Chapter Text
2008
The sound of cartilage breaking is something Craig knows very well. Bones have a sharp, cracking sound when they break. You hope that it’s a clean margin, head to the doctor, get the surgery and cast, go home. Cartilage, on the other hand, pops and creaks. It is a devastating noise; cartilage heals slowly and poorly.
At this point, not only was Cartman’s nose bridge broken, but the cartilage was being melded into his face.
Craig’s hands flew down with fury, beating the shit out of Cartman for what he’d said. By now, Craig didn’t even remember what he had said. He just couldn’t stop punching Cartman.
Eventually, Kenny and Clyde had pulled him up off of Cartman, his body wracked with sobs. If he was crying, there was too much blood to see tears.
“Dude, we need to go, now,” Clyde said.
“Kyle’s,” Kenny said simply.
Craig’s chest heaved. His fists were still balled. Blood was all over him. His knuckles were bruised and swollen.
“Craig,” Clyde pleaded. He had picked up his own bike and gestured to Craig’s.
“I would have killed you,” Craig hissed into Cartman’s ear. “I could have killed you. You’re lucky. I hope you die.”
With that, Craig hopped on his bike and pedaled away from the limp body behind him.
He caught up with Kenny and Clyde. The ride was mostly silent, sans the rubber strands on the bike scraping at pebbles and the asphalt of the road. Craig was still fuming, but he knew his two other friends couldn’t even look at him.
Anger melted into embarrassment and a sharp pain in his hands. His fingers were still swollen and bruised horribly. His friends must be terrified and stunned, obviously enough to not be speaking to him.
The three of them rolled up in front of Kyle’s house and dropped their bikes at the side of his garage. Kenny made the choice to knock on the door, as he was the one Sheila and Gerald knew best and was the least suspicious of the group at that moment.
“Kenny! Hello!” Sheila said with a smile. “What can I do for you kiddo?”
“Is Kyle home?”
“Yes, he’s just upstairs with Stan now. You can go on up if you’d like. All three of you?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Clyde said, and Craig just nodded.
“Alright then. You know where his room is.”
When the three of them headed upstairs, they passed Ike. Kenny gave him a noogie, and Ike just laughed it off gracefully. Tricia would have killed Craig if he’d done that, and topped it off with a middle finger in his face.
Kenny knocked fervently on Kyle’s door. He repeated Kyle’s name over and over until the door opened.
Craig hadn’t spent much time with Kyle over the years. They’d had similar groups, but their paths didn’t cross enough for Craig to call Kyle a “friend” and shoot him a text when shit hit the fan. Kyle was a classmate. That being said, Kyle hadn’t changed much since they were kids. He’d grown a couple of inches, but so had everyone else. His red hair was still untouched like the day he was born, curled into the same kugel spirals. His cheeks were pink, but amusingly, Craig couldn’t tell if it was heat, embarrassment, or both.
“What?” Kyle demanded, eyes shining with fierce anger. Craig always admired that about him.
“We have a problem,” Kenny said quietly.
“Is it more pressing than exams?” Kyle replied, still upset.
“What kind of studying were you doing in there? Mouth to mouth resuscitation?” Kenny said, and that seemed to shut Kyle up. “Cartman’s gonna kill me.”
Kyle ushered the three of them inside his room. Craig hoped that Clyde felt as awkward and off-put as he did, because Clyde and Kyle weren’t ever great friends either, and now they stood in Kyle’s childhood bedroom cockblocking him and his boyfriend.
“Hello,” Stan waved awkwardly. Craig blinked, giving a small smile, and Clyde nodded.
“Why is Cartman gonna kill you?” Kyle asked, locking the door behind him.
Kenny sat on the rug on Kyle’s floor and made himself comfortable. Craig sometimes forgot that Kenny was actually friends with Kyle and Stan and Cartman, and didn’t just know them. He’d met their families and spent the night and done god knows what else in their rooms.
“So we were at the gas station getting our edibles—,” he paused to hold a hand up, presumably saving them from a lecture on ‘marijuana’ use, “— shut the fuck up— and to grab snacks and shit when Cartman pulled up for god knows what reason and he called Craig a… well, a slur, and called Clyde one, too. And then we yelled at him, and he said it again, and then-.”
“I beat the shit out of him,” Craig finished for Kenny. He held his hands up, hoping the green-yellow mottled flesh across his knuckles would be telling of just how hard he hit Cartman.
“Oh my fucking god,” Kyle said. His eyebrows furrowed quickly.
“Did you kill him?” Stan asked incredulously.
“Don’t be a pussy, I punched him a few times.”
“He’ll be lucky if he has a nose, Craig,” Clyde interjected. “He’s gonna kill you, Kenny, and me, all in that order.”
“Why you?” Kyle asked.
“I didn’t stop him.”
“You cheered him on,” Kenny said, his hand gesturing to Craig.
“Did not!”
“Did too!”
“Did not!”
“Okay, however it happened,” Stan said loudly, ever the mediator, “it’s over now. If Cartman doesn’t kill you, his mom will. Is he going to die of exposure out there?”
“No, it’s Quick-E Mart. Someone will find him soon enough,” Craig replied.
“You might have to hide out for a little while, while he’s recovering and stuff?” Kyle suggested.
“What do I do if he remembers it’s me even after he’s recovered? Hide in solitary my whole life?” Craig asked.
Nobody answered him.
“Oh, fuck,” Kenny said exasperatedly. He rolled his eyes. “This is ridiculous. You couldn’t have just hit him once and walked away. No. You had to nearly kill the fat fuck.”
“Oh, my god. Shut up with the ‘killing’ thing!” Craig exclaimed. “Where am I supposed to hide from him? My parents will be worried sick.” Clyde gave him a look. “Okay, my mom will be worried sick,” he amended.
“My dad built me a treehouse in the woods when I was younger, and nowadays, Kyle and I have been using it to… hang out.” Stan blushed as he spoke, but he seemed to want to help. “It’s not like a regular old tree house though. It’s pretty big and has snacks and shit. You might freeze your ass off out there, but if it keeps you safe…”. The ending was implied: Cartman can’t kill you where he can’t find you.
“I’ll take what I can get,” Craig said. He nodded in thanks to Stan, who nodded back. “Is it safe to get clothes daily from my parent’s or do I need a bag?”
“It should be safe, just watch out for Liane,” Kyle said.
“What… what did he call you?” Stan asked. “If it’s okay that I ask.”
“Called me the f-slur,” Craig said, drawing his lips in a straight line after. “Said I was a cocksucker and a whore, all because I’m… yeah.”
“Called me the t-slur,” Clyde half-smiled wistfully. “Uncanny. No matter how many times I get called it, it’s spat at me in the same way.”
“And he mentioned Tweek, which is what really set Craig off,” Kenny added, arms crossed.
Kyle looked abysmal. Stan seemed shocked and devastated.
“I don’t want to talk about it. Show me to the treehouse.”
…
Craig stopped by his house to pack a bag and to write out instructions for Kenny to feed Stripe while he was gone for the next three days. If he didn’t die from exposure within a week, he’d have to give Kenny a blowjob to show him appreciation for taking care of the clueless guinea pig.
Stan and Craig marched through the seemingly endless snow back into the woods. It was starting to snow slightly again, a downside of Colorado in late January. The banks were almost intolerable, and Craig was starting to accept he might be alone out here for days with almost nothing and nobody.
“Well, here we are,” Stan finally said after about half an hour of trudging. The two of them looked up to see a medium-sized, plain cabin suspended above them. “This is where I leave you. I don’t want to get caught in this storm and if I go up there I might never get down in time. Good luck.”
Craig nodded, and his fate was set in stone. Three days with no electricity, no running water, no hot food, and no real human interaction.
As he began to climb, he hoped that the blankets in the treehouse were comfortable and not cum-stained. Who knows what two horny boyfriends were doing in an isolated space alone? If Kyle finally put out, Craig didn’t want to learn about it this way.
The hatch opened into a space with a dressed cot, some shelves with snacks and tons of books, and framed pictures of Stan’s family. Craig dropped his bookbag and slouch bag at the foot of the bed and instantly went to pick up the picture.
Randy and Sharon beamed, looking as though they teemed with pride. Stan had gotten on the varsity football team—finally— in his last year of football, and Randy most likely loved that for his vicarious living, and Sharon just loved the sex it brought. ‘It’s just like high school!’ she must gossip to her coworkers over a cup of lukewarm coffee. Shelly looked downright miserable next to her brother. She hadn’t gotten any uglier since going to college, but she didn’t look all that much prettier, either. From what Craig had heard, he was happy to be rid of Shelly and had grown into her spot around the house. She was not sorely missed.
“Imagine being that much of a bitch…,” Craig said aloud to himself. He shook his head and set the photo down.
He grabbed another one. This was Stan’s senior portrait. He was handsome, no doubt, but in a very preppy way. Once upon a time there’d been a debate amongst the girls about who was the cutest boy in school and it was topped by Craig, then Stan, then Token. Craig shrugged it off and assumed it was because the girls had a thing for guys with black hair, but Stan ate it up. Craig can see he didn’t ever need to hold on to any titles; he’d grown into his features quite nicely and handsomely.
Craig smiled as he sat the picture back down, noticing it was opposite Kyle’s own portrait. He was actually smiling for once, a rare occasion for the redhead. He was wearing a kippah instead of his obnoxiously green ushanka, and his curls fell about his face downright prettily. The picture was taken in September, just after the Broflovski family vacation to Israel, and Kyle’s face was tanned and freckled. The photo was a time capsule of his trip.
Craig settled back on the bed. He scanned the sheets and blankets for any miscreant or blasphemous behavior before deciding it was good enough and he laid down. Half an hour down, about a million more to go.
He sighed as he pulled his phone out, seeing that he had several missed calls from Kenny, alongside dozens of texts.
The first few were gibberish— literal key smashes. The last two were what concerned Craig, and made him feel the most cagey.
craig call me seriously it’s tweek
he’s back in town