Chapter 8: Strange Bedfellows

Tweek was lying in the fetal position, in a black and infinite space. Surrounded by shadowy figures, all he could do was cry out in fear and despair. He soon saw a familiar light in the distance that slowly got closer; it promised warmth, hope, and peace. The boy allowed himself to get his hopes up as Craig approached him, wreathed in the light, but he already knew how this would end. Once Craig reached him, he looked down, scoffed at the pitiful state Tweek was in, and walked away.

His voice full of misery, Tweek cried out, "C-Craig, wait! Please don't leave me here all alone...CRAIG!"

As he screamed his love's name, his eyes shot open. Realizing the ordeal had only been a dream, he took a deep breath and attempted to determine his surroundings. He soon realized he was lying in his bed and drenched in sweat, and he could hear the sound of soft footsteps drifting into his room and getting closer with every step.

Tweek's barely-awoken and storm-tossed mind immediately assumed the worst, and he desperately looked around for something with which to defend himself from whoever might be invading his home. His eyes darted around the room and landed on a small hairbrush nearby, and he quickly snatched it up, gently stood up, and walked to the door, wielding the brush in both hands. The doorknob turned to the left carefully, and the door slowly swung open, letting out a quiet creak as it did. Tweek let out a high-pitched cry and charged toward the figure in the doorway, bringing the brush down hard on the head of the person standing there.

"Ow! Dude, what the hell?!" yelled a familiar voice.

Tweek glanced at the figure and immediately gasped and dropped the brush at his feet. It was Stan, who was rubbing the top of his head and wincing slightly.

"Oh, God, agh...sorry, Stan," he mumbled.

"It's fine, it's fine. I'm more worried about you. That's why I'm here, actually; I'm supposed to check on you and make sure you're doing okay," the other teenager responded.

"Clearly, you're healthy enough to walk around," he continued, and chuckled a little before saying, "You should lay back down, though."

"R-right…" Tweek earnestly answered as he walked back to his bed and laid down again.

Stan picked up the brush, walked closer to Tweek, and set it on his bedside table. The brunette smiled at the blonde and stretched his arms above his head absentmindedly.

"Well, the good news is, you're not too beat up! You didn't get hurt that bad by that storm, as far as we can tell. How are ya feeling?" he spoke in a chipper tone.

Tweek glanced down at his lap, then hugged his knees close to his chest. He needed to take some time to think about how to answer, as he wasn't quite sure how he was feeling himself. After about a minute, he sighed a little and resumed eye contact with Stan.

"Not, um...not the best. Pretty far from the best, actually- I feel horrible."

Stan nodded and leaned forward a little.

"Well, that's what I'm here to help with. Tell me about it."

Tweek gave a small, bitter laugh and answered, "Where do I start? I mean, I just created a giant storm and hurt my friends...and Cartman."

"Oh, that?" Stan responded with a dismissive wave of his hand. "So you freaked out and your powers went haywire. It wasn't your fault, and Clyde and Craig are gonna be fine. Kyle's with Craig now, actually."

"Maybe so, but I couldn't help Craig enough in that fight…he probably hates me even more now," the prone boy sighed, looking downwards again.

Tweek fully laid back, in a dejected manner.

"Whoa, whoa, what's this about Craig hating you?" Stan worriedly asked, pushing his hands palm-first towards Tweek twice, in a slightly confused way.

"If he didn't hate me before, he certainly does now…" Tweek lamented. "First he didn't sit with me at lunch, then he...well, you read Hamlet too, right? You know that poem Hamlet writes for Ophelia?"

"The one where he's all 'Oh, no matter what happens, you can always be sure I love you?'"

"Yeah, that. Well, I told Craig that was how I felt about him, and he didn't say he felt the same way."

Stan laughed softly and slowly reached toward Tweek to put a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sure he feels that way and just didn't think to say it-"

"But what if he doesn't?!" Tweek shot back, pushing Stan's hand off of him and glaring as his voice became more emotional. "Craig always says what's on his mind! Besides, even if you guys forgive me for not protecting him and making that storm, he won't! I know he won't! He could have died because of me…"

Tweek's head drooped down and he sobbed quietly. Though the material storm he caused had abated, that tempest of negativity still raged inside him.

After a few moments of sobbing, he looked back up and turned to Stan.

"So if I feel the way that poem said about Craig, that means I'm Hamlet and he's Ophelia...you know what happens next in the play?"

Mulling it over for a moment, Stan responded, "Um...yeah. Hamlet accidentally kills Polonius, so Ophelia goes insane and drowns herself."

"Yeah, exactly," Tweek whispered in response.

"Tweek…" the standing boy murmured compassionately as the prone one shuddered and emitted shaky breaths.

"Look, I think you're overreacting a little. Craig'll forgive you! Doesn't he always?"

"He just says he does to make me feel better. I'm sure of it."

Stan let out a quiet sigh and glanced down and to the left, unsure of how to proceed. Suddenly, a strange bulge appeared in his jacket pocket, and began moving and making high-pitched squeaking noises.

"Whoa, what the…?" Stan yelled.

A white-and-brown object leaped out of his jacket, appearing only as a blur. Tweek gasped and threw up his hands to protect himself, but the blur only landed on Tweek's lap. He uncovered his eyes and stared at the object, then gasped as he saw what it was.

"Stripe!" he cried happily, a smile lighting up his face despite his sadness.

Stripe squeaked more, and Tweek thought that the guinea pig almost seemed happy to see him.

"He must have jumped into my pocket when I was at Craig's place," Stan mused aloud.

Tweek softly pet his guinea pig and said, "It's good to see ya, little buddy. I just wish it'd been in better circumstances," then sighed again.

Stripe walked up Tweek's torso and stood on his chest, squeaked quietly, and softly nuzzled against his owner. The golden child gave another sad smile, and Stan took the opportunity to lean closer and speak comfortingly again.

"See, Tweek? Stripe loves ya. And I'm sure Craig does too."

Tweek was silent, and Stan took this to mean he could continue- and continue he did, with "Look, I've been through tough shit, too, man. I'm still a cynical bastard," he laughed. "So I know how to get you out of this funk. See, when I was down on my luck, Kyle and the others helped me, but I had to get through the hard times myself, y'know? You can get help from Craig, or me, or whoever...but in the end, you have to climb your way out of your problems on your own. We can't do that for you."

"That just makes it worse," Tweek responded, his head hanging low again. "I'm not strong enough to work through my problems by myself. No matter how much help I get, I'll always be a screw-up."

His compassionate nature taking over, Stan stuttered a little as he desperately tried to find something to talk about that might help Tweek.

"W-well, uh...why don't we talk about something happy?" he offered, smiling kindly once again as his voice cracked nervously. "Like, uh, you like talking about Craig! How did you and him get together?"

Tweek made a soft humming sound under his breath and glanced upward to think.

"Oh, those Asian girls started drawing pictures of us together- they still do, I think," he answered, a soft blush appearing on his cheeks. "Everyone thought we were dating, and we wanted to stop it, so Craig said we should pretend to break up. I thought I couldn't do it, but Craig helped me. He said, 'You're capable of so much more than you realize.' And knowing that he was my friend, that he believed in me…"

Tweek couldn't help but smile at this part, and seemed to sit up a little. Stan smiled faintly as well.

"It really helped, y'know? Then we did the fake breakup, and it worked, but everyone was really sad, and angry at poor Craig...I felt awful. So I went to him and said I wanted to help him like he had helped me, but he asked me to leave. But soon, he came up to me while I was walking in the street and he held my hand, and we went to his house and played video games together, and…"

Tweek interrupted himself with a small sob and wiped a tear from his eye.

"Sorry. It just made me so happy...I'll never forget that day as long as I live. 'Cause that was when we started dating for real. He said he really did like me, and I liked him too. But now…now I've gone and fucked it all up."

Stan groaned a little under his breath and leaned forward again.

"Why don't you try and get some sleep?" he offered. "Maybe then you can get your thoughts in order. Just think about that day for me, okay? Think about all the fun stuff you did together and how happy you were when he confessed to you."

"A-all right, I'll try." Tweek shut his eyes and laid back, as Stripe curled up on Tweek's chest, laid down, and began to breathe in and out softly.

"Is it working?" Stan inquired in a lowered volume.

"Yeah...I remember how he hugged me and told me how cute and sweet he thought I was...and I said…"

Tweek's voice trailed off as he drifted into sleep, and the small guinea pig on his chest followed suit. Stan stood up, quietly walked to the door, and glanced back at the sleeping golden child.

"Poor kid. I hope Butters does a better job taking care of him than I did," he sighed, and exited the room.

Some time later, Tweek's eyes slowly opened. He yawned and sat up, expecting to see Craig laying next to him, but found he was alone.

"Just a happy dream…and 'when I waked, I cried to dream again,'" he murmured to himself.

A gentle knock sounded at the door. The blond jumped at first, but then exhaled deeply and responded "It's unlocked, come in."

The door slowly opened as another blond-haired teen poked his head in and proceeded to step into the room. It was Butters, and he was smiling kindly at Tweek.

"Howdy, Tweek. Stan sent me to check on ya and make sure you're doin' alright," he said in his gentle and Southern-tinged voice. "Everything doing okay?"

"Butters…" Tweek murmured softly.

He seemed to collect his thoughts for a moment before smiling widely and responding, "Yeah, couldn't be better! There's nothing to worry about."

"Really?" Butters asked inquisitively, and a bit suspiciously, as he began approaching the other boy.

"Y-yeah, really! Honest!" he lied, but his smile soon began to falter.

"Aw, c'mon, Tweek. You don't have to lie to make me feel better. You can tell me anything, and I'll do my darndest to help ya!" Butters reassured; he began to smile as well, but his smile was genuine, warm, and kind.

Tweek longingly gazed down at Stripe and reached out a hand to gently pet him.

"Thank you, Butters. I know you and Stan mean well, but it's better to just leave me alone. I mean...that storm was caused by my raw emotions, because I couldn't control them. So during it, I should've been at my worst, right? But I wasn't. Even though it's gone, I feel even worse now…If after every tempest come such calms, may the winds blow till they have wakened death," he said, softly and wistfully.

Butters made an unintelligible, vague sound; Tweek couldn't quite describe it, but he could tell it was a sound of pity and mourning.

"Oh, hamburgers…" he sighed, but almost immediately perked up again and said, "Don'tcha worry, Tweek! I'll tell Stan you're not doin' too good right now, and we'll fix this!"

At that, the innocent boy retrieved his Hello-Kitty-cased phone and quickly typed out a message, narrating it aloud as he went: "'Dear Stan, Tweek isn't doing much better. Please tell Kyle. I'll help comfort him for now. Your best pal, Butters.' And...send!" he concluded as he pressed one final time on the keyboard and returned his phone to the pocket of his jeans.

"Now, don't worry about nothing, Tweek," Butters continued compassionately, leaning a little closer to the other blond.

In response, Tweek began to sob quietly; tears soon streamed down his face as his thin body was wracked by stronger sobs and heaves.

"Wh-what am I gonna do, Butters? Craig- the one person who can truly help me, the one I love more than anything- there's no way he'll love me now!"

Tweek turned to the side and curled up in the fetal position, and Stripe pattered over to his face. As Butters gently patted his shoulder and whispered comforting words, and Stripe worriedly squeaked and nuzzled against his face, that wicked storm- the winds of self-hate, rain of despair, clouds of doubt- only grew stronger, and the broken boy wept.