5 AM.
The traffic outside's long petered off to a stop. Not a single sound, not a single noise to be heard except for the dull and steady tic tic tics of his clock and breathing. He registers the noise. Tic tic ticking against the base of his skull.
Tweek lies still on his side, limbs splayed out against a hard mattress. Breathing. Existing. On the cusp of wakefulness and rest, tired but just like before every night, his mind has been clearer than it has ever been. He is quiet, watchful. Doesn't turn away even as the darkness presses in against the walls of his sight and elicits an involuntary shiver. In the dark, he sees them reach for him. If he turns his head, he knows they will place their hands on him and tear him to pieces. Feast on blood and flesh and bone.
It's always like this- night falls and they come. They wait for Tweek to lower his guard, they wait for the teen to tire and then they sink their talons in with teeth and tongue and gouge. Tear away pieces and pieces of him until he is nothing. Until he wakes with a half strangled scream in his throat in the morning, feeling like he's very much dead even when he's still breathing. They always come in the night.
That's why he has to stay awake to let them know. Stare them down like they're staring him down even if it leaves a sick feeling in his insides and twist his gizzards. Tonight is even more important than ever to stay awake. And he's reminded of that when the lump next to him shifts, pressing up against his side closer to avoid the chill, unintelligible noises slipping from lips. He doesn't dare turn to look. But Tweek knows what he's going to see anyways. A deep crease between strong brows, fingers curling and uncurling with soft subtle movements and more restless noises.
Craig Tucker doesn't sleep well- not anymore.
Tweek doesn't know when it began, but over the years, even he could tell that the other was growing more and more troubled.
This is why it's important. They don't come to him because they know Tweek never goes gentle into the night. They came for Craig. And he'll be damned if he lets them have him. He won't. He won't let them have him.
The anxious blonde doesn't exactly understand why. But this was the only place Craig felt safe enough to come to whenever things were going to swallow him whole again. Here was the only place he'd let himself cry- quiet, always quiet, against Tweek's shoulder. Granted it was Tweek's responsibility for those tears- since he'd coax them out of him. He should feel bad perhaps for intentionally breaking the other's strong hold of his own emotions..but he doesn't feel too sorry about it. Maybe he should. Then again why should he?
This is where he lets himself shake to pieces and rebuild again in the morning.
So he has to keep it safe. For him.
Tweek takes in a deep breathe under the soft glow of his nightlight, reaches out gently to brush a thumb against his friend's tear-streaked face and tries not to smile when he feels the slumbering other press closer against him, pushing his face against his clothed belly and relaxing.
Tweek can't do much. He's always causing trouble for others because of things beyond his control but this? This he can do. This he will do.
He'll gladly wake up to a million silent heart attacks, he'll stare them all down, and he'll even go outside.
Just to make sure that he's safe.