Those Who Bruise Us (Creek) (OMEGAVERSE)

Chapter One: When We Bleed

Tweek Tweak ran through the woods, the silence of the night was startled back to sound with every crunch of the leaves under his step, the snow on his boots, and the panting of his breath. His heart thundered in his chest, like a herd of wildebeest or an orchestral concert, lulling him not so peacefully into panic.

The multi-colored pills he was supposed to take at nine pm lay scattered somewhere in the street, like broken glass or an unfinished puzzle or forgotten stardust. He dropped them in his haste to get away, from the noise, the sights, the feelings. He'd left them lay for any druggy to take like candy from a baby. He hoped whoever got them wasn't on something before hand, he didn't want to unintentionally cause someone to overdose, despite it being out of his own, trembling hands.

He only stopped when he was forced too, his boot stuck in an icy trap of hardened snow. His frantic running had pushed him far from his house, far from them- and far into the woods. He'd managed to make it to Starks Pond. It was late now, he'd been running for god knows how long. He had no clock, no watch or phone, nothing to tell the time. The moon's position in the sky told him it was late, so late it was almost morning. His parents were probably freaking out.

He un-trapped his foot, sitting on the bench. His hands tugged at his messy locks of hair- like its own little unkept forest of undergrowth and scattered pine trees. He gasped for air, body trembling in the cold, as he had no jacket or coat, and his shirt was half hazardously buttoned.

The sound of footsteps crunching in the snow sent another wave of absolute terror coursing through his veins, as if lead bullets were being forced into each narrow vein. He jolted, turning around, already stumbling off the bench, preparing to run, to save himself from not being murdered or beaten again.

He didn't recognize the blue eyes staring at him, not nearly well enough to know the boys name. He had a busted lip, and a bloody nose, a steady trickle of blood dripping down his pale skin like a broken faucet. He said nothing, taking his seat on the bench. His eyes were so vibrantly blue that Tweek forgot to run- he even found the blood dripping down his face to be mesmerizing.

It took a minute, but he carefully sat beside him, reaching in his pocket. He offered him his silken handkerchief with trembling hands, but the boy stared at it blankly, like he didn't know what it was. "H-here, for your nose and u-uhm mouth." Tweek's stutter rang out through the forest like a gunshot, breaking the silence like a hammer to glass.

Tweek offered it out again, by moving his outreach arm just a bit closer. The boy spit in his face, thick, bloody saliva. "Don't fucking act like you know me, spazz." The words left Tweek at a loss for words, his sad smile returned, and he wiped the spit off his skin. He sat the handkerchief down, closer to the boy in blue, the boy of blue. "Sorry." He whispered, fidgeting quietly.

He picked at his fingers until the skin around the nails was bloody, and he chewed the chapped skin off his lips, body shaking like a broken washing machine from the cold. They were both bleeding now, one on the face, and one on the hands and arms. When the sun started to rise, an unspoken, unfriendly agreement was made, and they stood up, parting their ways home in a cold stalemate.

The walk to his house was bitter and cold, Tweek's head was spinning. When he didn't have his medication, things went south, but when did they not in South Park? He managed to get inside his house, before he collapsed. Everything too cold, too fuzzy. Consciousness was out of reach, his picked at hands could never manage to grasp it on thier own.
-

He woke up again in bed, blankets piled on top of blankets like a hoard of snow on the top of a mountain. He rubbed his eyes, glancing at the time. His mother was fussing over his blankets when she realized he was awake. His fingers were all carefully wrapped in colored bandages, tenderly. She pulled him into a hug immediately, smoothing his untamable hair down. She was shaking. He had worried her. Guilt flooded him, like a flower doomed to drown in a pool of water, beautifully tragic.

He twitched, something he couldn't avoid, and hugged her back tightly. Tears welled in his eyes, building up drip by drip like a brickmason building a house, and they they trickled like shooting stars, or meteors, burning his face like his skin were the atmosphere.

He hiccuped, each one causing his scrawny, sickly frame to jolt. He clung to his mother, crying with her. Her tears were of worry, contradicting his like fire and ice, his tears were the acceptance he didn't get, rolling off his face and rubbing salt into his wounds. Her tears died down and she focused on soothing him. "It hurts.." he cried, gripping her shirt needily, as if it were the only thing keeping him grounded, stopping his from slipping away. She shook her head, and rocked the sick boy back and forth, til the hiccups and sobs died down, like the storm was ending. If only it were.

She smoothed his hair back again, "Where were you? What happened? I know you didn't take your medicine, you know you can't do that." She said sternly, as if she thought he'd had the choice. He knew if his words graced her ears with the truth, she would pull him from the just recently acquired public schooling, and he wasn't ready to give that up just yet. "I forgot. Is that why it hurts?" He asked again, this was the first time he hadn't taken his medicine.

She could have lied to him, she didn't. The way he gripped his little heart gave it away. The cuts that littered his body also told her all she needed to know. "Why does it hurt?" He repeated, more bravely, like a lion cub stalking a butterfly. "That's just what happens when we bleed." She said softly, smoothing a gentle kiss to his forehead. "Get some sleep, your fever is almost broken." She said softly.