Chapter Text
One of the best parts about sleep was just the utterly beautiful detachment from reality. Entering a fantastic state of a quiet mind and minimal remembrance of responsibilities, stresses, worries, all those things.
Well Tweek doesn't know anything about that.
Waking up too many times to count at night with different thoughts and reminders that steal his chance of a fantastic state of a quiet mind. Did he lock the front door? He's sure he did. Did he lock his bedroom door? He should check. Is there an alarm set? He should set one. Turns out he set 4 already, but what's the harm of another one?
The first alarm goes off and it scares the shit out of him. He disables the other 4 and tosses his phone under the pillow. He sits still, waiting to hear if it goes off again.
It doesn't, and he's now wide awake, so he goes downstairs. The front door was locked, much to his relief.
He quietly sets to making his coffee in the largest mug he could reach on the shelf without needing a chair or to climb the counter. It was way to early for that.
With one cup in hand, he putters about the house and straightens it up. It still looks messy, but at least a bit put together.
"Sounds like me." he mumbles to himself, looking down at his loose clothes, suddenly wondering why he bothered buttoning them in the first place given not a single button he managed was actually correctly done.
He's on his second cup of coffee when he reaches into his pantry and grabs a handful of cheerios and eats it straight from the box. It would gross him out to see someone else do it, but he's got the house to himself for the next week. He'd pour them into his coffee and eat them like that if he felt like it.
The quiet house has helped his very-not-quiet mind find a little bit of peace in the mornings. No random questions, no extra chores or responsibilities to be given and remember, just quiet. Which he's fucking needed.
He could do with some music, though. He pats his pockets for his phone, and gives a hard look around the kitchen and living room before remembering that he left it upstairs. Finishing his second cup, he goes to grab it.
He hears an alarm going off and can't help but roll his eyes at himself. That eye roll quickly switches to widening in horror as he sees it's now well past the time he was supposed to be there.
Thus, his calm morning ends and is now setting up for chaotic rest of his day.
[-]
Tweek hastily entered the school, thankfully very few students were out in the main area, and even more thankfully they barely acknowledged him. He wasn't shocked, but he realized he would love a friendly face right about now.
He made his way to the locker area and over to his own. The halls seemed empty, but once you rounded a corner then it was all a toss up for anyone to show up. He couldn't remember who shared a locker near him that would still talk to him. Or look at him. Sometimes Butters would stand and talk to him, but that was Butters, and he didn't have a single mean bone in his body. You couldn't pay him to be mean to you. Probably.
With shaky hands, nerves and coffee in that order will do that to you, he starts turning the lock to open it. It usually takes him a few tries, but shockingly he got it this time.
He's shifting books to his bag when it happens, when he hears that dreadful voice from down the hall.
"Tweeeeeeek!" the annoyed and unfortunately familiar voice of Cartman calls out to him. Tweek quickly ignores him, the shakiness of his body starting up.
Cartman has had it out for him since last week. Tweek was using the schools bathroom and didn't pay attention to the other people in there. Why would he? Gross. But he was good at tuning people out, but for whatever dumb reason that day, hearing Cartman talk had him quietly eavesdropping. It wasn't a very interesting conversation, it was Cartman complaining to Stan and Kenny about Kyle as usual, calling him names, retelling exaggerated conversations, just generally being his racist self.
Then, Kenny suddenly asks him. "Dude, are you into Kyle?"
In response, Cartman's face turns bright red, a scowl on his face as he sputters a response. "What-what? Are you fucking joking? What a lame joke, dude. What- me? Into Kyle? Fucking good one. Shut up dude."
"Oh my god you totally are-!"
"Dude, I said shut up!"
Out of quiet panic in hearing news like that, Tweek quickly turned and walked out of the bathroom, ignoring the glaring look he could feel coming from Cartman on his way out.
Ever since then, Cartman kept coming up to him and harassing him, giving him a hard time, playing up his gay jokes, clearly projecting any and all insecurity onto Tweek. Today is no different, but an upsetting feeling in Tweek's stomach tells him today is going to be different. Bad different.
He can feel his heartbeat, how fast it's going and how dizzy it was starting to make him. "Tweeeeek." Cartman calls again, drawing out his name and his tone becoming more annoying.
"What do you want?" he responds in a quiet voice, not wanting to deal with him right now this early in the morning.
Cartman gives a face, his double chin becoming accentuated. "Well that's not a nice way to talk to someone, Tweek." he gets closer.
"I'm- I don't want to talk to you, C-Cartman." Tweek says, moving the last notebook into his bag.
Suddenly, Cartman was moving, he shoves his hand against Tweek's open locker door and slams it closed. Startled, Tweek visibly jumps and yelps in shock, taking a step back. Cartman takes a step forward, now with a nasty face. He looks at Tweek and his disheveled demeanor.
"Can't dress yourself, Tweek? Or were you too busy getting fucked to fix your clothes right, Tweek?" Cartman reaches out to grab a fist of Tweek's collar, yanking him forward.
"Ah! Get off me Cartman!" Tweek shouts, grabbing his wrist and trying to pry him off. In response to the resistance, Cartman yanks him to the right and slams him into the lockers.
"Don't yew fucking talk to me like that! I'll kick your ass you twitchy bitch!' he says, now red-faced and heavy breathing.
There was a split second where Cartman's grip on his collar lessened, and in a split second, an adrenaline and fear filled second, Tweek bolted. He ran back towards the main entrance of the school where an office was, and at the very least where an exit was. He didn't want to find out what Cartman would do if he caught up to him.
Unfortunately for him, he had to slow down at the steps, not wanting to crack his skull open if he slipped. It was enough for Cartman to catch up and he grabbed the back of Tweek's shirt. The sudden grip had him misstep, and suddenly he was falling forward. Cartman used his brain for once and let go, letting Tweek fall.
Much like he feared, he landed smack on his forehead. The initial impact wasn't terrible, he was content to just lie there on the filthy floor, but Cartman wasn't done with him. He was rolled over, and the second he tried to open his eyes was when it all was terrible. The lights were too bright, who the hell puts lights this bright in a school? And why did his head hurt? He was just trying to get to class.
He heard multiple voices now, some shouting and it quickly started to make his head hurt more. He starts to sit up to try and figure out what was going on, but a hand pressed against his chest and pushed him to lay back down.
"Don't move." A deeper, more familiar voice spoke to him. He knew that voice, but couldn't place it. Who was that?
He moved his arm to drape over his eyes and shield them. "Then.. tell em... t' shuddup." he says. He doesn't think he said those words right, but he was suddenly too tired to care. Don't you know not to try and talk to someone whose trying to sleep? It's rude.
It didn't matter, as the voices faded, so did his consciousness. In just a few seconds, he was out.
[-]
When Tweek awoke, his eyes felt heavy and lights were still too bright. He wanted to fall back asleep, his body was sore and his head hurt and lights were still too bright. Why did his head hurt? He tried to recall what he could... he got to school late, he was at his locker when... when...
He remembered.
With a wince, he forced his eyes to open. Squinting heavily, he slowly moved to sit up. He was in the nurses office, judging by the slightly too small bed he was laying down on and the faint smell of chemicals. He started to look around, but froze when his eyes landed on the person sleeping in a chair beside his bed.
Craig Tucker.
"O-Oh god." he said, eyes wide in horror and shock.
Craig Tucker. Craig fucking Tucker.
He was slumped in a chair that was definitely too small for him, his head tilted towards Tweek. His breathing was slow and heavy, meaning he was most likely asleep.
Craig had certainly changed the last two years. He was much taller, and his shoulders broad. There must've been a new piercing somewhere on him for sure. Had he grown his hair out too? It looked nice. Still beautiful, still Craig Tucker. Wait what? Tweek shakes his head to try and derail that train of thought, but the movement nearly made him throw up so he stopped and instead focused on his breathing.
Looking at Craig again to make sure he was still there, Tweek battled his joy at seeing him here, and his dread on why he was here.
Tentatively, Tweek reached out to him and gently placed a hand on his shoulder, giving him a small shake.
Surprised from the sudden touch, Craig quickly sat up and turned his attention straight to Tweek. The concern was unmistakable in his heavy blue eyes, but visibly sighed with relief when he realized Tweek was fine.
“Are you okay?” his nasally voice spoke up. It was deeper now, he recognized it from earlier.
“What a-are you doing here?” Tweek asked. Craig sighed in response and shook his head. He stood up from the chair and looked at Tweek.
“Why am I not surprised.” Craig mumbled to himself. “I protect you and bring you here for help, but don't worry about saying thank you or anything." he said. Tweek couldn't tell if he was joking or not.
Tweek felt his nerves rise, feeling he was starting to twitch more than normal. His breaths became a bit heavy. “I-I see… um, thank you.” Tweek said, attempting to smile. He looked at his hands and noted the small bandages. His fingers looked a little bruised, and they were definitely hurting when he curled them. Cracking his knuckles wouldn't be fun for a while.
Craig didn't respond, instead took a moment to look over Tweek and his injuries. There was a bandage over his head with blood already leaking through. There was a bruise on his cheekbone, as well as on his hands. The more that Craig looked at Tweek, the more he realized how messed up he was. He then noticed that Tweek had dark bags under his eyes and looked completely exhausted. He seemed to be a lot more skinny than he last remembered, and his eyes… he just looked so tired. Craig felt a pang of guilt hit him.
Craig snapped himself out of his thoughts. "How are you feeling?” Craig asked and sat back down in the chair.
"I-I..." Tweek stuttered out and lightly twiddled his thumbs. "I'm okay" he whispered. Quietly, he looked up at Craig. “I'm sorry, but... you brought me here? Why bother? I-I thought you hated me." Tweek said with a frown.
Craig frowned as well, looking at how Tweek seemed to shrink in on himself. He knows it wasn't said to be mean, but Craig absolutely deserved all the guilt thrown at him.
"I don't... hate you, Tweek. I've never hated you."
Something in Tweek changed, his eyes sent an unwelcomed feeling into Craig, Concussion forgotten, bruised hands forsaken. His sad demeanor switched to anger.
"You did a piss-poor job of showing that, you f-fucking asshole." he snapped.
The heavy silence consumed them. Neither of them looked at one another. Instead, Tweek tried to go back to sleep, and Craig tried not to sink into his seat in shame.
He was right.