AN: Guess who has a massive science project to turn in Tuesday that she hasn't even started yet and is writing instead? I am! So I'll finish this and go start that. To those who thought last chapter left some questions- I'm not one for dragging things out. And onward!

…

Chapter 11: An Old Friend

Old hags seem to adore Tweek. Everyone seems to be in love with him, though. Half of our customers are middle aged ladies (and their daughters) coming to gush over him. I can see they make him uncomfortable, though. The way he tightens up, the way his stuttering gets worse, the way he stops swearing and talking all together, the way he tries to hide behind me (which is starting to cause a strange protective feeling in me.)

I can't figure out why he won't just tell them to fuck off.

But, because I know he never will, I'm a jerk enough for both of us. I see their looks of shock and disapproval, but they don't matter. He may yell at me for being too much of a douche, but I know what he's really thinking.

We were best friends once upon a time.

I'm not going to lie and say that the second I saw his pretty face all the memories came rushing back to me of us skipping through fields of daisies. But I can recognize him. I know what his twitches mean and when to back off and remind him that I'm not going to kill him.

And I know to stock up of gummy bears. Not worms, bears. Worms freak him out more than the gummy body parts do.

After a particularly haggy hag left (she looks like no one had ever hazarded the barren land between her legs and I was kind enough to inform her of this.) Tweek is currently trying really fucking hard not to laugh. "You r-really shouldn't have done that. She's an evil gossiper. Your name will be mud," he forced out in between harsh I'm Not Laughing! breathes.

"Don't care." He just shook his head at me. "What? Do you have a secret crush on-"

"Jesus, don't even finish that sentence. That was Ms. Warren. Loathe her with a passion. She was my… ninth grade algebra teacher. Treated me like a fucking retard... of course, her and my mom just love to join together and talk about how s-special I am." I roll my eyes. Tweek, for sure, is not an idiot. The dude's ambidextrous, and his left handwriting looks suspiciously like my handwriting right up until sixth grade. He did my homework fairly consistently until he moved away.

And by that I mean all my homework. He was very paranoid about me failing and leaving him behind to deal all the rest of the fuckers in our grade. Or me passing and leaving him behind.

….

Tweek started coming over to my apartment every time his parents were out. We don't do much, just lay around and listen to Tweek's infinite amount of CDs and records, today being Vitamin String Quartet Day. "I can play piano, you know," he says suddenly from my couch, which seems to draw people like moths to a flame. Seriously, I don't know what it is about that couch, but damn. I wonder if it can get me laid.

"Really? Since when?" I sit on top of him. After much kicking and wiggling we're both comfortable.

"Ninth grade. Needed something to do." I snort. I had been trying for a fucking long time to get him to do something other than spaz back in elementary. I inform him of this and he just shrugs. "I remember. I had something to do."

"Yeah, like what?"

He shrugs again. "Tweek."

"J-jesus, I dunno! I had p-people to distract me…" he trails off.

In other words, he had me. I felt a muscle spasm in my cheek at the thought.

After awhile he had head back to his house. "Why don't you stay longer?" I ask.

"Because my parents will be home soon. They don't know I'm out, and they wouldn't like it if…"

"I hate your parents."

"I know, Craig." And then he left.

I never liked his parents. They hate me, too, and we'd never been shy about showing our true emotions to each other. I'm sure they banned him from seeing me more than once, but he ignored them. He had always listened to me more than he had his parents, something they absolutely resented. I wish I could say it was more of a battle, but it really wasn't. We'd just ignore them and keep seeing each other. Even as they literally banned me from their house I'd just keep walking in. That is, until they called the police on me that one time for breaking and entering. After that Tweek just came to my house for awhile, but he hated my family, so we just met somewhere else.

What I'm getting at is that it was impossible to separate us. No matter how much his parents rallied and got every other parent in town to think I was a bad influence and got me into Mr. Mackey's every fucking day for some reason or another, there would be no separating of the Craig & Tweek.

Then they decided to move away, taking Tweek with them. I mean, what the hell were they thinking? He could barely handle the stress of a town he'd been adapting to sense he was born, where at least he had me, and then they hike him up and away? Are they really that oblivious to what's right for him?

The answer to that question is yes. They've always been that way. I had always done more for him than they ever had. He would have clawed himself apart without me.

He's survived seven years without you.

But he hasn't. I can see it in him- how sick he is. I wonder what's causing it and what I can do to fix it, because there's no way my Tweek is staying this way.

A huge part of me just wants to lock him in my apartment and never let him leave, just so I can keep an eye on him.

…

"Hey, look, it's your boyfriend," I say, spotting Guy-Who-Tweek-Didn't-Make-Out-With across the street.

"Oh, for the love of Christ, Craig. Connar and I hate each other."

"Sure didn't look like you two hate each other." Whack. "There's no need for kicking, Tweek."

"Well, if you'd just keep your facts straight-"

"The facts are looking very not straight. And ow, will you please stop assaulting me."

"No, I will not. If you must know-"

"I do."

"Connar has always found it hilarious to harass me. I am neither capable of beating the crap out of him nor clever enough to intimidate him with my words, so I discovered that the only way to make him uncomfortable was throwing myself at him." He frowns. "And that's starting to not work so much. Fuck."

That pisses me off. "Oh."

"Don't go punching him next time you run into him," Tweek says, apparently reading my mind.

"I won't. But I will next time he gives you trouble." Tweek rolls his eyes, but he's smiling, too.

…

I didn't see Tweek really freak out for a few weeks. It's impossible to be around Tweek for an extended amount of time without seeing him act weird. But stuttering and staring rather intensely at nothing and practically getting himself into a catatonic state is nothing.

He was spending the night at my house. His parents were taking a vacation away from him (those fuckers should have nothing to do with him, anyway.) He's supposed to be staying at him aunt's house, but she can never remember when he's supposed to come over. So he came over here instead.

We were sprawled out on the couch next to each other, and halfway through the third Saw movie (you'd think he wouldn't like horror movies as much as he does) when I felt Tweek tense up. It takes one glance to realize that something isn't quite right. His eyes are blown up, staring out the window. He curls himself up and starts rocking, muttering to himself quietly.

"Tweek?" I sit up, reaching out to him. He jerks away as soon as my hand touches his arm. His whole body is shaking. He looks tense enough to break something.

"Tweek," I say softly. No response. "Tweek, nothing's happening." I slowly maneuver myself closer, prying apart him arms. He starts crying. "Calm down, Tweekers. I promise nothing is going to hurt you. I'll keep you safe. You're safe, I promise," I say softly. He's still hyperventilating and sobbing, clinging to me. I just keep muttering calmly, carding my fingers through his hair, rubbing circles on his back. He was shaking worse than he did back when he was addicted to coffee, and every core of my being just wanted this to just stop.

Eventually, after an hour or so of soothing he passes out with a vice grip on my shirt.

After I'm sure he's not going to wake up again I sling him over my shoulder, intending to leave him on the bed and sleep on the couch… but he wouldn't let go.

I debated whether I should just take off my shirt and let him have it.

And I was about to, but then I look at Tweek again and he just looks so… pitiful. Eyes still red from crying, somehow still pouting and looking miserable even though he's asleep, and suddenly I just couldn't leave him.

…

AN 2.0: Is it just me or is Tweek not freaked out enough? I dunno. Last bit seems a little choppy. I need to go do science, and you need to review. Please.