A/N: Because Kyle needs tortured by yet another black-haired boy. Mwahahaha. Let's have us some crazy Cryle fun.

Enjoy~

There was a certain amount of disdain that Craig Tucker had always held for the legal system. Harassing his family, tossing him into jail for a few nights for possession of cigarettes when he was 16, and too many traffic tickets to even bother keeping track of anymore. However, glancing down at the paper atop his cup holder as he drove down a quiet back road, gray eyes tracing genially over his smooth signature above the line 'property owner', a part of him couldn't help but say a quiet thank you for the smoothness of this acquisition.

His grandparents always found him to be a troublesome kid when he was clammed up. They thought he needed disciplined, always encouraging his parents to have him go cut his own switch. A certain harbor of distrust was always prevalent amongst the Tucker family, or at least between Craig and his grandparents as he grew. Time and again they would try to push him out of his shell, get him away from his guinea pigs and 'working like a real man'. Even when he'd turned nineteen and moved out on his own with some money saved from a mediocre pet store manager position, they never seemed to let up.

But now, now it didn't matter. A missed stop sign from Grandpa's failing eyesight had silenced the both of them from nosing into Craig's life. The noirette's fingers gripped around his own steering wheel, tongue darting over his lips as his eyes remained lax on the gravel road.

"Man, this shit's out in the middle of nowhere!" a voice piqued.

Craig flickered his eyes to Clyde in the passenger seat, letting out a long breath through his nose. "They liked to stay away from 'troublesome' youth in the city," he rolled his eyes.

Token snorted from behind his seat, "Really? Because nothing screams 'meth den' more than a house in the middle of nowhere. Maybe they were the troublesome youth."

Craig shook his head, choppy black bangs brushing along his forehead irritatingly. "The only thing young about them was whatever fucking groceries they bought that week. This house is full of old people shit."

"What's left at least," Clyde murmured, placing his cheek into his palm. Craig nodded softly in agreement. His grandparents had left fairly vague instructions for most recipients of their will. Everyone had specific things that were to be left to them, but everything else was a free-for-all, and from what he'd heard, most of the house had already been gutted. Craig himself had acquired what any other twenty two year old could only dream of: His own home, mortgage free. Needless to say, the rest of his family was not entirely happy with the notion that he was waltzing right into home ownership with only taxes to handle, but Craig considered it to be nothing more than payback for the constant years of bullshit that the two of them had put him through.

"Aren't you afraid of murderers out here?" Tweek's timid voice perked up, glancing nervously at the canopy of trees looming over them as the dust under the tires splayed about like tidal waves.

"If a murderer is willing to come this far out, then he pretty much deserves to kill whoever he wants," Clyde snorted. "He's workin' hard for his hobby."

Craig let out a small huff of a laugh through his nose, eyes gliding up a long, slight incline. "It's up here," he informed them.

Token glanced at his Rolex and raised his brow. "Twenty minutes? That's it? It's like we're in another world."

"We live in town," Craig rolled his eyes. "And you come from Snob Hill, so you even knowing what a dirt road is is a wonder."

Token frowned as Clyde and Tweek laughed softly, giving the back of Craig's seat a gentle kick. "I'll remember that next time you guys need a loan," he said superiorly, nestling back against the cloth interior. He and Tweek leaned a bit closer together to look up through the middle of the console out of the windshield as they made their way up the hill.

Craig sighed as the eggshell home came into view, remembering listlessly how he and his sister would run around chasing each other with milk and garter snakes they'd found in the woods. He remembered his sister crying the first time he'd found a bright red and white milksnake and brought it up to the house, little seven year old him beaming proudly at his find and proclaiming he was going to let it eat her if she wasn't well behaved. And then Grandma had to spoil his fun telling Ruby that the snake was absolutely harmless, it was the Rattlers they needed to watch out for. He'd yet to find one in all the years they'd traveled on the weekends to visit their grandparents, but he could hear them echoing into the night now and again, letting him know that they were out there and to tread lightly.

He pulled his truck up in front of the house, cutting the engine and hopping out without a word as the remaining three scrambled out behind him. "Man, what a dump," Clyde muttered, eyeing the peeling paint and the rotted wood hovering overtop on the porch awning.

"Don't fix what ain't broken," Craig quoted his grandfather with an eye roll. Clyde wasn't too far off, the place wasn't going to find itself on the cover of 'Better Homes and Garden' anytime soon.

Token glanced around, cocking his head at a looming structure in the backyard. He stepped a bit to the side and his eyes widened. "Dude, you have a barn?"

Craig nodded, "They used to have cattle. Then Gramps got too old to keep up with 'em so they sold 'em all off to slaughter."

Tweek shuddered, "That's not cool, Man. Being sold off like that. Jesus Christ they didn't even know!"

Clyde snorted, patting the blonde's shoulder. "They were probably proud to be your hamburger, Tweek."

"Jesus, don't say that!"

"Will you guys knock it off?" Craig sighed irritably, stepping off towards the barn with the others in tow. "Don't send Tweek into a goddamn meltdown again, Clyde. We're way too far from the coffee shops to deal with it right now."

The brunette pouted, "I wasn't gonna." Token shook his head, giving the brunette a gentle shove to follow after the receding Craig. They made their way up to the massive barn doors, the three in back watching with interest at Craig effortlessly undoing the elaborate locking mechanisms.

"Someone was born to be a farmhand," Clyde smirked.

"Someone was forced to do chores in this fucking thing every summer," he grumbled, undoing the fifth latch and stepping to the side to swing the door open. A long, eerie creak echoed through the woods, Token, Tweek, and Clyde shuddering at the noise. Craig remained still, waiting for the door to open enough for natural light to beam through the archway.

Token blinked, "Whoa."

Craig looked back at their dumbfounded faces and raised his brow. "It's a fucking barn, not a museum, Jesus fucking Christ." He stepped into the large building, his shoes kicking up dust set upon the concrete floor. He glanced up to the large hay loft hovering overhead, peaks of golden wisps glittering in the dusty alcove. The glow of the sun beamed down through a skylight, the rays situated to the back like a spotlight against the wall. He stepped further into the space, his shoe's noises echoing into the empty area. Craig sauntered over to the back of the loft ladder at a supporting wall, giving a soft kick to the emergency water tank laid up against the wall at nearly a foot under his height. He pried open the lid, seeing a good foot of water still cresting the bottom and his nose wrinkled. Old water, apparently. He'd have to change that out. He glanced to the inscription on the lid, reading '130 gallons'. He tongued over his lips, wondering vaguely if he'd ever even have to utilize it.

"Dude, did you have horses?" Clyde's voice popped back up. Craig shut the worn metal lid, glancing at the array of tools situated against the wall as he made his way back out into the main fray.

He nodded, "They had two. Mitzy and Dumples."

Clyde snorted, "Dumples?"

He shrugged, "I was six and he was brown so I called him Dump. I don't even remember his show name we called him Dumples so much."

Clyde and Token broke into hysteric laughter and Tweek hid an array of quiet giggles behind his hand. Craig rolled his eyes, walking over and slapping Token and Clyde over the back of the head, flicking Tweek's arm along with it. "Clyde, you named your fucking cat Miss Fluffybottom. When we were fifteen," he drawled. "So don't even try." Clyde pouted, tinging red as Token and Tweek laughed harder.

"So," Token breathed out, wiping a dramatic tear from his eye. "What're you gonna do with this place?"

"Be great for parties," Clyde offered hopefully.

Craig scoffed, "Yeah, that's what I want. A bunch of people fucking up my fucking property." He started back out with the others following behind, Token and Clyde pouting at bit at the declaration.

"Dude, what the fuck else are you gonna do with a barn?" Token complained. "Think about it, parties down there, bonfire out here," he gestured towards the open pasture as they made their way to the house.

"People having fucking sex in the hay loft," Craig added dryly. "I ain't interested. I'll do something with it, I'm sure."

Tweek smiled, "You can get your own animals," he suggested. "Goats or...or somethin'."

Token snorted, "Craig the Goat Farmer. Sad thing is I can picture that just fine."

"Well goats would probably give me more of an enthralling conversation than you fuckers," Craig scoffed, digging the key out of his pocket and hurriedly shoving it into the knob, letting the door into the kitchen fling open. They stepped inside, Craig feeling a chill running down his spine as he recalled the smell of garlic chicken and rosemary potatoes roasting away in the oven wafting in the air almost every Sunday they came to visit. Sometimes a speck of buttered blackberry cobbler co-mingled in the aroma, his mouth salivating at the mere notion of the memory.

"Not much to this place, is there?" Token asked lazily, toeing at a piece of loose linoleum beneath them.

"Plenty for just me," Craig answered, stepping out into the living room. He shook his head, nearly every piece of furniture was gone. All that was left was his grandpa's lazy chair still situated in the corner, facing where the TV used to be. Maybe the rest of his family was like himself, they couldn't imagine that damn chair anywhere else in the world. Patterned with a gaudy woodland suede fabric, it stuck out like a sore thumb against the neutral beige of the plaster walls. Craig walked over to it, running his hand along the worn material, his finger tracing over a deer hiding in stalks of wheat. He took a deep breath, the musty aroma of the past clinging onto him like an acrid dust all of its own.

"Lost in memory lane?" Clyde teased.

The noirette didn't answer, too busy recalling how he used to play with his grandfather in this chair. Running at him at full speed while the old man stooped down and caught him, putting him in his lap and laughing before letting him head back to the far side of the room to go again. He sighed. There was always a glitter in his old, grey eyes when the grandkids would come over, one that faded as Craig grew older, became more distant and lost in his own wanderings. The boy frowned, clutching his fingers in the suede. He avoided his grandparents as he got older, what the hell had encouraged them to leave him their fucking house of all things? Ruby had only gotten Grandma's cooking supplies. Hell, his dad, their own son, had only gotten Grandpa's rusted old station wagon.

Craig took a deep breath. Probably trying to get him to go onto what they considered to be the 'right path' more than likely. They never liked the fact that he shared an apartment with Clyde, Token, and Tweek. He was 'too old' for roommates, according to them. They probably wanted him to make the house into a home, find himself someone to 'court', as she had always put it, and make himself a family. He frowned. A couple of old fogies stuck in the mindset of the forties was all they were.

He cocked his brow at a glimmer behind the chair catching his eye. He grasped the seat, grunting as he moved it from the wall a bit. His eyes widened as he reached from behind, grasping the barrel of a shotgun and relinquishing it from its hiding spot.

"Holy shit," Clyde raised his brow. "Grandpa was packin' apparently."

Tweek gulped, moving behind the other two and watching Craig nervously as the boy observed the gun, fingers casually brushing over the varnished stock. "Craig, be careful with that thing, you'll blow our heads off!"

"Calm down," he said softly. "I know my damn gun safety," he said, resting his finger behind the trigger and glancing to the safety. He scoffed, pushing it down, "Old man apparently didn't though. Could've blown his damn head off if he rocked back into it."

"Jesus Christ," Tweek whimpered, clutching around Token's jacket in fear.

Token reached back and calmly patted his shoulder, staring at Craig still admiring the gun. "When'd you learn about gun safety?" he asked with a raised brow. "Your parents don't have guns."

He shrugged, "McCormick. Took his dad's gun and showed me how to use it about a year back because Broflovski didn't want to learn," he rolled his eyes. "The pussy."

Clyde snorted, "Kyle's pro-gun control, so what? We are, too," he gestured to their group of three. "Thought you were, too."

He shrugged again, "I don't really give a shit either way," he said, eyes tracing over the glistening barrel. He clutched around the forestock, stroking his thumb over the ribbed wood hungrily. His little experimentation with Kenny as they shot at clay pigeons had opened a new realm for him. He'd found himself obsessively researching different varieties and models, seeing which ones were the most lethal, the most stealthy. It was a fascinating hobby, one that he'd learned how to keep well hidden from his nosy friends and family. His countless hours of research showed him that he was now in possession of a Winchester, no doubt from his grandpa's war years. He'd heard enough about Vietnam to last him the rest of eternity.

He finally looked up from the weapon, glancing at the bared walls and carpet stained with indentations from long-lasted furniture being swiped away by members of the Tucker clan. He felt a small smile quirking on the edge of his lips as Token, Tweek, and Clyde moved around, exploring more of the house. A chair and a gun was all he needed. His grandparent's yearnings for him were off to a good start. He was already starting to feel more at home and ready to press forward.

A/N: The worst part of this is that the layout of the barn and house, plus the chair and the gun is actually based off of my own Pap's farm. Little me shuckin' corn for the pigs and playin' with the horses and growin' a fear of cows. Ah childhood.

Off to a fun start with abandoned places and guns amirite?

Thanks for R&Ring!