"So why did you say you were coming home with me?"

"Ghn! - What?"

"You told Kenny you were coming home with me," said Craig. On his other side, Clyde was building a small cabin out of the celery sticks, which Token would periodically knock over to the amusement of a small group of a girls a lunch table over.

"Oh Jesus, I'm sorry! I should've asked you, oh God, I didn't -"

"Woah, woah," said Craig, grabbing Tweek's arm and attempting to hold it still, "It's fine man, Clyde's coming over anyway. I'm just asking, I mean, you and Kenny are sort of...something, at least." His eyes narrowed, "Did something happen? Did he do anything?"

"What? No!" cried Tweek, jerking his arm back, "I'm just, just re-evaluating, ah...stuff."

Their table was sprayed with celery sticks as Token swung his arm forwards and sent the materials of Clyde's nearly completed vegetable cabin in different directions.

"Dude!" exclaimed Clyde, gathering back the sticks, "Not cool!"

"Just eat the damn things," said Token tiredly.

"Well I can't now, they touched the lunch table."

Token rolled his eyes, "Oh no."

"Seriously man," said Craig, turning his gaze back to the nervous wreck that was his best friend, "If something's up..."

"No! Nothing's up! Everything is down, actually, totally down." Tweek grinned, or at least tried to. After spending most of his time worrying, his face wasn't quite used to needing to smile and sometimes not all the right muscles got pulled. Craig smirked at Tweek's attempt to cover-up what he was sure was something, and shook his head.

"Whatever, that's fine," he elbowed Clyde, who let out a small yelp, and said to him, "Tweek's gonna come with us tonight, too."

"Oh, cool," replied Clyde indifferently, "Hey, did you do the math homework?"

Craig snorted derisively, but Tweek shouted eagerly, "I did, I actually did it!"

Clyde moaned, "Ah, no, I can't even read your handwriting, Tweek, it's like that ancient Egypt writing, but by drunk Egyptians or something." Tweek stared back, confused.

"Hieroglyphics," said Token.

"What?"

"That's what it's called," he added, "The ancient Egyptian writings you were talking about," he clarified, and when Clyde's confused look persisted, he just sighed and withdrew a piece of paper dotted with math problems, written in the neat, organized handwriting that was Token's.

"Oh sweet, thanks man!" exclaimed Clyde, and went to copying.

It hardly mattered, in the end, since Cartman had ended up cornering Clyde before class and manipulating him into giving him his homework, anyways. When you're about the size and weight of a baby orca whale, you tend to have that sort of power. Clyde was complaining about it after school as he and Tweek waited for Craig outside, and he continued as they made the walk to Craig's house, Tweek noticeably more fidgety than usual.

"...And now I'm gonna get a C because the teacher was all 'well Clyde you haven't been doing really well and maybe if you turned in at least one homework assignment, it could raise you to a B,' and that was the last homework assignment since the semester is ending tomorrow! Now I'm gonna fail thanks to that fatass."

"C isn't failing," said Craig, finding the opportunity for the first time to speak since Clyde had started.

"It is to my parents," muttered Clyde.

Craig laughed, "My parents would throw me a fuckin' party if I came home with straight C's."

"Yea well we can't all be as lucky as you and have deadbeat 'rents," replied Clyde. Craig responded with his middle finger before shoving the door open to his house, leading the way through the entryway and into the living room, which was currently occupied by a hyperactive seventh grader, her lengthy red hair pulled back into pigtails that bobbed along with her as she bounced in time with the music emanating from the game on the TV screen. The plastic play-guitar strung around her shoulders was a clear giveaway as to which game she was currently engrossed it.

"Hey Gilly," greeted Craig, crossing over to his usual seat, Tweek and Clyde moving towards the couch.

"Hey," replied his sister, Gillian, her eyes unmoving from the screen they were focused on. A small silence began to stretch into the room, broken only by the sounds emanated from Gillian's plastic controller. Eventually, though, the silence continued to the point where it was enough to prompt her to hit the pause button.

"What?" she snapped, whirling around to face her brother, hands on her hips - a pose which would normally appear intimidating, if not for the fact it was being conducted by a 13-year-old with a toy guitar slanted across her front.

"Nothing," grinned Craig. It was clear he had intended to come in and play video games with his friends, but at the same time he wasn't the type of brother who would forcefully kick out his younger sister. Unfortunately, he was still the type of person who was accustomed to getting his way with things.

She continued to glare at him, and he did nothing but smile back lazily. Finally, with a sigh of defeat, she turned back around towards the game, saying "You guys can play, too...if you want."

"Thank you," replied Craig, leaning over the side of his chair to pick up the second guitar-shaped controller – Tweek saw Gillian shoot her brother the middle finger, before Craig threw the second guitar over to Clyde, laughing when it smacked the un-expecting teenager in the face.

"You and Gilly, Clyde," said Craig, leaning back into his chair, "Tweek n' I'll kick both your asses."

Gillian rolled her eyes, turning around to wait for the slightly embarrassed Clyde to position the controller comfortably.

"Ready?" she asked.

"Yea," replied Clyde from the couch, exchanging a look with Tweek.

Gillian and Craig were both fairly good, which was lucky in evening out the teams, since Clyde and Tweek both left a lot to be desired. Clyde could barely handle the game on the easy-setting, whereas Tweek's frequent spasms led him to slamming all the wrong buttons so that his side of the screen was easily marked as the source of a chorus of missed and made-up notes.

"Red, Tweek, red! Hit the red button!" Craig half-yelled, half-laughed; the sight of Tweek almost going into cardiac arrest in attempt to play Guitar Hero was too much for him.

"GAH! I'm trying! There are so many flashing lights, man!"

A small icon on screen was starting to flash red, and Craig could hear Gillian laughing behind him. Craig was looking irritated now, "Shit, Tweek, hit the red notes!"

"JESUS CHRIST, this game is TOO MUCH PRESSURE."

"Green, now, green!"

"Nnghh! - I'm trying!"

They could hardly hear the booing video crowd over Gillian's laughing in the background as Tweek desperately attempted to hit the notes that Craig was now yelling to him as they appeared on the screen.

"I thi-i-i-i-nk we won that one," said Clyde over from the couch, ignoring Craig's usual

response just as the song came to a finish.

"Christ, I'm sorry Craig!" cried Tweek, tearing at his hair.

"Chill man, I'll live if I can't sufficiently master a fake guitar."

Gillian's laugh climbed even higher as Tweek and Craig's score faded onto the screen, and Clyde seemed about ready to add another sarcastic comment, before his right pocket began vibrating and lighting up. He withdrew the cell phone and flipped it open.

"Hey mom, what's up?" He winced and moved the phone about an inch away from his ear, before bringing it back again to say, "Right, sorry, I mean, 'how are you doing?'"

Craig grinned while he slung the guitar-controller off his shoulders before moving over to help Tweek, who had inexplicably managed to get tangled in the straps of his own controller. No surprises there – they had long accepted that Tweek was just rather inexplicable in general. By the time Craig had sufficiently freed his friend from the grasp of the plastic guitar control, Clyde had replaced his cell phone in his pocket and was reaching for his jacket.

"Where're you goin'?" asked Craig.

"Home."

"Dude, it's not even six yet."

"Yea."

"On a Friday night?"

"Tell that to my mom," muttered Clyde, rolling his eyes, "See you tomorrow after practice?"

"Sure," shrugged Craig, watching Clyde as he exited the room, before turning to face Tweek.

"I-I should probably go now," he said, twisting the hem of his shirt.

"Yea, wouldn't want ot keep Kenny waiting," said Craig sarcastically, then, his tone lighter, "C'mon, I'll give you a ride."

Tweek felt as if something in him had been loosened a little, something he hadn't even been aware of being tense until the tightness had melted away. With a brief wave towards Craig's sister, who had already completely re-immersed herself in the game, he walked to the couch to grab his thin jacket before moving after Craig. His friend reached up towards the coat rack, grabbing his trademark blue hat before snatching up a set of keys resting on a small end table and jamming on his shoes.

"Dude," he started, stepping into the chilly evening with Tweek close behind him, "When are you ever going to get your permit?" He shut the door, locking it behind them, "Or are you just expecting me to drive you everywhere until you die?"

"When cars stop killing people," replied Tweek, ignoring Craig's later comment as he followed him to the garage, "Sometime around then." Craig owned a secondhand truck with faded blue paint and a cracked back window. Stuffing leaked out of the torn seats and the left side mirror remained a part of the truck solely through the power of duct tape. Naturally, Craig loved it, while Tweek feared it.

"Cars don't kill people," said Craig, sorting through his keys, "People kill people."

"OK, well, once people stop killing people, then I'll get it."

"Smartass," replied Craig, smiling slightly at the sound of Tweek's nervous laugh from the other side of his truck, where he waited by the passenger side. It was as he slipped the key into the door's lock, though, that Craig felt himself struck by inspiration. He paused, unlocking the door before calling, "Tweek, get over here."

"Huh? What's wrong?" Tweek crossed in front of the car, looking nervous as he moved over towards where Craig was standing, his hand resting on the driver's door. "What's the matter? Is it broken? Oh Jesus, did I break it? I don't have any money! How'm I supposed to fix it? I don't know anything –"

"No, shut up," cut Craig, pulling the door open, and nodding inside, "Get in."

Tweek looked from Craig to the inside of the car, confusion twisting upon his face, "Er, what?"

"Get in," replied Craig, beginning to grin now.

"The…the truck?"

"No, the flower pots. What the hell else?"

"I…what? Craig! Craig I can't drive, what are you, what, I don't – Jesus Christ!" Tweek's shock and fear had left him a stammering shell as he fumbled with the lid of his thermos, ending his ramblings with a large gulp of coffee.

"Yea, seriously? I'm not gonna drive you everywhere. C'mon, you know how much driving schools charge for this sort of shit? Like, three, four hundred dollars. Here I'm offering you a driving lesson, totally free of charge!" Craig's grin was getting ridiculous at this point.

"N-no, I think I'll just walk to Kenny's…" started Tweek, making as if to go around Craig. But before he could, Craig had whirled around and scooped Tweek up in his arms as easily as if he had been a bag of groceries for Craig to bring into the house. It was enough to nearly send the caffeine-addict into death throes.

"I'm pretty sure you'll thank me for this some day," said Craig, throwing Tweek into the driver's seat and slamming the door, realizing his friend would probably be too panicked to figure that he could just unlock the doors from the inside, "When you actually get your driver's license." He moved over to the right of his truck, crawling into the passenger seat. As soon as he opened the door, he found himself barraged by Tweek's protests.

"Tweek," said Craig, and he watched as his friend seemed to calm a little after simply hearing his name, "Seriously, relax. You think I'm gonna let you get hurt?"

"I…it's…it's a truck!"

Craig laughed, "Yea, it is. Put on your seatbelt." He watched as Tweek pulled the belt across him with an air of uncertainty, as though being in the driver's seat implied that there was an entirely different way to putting on your seatbelt.

"Okay…now what?" he asked, stilling clinging to his thermos.

"Here, put that," Craig struggled with the truck's cup holders; he had two that slid out from beneath the half-working radio and after a short battle, they popped out, "here!" He gestured to Tweek's thermos, and, almost reluctantly it seemed, he placed it in the holder. "And you can take these."

With an open, shaky palm, Tweek accepted the keys Craig was handing over to him, eyes darting nervously from the keys to Craig with such rapidity that Craig was half-expecting his eyes to just keep rolling back like a slot machine. He watched as Tweek found the key to Craig's truck amidst all the others on the ring, then simply looked from the key to Craig.

"Good job, you found the key," grinned Craig, "Raise the seat and move the mirrors first. See, you gotta just," Craig leaned over to grab the knob used to raise the seat; there was nearly a ten-inch difference between him and Tweek, who was currently blushing, unbeknownst to Craig who had moved on to adjusting the side mirror. "You can do the top mirror yourself," he instructed, moving back to his comfortable position in the passenger's seat.

Tweek was extraordinarily self-conscious of the fact that Craig was watching his every move, watching as he took the mirror in his shaky grasp and angled it downwards so he could get a clear view out of the cracked back window. He looked towards Craig, who grinned his approval, and Tweek tried to start up the car. His twitching was so violent that he could hardly get the key in the ignition.

"Here."

He felt Craig's hand close around his, guiding the key smoothly and helping Tweek turn it away from him. The engine sputtered to life, causing Tweek to jump forwards suddenly, only to be slammed back in his seat by the belt wrapped so securely around him.

"Jesus! It's on! Christ, what do I do? Oh God, whadda I do, this was a bad idea, Craig – Jesus!"

"Done?"

The anxious teen turned his head towards Craig, who was leaning back with a confident smile. "Really," he said, his voice surprisingly sincere considering the almost superior expression on his face, "I said I wouldn't let you get hurt, right?"

'I would never accidentally kill you.' Tweek blinked. It would appear he constantly needed the reassurance of the fact that nobody was out to murder him.

"Right?"

"Augh!" exclaimed Tweek, startled.

"Exactly," replied Craig, his hand moving beneath his hat as he ran it through his hair, "Now I'd like you to meet your new best friend, Mr. Brake."

"Brake?"

"Call him Brakey if you want, whatever. Anything goes wrong, kick him in the face. Put your left leg over there – you don't even need it."

"What? What about brakes?"

"You use your right foot for both. Dude don't worry, it's like 25 of your body you don't have to think about already."

"O-Okay." Tweek listened as Craig went over a few other parts of the car, showing particular interest in the emergency brake, before he was told to put the car in

reverse. "What!?"

"You sort of have to be in the road to drive."

"What if I crash!? Oh God!"

"Are you kidding? This is South Park. You're probably more likely to run yourself into a pole than see another car on the road."

Tweek had to concede defeat at this; his friend did have a point. Slowly, at the rate of about an inch an hour, he began to slide out of the garage and down the driveway, eyes constantly tracing a triangular path from the rearview mirror, to the side mirror, and back to Craig who had been smiling more than Tweek had seen him do so in an entire year. At least he was enjoying himself. That was the thing about Craig; he had a habit of putting you in what looked like a situation that could only lead to a wooden box six feet under, but, as could be clearly illustrated by his left hand hovering over the emergency brake and the encouraging words he was telling Tweek, he always had your back.

"Okay…now what?" asked Tweek, who had a look of shock on his face that clearly said he hadn't even been expecting to make it out of the driveway alive. His shaking hands were still stuck to the steering wheel.

"Now…you're going to have to move forward," said Craig, his tone overly-serious.

"Jesus Christ!"

"Goddamn, how many times do I have to tell you to relax?"

Craig grabbed the gearshift and moved it to the "drive" position, narrating everything he was doing for Tweek's sake. The sun was beginning its early winter descent as the battered old truck began to crawl along the road. Tweek drove the car the same way coffee drove himself – the truck would appear to move along fine before suddenly jerking forwards and being yanked to a stop, wheels twisting in different directions as Tweek panicked over things like birds flying across the road or speed bumps. The entire time Craig remained calm, his steady voice acting as an anchor for his friend's panicked state.

"Hey, congratulations," mused Craig as Tweek jerked the truck to a halt before a stop sign, "We made it down the block."

"Am I done? Is that enough? Jesus Christ, this is too much!"

"Do you see Kenny's house here? C'mon, there's no one on the road – keep goin', you're doing fine."

"Augh! Are you sure you're in the same car as me?" asked Tweek, tearing his eyes from the road to look at Craig, who laughed.

"Pretty sure. Really, you're doing pretty great, considering."

Tweek paused, chewing his lip as he tried to ignore the small twist in his stomach he'd felt from Craig's compliment, "Really?"

"Yea, but I'm about to change my mind if you don't keep moving."

Tweek reached for his thermos, making some sort of strangled noise before silencing himself with a long drink of coffee. Craig said nothing as he watched his friend replace the thermos's lid and then slip the cup back into his holder. His entire body seemed to twitch entirely to the left, but his hands remained steady on the wheel now. He pushed a little too hard on the accelerator, sending the truck shooting forwards before he kicked down on the brake, accidentally stopping the car so that both and he and Craig were propelled forwards a little before being stopped by their seatbelts. The rest of their journey followed this pattern of unexpected bursts of speed followed by quick stops that Craig was sure were damaging his tires like he-didn't-even-want-to-know. Just as the sun was starting to melt into the horizon, a faded blue truck skidded to a halt opposite an equally rundown house. Inside the car, everything was silent.

"That..," started Craig, straightening up after having just been shot forwards by another one of Tweek's less-than-smooth stops, "…was one of my most fucked up ideas ever."

"What!?" exclaimed Tweek, looking fearful, "I'm sorry, I didn't think…! I mean, if you, but I thought that, oh Jesus I knew, I knew this was…I knew, uh…C-Craig?"

"Haha! Oh man, that was fuckin' great!" laughed Craig, un-clicking his seatbelt. Tweek was beyond confused now. It was already one thing to see his friend showing emotion, and it was another all together to see him almost having mood swings. "You actually got us here…alive." He grinned at Tweek, who felt the same twist in his stomach, "Fuckin' insane."

"Heh, yea," replied Tweek nervously, struggling to unfasten his seatbelt. Craig's laughter died down until the only sounds in the truck was the small click of Tweek's belt before it slid slowly across his chest to hang at his side. Both of them were looking towards the green house across the street, neither of them saying a word. The silence had stretched on long enough when Tweek was about to admit that he should leave, only to have Craig talk first.

"You know those books?" he started, moving his eyes from the McCormick's house to Tweek, "Those chicken soup for the soul ones?"

"Er, yes?" replied Tweek, fingers drumming along the side of his thermos.

"My mom is like obsessed with them. I used to read 'em when I was little." He paused, "I've always wanted to write to them."

"What?"

"Yea, it'd be so easy, you know? Just write about your friend dying from leukemia or your divorced parents or something like that."

"Oh…yea but, but you don't have dead friends, or divorced parents," replied Tweek, a small crease forming in his forehead as his eyebrows reached towards each other in his confusion.

"No shit. That's not the point, it's just like…no one would even know." Craig sighed and leaned back in his seat, "Everyone would read it and be all 'oh wow this is so sad!' That's weird, you know? Like the only stories anyone reads in that book are the ones where people die cuz of cancer or car crashes or something."

"Shit!"

Craig started at the curse, looking back towards Tweek, "What?"

"Augh! Is that why you did this!? You're trying to kill me! Jesus Christ you just want me to crash and die so you can write a story about it for some cook book!? Christ!"

Craig stared at Tweek for a second, his mouth hanging open before he started laughing again, "What the fuck? Don't be stupid, man, that's totally unrelated…nah, I was just…thinking, sort of."

Tweek shook his head, "You, you know people think I'm the screwed up one."

"People are always wrong."

The silence had crept back in, leaving Craig turned towards the passenger window and Tweek squirming uncomfortably.

"I…I should go," he said for the second time that night, pushing his door open, and half-tripping his way out. Now on the ground, he looked even shorter as he peered back into the truck, "Thanks for the, uh, lesson." He smiled, but Craig was still looking away, "Uhm…see you."

He turned, checking both ways before darting across the road, thermos tucked under his arm like a football. It wasn't until he made it to the other side did he hear the light slam of a car door shutting. He felt like he was watching himself through a glass wall as he hopped up the front steps and knocked lightly on the door – too hard and it'd probably fall backwards – and stepped inside after being greeted by Mrs. McCormick, to find Kenny waiting in the living room. He was hardly listening when Kenny apologized again, then suggested maybe they go visit the arcade. He wasn't even aware he'd nodded 'yes,' as they made their way back outside and towards the shared car that the McCormick's used. Kenny moved straight towards the driver's side while Tweek moved to sit in the passenger's side, feeling almost disappointed. He wasn't sure what Kenny was even saying as he backed out too quickly, almost hitting the truck parked across from the house. He shook his head, taking a gulp of coffee to soothe his shaking body – where was his mind, anyway?

xxx

Craig had turned his head back towards Tweek's direction, just as he started half-running across the road. He felt the corner of his mouth prick up. Of course Tweek would be almost running, he was always talking about road rage and car crashes and the possibility of getting run over. When they'd been younger, they'd all played things like foursquare and soccer in the middle of the street, and sometimes Tweek would sit off on the side, his head swiveling from left to right the whole game as he kept watch for cars…

Damn it, thought Craig, what am I doing here? He reached over to shut the driver's door, looking up in time to see Tweek disappear inside the McCormick's house. He felt as if someone had just struck a match inside him. He shifted over to sit in the driver's seat, finding his knees almost squashed by the wheel. He reached to the side to lower the seat, thinking about Tweek sitting in it just moments before – he'd looked adorably awkward, small and shaking with his feet just reaching the pedals.

Adorable, thought Craig again, shaking his head as he reached for the key still trapped in the ignition, What's wrong with me? I am the screwed up one. He looked up. Gillian's going to wonder why I'm taking so long. Still, it wasn't until he saw Tweek disappear into Kenny's car and vanish further down the road, that Craig finally pushed the key forwards, listening to the roaring of the engine as he struggled to ignore his own thoughts.