You Don't Mean It ||Staig||

||Part Eleven||

TW: Cursing, Alcohol, Drugs, Cigarettes, Smoking, Homophobic slurs 

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Stan walked around an unfamiliar room. He thought it was nice; it definitely felt better than his own room, and the dark room he had been confined to. 

"Don't touch anything." Craig warned him. He kept an eye on Stan as he studied his room. He couldn't believe he had let someone in. Into his heart, and into his room. Craig almost lost his mind once Stan picked up Stripe. 

"Aw." Stan smiled quietly as Craig's chubby Guinea pig crawled around against his hands. He turned and walked over to Craig, giving him back his pet once he was satisfied. Craig let out a heavy sigh and took Stripe back into the safety of his arms. 

Stan could feel his hand tingle when their hands touched. He didn't know if it was in a good way or a bad way. 

"Are you just going to stare or let me in?" Craig asked him as he set Stripe down against his bed. Stan watched the Guinea pig crawl around before wiggling itself under the sheets. 

"What do you mean... let you in?" Stan asked. He felt a bit nervous as Craig faced him. They were about the same height, but Craig would always seem meaner and scarier. Stan thought he knew that deep down, Craig wasn't a bad guy. But in that moment, he couldn't help but feel a little uncertain. 

"What happened? I know you didn't just wander off and go hiking for three days, or disappear from the world on your own accord." Craig said to him. He slipped his blue hat off and tossed it against his bed. Stan watched the jet black locks fall against his face. 

Craig glared at him as he moved the strands away from his piercing eyes. 

"You're wrong, I wanted to get away from things... so I took off into the woods for a little while." Stan told him. He cringed as those words left his mouth. He knew Craig wouldn't fall for his pathetic, half-assed lie. 

Craig sighed heavily again and took ahold of Stan's hand. He stared down at it, his eyes slowly wandering up his arm until he met the cuff of his jacket. Stan quickly pulled his arm away and held it close to his chest. 

"You got bruises from the forest? Did the trees beat you up or something? I saw Stan, your body. Don't fucking lie to me." Craig said. What he meant was that when he found Stan, he found the bruises and the hickeys. 

No fuckin' tree or animal leaves human teeth marks. 

Stan stared at him with a twisted expression. 

"What the hell do you mean? Did you do something to me while I was out of it...?!" Stan exclaimed. He shrunk away from Craig as he returned the same tone of voice. 

"I found you! That's what I fuckin' did. I can't believe you'd think that..." 

"That I..."

Craig struggled to find the words he needed to say. 

"Who hurt you, Stan?" He asked. He tried to soften his voice so he could convince Stan to give him a genuine response. Stan stared at him, his hand falling back to his side. 

"Shut up. Just shut the hell up!" Stan bit against his lip as his eyes began to sting. He couldn't handle any of this. He needed comfort, not yelling, not prying. Just someone to hold him. But he didn't even know if he could handle that. 

Any touch he felt made him want to throw up. Craig held his breath as Stan began to cry. He couldn't believe he had made Stan cry, again. He winced as Stan cried quietly into his hands. 

"I can't do this anymore." Stan mumbled. He eyes still leaked at his brought his hands away. His mind was racing as he searched for something. He wanted the alcohol, the roofies. That made him feel nothing. He wanted to feel that numbness again.