Welcome to my Creek story!

It's been a terribly long time since I've written South Park fanfiction (~2012), but I'm glad to be back. I'm probably a little rusty at writing in general, so try to be kind in your review (if you choose to leave me one) - I appreciate them more than you can imagine! :)

Dog Teeth

Chapter One

"He handed me a pair of pliers and told me to pull out his teeth..."

Just go over there and ask them to leave, you wuss, I told myself as I stole feverish glances at a nearby table from the safety of behind the coffee shop's counter. My eyes flicked between the last patrons of the evening and the clock rested upon the wall. Its ticks were taunting me, every click a reminder that closing time was approaching within minutes, meanwhile there were still customers who didn't seem intent on departing.

Those customers happened to be Craig, Clyde, and Token. They were sharing laughs and a doughnut, each with their own cup of coffee resting in front of them. It wasn't a surprise to see them at the Tweak Bros coffee shop, and sometimes the fleeting thought that I should be over there with them occurred to me before vanishing again Those days were over, and seeing them together merely reminded me I didn't belong in their group.

I didn't want to be a part of their group. They were rebels. Tough guys. Occasionally, lawbreakers (well, not Token.) Unlike them, I was none of those things and didn't have the sense of belonging in their crowd. Whenever I would get mixed up with them, it was as if my life would fall apart, and I'd be sent crawling back to my therapist for guidance and more medication.

Glancing back at the clock, I peeked at them again and blinked in surprise as I saw none other than Craig Tucker staring back at me. Uh, okay, I thought to myself, swallowing hard and averting my gaze. So what if he's staring? He probably just thinks you're a freak. It was hard to be bothered by self-depreciating comments. They were frequent and helped me cope with stressful situations, at the risk of damaging my self-esteem further.

I couldn't tell if it was curiosity or some other force, but I realized I had to know if he was still watching me from that table in the corner. Although I was stationed behind the cash register and at least twenty feet away, it was like I could detect his pupils burning holes through my skin, and the thought turned my lips up in a smile of amusement - yeah, Craig Tucker does not have laser vision. Recalling the matter at hand, I looked in the general direction and sure enough, Craig's attention was locked onto me despite appearing to be talking to Clyde and Token. That made my heart leap into my throat, worried they were talking about me, or chatting about when we used to hang together. Honestly, I wished everyone in South Park, including Craig and his gang, would forget about it because we were young and dumb, and I didn't know any better.

In an attempt to get my mind off of Craig and his stupid, wandering eyes, I desperately peered around the area for something I could do: the tables were already cleaned, there were no other guests in the coffee shop, and it wasn't as if I could close the coffee shop with Craig and his gang in it. Plus, with Clyde present, the toppings inventory would probably be gone by morning, so that wasn't an option.

Deciding to grab the dish towel and wipe off the counter for what felt like the millionth time this evening, I couldn't help myself from reviewing the possibility of Craig chatting about me. Us. It was an anxiety-inducing thought, and I hoped he would just leave with his friends so I could wrap up my shift. Doesn't he have any sense of decency or restaurant etiquette? That was when a disturbing possibility occurred to me: what if he was doing this intentionally?

Craig wasn't quite the nicest guy in South Park, but I never considered him to be a bully, either. He was somewhere in the middle, like most people. Not a saint, not a sinner, however I figured he'd tip toward sinner if there was a scale to measure such a thing. It was unlike him to go out of his way to terrorize people when half the time he didn't seem to give a damn about anything, but I was already on edge. If he wants to talk to me, it can wait until spring break is over. Or at the very least, he could approach me instead of staring like creep. I determined, accompanied a nod of approval and self-validation; I would stick to my guns and stay right here.

Except that was easier said than done when I could sense that he was watching me, almost predatorily. Maybe it was my overactive imagination. Whatever he wanted-unless it was coffee-I was not obligated to give him. Friendship, answers to homework, a ride home… I wasn't the person to go to. Right now, I was just Tweek the barista, and my sole responsibility was providing another caffeine-filled drink if that was what he desired. And then he could take himself and his sorry blue chullo hat and get off the premises.

Once they were gone, closing up would be a snap. All I would have to do is clean their table, make sure everything was in place for tomorrow morning, grab my end-of-the-night mini muffin, and then head out after locking the doors. It'd be a piece of cake.

Lost in my thoughts and continuing to wipe the grime from the counter, I didn't notice one of the figures had branched off from the booth, nor did I catch the movement in the corner of my eye as he glided across the coffee shop, strides confident and borderline arrogant, but with an alluring nonchalance that encapsulated the very personality of the individual. Suddenly, a shadow infiltrated my space and forced me to abandon my task. Searching for the source brought me face-to-chest with Craig, who'd somehow sneaked up on me and now was less than a foot away, I nearly jumped out of my skin.

I guess he noticed he startled me because a low rumble of a chuckle seemed to emerge from within him. It was a warm sound but gave no indication of amiability, and I was mildly insulted he'd find my strife amusing. "What's so funny, Chuckles?" I snapped, narrowed eyes latching to his. In that moment, I remembered the distress his subtle glances caused, and the annoyance of his elongated stay. My frustration spilled over, "You shouldn't be laughing, all things considered, when you forgot your tent." Upon seeing how puzzled he became, I explained, "After all, it seems you're going to camp here overnight." My speech was rarely marred by outbursts anymore, a habit that faded coincidentally shortly after I'd stopped hanging out with Craig and his friends. It returned whenever I was particularly upset or nervous, though, and I didn't think that'd go away.

In retrospect, I'd sounded insanely hostile toward him but for some reason, I couldn't stop myself or manage to extend an apology yet. It was like the years of feeling like Craig Tucker's personal plaything-even when that wasn't entirely accurate-were overflowing and encouraging me to lash out. Craig appeared mildly surprised by it, and an apology was on the tip of my tongue, knowing what I'd done was unacceptable for any situation. But especially this one, and my parents would be livid if word got back to them about the incident. We'd have to go over proper business interaction. Again. I didn't think I was cut out to take over the family business - socializing was a fate worse than death, and it wasn't as if I was great with financials. I excelled at brewing, mixing, and preparing the coffee.

By now, the surprise had faded from Craig's sharp features and in its wake was a timid amusement, a signature smirk that brought the corners of his mouth upward into something playfully sinister. As far as I knew, this particular stoic dude had two types of facial expressions: blank and smirking, and the latter was a rarity. "Damn, Tweek," he said after a moment, unfazed. "I just wanted another coffee before I leave, the usual. I was going to ask for an extra dose of sass with it, but I guess you're giving those out for free."

While Craig was an embodiment of most of the things I disliked about myself and in the world, he was still a calm guy at heart. Not much could penetrate his stony exterior and disturb him, including my angry, sass-filled outbursts. "I'll bring it over in a few minutes," I muttered, starting to make Craig's drink, "and that'll be two dollars and fifty cents. Leave it on the counter."

There were a couple benefits to living in a small town when you were an employee of a coffee shop. One: you started to get to know everyone's drink. They never needed to tell me what they wanted unless it was something unusual and strayed from their standard order. And two: being robbed or shortchanged wasn't a concern with the locals. Craig could've put the money in the cash register for all I cared, since I knew he wasn't going to steal anything from within it - I would know precisely who'd taken money from the shop if he dared try. The reason I hadn't asked him to do so was because I tended to like the money in a particular way. It had to be perfectly aligned with the dollar bill under it, and if I knew Craig, I didn't think he would bother with that. His code of cleanliness had always been "throw it wherever because it won't make a difference in a day or two." Whatever, that was just Craig's style and as much as I hated admitting it, the thought was making me kind of nostalgic for the days we were friends.

Just because I missed Craig's dry humor, sarcastic comments, and crooked smile when he was genuinely happy, didn't mean I wanted to invite him back into my life and make myself vulnerable to him. Things were better this way for Craig, and it was easier for me because my anxiety wasn't on overload constantly. It meant not having a firm shoulder to cry on when things were rough, and it did leave me rather lonely for him at times, but I shook those thoughts away with a stern reminder that none of it mattered anymore.

I was Tweek Tweak. I was independent, and I didn't require Craig Tucker in my life. Except I was starting to grow kind of lovesick for the friendship we used to have. I didn't need to be told that it was stupid and pathetic to be caught up in the past, I was well aware.

The beep of the coffee machine shook me from my trance, and I looked down to see Craig's order-coffee, black-was finished and ready to be delivered. Sucking in a deep breath of oxygen and what I prayed was an extra ounce of willpower and courage, I began the trek over to Craig's table. Clyde and Token were chatting, Clyde giggling every now and then, while Craig seemed to supervise his friends. With each inch closer to the destination, it felt like my brain was fogging up, and it was hard to remember the reasons why I'd decided to stop being friends with them in the first place. This scene made them appear so likeable: Token was already a stand up guy guy, always gentlemanly and sweet, and Clyde was a dork but everyone put up with him. He was great to have around for emotional support, and then there was Craig..

It was too much of a challenge to start to describe what he managed to add to everyone's life. Sure, he was popular and could probably get what he wanted out of classmates, parents, and teachers alike, but it wasn't that. Maybe it was the side he didn't show anyone except me when we were friends, demonstrating he was like a big teddy bear on the inside. Comforting and sort of a goof.

Lost in my thoughts again, my waist collided with the table, and I let out a sharp noise of pain as my body jolted forward, coffee splashing onto the surface - a result of my bad daydreaming habit and clumsiness. Reality catching up with me, I pulled away quickly, sputtering rapid and shaky apologies. "I'm so sorry! Jesus! Did you get- did it get on you? GAH!" I could feel my eye twitching uncontrollably as I tried to survey the damage.

"Jesus Christ, dude!" Clyde exclaimed, jumping back from the table as if it was about to bite him. "My jacket!" He was looking down in horror at the splattered-with-coffee fabric, brown dots sticking out against the red cloth.

"I'm such an idiot. Oh God! Jesus!" My mind was running in circles, rushing a million miles per hour as I wondered what Craig would do, what any of them would do. What was I supposed to do? Oh Jesus. I shouldn't just stand here when I should be getting Craig a new coffee! Wait, no - a washcloth first to clean up, then a new coffee. "I- I'll .. I'm sorry!" I turned around on my heels to grab something to clean the table with, barely hearing Clyde as he continued to complain about the coffee on his jacket, but didn't move when a hand touched my shoulder. It seemed to awaken some part of me that I'd put away forever ago.

"Tweekers," it was gentle, unmistakably Craig's soothing, monotone voice, "relax." I couldn't be bothered to focus on what he was saying when I was still caught up on the initial piece: Tweekers. I hadn't been called that in years, probably… not since we were about twelve or thirteen. How does Craig remember this stuff? It was a pet name he relied on whenever he wanted to help me calm down, and I'll be damned if it didn't work just as well as it did five years ago.

My body released a shudder, an internal tremble that started from my very core and worked its way out, taking some of the anxiety with it. "Take it easy," Craig murmured, hand momentarily squeezing the soft flesh of my shoulder. "One thing at a time, and don't worry about replacing my coffee."

"What about my jacket?" Clyde demanded, hands on his hips.

Craig rolled his eyes, "Yeah, don't worry about that, either." Although Clyde was clearly displeased, he didn't press the issue and instead sat back down with a huff.

I managed to draw in a deep breath and exhale slowly, coherency gradually making a return. It was like old times. His comfort, his tone of voice, I even knew how he was looking at me with a surprisingly soft gaze. It was so familiar and made me feel fuzzy like it had all of those years ago, and I hated myself for falling into it again, relaxed by his voice and the words that tumbled from him.

If I'd learned anything from this interaction, it was that Craig was on my wavelength, understanding what I needed from him to become calm once more, and it was as if he was playing on a weak spot that urged me to let him back into my life. You do remember, I felt like saying, since the way he was comforting me was no coincidence. The accusation was on the tip of my tongue, a venomous snarl that would express my resentment toward him for being so goddamn charming when I just wanted to be left alone.

In a show of pathetic defiance, I shuffled away to search for a washcloth, allowing Craig's hand to drop off of my shoulder as I did so. Grabbing the cloth and returning, I pretended to be fascinated in how the coffee was absorbed into nothingness, leaving no trace of my clumsiness. An exhale escaping me, I mumbled in a strained tone, "I'm just really sorry." If I hadn't spilled the coffee, none of this would've happened; I wouldn't be questioning a relationship that was history. It'd been dead for a long time, and if only I could get some space to think everything over and clear my head-

"Nice to know you're as spazzy as always, Tweek," Clyde muttered grumpily, undoubtedly still upset about his shirt. "If Craig didn't have such a boner for you, you'd owe me a new shirt." That earned him an elbow to the ribs by Token, and Craig seemed unfazed, his stare blank and unreadable.

I didn't know how to interpret that when I was already juggling a million other thoughts. The idea of Craig harboring any affection for me was ridiculous, even I knew that. I brushed it off as Clyde merely being melodramatic about the situation.

The usually-quiet Token looked sheepish, as if apologizing for Clyde's behavior. "I'll.. get him out of here." With a friendly wave, Token started toward the door of the coffee shop with Clyde, whose arms were folded to enhance his pouting expression, in tow.

"It's getting to be his bedtime anyway," Craig offered, and I could hear Clyde making a frustrated noise of protest in response even though he was walking away, "and that's why he's being so moody."

Clyde raised his hand to give Craig the middle finger with a whine of "fuck you!" Without bothering to look, Craig flipped him off back, his attention remaining on me. "See what I mean? Clyde can be kind of a little bitch sometimes, but we keep him around. Mostly for the entertainment purposes."

I cracked a shy smile at that-painfully aware we were the only ones in the building once I heard the jingling of the door signify Token and Clyde's exit-but was reminded of when I first began hanging around with Craig and his friends, and I'd asked why they kept Clyde around. I had received the same explanation.

I opened my mouth to say something in return but felt speechless. I didn't know how to talk to him anymore, not with our history and the mess of thoughts about the past clouding my judgment. Socialization was an uphill battle without being faced with additional challenges like an old companion with an extensive, rocky history. I didn't even know where to begin or if there was anything to say. Luckily, Craig beat me to it as he asked, "Are you going to be here long?"

Shaking my head, I listed off what I had to do using my fingers, "Just need to -ERGH- check to ensure everything is ready for tomorrow, wash and put a-away this-" I grabbed the washcloth, nervously twirling it around my finger in lieu of my treasured fidget spinners, "and then lock up." I finished naming my unfinished tasks just in time to notice the cloth had gotten too close to the edge of my finger. It slipped off, whizzing toward Craig, and I made a startled, choked noise, unable to manage anything else.

As if showing off his quick reflexes, Craig snatched it from the air before it had the chance to hit him, whistling. "You're having a rough time with objects tonight."

"Shut up," I snapped, a smile threatening to crack through my feigned look of annoyance. Like old times.

The smirk returned to Craig's face, "And if I didn't know better, I'd say you're trying to kill me off. First the hot coffee, and now a deadly washcloth. But I," he started, dramatically - well, as dramatically as Craig Tucker could get, "I could not be brought down by such weapons. If only I could say the same for my faithful albeit dim-witted sidekick, Clyde."

Where had this version of Craig been for the last five years? I couldn't help but wonder if I had simply been blind to any attempts he'd made to rekindle our friendship. I knew he was a goof and a good dude at heart (probably), and he was unfortunately just downright irresistible. My eyes narrowed, examining him closely for anything sinister that hid behind his amused eyes and the lines of his smile, but it was always too hard to tell with him.

Craig went on, resuming his monotonous tone, "Since you're so set on murdering me, I guess I'll have to prove you should keep me around." I raised an eyebrow, unsure of where he was going with this but waited for him to elaborate. "Hang out with me tomorrow."

"What?" I asked, nearly screeching. I was loud enough to produce an echo and cringed at my own volume, but we hadn't ran in the same social circles since we were preteens - why would we resume now? "You can't be serious - NGH!" It was as if I'd spat the words at him, and they came out more bitter-sounding than I'd intended.

"I am," Craig reassured, shrugging, "but you don't have to. Think about it a bit and text me if you want to." He glanced at the door, then back at me, handing over the washcloth. "I should get going. As you kindly informed me, I can't exactly camp here considering I forgot my tent." In the midst of my panicked thoughts and uncertainty of what I was going to tell him later, his joke was enough to elicit a tiny giggle. "But I could always pitch one for you." It was accompanied by a teasing wink, and his perverted comment immediately ended my giggling once I realized what he was implying. Not amused, I whapped him in the arm with the washcloth. Laughing it off, Craig said, "I'll see you around, Tweek."

"Yeah," I echoed, the grin fading as he walked to the door, "see you, Craig." The jingle of the door opening filled the silence as Craig left, abandoning me with a clean coffee house but mess of inner turmoil.

With my head spinning and my stomach churning, I couldn't be bothered to eat my end-of-the-night mini muffin.

Finishing up in the coffee shop and the walk to my house went by like a blur, and I was a ghost, not really feeling or thinking as I lied on my bed, staring at the ceiling. Unsure of how long I'd been lost in thought, I didn't know how to begin tackling the issue of tomorrow and was equally tempted to ignore him as I was to take him up on it.

Ignoring Craig would work in the short term, but if he was as serious as he said about hanging out, I was certain he'd make it happen one way or another. That was just how Craig Tucker functioned: when he wanted something, he didn't give it up easily. It was a scary notion that me, or my companionship, was what he currently sought after, and aimed to win at whatever cost.

That kind of ruled out ignoring him altogether, and canceling wouldn't work when he could ask for a different day or time. Besides, it'd be awkward to confront him after admitting I didn't want to be his friend. Since I worked at the only coffee place in town and we still were in school together, a collision would happen sooner or later.

My eye twitched, nervousness apparent. It was difficult to determine how I genuinely felt when there were too many aspects of the problem to consider, and the mix of emotions was overwhelming, drowning me.

But an inner voice kept returning to how nice it'd been when we were talking earlier, and how he was still able to effectively comfort me after years of relative separation. Of course, we'd seen each other in classes and the hallways and around town, but we didn't chat or spend time together. I had my friends, and he had his - he was popular, tall, handsome, and enigmatic, and I was just Tweek. I was alright with that, and I was convinced I didn't want to be a pawn in his world.

However, I also didn't want to be rude or ungrateful, especially when he'd been so kind, and a piece of me was nagging, telling me I didn't want to give up this opportunity when it could be the only one I got. What if it would be different now? Craig never was a bad friend, particularly. He just had some quirks, like everyone else, and spending a day together wouldn't automatically involve me with him again.

I guess I owed it to him, and there wasn't much to lose. As I picked up my phone to text Craig, I internally marveled at my naivete, degrading myself for getting sucked into this bullshit again.

Tweek: Hi, we're on for tomorrow

Tweek: If you still want to, i mean

Tweek: If you don't, that's okay too

I probably sounded like such a moron, even over text. Why couldn't I do anything right? Well, on the bright side, maybe my incompetence with social interaction would be enough to deter him from wanting to do anything with me tomorrow. Before I could add to that train of thought, my phone buzzed and lit up in my lap. A new message awaited.

Craig: yeah i still want to, i'll text you details tomorrow

Although I stifled a sigh, I couldn't suppress the feeling of butterflies in my stomach.