Not Normal

Description: Tweek Tweak isn't normal. When poor Tweek starts going in a downwards spiral, will there be someone to save him?

A/N: I have nothing to say here. Read the story if you wish.

Warning: Swearing.

Disclaimer: South Park. Not mine. Tis Trey and Matt's. Love them for it. Not me.

=X=

I know I'm not normal. I would never think to call myself normal, pretend I am normal, nor even hope to be normal. I, Tweek Tweak, am abnormal, as abnormal as... as... there's no simile to go there. I'm a weirdo, a freak, a spaz, whatever you want to say, the list goes on.

Right now I'm sat in my English classroom. I have no idea what we're supposed to be doing. I zoned out at some point, I think. I heard the voice, that annoying droning voice, I heard the words, but I was staring blankly at the wall, and didn't take any of it in. The seat beside me is empty, as usual. Then suddenly it's not.

Craig Tucker is suddenly beside me. I don't know whether I 'switched off' again, but one minute I was staring at an empty seat, the next at a section of blue hoodie, then up into the stony face of the stoic noirette. He sighs, and takes off his bag, reaching in for a pen before opening his book. The teacher is telling him off for being late. He just flips the teacher off.

"What're we doing?" he asks me.

"I-I-I have n-no ide-dea." I shudder involuntarily, silently cursing myself for the stutter I have. I want to scream, but I don't, instead clamping my mouth closed and simply making some sort of odd whining sound. I hate when I do that. It's so embarrassing.

Craig puts his hand up to ask what we're doing. I just about catch Sir telling us to read the first chapter of 'Great Expectations' and something about Pip – for a minute I wonder what the British blonde has done – so I pick up the book I've only just noticed in the middle of the table.

And it's the only book. We have to share. I don't mind Craig really, he's an okay guy, and he often lets me hang around with him and Clyde and Token, and they're usually quite nice to me. However, I don't know if he'd appreciate having to have me too close. I look at the book from a distance, not taking in the words. All I can think of is how much my muscles hurt from being constantly tense, like I'm forever cold and shivering, and whether I'll be able to pass out at home. Sometimes I can, sometimes I can't, and I never sleep between 1 and 5 am. The gnomes come between those five hours, and I swear they're coming closer, evil glints in their eyes, no longer wanting my underpants but my blood...

Craig says something – my name I think – and I jump and yell. No-one stares anymore, because they're used to it. He gazes at me calmly, his grey-blue eyes showing no emotion.

"Tweek are you okay?"

I resist the urge to make a rude reply, probably along the lines of 'Do I fucking look okay?', instead shrugging.

"Have you slept at all recently?"

'No.' I reply in my head. 'No, not in two weeks, because there are tiny little men who used to take my underwear and are now waiting for me to sleep so they can slit my neck and drain my blood.' I don't say anything, shrugging again.

"You seem kinda ill. Should I say something?"

I do feel ill. I've felt ill for weeks. Weeks and weeks and weeks. Months probably. I close my eyes, and I'm sorely tempted to keep them closed and fall asleep (or try to) right here and now, but I open them again. I shrug again, run a hand through my hair, and rest my head on the desk, arms covering the back of my head. I pull at my sleeves, aware that the shirt isn't quite long enough to cover my whole wrist.

"What's with the bandages?"

"Sprained my wrist." I mumble. It's true, I really did – but that's not the reason the bandages are there. I don't look up to see if Craig's bought it; just keep my head on the desk. My warm breath blows back in my face.

Suddenly I'm up, and being dragged. I think I'm protesting, probably something incomprehensible, and Craig is saying something, and then I'm out of the classroom, in the corridor, then I'm in the boy's bathroom, and in a cubicle, and made to sit on a closed toilet.

I blink, and I'm suddenly fully aware. Craig is stood in front of me, arms crossed, frowning, leaning against the door the keep it closed.

"Okay Tweek. You haven't been right for months. What's up?"

Not right for months?

"When have I ever been 'right'?" I ask. There goes my mouth saying things I don't want it to. Way to go you fucking...

"You're not like you usually are. Usually you're all hyper and alert and flipping shit, but now you're kind of... dead."

"Maybe I am."

I fucking hate myself sometimes.

Craig suddenly looks rather alarmed.

"Tweek..." he kneels down, takes hold of my face, and makes me look at him. His eyes... they look worried. Craig never looks worried. Once upon a time, he had emotion in his face and voice. Once upon a time we were friends. Once upon a time didn't have a happy ending, not here. Suddenly image was important. Suddenly I was embarrassing. I am embarrassing. Who'd like me? I'm twitchy and stupid and weird and... and...

"Tweek?"

I think I've zoned out again and started muttering. Craig is trying to read my face, I can tell.

"Tweek, please tell me what's wrong."

I can hear the old Craig there. The one who was nice to me, and only me. The Craig who protected me. The Craig who made me safe. The Craig who could make the whole world seem a bit less scary, the Craig who I looked up to, the Craig who made a future seem possible. The Craig I loved.

"Help me." I manage, before collapsing forward into his chest. The last thing I remember is crying into his shirt, holding onto him, having him hold me close again. Then I pass out.

=X=

There's nothing but darkness. I think I've finally killed myself. I can't help but feel sad for myself, because I must have dreamt that whole day, and driven myself over the edge. At least I don't remember it. I bet it hurt.

I decide to open my eyes. It's dark. I think I'm in a bed, which seems weird to me. I can feel a weight beside me. I can see... in the dark it takes me a while, but I can see Craig. I know it's him, because one of his hands has his chullo in it. I stretch to stroke the fabric.

I don't think I've killed myself. This can't be Hell, because Craig's here. And there's no fire.

"Craig?" I just about manage to croak his name out. I suddenly realise I'm not shaking or stuttering.

"Tweek!" he jumps awake. I don't know if he was even asleep, by how quickly he woke up.

"Where am I?"

"You're in a hospital."

"I'm not dead? Oh, that's good." I shudder.

"I'm going to help you Tweek. I promise. I...I know I've been kind-of mean to you over the past two years, and I'm really sorry, I was just dealing with things, and then you, and me, and..." Craig was babbling slightly. I had to smile at how I wasn't the one babbling for once. He grinned back sheepishly.

"Is this a mental hospital?"

"No. No. I couldn't let you go to one of those places. I need you in my sight at all times. I need to protect you. I have to know you're safe. You mean a lot to me Tweek. I can't let you go."

I stretch my arms out to him. He hugs me to his chest, and I can hear his heart in my ear, a steady pumping rhythm... I yawn. I'm still tired, and if I'm not dead, I want to sleep.

"I love you Craig." I murmur.

"I love you too Tweek." I hear him reply. He kisses my forehead, and I'm asleep again.

I, Tweek Tweak, am abnormal. I'm a twitchy, spazzy coffee addict who almost went completely crazy. I am probably very embarrassing to be around; even I am embarrassed of myself.

But I don't care as long as I have Craig beside me.

Because with Craig, I feel just a little bit more normal.

=X=

A/N: Well would you look at that. Another one. Only I wrote this a week ago and I've been fixing it up.

I am really sorry for these angst-y depressing type stories I keep coming out with. I will try for something insanely cute and fluffy soon.

Poor depressed Tweek. Still, at least Craig saved him.

I cba to write too much and I should really be going to sleep. I have to get up at 9am tomorrow. That's too early to wake up on a Saturday, in my opinion. When you barely sleep during the week, weekends are wonderful.

Bye.