[Chayden]

Why is it that I always forget to mark stoof as pg-13? Italicized writing is Num dreaming. Within those dreams, unitalicized text is the voice of their insanity, I suppose. Craig Tucker is Bennedy's dream counterpart; Tweek Tweak is Num's. This was the beginning of one of my NaNoWriMos, but now I've found a way to put it to use~ <3 [Craig Tucker and Tweek Tweak belong to Matt Stone and Trey Parker, the creators of South Park. These characters are not, however, the 10-year-olds seen on the show. They are meant to be them plus seven or eight years; this is, actually, a thing commonly done in the fandom. o^o;

^^^ Num ^^^

Tweek Tweak did not have the capacity to deal with his monsters. He did not know how many days he had gone with his nightmarish hallucinations. No matter his state of consciousness, every beat of his heart brought on a new one. There was nowhere he could go to feel safe, because the monsters came from within him. He could try not to think, try not to breathe, try not to exist, but he gained nothing from it. If the shadows didn't strangle him now, the things with blades for fingers would chop him to bits later. And if he had given in to the demands that the wind whispered and drowned himself in the bathtub, that would be just as bad. It would mean that he had given up; forfeited the game of life.
       Craig would have been disappointed.

[Chayden]

So Tweek just sat pressed up against his headboard, knees curled to his chest, and heaved silent sobs. He shuddered violently, incapacitated by fear of death, fear of pain, fear of what he had done to Craig. Of what hell he had passed on to the lover that things had gone too fast with. All he had to do was survive until the morning, but even that was like climbing a mountain. And just like with the exertion of climbing that mountain, his heart sped until the blood pulsing in his eyelids cast a red glow on everything. Yes, even with his eyes shut did the monsters appear, waving their weapons and screaming, bleeding, dying, dying, but he would go down with them... If Craig didn't come in the morning, Tweek was going to die.
       As the voice inside his head whispered sweet, suicidal nothings, Tweek counted the seconds.

?

[Chayden]

^^^ Bennedy ^^^
       Craig Tucker didn’t like having to explain himself. He’d rather other people just figure out his motives on their own, instead of pestering him about them. Today, there was no more room in his head for stupid bastards. He barely even had enough room to breathe… They were closing in on him, going along in agonizing slow-motion, making sure that he could see every ripple of their bared, rotting muscles and hear every gnash of their teeth. He was their target, the victim of an ever-growing nightmare…

[Chayden]

He was dying for sleep, but if he slept, he would die. And if that was going to happen, he’d like to look Death in the face so that he could spit in the f*cker’s eye. Even though he was holding in screams that would make him sound like a little girl, he still clung to the thought that he could vent it all on Death. Get some payback.
       For now, he’d just have to hold out. The facility that he and Tweek would run away to was hours away by car, and he’d pay nearly anything to get some sleep… But the voice was taunting him.
       I dare you to try it. Go ahead. Close your eyes.

[Chayden]

Craig balked at the challenge. He was wary of this thing that was forcing him away from his own sanity.
“What if I don’t want to?”
       Chills ran up and down Craig’s spine as he felt it grin, an unpleasant flexing of the synapses in the back of his brain.
       Oh, believe me… It’ll be far less painful if you do as I say, Mr. Tucker. Far less painful for all of you.

[Chayden]

“Leave everyone else out of this, you bastard. Don’t touch them.”
What are you going to do to stop me?
“We’re going away, to a place with people to pull you out and kill you. They’ll boil you straight out of my skull, f*ggt.”
Are you sure you want to use such coarse language with me?

[Chayden]

Craig’s vision swam. From every corner of his room came a wraith, hissing and cooing and dripping blood. They advanced menacingly, bringing with them a fog of confusion and pain that frazzled the boy’s nerves. He dug his fingers into his scalp and squeezed his eyes shut, trying in vain to fend off the assault. The voice in his head laughed raucously. Its high-pitched cackle rose and rose, leading to the macabre chorus it had created to a crescendo. He was at wit's end. With tears pouring from his eyes, he begged for his sanity.

[Chayden]

“Please, please stop... Don't do this to me...” It was pathetic. This whole thing, this whole situation, was pathetic. Craig hated what this thing had reduced him to. Hiding under the covers from monsters in the closet was just not HIM.

[Chayden]

               Don't think that you've won, Craig Tucker. This is far from over. Compared with what's to come, we've had nothing but fun.
Craig swore that he saw his sister's face among the wraiths, only it was twisted, distorted. She was out for blood. Grinning fiendishly, she stepped from the shroud and plunged her claws into his chest. He had never been happier to lose consciousness, but the bliss didn't last for long. Craig was awoken by a low, soft keening. For once, nothing seemed to be wrong with the world around him: sun pooled lazily on his carpet, his desk was just as messy as he had left it the night before, and Tweek twitched in the bed beside him.
       ...Wait.

[Chayden]

The noirette turned his head slowly, fingers tightening on his bedsheets. Tweek's face was hidden under the comforter. A small patch of blonde hair was visible, as well as a feminine hand. Before Craig could move his hand to lift the comforter, Tweek popped up. Out of nowhere, he was pinning Craig to the bed, mouth stretched into an impossibly wide grin. His teeth were pointed, grotesquely animalistic, and saliva dripped from cracked lips. Craig didn't want to believe his eyes. As this nightmare Tweek inched his face closer, Craig couldn't even breathe.

[Chayden]

“Craig,” it whispered, mouth unmoving, eyes unblinking. “They told me to kill you.”
       “Don't do it,” Craig managed to gasp. Bad Tweek smiled even broader, splitting the skin of his lips and spattering the face of the boy it restrained with hot blood.
       “They told me to do it, Craig.”

[Chayden]

Craig hated the way it said his name. It may have replicated Tweek's face, but it couldn't hold a candle to his voice. Instead, it sounded like one of Satan's little demons on weed. He didn't even think it was speaking English, or any other human language, for that matter. It was almost as if he had gained the ability to... No. This piece of shit came from his head, so naturally he would be able to understand what it was trying to say. Of course! And he wasn't really being pinned down, either. He'd made this situation up for himself, and himself only; if someone happened to barge through the door,  they would only see Craig wearing his street clothes in bed, pressing his own wrists against his shoulders and looking startled out of his mind.

[Chayden]

Yet knowledge of just how badly he was screwed wasn't going to help him... He couldn't run away from his own thoughts. And flailing weapons at Bad Tweek (or any other monster) was only flailing weapons at thin air.
       To put it simply, Craig Tucker was f*cked.
“I'm going to kill you.” Bad Tweek deadpanned.
Craig coughed, resisting the hold it had on him. “You're not.” he deadpanned back, still struggling. “Tweek would never kill me.”

[Chayden]

       The opening of his bedroom door saved Craig from feeling the creature's teeth. It vanished, leaving only a trace of smoke behind . Finally, Craig was free to sit on the edge of his bed and gulp down air. But when he turned an eye to the savior who had the nerve to intrude at five o'clock in the morning, he was shocked to find that no one was there. He slipped into his careless from, grabbed the directions to the asylum and snuck down the stairs.

[Chayden]

       Craig felt... something begin to take form behind him, but resisted the urge to turn around and look at it even when he could hear its footsteps echoing his own. Instead, he took deep breaths and counted the stairs in a whisper.
“...twelve...thirteen... kitchen. Safe zone.”
       Like the dog it resembled, Bad Tweek leaned on its haunches on the very last stair, keeping out of the “protected” kitchen. Seeing it obey him gave Craig the chills. He didn't want to have power over the thing, and he didn't want it to have power over him, either. He simply didn't want to be associated with it. If only it would up and vanish, so that his life could go back to being nice and boring...