Chapter Text
The apartment door slammed into the frame and the lock clicked shut automatically. The blond boy left standing in the doorway was frozen. Normally when someone was standing completely still it would be an unremarkable fact. Humans stopped sometimes, nothing monumental. It would be a normal scene.
Would be.
If the blond boy wasn't Tweek "Twitch" Tweak, the only person who lived his entire life in motion.
Tweek didn't do still.
Tweek was a caffeine addict, he was an insomniac, he had severe ADD. He was a great many things but calm, collected and non-moving were not among those things.
Tweek was motion, at the very definition. His entire body always seemed to be subtlety trembling. His eyes blinked rapidly and constantly. His fingers twitched and interlaced, hands most often clutching his coffee thermos or winding in his shirts hem. His arms tensed and released, wrapping around himself sometimes. His hair even seemed to puff up and flatten like a cats on occasion.
The point being, the unnatural stillness was wrong.
Tweek took in a deep breath through his nose, trying to strengthen himself. The shine of his eyes betraying the burning tears caught in his throat.
And then he dropped.
His jean-clad knees hit the ground and his hands landed palm down supporting his upper body. He looked like a much beaten dog with his head hanging down low, golden blond hair obscuring his face. Deep, keening, sobs tore their way up his throat and a trickle of blood wound it's way down the back of his neck.
A small copper patch had already dried in his hair, matting it to his skull.
Tears finally made their way slowly down his cheeks, creeping from his stinging left eye; swelled shut and already bruising a deep purple. The knees of his lose jeans were ripped wide open, but he didn't even feel the scrapes grinding into the floor as his hands clutched desperately for comfort in the carpet.
His body still wasn't twitching beyond the vague shudder when a particularly hard sob clawed it's way up his throat.
He couldn't breath through the tears, couldn't gather air beyond the lump in his throat. His heart had long since been numbed to this, but it still felt like agony when he thought to hard about it. He should be used to it.
It didn't matter.
One more year!
That was all he had left in this hell hole. He could survive a fucking year!
He tried to think around the pain. But as always he was left, beaten and wallowing in the sting of rejection, prejudice and hatred.
Why did they hate him?
He twitched, so what?
He liked coffee, and?
Sometimes he was a little panicky, everyone has fears!
They didn't even know the really important things.
No one knew how he was living on his own, in a crappier apartment than the McCormick's could afford.
No one knew he'd been kicked out of his house by parents who have never wanted him anyway.
No one knew he liked dick.
No one knew he sometimes carved up his wrists to get some relief from it all.
No one cared though either.
He was a fucked up freak to them. So what if he had it hard? He was still fair game.
These were his best friends once. He used to hang out with Cartman, used to have sleep overs with Token and Clyde.
Not everyone picked on him of course, no he wasn't that important.
Some people didn't punch him like Cartman. Not everyone would whisper and snicker behind their hand's when Tweek fell because Clyde had stuck his foot in the aisle again. A few people didn't sigh and shake their head's when Tweek couldn't answer the teachers, even though he knew the answer he just couldn't say it because what if he got it wrong and the teacher kicked him out of class and they studied for the most important test of the year and they needed to pass this class to get into college and he failed and had to stay in this apartment forever working at a crappy gas station till he was shot in a robbery- and oh, Jesus the pressure.
Mostly they didn't even look at him.
That hurt the most.
When people stood aside and never even acknowledged the bruises, the beatings and the belittlement. When he'd been to the office to change his number and address and contacts, the secretary hadn't even raised an eyebrow at his lack of emergency contacts. It was just Tweek, it was just accepted that he had no one.
The he deserved this.
Cartman was right to hit him, mock him. Clyde was in the right to punish him with black eyes, bruises, slamming his head into walls and lockers.
Because his clothes were wrong, the dress shirts not even buttoned right. Because he was a little eccentric, but caring about the rainforest mattered. Because he was worried about everything, though living in South Park you would think other people would learn some self preservation as well. Because sometimes the pressure was to much and digging something into his skin so hard it parted like clay made everything seem breathable. Because he saw more than they did, case in point the underwear gnome conspiracy.
It never mattered why. It didn't matter if it were a legitimate or fictional reason. All that matter was that he was different.
South Park citizens should be more tolerant, you would think at least. The shit the whole town had went through in his youth, the resident Dead-and-alive-for-dinner-boy, the Transgender-homo teacher and all the other crazy things should have made them accepting.
But that was all in the past. South Park had settled down in the last eight years. Nothing remarkable or unique happened. Kenny didn't even die anymore. And it seemed as though the whole town wanted to keep It that way. Nice and boring.
And there he was.
A twitchy reminder of all the weird things of the past.
The adults didn't even pretend to like him.
His right eye squinted open, still burning from tears and hurt. Staring at the slowly soaking wet spot of slightly browner carpet he made a sound, finally. "nygh" Disgusting.
He sat back onto his now folded legs and sighed deeply. His pale, thin hands coming up to run down his face. "Ahh" he hissed when he pressed to hard on his swollen left eye. This was pathetic.
It was routine.
He would come home to his crappy little apartment, cry, then promise himself not to let them get to him again.
It never worked.
Picking himself up he walked to the bathroom, the only real room in the apartment and washed his face. He had to be to work in half an hour and it was a ten minute walk.
Looking at his green eyes he wondered how much longer he could take it. The pale face in the reflection didn't seem to think it would be much longer.
The gas station he worked at was as familiar as his home. It's two walls with drink refrigeration, Beer and Soda, The long rows of candy and oil. The counter with Cigarettes and lottery tickets. It was a safe place.
Here he was nameless, faceless gas station attendant. No expectations and no pressure. No bullies and no stares for his freakish twitches. This side of town the customers assumed he was high and didn't ask questions.
He relaxed as he leaned with his back to the counter, staring at the packs of nicotine and sipping heavily on his Styrofoam cup of coffee. He was back to subtly trembling as his right hand twisted in his hair. Long fingers digging in at the roots and running up, twisting the locks around his hand and repeating. His head was moving slightly in a swaying motion to the rhythm of the music.
Bully, Three Days Grace had a sadistic sense of irony and almost every song could relate to him. He loved the deep thrum of the bass, the harshness of the drums. Sure sometimes he was still startled by some of the more unexpected moments, but all in all the music was calming. Nothing like coffee of course, he mused taking another deep sip.
He heard the jingle of the door open just a bit forcefully, but he didn't turn. He was still unwinding from school, the bullies, his life. He'd only been in the store a few minutes and wasn't really ready to have to face the contempt of another customer sneering at his jittering and quite voice and flinches. Jesus, they would stare at his bruised eye and the cuts on his palms.
Besides since there was a camera, and they had a sign that said so he doubted the person was about to pull a gun on him. He tightened his hand on the Styrofoam mug of coffee anyway, it was pretty hot and he had some amazing reflexes.
A deep cough startled him into jumping. He didn't hiss when the almost-boiling coffee poured down his hand, but he did mutter a quite "O-oh Jesus fuck.."
A voice deep with amusement said "I'm not sure Jesus did fuck. But all the same, can I get some camel light 100's? and I got ten in gas, I'm the silver bike"
Setting his coffee down carefully he grabbed the cigarettes and turned saying softly "That will be 15.68 please." Before his eyes locked with shocked grey ones.
He knew those eyes, deep grey and always apathetic. More importantly he knew that hat. Blue cholo with a ragged yellow pompom on top.
His eyes widened and the Camels slid from nerveless fingers onto the counter top.
"C-Craig." He croaked in horror. Craig wasn't a bully, he didn't hurt Tweek. But more than once Clyde had socked him in the gut as Craig stood watching, a smoke between his lips and no emotion in his cold grey eyes.
He was one of the people who could care less.
Actually Tweek had never thought the boy had enough emotions to not care as confusing as that thought was.
That didn't matter though. Tweek looked quickly outside, his eyes catching sight of the auburn head of hair near Craig's silver bike and he almost vomited.
His trembling limbs shuddered more violently as he worked the register as quickly as he could. He didn't look at Craig or out at Clyde again as he tried to get the transaction done. But fate wasn't on his side.
The bell signaling someone entered rang loudly in the tense silence just as the receipt printed.
Tweek didn't think.
He heard Clyde's voice asking "Dude, what the fuck is taking so long? Let's go, Token's already eating man."
But he was already crouched and trembling behind the counter. Clyde couldn't know where he worked. He needed this job. He couldn't handle it if Clyde was here and beating him up, tracking him home, and ruining this safe place as well.
He heard Craig's grunt of surprise before he said "Get the fuck out Clyde, I'm almost done."
Clyde apparently wasn't happy with that because he asked "Dude, I don't even see a cashier, can we just-"
"Fuck off Clyde."
Clyde huffed but the door opened and slammed shut.
Tweek waited a moment, but he only heard Craig's breathing and his own rapid heartbeat. He stood slowly and ripped the receipt out of the machine. He handed it mechanically to the other boy, still not looking at him and whispered as clearly as his could.
"H-Have a- Nyug nice d-d-day." His face on fire with embarrassment.
Craig didn't reply. When the door closed again all Tweek could do was watch Craig strap on his helmet and drive away, all the while praying Clyde wouldn't find out. After all Craig was one of the people who didn't participate in "Torture Twitch" right?
The rest of his shift was uneventful. A few other customers bought snacks and gas. Mostly this side of town and this area was unpopular and rarely visited.
He locked the doors at one thirty and walked out into the night with his thermos of coffee clutched to his chest. He didn't mind the late hours, even if it weren't a Friday he wouldn't be sleeping any way. Better to be occupied.
He hated the dark. He always had. The things that normal people knew were in the dark but didn't worry about bothered him enough, but worrying about serial killers, rapists, clowns, evil gnomes and bullies left Tweek with a phobia for the dark.
He'd always slept with a night light, or left his hall light on back home. His parents said it was a waste of electric and therefore money, but he thought it had saved his life more than once. So he loathed walking home in the broken up light of the street lamps. He felt that there was enough space between the lights for something to get him.
A sudden sound had him backed to the nearest lamppost and staring wide eyed at the single headlight bearing down on him. He was frozen, as frozen as he could be with his whole body shivering. The deep rumble of a motorcycle filled the silent street air and Tweek found himself whishing it was a serial killer.
The bike eased it's way into the lamp light, a sleek silver cat prowling the night. The lean boy perched on it was alone, but that didn't settle Tweek's heart rate.
He tried to ask a question, maybe 'what are you doing' or 'where is Clyde' but he couldn't speak above the terror and blood pounding in his brain. The silver machine jerked to a smooth stop and for a moment Craig shadowed face stared at Tweek.
Tweek had almost decided running home might be his best bet when Craig stood. His jean clad legs straddled the bike as he turned and unfastened a helmet from on saddle bad. A thousand thoughts raced through his head in the minute it took Craig to turn around.
What is he doing? Is he going to kill me? Is Clyde waiting. Is that Clyde wearing Craigs face? Is our government advanced enough to sell human-skin suits yet or is this all intergalactic already?
Each thought more wild than the last in his panic. And then Craig spoke.
"Get on."
Tweek stared. Confusion beating down the panic for a moment. "What are you talking about?" he asked in the most level voice he'd used all day.
Craig threw the helmet a Tweek, causing his thermos to go crashing to the ground and Tweek to clench his teeth painfully as he caught the heavy object.
"Get on the bike. I'm driving you home." Craig seemed content with his words because he sat back down on the motorcycle and appeared to be waiting for Tweek to join him.
Tweek, having retrieved his now empty thermos of coffee, simply looked at Craig again.
"Yo-you can't be serious! That, erk, D-d-death trap? No f-fucking way man! Do you have any, any idea how many th-things could go… nyug… wrong?" Tweek's voice was raising and becoming steadier as he went into full panic mode.
"Oh Jesus, oh fuck man. You could tilt to far to one side and we'd fall over, I could fly off the back. My leg could burn on the metal pipe, your hand could cramp just when we get to a stop light and then we'd run head first into simi-truck and be smashed flat and….and…oh… J-Jesus fuck. You're laughing!"
Tweek's voice was indignant and he uttered an embarrassing squeak. Craig Tucker was laughing at him. His day couldn't get worse.
"Tweek, how in the fuck can you live if all you think of is the worst? Get on the goddamned bike, I promise we'll both live."
Yes it could.
"N-No!" Tweek shouted.
Craig didn't listen and kicked his kick stand out to come over to Tweek.
"Listen, just put the helmet on. Nothing bad will happen. I've had the bike for over two years, nothing has ever happened." Craig's voice was low and he took the helmet from Tweek's hands slowly.
He then put it on Tweek's head and strapped the chin strap. As Craig guided him to the hulking silver menace he asked quietly "W-Where's you're helmet?"
Craig laughed again. "And give up my hat? No thanks man."
Tweek found himself placed on the back end as Craig hefted the bike back straight and straddled It again. Craig turned his head, his grey eyes locking with Tweek's panicked ones behind the visor.
"Put your coffee in the right saddle bag and wrap your arms around me." Craig's voice was once more the emotionless monotone he used at school and Tweek hastened to obey.
When his thin arms wrapped lightly around the older teen's torso Craig growled. Reaching one hand backward he dragged Tweek's thin body flat against his back and hissed
"Tight, 'less you wanna fly off." Before he turned the key and they were going so fast Tweek almost cried. Whimpering he pressed his self as far into the warmth of Craig's back and tightened his arms until his elbows protested.
Psychological torture wasn't anything new for him, but this was an original play on his fears that was almost artful. Emotional scars always hurt more than stiches even. It was why a beating from Cartman hurt a bit less than Clyde's, because Clyde knew him – one at least. And that was why it mattered, maybe to no one but Tweek, but still.
He was whimpering and uttering nonsense prayers to a god he hated and promises to a devil that delighted in his torture – he just wanted it to be over.
And suddenly it was. He opened his eyes to find them at a red light. No over, postponed temporarily.
Craig's monotone voice called to him again.
"What is your address by the way?"
"App-Apartment 6-c. C-chaney Street, gah." He whimpered before they took off again. Sailing across the roads with no restrictions what so ever, it was truly mind numbing terror. Tweek hadn't even thought before he spoke, he should have lied. Why would you tell people where you live when people are out to get you?
He was an idiot.
The ride that felt like eternity must have been about five minutes in reality. But Tweek scrabbling for his Coffee Thermos and shaking like a leaf was pale with horror. Why had he ridden that- that thing!
Craig chuckled as he removed the helmet from Tweek's head but it stuck in his throat as he met wide terrified green eyes. Swallowing he locked away. "Come on, it wasn't that bad. I got you here alive didn't i?"
Tweek evaluated himself. He did appear to be in one relatively functional piece. For now.
"Wh-what do you gah, want C-craig?" his voice was defeated, causing Craig to turn and examine his face more closely.
"I just wanted to give you a ride home. I know you used to be like afraid of the dark. I was gonna walk you to your door, if that's ok."
Instead of answering Tweek turned and walked up the stairs to the third floor of the ramshackle apartment building. It was nothing much to look at. White wash stone peeling in places, rotten and dead plants on the railing, stacks of trash and cans bowled over in the alley to one side.
Craig frowned before donning his apathetic mask once again and fallowing.
Just as Tweek opened his green apartment door Craig had found his way to the third floor. Tweek looked over his shoulder and sighed in irritation. It looked as if he had no choice but to play whatever game Craig wanted.
He left the door wide open behind him as he wandered into the kitchen portion of his one room. He pulled out a plastic bag of ice kept frozen for such instances, frequent as they were, and placed it on his eye, before stumbling into one of his two kitchen chairs.
Lucky I went ahead and bought two. Even if Craig wasn't the first person I'd like sitting in them. He found himself thinking bitterly.
He leaned back and tilted his head up, pressing the ice into the swollen eye until he felt a reassuring ache. "Wh-what do you want C-craig?" he asked his voice tired.
Craig still stood in his doorway though, in mild shock.
His gaze swept from the refrigerator humming in one corner beside a sink, the tiny two person table and the neatly made be in the other corner. The whole room was as clean as a person could make a twenty year old apartment, but was empty.
"Do you live here alone Tweek?" Craig's voice had fallen back to monotone. Inside he was swirling with emotion's he couldn't name.
An uncharacteristic snort came from Tweek and he removed the ice pack to look over at Craig in the open door. "Who want's to li-live with a , nuyg f-freak like me?"
For reasons Craig was studiously ignoring, something tightened in his chest at those bitter words. He was absolutely sure that phrasing wasn't Tweek's. And he was positive someone had told him that often enough to make it stick in the fidgety blonde's mind.
Pushing those thoughts away he closed the door softly and wandered to the empty kitchen chair. He didn't speak as Tweek seemed content enough to ice his eye in silence. He wanted to ask why the boy hadn't done that earlier.
Instead he looked over the smaller boy.
He was truly fragile, even with his arms around Craig on the bike the pressure had been almost nonexistent. Nothing like Clyde's strangle hold that made him fight to breathe, the hold had been almost looser than his thirteen year old sisters.
Tweek's blond hair was wild and a mix of honey blond, yellow blond and platinum. With those wide impossibly green eyes and bushy hair his small face seemed even narrower with a tiny button nose and small pouting lips.
His clothes were generic, a green tee-shirt that seemed a size to big with an over-large black button down, miss-buttoned to hang to far on the left. His jeans were baggy and hung over the tops of his brown low-top converse. All lending to the image of his helplessness.
It's no wonder he's picked on. Fuck. He practically screams 'protect me'.
Just then Tweek opened his green eyes and squinted in appraisal at Craig. The boy had the most peculiar look in his eyes as he looked over him. Tweek found himself flushing slightly and he jerked hard to the left of his chair as he began running through all of the awful things Craig might want to do to him while he had him alone.
He could kill me of course, no one knows where I live and I doubt anyone would ever suspect Craig Fucking Tucker was in my house. He could want me to do his school work, but we only have two classes together and I think most people assume that since I cant answer questions in class I'm stupid. He might want to steal all my money, Gah, as if I have any.
Deciding to end the silent staring contest, due to the fact he thought Tweek might run away if the terror on his face was really, Craig coughed lightly and motioned to the ice-packed black eye.
"Uh… Who got you?"
Tweek flinched inward and made a small whimpering sound as his train of thought was broken. What in the bloody hell did the boy mean, got you?
"W-wh-…What?" Tweek forced out through his frozen lips, followed by a "Gah!"
His hands were twisting and clenching, one buried in his hair and one still pressed against the ice pack. He wished desperately he had started a pot of coffee when he'd arrived, but with the pressure of having a guest he'd forgotten. Tweek shuddered, what if he never remembered to get coffee again? What if Craig had somehow forced the ability to make coffee out of him? What if Craig was acting on the orders of the governing body of intergalactic terrestrial species and was here to make sure he never got to drink any caffeine ever again?
Tweek couldn't handle the direction his thoughts were going. He tugged extra sharp on his hair and shrieked "Don't make me fo-forget my COFFEE! Gah, oh, Jesus. Please let me, eek, drink coffee, I don't think I co-could handle the pressure without coffee!"
Craig's emotionless mask didn't even flinch, though inside he was utterly confused by the blonds words.
Tweek wasn't even looking at him. He'd stood up, dropping the ice pack and had both hands fisted in his hair and was in a full blown rant.
"Oh god, oh Jesus. If I didn't have coffee I could never stay awake again and then, gah I would sleep. If I go to sleep, oh, oh, oh Jesus fuck, man I would die. They could find me and abduct me just like dad used to say. I'd be an experiment and it's to close! Fuck, I'm so close. One year, Jesus, one year and it's not even a full year! I'll be out of high school and I can leave and get a job somewhere out of South Park. I can't live through all these beatings with out it, oh, fuck. Coffee is like the only reason I get up in the goddamned morning. If I never leave the house I won't graduate or go to work and I'd die here in this place. Where no one cares and I'm surround by fucking idiots and people who used to be nice and my parents live here and fucking hell, I'd be dead in South Park. Don't take MY COFFEE!"
Craig was mildly impressed with how little stuttering was in the entire rant, but he was concerned about why exactly the blond thought he wanted his coffee. Personally Cigarettes were enough for him.
"What?" was the only moderately intelligent thing Craig could think to say.
From the deeply patronizing look and raised eyebrow, coupled with a quick blink and more hair tugging, Tweek did not agree.
Taking a deep breath Craig tried to explain. "No I mean who gave you that black eye man?" his voice trying for monotone and completely exposing not only his exasperation but his embarrassment.
Tweek froze momentarily but then darted back to his seat and slumped back closing his eyes.
"Well….."