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Your life was already crumbling before you first touched the chilled beer that belonged to your alcoholic dad. You showed signs of depression or finding everything boring or pointless; you’re already messed up to begin with and beyond repair.
Yet, what could you do when there was no one to help you or to even bother to notice that you were falling into a deep hole you couldn’t crawl out of this time?
Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
You drank more and hoped that your sorrows would be drowned by the cheap beer you swore you’d stop drinking.
People always told you that you looked like a hot mess, like you had just rolled out of bed and didn’t bother to brush your hair. They’d always point out your prominent eye bags and your poor performance during football, as if it were the only important thing about yourself.
Why the long look?
Your performance during last Friday’s game was ass, bro! How are you going to get that scholarship, man?
It was all they ever said to you.
Not only that, but they liked to compare faces, as if the only thing you had in common with the person they said you resembled was dark hair or skin. Whichever one they felt like comparing. Just dumb fucking idiots being themselves, you thought when they laughed at their own jokes about you.
Plus, Craig Tucker didn’t actually look like you, right? His dark skin, bright green eyes, and black hair didn’t mean anything to you. He was just another dark-skinned, black-haired asshole who said his opinion out loud and didn’t care if he offended anyone. It didn’t mean anything.
You now learn that you can’t trust yourself anymore. Your fears come true, and you soon realize you really aren’t your beautiful mom’s son. Everything you believed was a lie, but even so, you can’t seem to bring yourself to have a big reaction like your “parents” expected you to have.
The internal anger that you felt for your dad for being unfaithful to his wife wasn’t voiced by yourself; instead, you found solace in keeping it all in and drowning out your sorrows with chilled beer in the confines of your bedroom, once again shutting everything out.
You still wonder when your life will return to normal, when you'll be able to go out and do things with your friends instead of being cooped up in your bedroom with nothing to do.
Now you were stuck with an unwanted brother and mother, whom you didn’t know well enough to feel comfortable around. Craig is stuck in your house because Randy, your father, has temporary custody of the boy. How much worse can my life get, you think, watching from the top of the staircase as your mom (if it was even okay to call her that anymore) welcomes Craig into your house, the home that you’ve lived in for years?
Seeing his presence spiked an underlying anger in you, and in your slightly drunken state, you knew you had to leave before you did or said something that got you in more trouble than you already were with your dad. (Your football career was far more important to your dad than you were apparently, and flunking that last game had gotten him so furious that he slapped you in the face, blooming a bruise on your tan skin.)
That night, you curled up in your sheets and cried—harder than you ever had in your life. You weren’t quite sure why, but surely all those pent-up emotions had gotten you riled up, and seeing Craig step into your house had to be the last straw.
He wasn’t as annoying as you expected him to be. Although still the little shithead he has been since middle school, Craig didn’t speak to you or even bother you in the days he was living with your family. Craig only ever bothered to give you small glances if he felt nice enough to do so. It didn’t bother you anymore that he was intruding on your family, not as much as the first day he was here.
He was like something small in the back of your mind now; he didn’t even reach your most important thoughts at all when you arrived back at home without him (Craig liked to come home later because of his raunchy friends). Your friends were also unaware of your relationship with him, but it's not like it matters.
Craig must’ve informed his friends, because you occasionally get a dirty look from Tolkien and Jimmy and sneers from Clyde and Tweek. You gave them the finger and moved on, because you had much more to worry about than the friends of Craig.
You confront Craig about his snobby friends (and plenty of other things that you were surprised you didn’t get punched for), but you end up with a middle finger in the face and busted knuckles—the result of punching the nearest thing to yourself because Craig thought he could get away with anything.
You try to ignore the guilt and nagging in the back of your mind telling you to go apologize, but it’s quickly forgotten when you have an armful of Wendy Testaburger—the same girl that you were on and off with.
The guilt quickly fades from your mind.
“Look, I’m sorry about yesterday. I was just angry, and I said things I shouldn’t have. Happy?” You begrudgingly say, and you must admit that you’ve said that with less sincerity than what was needed to be forgiven by Craig.
His blank, green eyes hold a slight glare to them and stare at you with boredom, as if the thought of forgiving you was never even an option. Your boring brown eyes are far too empty to be considered warm enough; a dull, almost black color overshadows their chocolate color. It’s a perfect representation of yourself, and you can guess people don’t lie when they say your eyes say a lot about you as a person.
Craig doesn’t respond to you immediately. The brief period of silence exposes the falsity of your pretended apology, and you cringe at how monotone you sounded. It wasn’t your fault; maybe if Craig just learned to listen, you wouldn’t have to say anything that would make him angry. You thought he was the one who should’ve apologized for flipping you off and walking off like it was nothing. But it was Craig you were talking about; he flipped everyone off!
“Sorry? Yeah, thanks. I feel so much better now.” His voice held no emotion; he was staring blankly at you. You clench your fists so tightly that you extract a small amount of blood from your skin, which pools in your palm and slips between your fingers.
You huff out in annoyance and unclench your crimson-dyed fists. “No, you don’t get what I mean. I’m sorry. ” You say it again, emphasizing the word "sorry,” as if Craig didn’t understand you.
Craig's expression doesn’t waver once, and there’s a strange pang in your chest when he scoffs and crosses his arms, completely dismissing you. “I’m leaving now.” There’s a finality in his tone—aggressive and harsh—when he bumps his shoulder against your chest and pushes you back.
Your chest tightens, a lump forms in your throat, and his footsteps become less audible in the distance. You decide that instead of chasing after the angry boy, you'll wash it away with the burning taste of beer, drinking it in an alleyway until everything bothering you in your mind is buzzed and blurry.
Weeks later, you’ve made no progress with Craig. All the times that you’ve tried to catch his attention in the hallways were futile, as he obviously tried his best to ignore you.
(You’ve also made no progress with Wendy Testaburger, but that’s another thing nagging at your brain that you don’t need to acknowledge.)
What mattered was that Craig was totally ignoring you because you made a major fuckup by calling him names and insulting his friends. What a grand way to talk to Craig, right? So much for being an older brother.
His friends always made this protective circle around him as if they could shield him from anything, even though Tolkien was really the only one who was taller than he was, and Craig avoided being in the same hallway that you were in. So you eventually sigh and spend most of your free period smoking behind the school, where you know none of the teachers walk by.
Sometimes, if he happened to bump into you, Kenny would share a smoke with you, but eventually take out his vape pen and use that instead. You would laugh and tell him that vaping is for pussies, and you both would have playful banter. It was too bad that Cartman took up most of his time, so he never had a free period in school.
It didn’t bother you a whole lot because none of your friends really hung out with you anymore. You thought they just didn’t care enough to even bother. Kyle was off doing other things, maybe with Tolkien for tiktoks since that was their “thing” now; Cartman dragged Butters and Kenny along to do probably illegal things with him, and your relationship wasn’t the best to begin with anyways.
Still, it doesn't mean it doesn’t hurt.
Your internal monologue was cut short when a distant, sharp cry came from somewhere. You weren’t sure, but the loud sounds and shuffling of clothes that came from your right were enough to alert you that someone, or in this case, people, were near.
The sound of a fist coming into contact with skin was all that could be heard, earning a cry from the person that received it. Your first reflex was to back away and leave that poor person to get a brutal beating from some douchebags, but the familiar voice brought you out of your stupor.
“OW, FUCK! Asshole! Go find someone else to fuck with; I’m not your fucking girlfriend!” You knew it was Craig. No one else had that annoying, monotone voice that somehow pissed off everyone, and no one else’s voice made you stop and turn to find where it came from, not like Craig’s did.
“Shut your fucking mouth, you fucking queer!” And that was definitely not Craig’s friend. More punches were thrown when the asshole fighting Craig said that.
Surprisingly enough, you groaned softly, burning out the cigarette on your ragged, brown shearling jacket. You reluctantly went towards the grunting and shouts of the two boys who were throwing punches and insults just around the corner of your smoking place. You wonder if you’ll ever have a normal moment in your life before Craig suddenly becomes the problem you have to care for.
You stepped around the brick wall and into the sunlight to see the abusive asshole—that was recently the talk of the school—pressing Craig up against the wall by his collar. The brown-headed boy was spewing nonsense that had you scoffing and shaking your head, but that was thrown out of your mind when the guy faltered and stared at Craig with a weird look in his eye while the black-haired male rambled on, which was meant to spur on the brown-haired dude.
They still didn’t notice you because of the long distance that you were apart (which surprised you because you could hear them talking loud and clear from an even farther distance), but you weren’t far away enough to see the brown-haired dude lurching forward into Craig’s business, his open mouth ghosting over Craig’s, which stopped him abruptly from his rambling.
"Dude, what the fu—?" Craig didn’t get to finish; the sound of a fist connecting against skin echoed through the empty alley once again, although this time it was your hand that did the hitting. It was shocking enough that you punched him that fast, but what surprised you the most was that you did it for Craig. You did it for him— the last person that you would’ve protected—but you did it anyway.
You didn’t need to protect him; you just wanted to. That was shocking enough for you to take one look at the guy clutching his face and groaning on the floor, then turn to your brother, who was looking down between you and the guy. You take Craig’s bony hand into yours, gripping it tight and pulling a gaping Craig off the wall, dashing past the brown-haired male and towards the parking lot, where you’re sure you parked your battered truck.
Craig doesn’t say a word when you are both in the truck and skipping school, and you don’t either, basking in the momentary silence until one of you has the guts to speak up. Craig spoke up first. "Y’know, you just could’ve walked away. I had the problem handled." He mumbles, leaning his head against the cold window, gazing at the passing scenery.
You sigh and shrug your shoulders. What was there to say? You know that responding even in the slightest way would come out wrong; you always find a way to fuck up. You just weren’t good at communicating with other people, as your relationship with Wendy didn’t turn out so well (and still doesn’t). “Uh... well, I heard your voice when I was on my smoke break. Plus, I couldn’t just walk away when I knew that I could’ve helped you somehow.” You slouch over onto yourself as a wave of drowsiness washes over you like a tsunami.
“It wouldn’t have mattered if you didn’t help, though. It's not like you've helped me before.” Craig says, and the words ignite a spark of rage within you. You take a deep breath to calm yourself, because it was just Craig’s stupid inner voice speaking for him. You would’ve helped Craig if he asked for it, right? You aren’t the complete asshole he thought you are; it’s just your pettiness that made you act that way. Plus, you were there for him now, which is preferable to nothing!
“Craig…” You begin to speak with a deep sigh. You didn’t know the right way to phrase what you wanted to say, making you stumble and hesitate over your words. “I know we got off to a bad start. Well, I was just being a petty asshole when you moved into our house.” You say. You paused when you felt Craig look at you from the corner of your eye.
“No kidding.” He quips. You let out an amused huff, letting a smirk make its way to your lips. It was playful moments like these that made you feel truly alive, maybe even normal. You never realized how lonely you were until a simple comment from Craig made you laugh.
“Me being mean to you was just me being afraid of change, afraid that having you as my shitty little brother would change everything.” You continued on, laughing when Craig made a small "hey!" when you said “little brother."
“I’m sorry, I really am. I really do want us to have a civil relationship instead of whatever the hell we had before.” It felt like a weight was lifted off of your shoulders when you finally said what you wanted. Although you couldn’t really see Craig’s face because you were driving, you just wished that he knew that you were being truthful.
Craig’s posture straightened up; his attention is now fully on you. “Stan…” He was interrupted before he could finish his thought when you came to a stop in the dirt driveway of the farm house. You didn’t make a move to get out of the car, and neither did Craig. There was a comfortable silence in the truck, accompanied by the rumble of the engine.
“I’m sorry, too.” Craig whispers, almost hesitantly, as he crosses his arms and looks at you with the most sincerity he can muster. You felt your own surprise take over, raising your eyebrows as you watched Craig and waited for him to take it back. But…he didn’t.
“I was kind of an asshole as well, and I didn’t really do anything to make you like me either, but...” Craig sighs, stopping himself from going any further. He gave you a small smile, and although it was small, it still reached his eyes. The boy left the truck before you could say anything else, leaving small, hand-shaped blood marks on the handle.
The unsaid “I wanted to” hung heavily in the air, spinning through your mind like a broken record. At the thought, you felt a smile form on your lips. You tell yourself, "I wanted to as well." You’ve always wanted a little brother, and now Craig is there to fill in that hole.
The next few days and weeks felt like a blur to you, and you barely remember anything that you did in those days. Well, to you, it seemed like it; Craig spent most of his time glued to your side, which is why the days went by so fast. He followed you wherever you went and ate whatever you ate. He annoyed you like a little brother would, but he also stuck to you like one.
Your friends also seemed to notice the interaction. Cartman would bother you about it and say things like “Is he your boyfriend now?” or “Are you gay? Goddamnit, I knew Kyle was a bad influence!” Kyle seemed confused and almost jealous if you thought about it, but you just brushed it off. Plus, everyone knows you two are brothers now. Kenny didn’t care much, just often asking you if he could “tap that ass," which ended in Kenny getting a tooth knocked out and a black eye.
Craig’s friends seemed to have gained a different opinion about you but still thought you were annoying, based mostly on the fact that you cut their interactions with Craig short because you wanted to get home early. (You were also pretty sure they all snuck into Craig’s room at night. You always hear their loud whispers and giggles, and their efforts to try and get Jimmy in through the window without hurting him.)
Even through all that, your life is significantly better than it was before. Craig tried to persuade you into cutting down on the alcohol and cigarettes, and he still struck with you if you relapsed. Letting go of your old habits was hard, but having Craig and some of your best friends there helped.
You were happier, too. It was all you ever wanted: to be happy again, before you got into bad habits. And you were finally there—a lifelong goal that you thought you’d never reach.
While lying down on your bed one day, Craig rambled to you about all the things in his mind: red-racer, his guinea pig, Stripe, his friends, and his new boyfriend, Tolkien. (It still surprises you to this day. You remember walking into Craig and Tolkien making out on his bed and walking out in shock, all while Craig groaned in embarrassment in the background.)
He snapped you out of your thoughts when he directly spoke to you. “Are you happy?” He asked, lying flat on his stomach next to you, resting his cheek on his crossed arms. You hum mindlessly, but then furrow your eyebrows when you realize what he said.
“I mean, you seem much more like yourself these days, other than when you were a complete asshole to everyone.” When he brought a laugh from within you, he smirked at himself.
“What, so are you crediting yourself for my new attitude?” You tease, smiling. Craig shrugs his shoulders and starts pulling at a loose thread from his green sweater, which was the same color as his eyes.
“Well, you’re happier, and that was also after I was being nice to you, so...” Craig cocks his eyebrows, giving you a look while you snicker to yourself.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, you annoying asshole." You snort. But as you sigh to yourself, you realize that Craig’s right. He is why you are happy again. Ignoring your shitty, deadbeat dad and the heavy burden of football, life wasn’t as bad as it used to be. You smile more and actually hang out with your friends again.
“So are you happy?” Craig flashes one of his genuine, small smiles. His eyes glisten under the sunset that peaks through your window, making them a vibrant green. It’s a beautiful sight, and you silently pray that he never goes to a state that you once were.
Sighing to yourself, you grin. “Yeah, I am.”
Craig nods, tucking himself under your duvet, urging you to follow him. “I’m glad.” He mumbles, letting his drowsiness take him under.
He falls asleep before you do, but it doesn’t stop you from staying awake to admire him. His features were identical to yours, other than the color of his eyes, because yours were a deep brown, but seeing the similarity made you snort to yourself and shake your head.
Thinking to yourself, you wonder,
“What would I do if you were never there?”