An: Ah, finally chapter 4! This chapter would just not yield to my every demand. But hopefully all of my toil and trouble worked out in the end. Hopefully. Nah, I think it did lol. So, to those who could possibly be reading this failed story and liking it, enjoy! Oh and thanks to KC for the betaing job :D You are FABULOUS darling lol

-uncmeister

Phase 4: The Worst Best Friend Ever

Craig

I don't know what the hell that buttwipe said to Tweek but it's pissing me off.

Seriously, Tweek's being way more Tweekish than usual and he's been that way since lunch, since Cartman showed up.

It was lunchtime when it happened. Clyde, Token, and I were discussing whether or not ostriches could get horny (I know dogs do, especially chihuahuas and Stan's gay dog Sparky but what about penguins, or seals or scorpions or ducks? Dude, that'd be so awesome) when Tweek screams and starts vaulting lunch tables. All three of us as well as everyone else in the cafeteria yelped and shot up out of our seats. You have no IDEA how Hollywood perfect his screams are. Once I even told him that he'd be perfect for a horror movie with some deranged bodybuilder lumberjack chasing him around with a hack saw but from the way he freaked out, I decided that maybe he wouldn't do as great a job as I'd thought.

But anyways, this scream was....different. It wasn't louder...and it wasn't shriller than usual either. Actually I think it was his expression; it didn't look like just a case of bad nerves, but more like whatever was said really, really scared him. Like really, really, really scared him.

So, with that said, why am I stuck sitting here next to him outside of Mr. Mackey's office too?

I'll tell you why. Because I had gone against my better judgement (again) and decided that since I wasn't fond of the expression on him I would go ahead and punch Cartman right in the face for retribution. It didn't hurt much since fatty has 2 layers of shock absorber in each cheek and 3 under his chin, and it was really awesome because Cartman started crying. Well, it was awesome until I had a teacher yanking me by the ear down the hall to the stupid counsellors office. Incidentally, a couple teachers were taking lunch at the table next to us and when they jumped on the scene, I 'accidentally' flipped them off too.

And now, here we sit and wait outside of Mr. Mackey's office to await the verbal assault of 'Mmkay's and 'hitting is bad's that only Mr. Mackey can dish up; Tweek here for screaming bloody murder and me for punching Cartman and giving The Man the Almighty Finger.

Frankly, I'm pissed off at Tweek as much as The Man is. It's technically his fault we're stuck here wasting away into puddles of gravy outside of the office. Yet, I feel worried about him too. How gay is that? Very gay, which is another reason to be pissed off at him.

He's sitting on the edge of his blue chair outside of Mr. Mackey's office like he could fly off it at any second, and he keeps wringing his hands over and over and OVER again. He's around maybe his 9th cup of coffee within the hour. And what's worse is the way his eyes are darting everywhere, searching every shadow and every face.

Christ, I bet it's those God damn gnomes again. You know what he told me earlier before lunch? He told me that gnomes were tracking him through the air vents and that they were going to kill him and take his boxers right from out of his pants.

Yeah. I know.

Underpants stealing gnomes.

Why I hang out with him I honestly don't know, and I may never know. I just do. It's probably because we grew up together. My mom and his mom were all buddy-buddy in college and of course when they started popping out babies, they decided it would be 'too cute' to set us up for friendship to 'continue their legacy' or something like that. Even after these long nine years, I doubt we're really good friends though. I'm not necessarily the best person in the world, in fact, I'm a down right dick. If anything, I wouldn't be surprised if he secretly hated me. But I swear to God if he hates me, I'd better be getting some sort of humanitarian award for putting up with him and his crap or else I'm gonna be pissed, like super pissed. Like Damien, son of Satan, pissed.

Dammit, and now he's talking to himself! I can't really tell what he's saying because he's talking a mile a minute and when I glance over all I can really see is his thin mouth forming jittery words while his eyes inspect every surface in the hallway. If he's searching for gnomes I'm going to kill him. I really will. He's always screaming about gnomes and leprechauns and how they really do exist and you'd thinkthat after years of 'uh huh right's and 'of course Tweek, of course' he'd just drop it. Gnomes don't exist. Leprechauns just happen to, Cartman proved that himself, but gnomes that steal underwear? Come on.

But did he drop it? No.

"S-sorry Craig," He murmurs pathetically. I sigh and turn to look at him because I honestly can't take any more of this bull crap.

Oh god. It's worse than I thought. Tweek looks like he just got struck by lightning with his crazy blond hair sticking every which way, not to mention his wide and incredibly blue eyes. I'm crazy jealous of his eyes even though they're usually twitchy and stuff, because they're just so… blue, I guess. Mine are sort of a grayish blue but nowhere near his. His are just… whoa. Indescribable. Although maybe I'm giving him too much credit. I mean, Butters has some really blue eyes and so does Kenny as well as handful of others but there's just something about Tweek's that are… whoa. God damn it. I sound so gay. I blame it on Tweek.

"Shuddup Tweek," I mutter quickly and go back to staring at my shoes, awaiting a nice peaceful silence since I'm sure he'll take up the hint. He doesn't and starts thinking out loud again, only this time it's loud enough for me to hear too. He does this a lot without even realizing it; I usually don't pay much attention, but this time I hear something that snags my interest.

He's saying something about how horrible his day is blah, blah, blah and then he says and I quote "and now my sorta best friend's pissed at me!"

WHAT? I almost jump out of my seat and stare at him. Almost.

I'm one of the reasons why his day's horrible? Because I'm pissed at him? And did he just say BEST friend? As in me? Craig Tucker? Oh my God…no way! I thought he hated me! I mean, I'm a horrible person! Especially to him! Why would he…what the hell possessed him to think that I was…that we were….that what we were something more than just…just friends? I mean bestfriends? With him?

'Sorta best friend'….My heart skips a beat and I internally flip it off for being a dick and endangering my wellbeing. I'm his sorta best friend.

"Tweek will you quit talking to yourself? And relax I'm not pissed at you, okay?" I love it when he freaks out. It's music to my ears, and it takes a lot of effort to mention the whole pissed off part without cracking a smile. For a minute there, I was afraid I was going to start stammering but somehow I managed to keep my cool.

Best friends. Craig and Tweek. Tweek and Craig. We could be the next Stan and Kyle! We could hang out together every day and make fun of Cartman and have sleepovers and stay up 'til 3 in the morning watching cartoons and build a Twinkie fortress and sneak into R rated movies and lots of stuff! The more I think about it the better it sounds. Maybe…maybe we could be best friends. Maybe…maybe it could work out. Maybe…maybe I wouldn't mind if it worked out….

And that's when Tweek spills his coffee. All over his pants.

"OW, OW, OW, OW, OW!!" He rockets off the chair in this twitchy blond blur and in the blink of an eye, he's beating at his legs with his hands at the hot coffee spilled on his crotch. Somehow, despite the insane urge to laugh at him (isn't that what you do when you're on fire?), my body moves on its own accord and in a second, I'm right there trying to keep him from injuring himself any more than he already has. That's something best friends do, right? Haha….best friends. I smile and grab him by the elbow to try and stop his flailing arms.

And then he smacks me right in my nose.

"Aww shit my NOSE! Tweek, you fucking MORON!" My hands fly up to cover it my burning nose and guard it from any other wayward slaps. Jesus Christ, is he trying to make me hate him? I start to back away from him while he stands there with this dumbstruck expression on his face until he realizes what he did. When he does realize what he did, he launches himself at me in a poor attempt to 'help' me.

"Oh shit! I'm sorry Craig! Is your nose okay?!" He lunges for my face and I jump on top of the chair trying to get away from him. "Is it bleeding?! Oh god I didn't break it did I?! Argh, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid!" He screeches and starts pulling his hair. Oh god, screw an award, I deserve a billion, no, a trillion dollars or something for dealing with this!

"TWEEK CHILL OUT!" I yell and he does but not before whimpering out a small, pathetic 'sorry', successfully making me feel like a total asshole. Great. Now I feel bad for yelling at him. I mean, he thinks I'm… his best friend. I'm sure real friends don't do that type of stuff.

Damn it, I must be a terrible best friend. And now I'm seriously starting to feel like I'm forgetting something important too…

I glance down and remember that he spilt his coffee all over himself again. Luckily I have some tissues in my pocket since I'm starting to catch a cold and quickly shove some at him. I watch him as he pitifully dabs at the stain on his pants and then gives up and buries his face in his hands.

"Tweek? Uh, you okay?" God, I love that I have a pretty neutral voice most of the time. It betrays nothing, and I like that fact. It makes lying and hiding things from mom and dad a lot easier, but more conveniently, I don't sound nearly as faggy and remorseful as I really am.

He doesn't answer me so I start shaking his shoulder until he finally removes his hands and glares at me. He glares at me! I punch the fatass for him and get sent to the office for his sake, and he glares at me. I forgive him for smacking me in my cute-as-a-button nose, and he glares at me. AND I help him in his time of need providing napkins for his flaming crotch, and he glares at me.

Maybe I lied when I said my voice betrays nothing. The correct statement would be that it betrays nothing except for anger, frustration, and indecent thoughts because I think I'm about ready to damn him to a Richard Simmons-y hell but I choose the nicer way out. Instead of coming up with something witty and cruel to say back, I glare right back at his big stupid blue eyes and try to give him the finger but since he's my… best… friend… it's completely half assed and totally fails on me.

GOD DAMMIT!

Since when can't I just give him the finger?! A man should be able to give anyone the finger without a shred of remorse! Urgh, this whole 'best friends' thing is already going up in flames isn't it? ISN'T IT?! And what the hell am I forgetting?! If it wasn't the coffee all over his stupid crotch what was it? That stupid nagging at the back of my mind won't go away and I get the feeling that it definitely has something to do with today. Ugh… I should get one of those Blackberries or something. Then I'd never forget anything ever again.

We stay like that until he's called into Mr. Mackey's office. I hate that guy; he always gets me in trouble. I think I visit him more often than Kenny McCormick dies and that is saying something.

The second the door clicks shut my ear is pressed against the door ready to listen to their conversation. I happen to want to know what the hell Cartman said to make him so crazed but unfortunately, Mr. Mackey has a soft spot for easily frightened blonds and barely talks to him. That bastard just tells him that screaming is bad and that he shouldn't do it again. When he asks why Tweek was screaming, Tweek just tells him he doesn't want to and he lets him go scotch free! Son of a…

The door knob turns and I scramble back into my angry and indifferent pose on my seat just as Tweek steps out of the office. I can't help but stare at him. This guy actually thinks of me as his best friend. I don't think anyone's ever thought of me like that. He looks at me funny (probably because I'm staring) then tells me it's my turn before zipping out of the office.

I get up and eye the office door for a moment then finally jam my fingers around the door knob. I swear, if that dickweed says 'm'kay' more than 4 times in a sentence I'm gonna....Oh son of a bitch! Today's Tweek's birthday isn't it?!

And just like that, I've figured out what I've been forgetting. God. Something tells me the only award I'm ever gonna get is the-biggest-douche-in-the-universe award. Move over John Edwards, there's a new douche in town and his name is Craig Tucker.

Tweek

"CRAIG?! What do you mean 'Craig?!'" I screech. My glass of milk shatters on the carpet while I sputter and point dumbly at an uncaring fatass. Said fatass frowns at me reproachfully from his cozy spot on his bed.

"I said what I said" Cartman hops off his bed, the bed springs creaking back into their typical places, and plops into the blue swivel chair by his desk. "You gonna clean that up, Twitchy?" He points to the mess I made on the floor. His voice is muffled over the heap of brownies he's shoving into his stupid vortex of a mouth. That… that fatass! This is just so fucking typical! I knew it! I knew he'd pull some bull crap like this! God I'm such an idiot! I can't believe I'm actually agreeing to this! Why am I agreeing to this again?!

"But why HIM?! WHY NOT STAN OR KYLE OR -GAH- KENNY?!" I yell. Yeah, I know I'm risking everything by even daring to question the kaleidoscopic logic of Eric Cartman but for some reason I just don't care.

"Because, Tweek, they wouldn't believe me. That Jew's got them brainwashed that I'm a narcissistic fatass with no heart whatsoever. Stupid Jew is worse then those god damn gingers. Friggen' daywalker."

"But Cartman! You ARE a narcissistic fatass with no heart whatsoever!" I blurt out. I blink dumbly at Cartman's angry face. Oh god, did I really say that out loud?! Jesus I think I did! Fuck! Now he's really gonna sit on me! Oh GOD I'm dead! I'm dead, I'm dead, I'm DEAD!!

"What'd you say, Twitchy?" Cartman's hands curl up into fat little fists at his sides as he glowers at me. If looks could kill, (considering it's Cartman, they probably can), I'd be pushing up daisies in an instant.

"SAY SOMETHING? ME?! I DON'T RECALL SAYING ANYTHING! ANYTHING AT ALL! WHAT ARE YOU- GAH- TALKING ABOUT?!" I yelp and yes, I am completely aware that I'm lying through my stupid chattering, coffee stained teeth.

"Urgh, shut UP Twitchy before I kick your ass," Cartman groans while he swivels dramatically in my direction and back towards his desk.

"But -urgh- Cartman you don't g-get it! I thought the whole point of this was so he wouldn't get hurt! Craig… Craig's my bestfriend, I CAN'T let him get hurt!! I can't! I mean, Christ even if he'll never think of me the same way, at least I can d-deal with it as long as I can keep him out of this insanity! He's safer in the light, away from all of the pain, suffering and underpants gnomes!"

"See? This is exactly why you're a total loser. You can't shut up! Look Tweek, if you really want to know so badly, Craig is like, totally necessary to our success! He's the only one who can keep you in check so you don't fuck up our mission! Things are going to become a lot worse Tweek. The gnomes are planning an invasion and you're going to have to face things that you can't handle because you're a pussy and nobody likes you. But unfortunately, you're my--our only hope, and if you screw up, not only will the world hate you, Craig will too! If Craig went with you, we could stand a chance! With his blunt aggression and uncanny ability to actually stand in close proximity of the lameness that is you paired up with your unprecedented knowledge of these creatures and amazing ability of sensing danger, we can WIN! So, does that satisfy you? Don't you dare say no, you twitchy bastard."

"I -urgh- g-guess so…" I suddenly realize I can't feel my left hand because I've been wringing it to the point where I've cut off all circulation. Cartman swivels around in his chair and rifles through one of his desk drawers until he whips out some papers and a Magic Marker.

"Right. Now then, I need you to sign some papers and then you can go on your merry way." He hands me the marker (dude, what's with the Mel Gibson stickers?) and points me to the mysterious papers.

"C-Cartman what am I signing? It's not something bad is it? Like my will or a prison grant right?" I give him a nervous side ways glance and yelp again when I involuntarily slam my shin into the desk as he grins.

He pushes a lock of fuzzy brown hair out of his eyes and stretches for another brownie from the tray. Ha. That's probably the most exercise he gets in a day. Reaching for brownies to shovel them into his fat mouth. There are only 3 brownies left out of the 20+ brownies that were warm, fresh and full of fudgy life 7 minutes ago.

"No, no nothing of the sort. I just need to have a legalized agreement confirming you've agreed to this. Once you've signed there's no backing out. You WILL sign the agreement, right Tweek?" Cartman raises a suspicious brow and taps his thick fingers on the legal document, handwritten with yellow-green, or possibly green-yellow, Crayola Crayon.

"Ngh, Y-yeah…" I manage to stutter out. Cartman grins and points to several lines on the paper. I'm so sorry Craig, but I don't have a choice. Cartman's actually right this time! I can't afford to fuck this up, for your sake and the world's. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.

What would Craig say at a time like this? Oh yeah; sorry isn't good enough.

"Sweet. Just sign here, here, oh, and here. Oh god, this is so awesome!" Cartman says as I fill out the blanks with a big 'FUCK YOU'. He either ignores or just doesn't notice the bold print because he snatches up the documents and throws them back into his desk without even a glower.

"Cartman, can I -urgh- go now? I have things to do," I ask, wringing my cramping hands together and gazing longingly at the door. Yeah. Things. Like making sure my parents aren't DEAD! Maybe I can't protect Craig, but I sure as hell am gonna protect them!

"Of course Tweek of course," he says. Yes! I can leave! I can finally leave! I start to smile but then Cartman continues, "But may I ask… what sort of things do you have to do?" Cartman asks with a small grin. Dammit, there's that look again! What the hell does he want now?! I already signed his damn papers what more can he possibly want out of me?!

Actually I probably really don't want to know. He's crazy, he probably wants to steal my soul, or my knickers or…or other things that psychos like.

"I g-gotta set up for my -GAH- party." And make sure my parents aren't dead, that there are no gnomes waiting to assassinate me the second I switch on my coffee maker, set up gnome related traps to ensure a safe night and primarily, and get the hell away from you. "Why do you wanna know?" I ask suspiciously.

"Party you say? What for?" Cartman rubs his round chin, still holding that smartass tone of voice and completely bypassing my question. That conniving son of a bitch…oh god, please tell me this isn't going where I think it's going.

"My -urgh- birthday. It was y-yesterday but my parents decided to have it -GAH- today."

"Will there be cake?" Dammit. This is going where I think it's going.

"Y-Yeah," I mumble grabbing my backpack from the corner of the room.

"What type of cake?" Cartman asks. I turn and frown at his amused, almost curious, expression.

"Chocolate m-mocha swirl…?"

"Frosting or no frosting?" He asks, allusively implying what I dread he's implying. He licks his lips, probably thinking of MY birthday cake smeared across them and the rest of his face.

"What do you WANT from me?!" I cry out and bury my hands in my hair, frustrated. Shit, this is taking way too long! Who was I in a past life, Hitler?! What did I do to deserve this? I mean, what if my parents are already dead?! They'll never forgive me!! They'll probably disown me or something! Wait, no! If they're dead they can't disown me! Shit! But Granny can and if Granny doesn't want me, no one else will either! Oh god! I'll live on the streets! Become a beggar and drink ale from an old boot, whore myself out just to get some coin! I GOTTA GET HOME!!

"Your soul." Cartman replies naturally. Cartman wants… my soul…

"JESUS CHRIST!" I drop my backpack and throw my hands over my heart, like that's really gonna stop some sociopath from snatching my soul from right between the fingers of my rib cage. Cartman starts laughing and I drive my hands through my hair in frustration. Dammit! It's not funny! What is WRONG with this guy?! That psycho, I bet he really is gonna steal my soul!

"Sheesh, I'm kidding, I'm kidding. You can go now." Cartman waves me off with a short little laugh. I shiver and try to smooth down the goose bumps on my arms. A part of me, that all knowing part of me, knows that Cartman was definitely not kidding.

Y'know Tweek, he probably planned this whole thing out the minute he lost his underpants.

Shut up.

You shut up.

"Okay…s-see ya Cartman…" I place my hand on the brass doorknob to freedom and turning it, I take my first step out of the dark, cold, cold, cold room of one messed up little kid. Just when I think I'm home free, Cartman, to my utmost horror, pipes up. Again.

"Yeah. See ya at eight Tweek."

"HEY!-"

To Be Continued...

Hahaha the ending was my favorite part. Tweek and Cartman are just too fun to write. The next chapter will be up sometime this week or next week. Reviews?