly. “I don’t think sweating and liver function are connected.”

Clyde scoffs jokingly, pulling away and smiling when he sees Craig’s smile. “Whatever, douche. I’m trying to be supportive.”

“I know, I know,” Craig concedes, wiping at the sweat on his forehead. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, don’t apologize. Then I sound like the asshole.”

“I hate you.” Craig rolls his eyes.

“I love you, too, buddy.” Clyde claps a hand against Craig’s shoulder and heads outside to get more boxes.

Craig, Tolkien, and Clyde have been at it all day. Tweek and Craig finally had enough saved up to move out of an apartment and into a house. They’d been married for almost two years before they were able to afford it. Ideally, they would own the house in front of them instead of renting it, but chemo is expesnive as fuck with or without insurance.

Dr. Rempfer has been working with Craig on holding grudges, but Craig vows to never forgive Tweek’s parents. Who knew methamphetamine could cause more than just fucked up teeth and skin? Who knew it could damage your fucking DNA?

Certainly not Craig. Certainly not Tweek.

“You wanna do the couch now? That’s pretty much the last big thing,” Tolkien says from where he stands in the back of the moving truck. He’s covered in a sheen of sweat after spending almost two hours in the truck, pushing boxes and furniture toward the opening so Clyde and Craig could just keep transporting it.

“Yeah, that’s cool,” Craig sighs.

They maneuver the last of the stuff into the house. It’s a modest little place, but anything is an upgrade from the shoddy apartment they’d spent the last few years in. There’s a spacious living room with big windows and the kitchen has plenty of room for Tweek to bake in. There’s a little office space that they plan to turn into a guinea pig room.

“We got your bed put together, Craig,” Nichole calls from down the hall.

He turns to see her and Bebe joining them in the living room, both immediately getting to work on situating the kitchen table.

“I, uh, we really appreciate your help. All of you,” He answers, rubbing the back of his neck. He feels indebted to them and he hates it, but he knows it’s the only way any of this could have worked out.

“Dude, don’t mention it.” Clyde orders, pecking Bebe’s cheek before lifting the small table off the ground completely to put it where it needs to go.

His crisis involving Tolkien had dissipated but not without him discovering his bisexuality. It was a fun night for Tweek and Craig, watching him flirt desperately with a guy at the gay bar they went to every now and then. The guy introduced him to Bebe and Craig swears that it was an escape route. It worked out, though, so it doesn’t matter.

“Since the bedroom’s pretty much put together, should I text Leslie and have her bring Tweek over?” Nichole asks as she plops herself onto the couch.

“No, actually,” Craig dismisses her. “I can go get him. You guys have done enough today. Let’s call it a night.”

Everyone hesitates in their movements.

“Are you sure, Craig? There’s a bunch of shit to unpack still and-”

“I’ve got it, Tolkien.” Craig hurries, careful not to snap. “The boxes are easy. I have the next few days off work, anyways. Even if Tweek doesn’t feel up to helping, I have the time to get it done.”

No one answers so after a moment, he looks up at Tolkien.

He’s frowning, brows furrowed and so many words on the tip of his tongue. It makes Craig want to shrink.

“Alright, fine,” He says, probably in response to Craig’s clear anxiety. “But we’re still coming over for dinner tomorrow night.”

Craig releases a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

“Yeah, of course.” He says, smiling tiredly at their friends. “Thank you, guys. We really appreciate it.”

“It’s no problem, Craig. We’re happy to help,” Bebe chirps sweetly, having moved from the kitchen to join Nichole on the couch. She pulls Craig into a hug and kisses his cheek. “Why don’t you let Clyde take the truck back? We both live in that direction anyway. He can just hop in the car after he turns the key in.”

“Are you saying you’d drive my car?” Clyde blurts, eyes wide. Craig laughs at him.

“That’d be great, Bebe.” He makes a point of flipping Clyde off.

“We’ll get out of your hair now, then.” Tolkien pulls Craig into a hug, then pulls Nichole to her feet.

They all say their goodbyes and depart and Craig speeds over to Jimmy and Leslie’s apartment to obtain his husband. He knows it’s irrational, but he always fears that letting Tweek out of his sight will somehow make the cancer worse, or the chemo harsher, or his husband sadder.

He makes the ten minute drive in six and finds himself knocking on their door.

“Welcome,” Jimmy says with a dumb grin.

“Thanks, man,” Craig greets, stepping in and immediately gravitating towards Tweek. The blonde is passed out on the couch, legs slung over Leslie’s lap.

“Hi, Craig. How was it? Did everything go smoothly?” Leslie asks, whispering. Tweek’s a light sleeper.

He nods and mutters an apology as he brushes an arm against her leg to scoop Tweek up.

“Ngh, what the- Craig?” He stirs, head lolling precariously for a moment before he stabilizes himself.

“Hi, honey,” Craig says warmly as he heads for the door. “Bye, guys.”

“See ya later, f-fellas. Have a good night.” Jimmy waves after them.

“Bye, guys!” Tweek calls, raspier than his natural voice. “You can put me down, now.” He adds, quieter.

Craig complies and turns for the stairs, stopping when he realizes Tweek doesn’t plan on following him.

No, he’s stood in front of the elevator, scratching his arm mindlessly.

“Honey? Why the elevator? You hate them.” He asks, head tilted.

Tweek opens his mouth and lets it hang for a moment before he grunts. He was trying to think of a lie.

“I, uh, gah, the stairs are just… a lot.” He admits, looking at Craig with a watery gaze.

Craig frowns and feels a piece of his heart crumble away.

He joins Tweek in front of the elevator and scoops him off his feet once more.

“AGH, what the fuck are you doing, man?” He shrills, hand scrambling for purchase on Craig’s sweaty t-shirt.

“I’m carrying you,” Craig chuckles, pecking Tweek’s forehead. It’s cold against his lips. “That alright with you?”

Tweeks groans and hides his face in Craig’s shoulder.

“It’s embarrassing, though. I should be able to walk down the goddamn stairs.”

“You’re in the middle of chemo, Tweek. Your parents drugged you during your childhood and it gave you cancer. If someone thinks you’re lame for not being able to walk down four flights of stairs, so what? They can sue you and you’ll win.”

Craig feels like he’s lecturing him, but he can’t help it. There are many times every day when Craig has to remind him that his symptoms are normal and valid. He also loves to point out that his illness isn’t the same as it is for most people; it’s not self-inflicted, nor is it luck of the draw. His fucking parents induced it.

Tweek chuckles dryly and it piddles off into a hoarse cough. He recovers faster than usual, though.

“Fair-” He clears his throat, “fair point.”

It’s a quiet night for them in their new home. They order Chinese and watch a movie on the TV that Craig feels too lazy to put on the entertainment center. Tweek offers to help, and they both just laugh at the suggestion.

After they eat, Tweek insists they spend some time on their front porch. They don’t have chairs or anything, so Craig lays out a blanket on the front lawn. Tweek is fine with this arrangement and curls into his side.

Tweek falls asleep at some point during Craig’s explanation of Orion and Scorpius. His snores are softer these days, weaker. They crackle in his throat because of his chronically dry mouth and the sound makes Craig’s bones shake.

He stares at the sky and begs the stars to stay the way they are for a while longer;

They don’t need another.

Chapter Text

The funeral is quiet.

The casket is buried in little sunflowers before it’s even lowered into the ground. His mom told him that sunflowers don’t usually appear at funerals, but Craig insisted they are at Tweek’s funeral.

Tweek’s parents are not in attendance, as Craig brought forth all the evidence he, Clyde, Jimmy, and Tolkien could conjure. It was enough to put them behind bars for the rest of their lives.

He got another year. That night, Craig had talked another year out of the stars. He didn’t know it at the time, though.

That year was filled with love, so much love. Tweek was so strong, so resilient. It almost made Craig ashamed because the dying handled it so much better than the living.

Tweek’s time ran out on a Tuesday night. Craig got home from work earlier than usual and found Tweek in bed, rather than his usual spot on the couch. His breathing was shallow and his eyes were closed.

“Craig,” He’d breathed, ”tell me about the stars.”

And who was Craig to deny him?

He joined his husband on the bed and held him for hours. He told him stories of constellations, stories he’d told him hundreds of times. He told him about different phenomena and what they could mean for the future of the planet. He told him about hemoglobin and stardust and begged him not to leave.

“Shh, it’s okay.” Tweek whispered, and Craig swore he could feel his pulse slowing. “You’re going to be okay, Craig. You’ll find yourself again.”

Craig sobbed against blonde hair.

“You’ll find me again.”

The hand playing with the loose thread of his collar fell to his lap.

“We’ll be stars again.”

And he was gone.

Now, Craig stood against the wall of their neighborhood’s clubhouse. Clyde, Tolkien, and Jimmy helped him rearrange everything his mother did to make it more Tweek-like. They advocated for the sunflowers, they insisted on requesting people wear green instead of black, and they opted not to put up a massive picture of Tweek for everyone to look at because they know he would have fucking hated it.

“Hey,” Tolkien says, leaning beside him against the wall. “You, uh, you feeling alright?”

Craig smiles.

“I’m good, dude.”

Tolkien’s brows knit and his mouth twists into a grimace.

“You don’t have to-”

“No, really, I’m fine.” Craig pushes off from the wall and claps a hand against his friend’s shoulder. “I’m going to go get some air.”

He doesn’t make it far through the parking lot before Tolkien’s grabbing his wrist.

“Craig, dude,” He pants, “Talk to me, please.”

Craig smiles still, but it’s saddened now. He knows Tolkien’s hurting, and too smart for his own good.

“I can’t,” He whispers, and Tolkien’s eyes fill with tears before he scowls at the ground.

“Then,” He starts to argue, wanting to be unjustified and wanting to insist Craig change his mind. He doesn’t, though. He lets out a muffled sob and pulls Craig into a crushing hug.

“Don’t shut me out,” He pleads. “Don’t shut us out. Take your time, but-” He sobs again, fingers clenching in Craig’s suit jacket. “But we’re always going to be right here for you, okay?”

Craig returns the hug, ultimately unaffected.

“I know,” Is all he says.

Tolkien extracts himself from his friend and steps back. His face is that of a man at war with himself, with the world, with everything.

With the stars.

“There’s, um, you probably already know this, but,” He clears his throat, suddenly far more reserved. He shoves clenched fists into the pockets of his slacks. “There’s supposed to be a meteor shower tonight. It’ll just look like shooting stars to us, but, y’know.”

Craig nods, still smiling half-heartedly. Tolkien just stares, face hardened in a way that contrasts the tears still spilling freely.

“I’m gonna go,” Craig says, and Tolkien nods, looking down at his shoes.

“I love you, dude. You know that, right?” He asks, voice cracking.

“I know,” Craig says, and he starts toward his and Tweek’s shared car. “Tell the guys I send my love. The girls and my family, too.”

Tolkien doesn’t respond, and Craig doesn’t look back until he catches a glimpse in his rearview mirror. Tolkien kneeled in the parking lot, head in his hands.

It hurts.

The drive is longer than he’d like because their house was as far from South Park as they could afford. He doesn’t really care that he’s driven between towns a few times today, though.

By the time he arrives, the bridge is bathed in starlight. Sure enough, the sky is a mess of shooting stars and Craig feels content with his decision.

He copies his movements from years ago, but Tweek doesn’t stop him this time.

He wonders what it was all for, anyways. He wonders why the stars would manifest in the form of humans.

What is human existence?

As he falls, he realizes the answer is clear:

We are all dead stars, looking back up at the sky.