A/N: Clear the Area – Imogen Heap. Fuck yes.
Okay, so there's set; your mind frame or whatever when you take it, and setting; the place where you take it. Y'know, how stressful or comfortable or whatever it is. Tweek's fucked.
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Token stood as he saw Craig's truck pull up in his empty driveway, hitting the curb and bouncing hard. Before it had even rattled to a stop, Craig was out, slamming the door as part of a routine behind him, his face screwed up in a muddled mass of negative emotion.
"What the fuck are you doing outside?" He snapped, his hands balled into white-knuckled fists. Token thought it would be best to step lightly, ignoring how pissed he himself was.
"He locked me out, asshole."
It had become custom to blame Tweek's actions on Craig; the two had formed a distinctly single unit, and as interaction with the weaker side was, to be put lightly, difficult, it was easiest to put all expectations on Craig, who, although with a lot of shouting, cursing, and usually, some form of physical punishment, took his responsibilities as part of the package. Someone had to take care of Tweek, because he sure couldn't do it himself.
"Move." Craig snapped, elbowing his equally aggravated friend off the sidewalk as he passed. He mounted the expansive porch and stood before the door, planning his next move.
"Well?"
"I'm let me think, Christ."
Ringing the bell or knocking was certainly out; any sudden, loud, unidentified sound could send Tweek off the edge. But he had to get to him.
He cupped his hands to the door and placed his mouth between them. "Tweek? Tweek, it's Craig." He shouted
He heard a crash somewhere inside. Token cringed.
"It's just me, okay? Tweek?"
Another noise, this one distinctly closer. Something slammed against the door, causing Craig to jump.
"HOW CAN YOU PROVE IT'S CRAIG?"
"…You tell me."
There was silence. "Are they out there?"
"…No, Tweek, it's just me."
"You weren't followed?"
"I wasn't followed, Tweek."
The lock clicked, and the door separated a half-inch from the frame.
One round, mossy green eye and a line of disheveled blonde hair showed through, mostly concealed under a shiny strip of purple plastic,
"You swear?"
Craig flipped him off. "I swear."
"Okay. Come in. BUT QUICK!" The door flew open, crashing against the side of the house, eliciting a groan from the teen standing in the yard. Craig slipped inside and closed the door, quickly, as instructed.
"Craig, I'm so—ergh—glad you're here! I can't do this alone, I can't I can't…" He sighed and pushed his eyes into the butt of his wrists.
"You don't look so good, Tweeker." His eyes were lined thickly with purple, making it appear as if someone had punched him twice; his pupils dilated, wide and glassy, and his jaws clenched, leaking a thick stream of saliva down his chin and onto the front of his shirt. A popcorn bowl loosely sat atop his fluffy mass of hair. His fists were filled with wads what appeared to be Token's underwear.
"Yeah, I know. Been busy. Doin' things."
Craig looked around. The house had been systematically crashed; aside from the wreckage littering the floor from the previous night's party, there appeared to be a sort of base set up; the potted plants were covered in blankets. The stairs had been blockaded by two arm chairs and a coffee table. There was salt spread over the floor.
"What's up?"
"The gnomes, man. They're HUGE." He spread his arms to communicate the size of his attackers. "I got a couple. There's ways to slow 'em down, but I haven't figured out how to kill them. Gah! You need protection! They go straight for the head. I don't think they want underwear anymore. But you can still distract 'em with it. Here, you take these." He attempted to hand one fist of underwear to Craig, instead pushing it into his chest and dropping them to the marble floor of the foyer. "I can find another helmet—stay with me. Watch my back." He managed to say the entire monologue in one breath.
As he spun on his heel toward the kitchen, Craig grabbed him by the crook of his elbow.
"GAH! GET IT OFF! CRAIG! CRAAAIG!" Tweek screamed, attempting to run against whatever contained him. His socks slid on the smooth floor, and he landed hard on his tailbone, one arm still up in the air where Craig held it. He had started to bawl. "CRAAAAIG!"
"I'm right here, I've got you." Craig snapped, his heart breaking. He knelt on the floor beside his panicking friend, wrapping on arm over his shoulder, resting the other one on his knee. "Tweek, dude, you took like four hits of acid last night."
"W-what?" Tweek sniveled, turning his drowning eyes to meet the stony face three inches from his own.
"Focus, Tweek. You're tripping balls, okay?"
"Y-yeah, I took something. But that has nothing to do with this! Craig, we're wasting time!" He tried to stand. Craig slammed him back down.
"No. It's all in your head, buddy. Your fucked up little head. There are no gnomes. It's just you and me and a lot of underwear in Token's house." He felt like crying.
Tweek's wide eyes traced arcs over the high ceiling, trying to comprehend what Craig was saying. "No, I'm serious. I SAW them." He was losing confidence.
"Will you come outside?"
"No. No way."
"Just to my truck?"
"…"
"I wanna take you back to my house. See if you can sleep it off."
Tweek drew his sleeve over his chin, wiping off a large amount of the drool, and pulling a spider-web strand along with it. "You promise you'll keep me safe?"
Craig's heart was powdered. "Yeah, I swear."
"I trust you." He smiled. "Help me walk; I can't see—erk--for shit."
Craig nodded, took Tweek gently by the wrist, and led him out of the house.
A/N: Trying to get back into…Not-Sucking-At-Writing. Land. So I can try to WIN THINGS!!11 So this is pretty easy stuff; no real characterization, no filling out in on what's been going on the past…I dunno, few years, no NOTHING. LAME. My knowledge of Acid is entirely based off of my brother's behavior, wikipedia, Go Ask Alice, and that one really fat comedian. …Lol.