A/N:
It's been too long, I have no good excuse. I'll try not to wait 6 months next time.
It's been a long while, but Tweek has been to Kenny's house a number of times in his life; or, to be more accurate, he's been to Kenny's garage a number of times. Until today, he's never actually set foot inside the main house, only seen it from the outside on his way to the garage's side door.
When he was younger, before his parents had finally decided that it was worth it to pay the extra ten percent delivery fee for their 'special ingredients', it had been his job to pick up the stuff whenever the text came in that their order was ready. Sometimes that meant leaving school in the middle of lunchtime and having to answer a plethora of questions about his whereabouts the next day; other times it meant gathering all of his courage and walking through the pitch darkness of two or three in the morning to get there on time.
Unsurprisingly, Tweek had always vehemently preferred the former. The streets of South Park, while generally quiet in the middle of the night, could be extraordinarily unpredictable, but somehow it always seemed like a more manageable sort of unpredictable during the day. Anything could happen at night, especially in a town like this. Tweek is just grateful that his parents had always pre-paid for their orders and so he'd never had to worry about carrying around a giant stack of cash in addition to worrying about getting jumped in the shadows by ninjas, or aliens, or crab people – to name a few possibilities.
Now that he's older, he has no delusions about that part of his childhood being normal by any means. He knows that being sent out into the night, to a meth lab, at eleven years old to collect a package of illegal drugs is awful, and not something a set of decent parents would ever even think of subjecting their child to. Tweek isn't stupid; he knows that his mom and dad are not stellar examples of humanity – not even close – but until he's eighteen, he's stuck living under their roof and following their rules.
That's part of the reason he's so willing to work at the coffee shop almost every single day; the more he works, the more money he can save up to get out of that house. And God, does he ever want out of that house. Casting his gaze around Kenny's tiny bedroom, Tweek wrinkles his nose as imperceptibly as possible. He just hopes that he'll be able to afford something better than the McCormick's. It's never been a secret that Kenny's family is the poorest in town, and maybe he's just incredibly naive, but Tweek had never expected anything like this.
He tries not to be very judgemental, as a rule, because he's not exactly the epitome of all things someone should ever aspire to be; and it's not like he blames Kenny for the environment he's been raised in his entire life, but Tweek can't help but feel extremely uncomfortable in this place. It's not just because when they'd gotten here, they'd had to tiptoe past Mr. and Mrs. McCormick screaming their lungs out at each other in the kitchen about possum tails and something called a 'beer-becue', or the fact that Tweek had seen at least six rats in the living room alone, though those things are definitely a factor. It's just the overall look of the interior of the house that does it; it makes Tweek feel like he's wandered into a condemned construction site and that any minute now a giant wrecking ball is going to smash the house, and everything and everyone in it, to pieces.
Take this room he's in right now, for example. Two of the walls of Kenny's bedroom are covered in cracked and chipped paint that may have, at one point, been white, but that now looks more like the color of Clyde's gym socks that he'd found in his locker after eight months of complaining about someone stealing them. The other walls, the ones attached to Kenny's doorless closet and his window, have wallpaper stuck to them, but in a way where it looks more like someone had just taken a bottle of Elmer's glue to strips of the stuff as opposed to having it professionally – or even amateurly – done the right way. The bedroom window itself doesn't even have any glass in it, just a piece of thick cardboard with a hole cut in the middle and what Tweek can only guess is plastic cling wrap stretched across it.
Incidentally, this does nothing to keep the cold temperature of the outside from getting in, which it does in the form of a rush of cold air, shaking the cardboard on the window. Despite the fact that he's wearing Craig's chullo, Tweek can feel the iciness envelop his whole body and he shivers, scrunching himself as small as possible on the worn mattress in the middle of the partially carpeted floor to conserve his body heat. He's only been here for a few hours and he'd already give almost anything to be sitting at home in his kitchen listening to his dad spouting off mostly nonsensical metaphors, because at least it would be warm there. He has no idea how Kenny has managed to live like this his entire life and still turn out mostly all right.
Again, Tweek feels a sudden pang of guilt for not ever taking the time to learn anything about Kenny. He wonders if anyone else knows about the state of this house. Kyle, Stan, and Cartman must, they had to have been here at least once or twice given how close they'd all been. But then why had none of them ever said anything? Tweek pulls Craig's hat off of his head and squeezes it tightly with both hands, staring down at the yellow puffball with a slight frown. Those four were supposed to be best friends, at least when they were younger, everyone knew that. Tweek just can't imagine not doing whatever he could to help one of his best friends, if he'd found out they were being brought up in this kind of situation.
The door to the room suddenly flies open, hitting the opposite wall with a loud bang and startling both Tweek and a rat that had been slowly sneaking its way around the edges of the baseboards towards the closet. The rat's surprised squeak is drowned out by the, "Agh!" that bursts out of Tweek, and they have noticeably similar physical reactions: Tweek throws both arms out in front of him defensively and scoots back on the mattress and the rat turns to scurry back into the small hole from whence it had come. Unfortunately for the rat, Kenny's faster, and before it even knows what's happening, it's been scooped up and hurled into the hallway.
"Sorry, Tweeky," Kenny apologizes, kicking his bedroom door closed. He's holding a box of Pop-Tarts and half a package of soup crackers in his hands, snacks he'd managed to sneak out from the kitchen after his parents had moved to the living room to continue their incessant arguing. "Didn't mean to scare you."
His arms still up like he's an avatar from a fighting video game come to life, Tweek takes a deep breath to calm himself down as much as he can. Inhale the scent of coffee. He wishes he had some coffee right now, but he'd already burned through what he'd had in his thermos this morning and he doubts the McCormicks have any of the stuff. "It's okay," he lies, because it's really not, nothing about this day is okay, but Kenny has been nice enough to stay with him through it and Tweek is grateful that he at least hasn't had to be alone on the day he ruined Craig's whole life. "I guess I was just, um, spacing out."
"Thinking about Tucker?" Kenny shoots Tweek a knowing smile, sitting down next to him on the mattress. He sets the crackers and Pop-Tarts down on the floor at his feet and stretches his arms out in front of him, nodding to the chullo lying in Tweek's lap. "Still worried about him?"
"Of course I'm still worried about him!" Tweek doesn't mean for his words to come out quite so loudly, but he can't help himself.
By now, Craig has to know what's going on, and that it's all happening because of him. Normally he'll get at least one text message from Craig by now, but his phone has been painfully quiet all day; and he knows it's not dead or broken, because he's checked. Multiple times. The only explanation for the lack of communication that Tweek can come up with right now is that Craig hates him. He grabs Craig's hat again with shaking hands, hoping that holding it will help, that having a piece of Craig here will do something to help him calm down at least a little bit. "Jesus Christ, Kenny, what am I going to do?!"
It's not the first time he's asked that question since they've been here today, and he knows that Kenny probably, once again, isn't going to have an answer for him. And to be fair, there's no real answer that would make Tweek feel any better anyway. He already knows that there's nothing he can do. Tears prickle in the corners of his eyes and with a preemptive sniffle, he drops the chullo back into his lap and fumbles around beside him for his backpack, pulling it into his lap and unzipping the main pocket. He digs around inside for a moment before finding his cell phone, repeating a process he's carried out what feels like a hundred times already.
It's no surprise when the lock screen is completely devoid of any tiny notification symbols, but Tweek's heart still sinks at the lack of communication from not just Craig, but Clyde and Token too. Not that it's common for Clyde or Token to send him messages, but part of him had thought that maybe, today of all days, one of them would think to keep him in the loop of all the chaos that is sure to be going on. The fact that none of his three closest friends are talking to him right now sends Tweek's anxiety spiking and before he can stop it, a single tear trickles down his cheek, and drips down onto the cell phone's screen.
Clyde and Token must hate him too. Of course they do; they're Craig's friends, after all. They've always been Craig's friends, not Tweek's friends. It's only natural that they would side with him on something like this. A sob rises up in the back of Tweek's throat, but he clamps his lips together before it can escape his mouth; he's not going to cry. He doesn't deserve to be able to cry. He's the reason everything is the way that it is right now. He's got nobody to blame but himself for this.
"Hey, you okay?"
Tweek looks up to see Kenny cocking his head at him, concern in his eyes and the box of Pop-Tarts in his hands. He's holding it out to Tweek, silently offering him one; but as soon as Tweek's eyes land on the overly Photoshopped picture of a Pop-Tart on the side of the box, his stomach gurgles a dangerous warning at him. He shakes his head, slowly, not trusting himself to open his mouth. If he does, he's sure he's going to either vomit or burst into tears, neither of which he wants to happen while he's sitting in Kenny's bedroom.
Kenny sighs, setting the box back down on the floor without getting himself one of the sugary treats. "Tweeky, dude, you have to stop beating yourself up over this. I told you before, Craig isn't going to hate you. Honestly, I don't think he can." He exhales a puff of air through his nose, one of those almost-laughs. "And this is Craig Tucker we're talking about, so that's definitely saying something."
"I just–" Tweek starts, speaking through clenched teeth, his eyes still on his phone like he'll be able to will a text message to come through. Before he can finish his sentence, his eyes drift up to the top of the screen and he immediately jumps up from the mattress in a panic. "Oh my God, it's already three o'clock?!"
"It is?" Kenny checks his own phone, raising one eyebrow slightly when he sees the time. "Huh, I didn't realize. Guess time really does fly when you're hanging out with good people." Just as he finishes speaking, a chime sounds from the phone in his hand and he says, "Oh, Clyde just texted me."
"He did?!" Tweek had been in the middle of frantically grabbing his things so he could hurry up and get the hell to work before he's late, because nothing good ever happens when he's late, but at Kenny's words he freezes in place. "What did he say?! How's Craig!? Is he okay?!" Even though Craig's going to want nothing to do with him anymore, Tweek's still going to be concerned about his well-being until, well, until the end of forever, probably.
Part of him is expecting Kenny to tell him that Clyde's texting to let Kenny know that Tweek is now blacklisted in the whole town of South Park and that anyone caught associating with him will be completely ostracized for the rest of their lives. He'll have to move to Denver and live on the streets and do horrible things in alleys just to survive to the next day, and he'll probably end up getting stabbed or shot to death, oh God–
But instead, Kenny just shrugs, typing out a message back, and replies, "He just says he wants to talk, so I'm telling him to come over. That's okay with you, right?"
Tweek slings his backpack over his shoulder, almost tipping backwards from the weight of it. "I can't stay!" he cries, a tiny, tiny bit relieved that he doesn't have to figure out an answer to the question. "I have to get to work!"
He's honestly not sure how he would feel about being in Clyde's presence right now, because even though he's ninety-nine percent certain Clyde hates him for messing up Craig's entire life, maybe, just this one time, he can put his hopes on the one percent chance that he's wrong. Clyde is fiercely loyal to Craig, but he's also one of the nicest people Tweek has ever met, so maybe…
"Are you sure you should be working today?" Kenny finishes his message and frowns up at Tweek from his seat on the mattress, that look of concern still on his face. "I mean, you're already stressed to hell."
That's such a valid question that Tweek pauses for a moment to seriously consider it, but only for a moment. "I have to!" he says, barely resisting the urge to yank a bunch of his own hair out as he jams Craig's chullo back onto his head. "deh! There's nobody else to cover the shift!"
"Well, do you want me to come with you?" Kenny holds up his phone. "I can always tell Clyde we can't talk today."
Tweek shakes his head no, moving towards the bedroom door. "No, you can't, my parents won't pay you for working outside your scheduled shifts." Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, calm down, Tweek, you can do this. "It's okay," he says, forcing the best attempt at a reassuring smile he can manage onto his face. "Thank you for letting me be here today. You're… I really appreciate it." He wants to say something else, to apologize to Kenny for not doing enough to try to be his friend before, but he can't find the words.
Kenny gives Tweek a two-finger salute, but his tone is serious when he answers, "Hey, anytime, Tweeky, I mean it." He leans back on the mattress and gestures to the room. "Mi shitty bedroom es su shitty bedroom."
That almost, almost makes Tweek crack a smile for the first time in hours, if not days. "Thank you," he says, again, before carefully pulling open the broken door and heading out. He passes Mr. and Mrs. McCormick, both of them passed out on the living room couch, and slips out the front door. As soon as he's outside, he breaks into a run. He's only got about fifteen minutes to get to the shop before his shift starts and Kenny's house is at least a twenty-minute walk.
It isn't long after Tweek has left the McCormick's that Kenny hears a rustling noise coming from his closet. He pops the rest of the Pop-Tart he's been munching on into his mouth and runs a hand through his hair before leaning back on his elbows on the mattress. Watching the closet's interior carefully, Kenny cocks his head slightly, a grin spreading across his face. The rustling gets louder, bringing with it the piercing whistle of the wind outside, and then with all the grace of a wild buffalo, Clyde bursts out of the cardboard box sitting in the middle of the closet.
He stumbles forward a few steps into the bedroom, somehow managing to regain his balance only seconds before he faceplants onto the floor, and flashes Kenny a signature toothy smile. "Hey, Kenny!"
"Dude," Kenny says in response through his mouthful of Pop-Tart, raising a single amused eyebrow. "Why didn't you use the door?"
Clyde shrugs, heading back over to the closet and dropping to his hands and knees in front of the card box. "It's more fun to use the secret entrance!" he says over his shoulder as he crawls halfway inside the box. After a second of shuffling around to block the opening to the outside, the sound of wind dies down slightly and Clyde emerges with his bright red backpack hooked over one arm. "Don't you think?"
"Eh." Kenny lifts a hand, tilting it back and forth in the air. "The entrance to the kite base was always way cooler." He says it without thinking, and as soon as the words are out of his mouth he frowns, but shakes it off within seconds. He's not really in the mood for thinking about the friends he's lost to the passage of time. Leaning forward, he grabs the box of Pop-Tarts off the floor and tosses one of the silver packages inside over to Clyde without even bothering to ask first. There's no universe he can think of in which Clyde Donovan will refuse free food.
Sure enough, Clyde's backpack falls with a thud to the carpet as the brunette lunges forward to snatch the snack out of the air. "Sweet, thanks!" he exclaims, unwrapping the package and taking a giant bite out of one of the rectangular pastries. "Whmph fmphrh?" He sits down on the floor, pulling his backpack into his lap to use it as a makeshift table for the crumbs spraying from his mouth.
Kenny can't help laughing; Clyde's one of those people whose cheerful energy is always infectious. "It's in your mouth, Chompers, what flavor do you think it is?" he says, a twinkle in his eye. "What am I supposed to do, taste it for you?"
Clyde makes a face like he wants to stick his tongue out at Kenny, but his mouth is too full of Pop-Tart, so he just wrinkles his nose and squints a bit instead in a way that is not at all intimidating. "Wow, rude," he says when he finally swallows. "Here I was just asking an innocent question and look at the sass I get."
With a good-natured eye roll, Kenny uses his foot to nudge the box along the floor towards Clyde. "Fine, fine, here you go, all the answers you seek, contained in one mysterious tiny box."
As Clyde picks up the box to inspect it, cramming the second half of the Pop-Tart he's holding into his mouth, Kenny flops onto his back on the mattress, his limbs splayed out, making him look like a bright orange starfish. "As much as I'd love to sit here all day and discuss the wonders of Pop-Tarts with you, Clydester, I don't think that's what you were texting me about?"
"Mph." Clyde follows up the unintelligible grunt with a shake of his head that Kenny can't see, since he's busy counting all the holes in his ceiling. "Hm-m," he adds, unzipping his backpack and pulling out a giant bottle of red Gatorade. He drains a third of the bottle in seconds and then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "No," he says, finally landing on a word that will give a definitive answer. "I wanted to talk to you about–"
"Tweek?" Kenny interrupts, tilting his head just enough to see Clyde nod at him. "And Tucker, I assume?"
"Well, yeah." Clyde looks a little deflated, like he's disappointed Kenny had already known what he wanted to talk about. He's always been a sucker for big dramatic reveals in movies. "I mean, you saw what happened at school today, right? With the whole list thing?"
Kenny laughs, the sound coming out as a bit more of a snort than he'd intended. "Oh yeah," he says, "I know all about the list."
"Okay, well…" Clyde trails off, and in the space of about three seconds Kenny can see at least twelve different emotions cross his face before it finally settles on something that appears to be a cross between confusion and concern, and one other thing that isn't as easy to discern. Clyde's eyebrows are drawn together slightly and he opens his mouth to start a sentence four separate times before he finally just blurts out, "What's up with you and Tweek?"
"What do you mean?" Kenny asks, knowing full well what Clyde is referring to, and knowing that Clyde knows it too. He's not exactly surprised that this conversation is happening right now; it would be just like Craig to send his best buddy over to try to figure out what's going on. On the plus side, that means Kenny's original plan of flirting with Tweek to drive Craig crazy is working, but after seeing how horrible Tweek obviously feels about doing anything that might hurt the noirette, Kenny can't even be happy about it.
Clyde sighs, blowing some of his hair out of his face with the exhalation. "Dude, come on, it took you months to get that date with Ferrari, and then all of a sudden you're all into Tweek at Raisins last night, and then you stayed at his house?"
"It's not what you're thinking." Kenny sits up again, pausing to try to figure out a way he can explain without giving away Tweek's secret and betraying his trust. "Nothing happened. I was just… I was helping him out with something, that's all."
"So you're not, like, into him, into him?" There's a trace of something like relief in Clyde's voice. "Like at all?"
Kenny shakes his head. "Nah," he says, though he can't help smiling at the thought. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I think he's one of the few absolutely fantastic people left in this town, and we'd make a pretty gorgeous couple if I do say so myself, but no. We're just friends." He hesitates for a second, and then decides to just go ahead and ask, "Did Craig send you over here?"
"No," Clyde replies, drawing the word out slowly, tilting his head a little bit, watching Kenny just as carefully as the blonde is watching him, like they're each waiting for the other one to reveal something huge like nuclear launch codes or the secret behind McDonald's french fries or something. "He and Stan got in a fight at lunch and I didn't see him for the rest of the day."
"Huh," Kenny says, not at all fazed by the news of the fight. Craig and Stan have been fighting each other since they were kids; the biggest shock was that there had been months between this altercation and the last one. "What were they punching each other over this time?"
"Mostly the list getting out," Clyde says. He bites his lower lip and then continues, "Stan was pissed because Wendy dumped him over it–"
"Oh for Christ's sake." Kenny rolls his eyes, this time not as good-naturedly. "What is that, the fortieth time by now?"
Clyde shrugs. "I don't know," he says. "But so he went after Craig, because he thought Craig was the one to give it to Cartman, which we tried to tell him didn't make any sense, and then Craig said he thought it was you, but–"
Kenny holds up both hands, cutting Clyde off mid-sentence. "Wait, what the fuck? Tucker thinks I gave it to that asshole? After what he did to Karen?!" He clenches his hands into fists, digging his fingernails into his palms, the stinging pain grounding him just enough so that he doesn't go full Mysterion-mode. It's not Clyde's fault, he's just the messenger. It's not even Craig's fault, when he stops and thinks about it rationally.
After all, Craig has no idea that Cartman had nearly gotten Karen killed a couple of years ago. The only people who know about that whole thing are Kenny, Karen, Clyde, and the fatass psychopath himself. And given the situation with Tweek, and the fact that most people still think of him, Cartman, Stan, and Kyle as the Four fucking Musketeers or whatever, Kenny can sort of understand Craig jumping to that conclusion. But still, the idea that he would ever help Cartman with anything ever again in his life makes his blood boil. Kenny holds his breath, counting to ten before releasing it, to try to calm himself down.
"I know!" Clyde waves his arms in the air. "I tried to tell him that you wouldn't do that, because you're not that kind of person, but obviously I can't tell him the real reason and he…was a little too freaked out to really listen, I think." He sighs, tapping his palms against his knees. "Look, if I tell you something, you have to promise you won't tell anyone else, okay?"
"What, that Tucker's got it bad for Tweek?" Kenny raises his eyebrows at the stunned look on Clyde's face. "Oh, come on, dude, it's the most obvious thing! Anybody with two eyes and a brain can see it."
"What?!" Clyde looks utterly offended at this revelation. "How the hell did you and Token figure it out and I never had any idea?! He's my best friend!"
Kenny shrugs. "You don't pay enough attention?"
"Hey!" Clyde protests with a sniffle. "I pay attention all the time! Craig's not exactly easy to read, you know!" He takes his second Pop-Tart out of the wrapper and takes a bite.
"Now that's the understatement of the year." Kenny leans forward, stretching out his arm to break a piece of pastry off the end of Clyde's Pop-Tart, ignoring the brunette's noise of indignance. "But what does Tucker liking Tweek have to do with me?"
Brightening a little, Clyde swallows the bite of Pop-Tart and sits up a little straighter. "Okay, well, it's a long story, but Token said, after Craig told us he likes Tweek– Or, I guess, after I found his secret notebook full of Tweek secrets?"
"Sure." Kenny nods, pretty sure his mind is already racing halfway towards the same place Clyde's is right now. "Tucker's book of Tweekrets, go on."
"Well," Clyde continues, "after that, Token said that he's known for a while and that he also thinks that Tweek likes Craig back, but that he doesn't think he'll ever do anything about it." He pauses to take another swig from his bottle of Gatorade, passing the bottle over to Kenny when the blonde makes a grab for it. "So I told him I'd help him, you know, flirt with Tweek."
Kenny nearly chokes on the Gatorade in his mouth when he laughs. "Please tell me Token's sticking around to help too."
"Why does everyone think I'm so bad at this stuff?" Clyde whines. "I've gotten a date for every dance since eighth grade!"
"Yeah," Kenny agrees. "And about half of those were bro dates with me, remember? After the girls all got together and wrote up that unofficial restraining order against you?"
Clyde crosses his arms over his chest sulkily. "That's not the point!" he huffs. "The point is that when we went to the coffee shop last night, it was to try to get them talking. And then the thing at Raisins happened, and then this morning–" He stops, suddenly looking puzzled. "Hey, wait, you never explained what you were doing there. What were you helping him with?"
It's a moment before Kenny responds. He's trying to work out the pros and cons of admitting to Clyde that Token's suspicions were right. He's ninety-nine percent sure that Clyde had come here to try to get his help to get Craig and Tweek together, and if Kenny confirms that Tweek is, in fact, just as head over heels for Craig as Craig is for him, it would make things that much easier. And if, in the end, telling Clyde about Tweek's secret Tucker crush now got him together with his soulmate later, could Tweek really be that upset with him?
"Token's right," Kenny says, finally, making a decision and hoping that he'll be able to trust Clyde not to accidentally get too excited and blow up the whole plan before it's even started. "About Tweek liking Craig too. He told me last night at work, and I sort of…pushed him into this plan, where he'd flirt with me to make Craig jealous."
Clyde wrinkles his nose. "He agreed to that? That doesn't sound like Tweek. I don't think I've seen him flirt with anyone ever."
"Yeah," Kenny says, feeling a pang of guilt. "He didn't really want to, I just… I thought it would work. And maybe it was working, but clearly Craig's response to jealousy is to puke his guts out all over the place and not fight me for his man, so… You got another idea?"
"Right now? No," Clyde admits. "But I was hoping that we'd be able to join forces and work together? I thought I could help Craig out on my own, but then all the stuff with the list happened and I haven't seen him since lunchtime and I don't know if he'll even listen to me anymore." He sighs. "Token said he was going to try to talk to Nichole to see if she could help us out, like, at the Halloween dance, so we'd have about two weeks to come up with something. If I can even get Craig to go."
"Okay, well, this seems like something way bigger than a Pop-Tart problem." Kenny hops to his feet and holds out his hand to help Clyde up too. "Are you in the mood for some shitty Chinese food? I'm pretty sure I saw a two-for-one dinner coupon on my kitchen table earlier."
"Dude, when am I not in the mood for Chinese?" Clyde lets himself be pulled up and slings his backpack over his shoulder. "Don't worry about the coupon though, I got it. Save the coupon for you and Karen."
Kenny holds both hands to his heart, letting out a huge melodramatic sigh worthy of Shakespeare himself. "Oh Clydester," he coos, batting his eyelashes. "You're too good to me."
"Shut up," Clyde says, rolling his eyes and heading for the closet. "Come on, we have work to do! Operation: Creek, onward!"
"We can just go use the door–" Kenny starts, but Clyde's already scooting through the cardboard box tunnel. The blonde shrugs, dropping to his knees and following suit, his brain already working to come up with a better name for their plan, because, honestly, Creek? How lame is that?
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