[FANFIC] Like Pinning Butterflies

Aug 12, 2009 03:33

Title: Like Pinning Butterflies (Three)
Author: ienvy
Fandom: South Park
Pairing: Craig/Tweek
Rating: PG-13 (this chapter)
Summary: Craig Tucker is sick. And Craig Tucker is madly, irrevocably obsessed with Tweek Tweak.
Warnings: This story is NOT for those who are easily disturbed or upset. This story is intended to be very morbid and macabre and will contain subjects that most of the population find upsetting. In case you're wondering, these subjects will be along the lines of: stalking, torture, morbid/macabre love, death, suicide, rape and so on, so forth.
Notes: This was inspired/based off of 'The Horror of Our Love' by Ludo.
Thank you to my wonderful beta miniji!

Directory of Chapters



Moonlight walking
I smell your softness
Carnivorous and lusting
To track you down among the pines

---

Craig was not invited to the party. The invitation was by word of mouth and, though nearly everyone in the senior year was invited, they hadn’t bothered to invite Craig. No one ever did, nowadays. Not after he had to start seeing a therapist once a day. When kids found out about that they started to treat him differently, like he crazy. And soon after that, rumors began to spread like acid through dead flesh and everyone became more distant. Kids stopped in the hallways to whisper and stare, saying that there was something very wrong with him --- that he had beat someone up for looking at him the wrong way or that he had killed someone.

Eventually all of the rumors morphed into a false truth, the main story being that Craig had murdered a kid at school, but had gotten away with it because they couldn’t find any solid evidence to prove his guilt. And, slowly, Craig began to accept these rumors as the truth.. What other reason could he give to explain how emotionless he was? Craig Tucker was a cold, distant sociopath. Craig Tucker was a murderer.

He had a problem.

And that problem was only getting worse.

He had already killed Eric Cartman and gotten away with it months ago. He was ready to move on to kill Kenny McCormick and then anyone else who decided to get in his way. (And once they were all gone and he had Tweek to himself, he’d kill Tweek.

That was the only way to get the blonde out of his mind, he had convinced himself long ago. If Tweek were dead then he would no longer have anyone to obsess about. And if no one was left for him to obsess about, then Craig Tucker would return to how he had been before. Normal.

And so, he stands outside of Token’s house, staring up at it with what could be classified as arrogance. In reality, Craig Tucker felt nothing of the sort. Nothing but the strong and very solid desire to hunt down Tweek, to show him what pain he’s truly caused. Craig Tucker will watch him bleed out. And he will press his ear to the blonde’s soaking and heaving chest, listening to the slowly receding thumps and imagining that they were beating to the tune of ‘I love you’ as the life fades out of Tweek’s eyes.

That’s how it happens in fairy tales, right? There is always true love at the end. Why should his fairy tale be any different, even if it was taking place in South Park instead of some fantasyland?

He steps forward and into the house, loud music thumping, dim lights flashing with sudden bursts of vibrant color that briefly illuminate the faces of the crowd as they dance. Alcohol and who knows what else sloshes freely about the bodies, being passed from person to person in red plastic cups, losing a bit more to the floor every time it is passed. Sweaty corpses (that’s all they really are, right?) cling to one another on couches, rocking and jerking against their partners for the night. Someone will go home pregnant, someone with herpes, someone without their virginity and someone with a broken heart.

Amid all the clamor and sweat, no one notices Craig as he slips among the crowds; no one notices Tweek yell; even if they do notice, no one cares.

---

Tweek hadn’t wanted to go to the party. Even if Token had once been a very close friend, he hadn’t wanted to leave his house and even risk being outside, being somewhere that Craig could find him. Still, Kenny managed to show up on his doorstep and had been able to convince him into coming.

If it had been anyone else, Tweek would have refused to go. With Kenny, though, Tweek could feel a sense of security. He almost felt safe walking up to Token’s house, though he jerked in nervousness every now and then, imagining that he could see Craig following them. Kenny did his best to comfort him and by the time they were inside, Tweek was lulled into a false sense of security. And then Kenny was dragging him along, introducing him to people, taking unknown beverages and swigging them down. Tweek followed in a sort of daze, green eyes scanning his surroundings every now and then, paranoia forcing him to keep an eye out for Craig.

Kenny is trying to get him to take a shot of something when it happens. Craig walks in through the front door, face impassive as he scans the crowd. No one seems to notice his entrance, nor the large knife he’s holding at his side. Tweek freezes and his fingers tighten slowly around Kenny’s, his mossy green eyes going wide with horror as they stare, legs unable to run and body unable to move. Time seems to slow down as Craig’s blue-grey eyes lock for a single second with his wide, horrified ones. Tweek swears that he can hear time freeze for that short frame; he swears that everyone stops moving and that sound ceases to exist. Then Craig takes a step forward and it is all that he needs to break the spell of stiffness. Tweek screeches out in alarm and jerks Kenny along behind him as he shoves his way blindly through the crowd, certain that Craig is following.

The two blondes stumble and run with one another, Kenny’s voice lost among the thousands of other noises that Tweek is blocking out. All he can hear as he pushes wildly through the sea of people is his own name being called, practically whispered but yet loud enough to be right beside him. He ignores it and runs, the room spinning beneath his feet, lights flashing before his eyes, faces in close up, mouths moving, expressions miming concern or shock, music melting into nothing but background noise, fingers still gripping tight onto his own, sweaty grip unbroken, alcohol burning his throat and eyes watering as he struggles to scream out, Help! God, please help me! End the madness, please, god, help me! And then it all goes dark, voices clear but muffled from inside the closet.

Tweek’s chest is heaving, but he has one hand clamped down over his mouth to prevent the noise of his own gasps. Kenny groans from somewhere beside him and for a moment, Tweek is seized with the fear that in the confusion, he grabbed a hold of Craig instead of Kenny and that now Craig is sitting in the closet beside him. He forces himself to steal a glance and relaxes only very slightly when his fears are erased.

“Tweek, what the fu-” Kenny begins to hiss before Tweek pushes his hand desperately against Kenny’s mouth, eyes silently pleading.

Kenny slackens slowly against the hand and nods, agreeing to silence for now. Outside of the closet, Tweek can hear the party rage on but no longer hears his name being called. He knows that it doesn’t mean Craig’s not out there, though.

What seems like eternity passes by. Kenny is just about to break the silence when a pair of slow-moving feet pass the crack of light beneath the door. Tweek’s heart begins to speed up again and he’s trembling as he snaps his eyes shut and squeezes Kenny’s hand until it threatens to snap.

“Tweek?” Craig’s voice is quiet, almost kind. “Please come out, Tweek.” The blonde doesn’t fall for it. “Tweek?” He drifts somewhere in front of the door and Tweek feels as if his heart is going to explode. “I just want to talk about why you’ve been ignoring me lately, Tweek.” The blonde flinches and he grips Kenny’s hand to his chest, holding back a sob. “You’re hurting me, Tweek.”

Tweek wonders if Craig will open the door and with held breath, he watches the handle as it twists ever so slightly. He can imagine that Craig’s fingers are wrapped around it, rubbing against the cool metal -- his nose twitching as he sniffs out the scent of fear and sweat on his prey. Tweek imagines seeing the door open all the way and Kenny throwing himself onto Craig, beating the piss out of him.

But he waits there with bated breath, watching the handle jiggle yet never turn completely. His ears prick with noise, suddenly aware that there’s a scraping noise somewhere down along the hallway and only then does he realize he had been imagining the handle turning. But why hadn’t Craig opened the door?

“Tweek,” he twitches when Kenny calls his name and nearly flinches away when the other places a hand onto his shoulder. “What the hell is going on?”

---

Craig walks slowly down the hall, trailing one finger along the wall as he walks, feeling the tip of it go numb from the sensation of rubbing against the paint. Numb, distant --- just like the rest of him. Learning to play alive. He continues to swirl it along the surface, pausing now and then to open a pine-wood door and peer inside the room it closed off. Most times, it reveals a pair of sweaty bodies clutching onto one another, rocking blindly into their partner, unaware of the monster in the doorway.

He continues down the hallway, ears waiting to catch Tweek’s voice, his heavy breathing, or the soft footfall of someone trying to run. Once he reaches the end, Craig’s expression flickers into something that resembles disdain towards the wall he is now staring at. It doesn’t stop him, though, and he turns to walk the other way.

“Tweek!” He yells loudly, shoving open a door, fingers squeezing around the knife. “Oh, Tweek! Please come out,” He presses open another door, eyes glinting with the prospect of finding his blond conquest behind it. “I just want to talk with you~”

Craig Tucker continues, his heart held tight in his throat, beating steadily as he imagines of what he’ll do to Tweek whenever he finally finds him. It takes only a sidelong glance out the window to cause his heart to thump heavily back down into his chest cavity, it only takes a glimpse to see a pair of blondes running hand in hand to a rusty old truck. He’s almost surprised by the lack of rage he feels as he watches the two scramble inside. And while his heart clamors out of a sudden desperation to give chase, he is calm as he watches the truck zip down the street.

With the way that Kenny is driving, Craig hopes that Tweek will not die an early death.

A slow smile pulls its way onto his lips as he runs his free hand smoothly along the wall, the other occupied with rearing back and slamming the knife into the wall. He watches in silence, smile pasted in place and repeatedly drags the knife away before slamming it back into the wall, over and over and over again. He was so close. So close -- he can almost taste the sweat of Tweek’s fear burning on the tip of his tongue and dripping down the back of his throat. Craig presses his cheek against the window, black and dripping with the condensation of the evening; he drives his knife into the wall a final time and stares at his reflection in the blade. While he could have sworn he had been smiling moments ago, there was no such hint of it now in the reflection. Only cold, hard indifference that was set off by the swatch of black hair that drifted in front of his eyes.

And as Craig stares at himself, all he can think about is the one thing that can set his plans back onto the right track again.

How wonderful it will be once Kenny is dead.

south park, !fanfic, like pinning butterflies

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