Hi there. This is my first time writing something for the South Park fandom so bear with me...

-My writing style may not fit what's usually seen on here but I thought I'd give this idea that I have a try because I can't get it out of my head and I've seen some interest in this (by interest I mean 2 people but still-)

-This work revolves around Tweek and will probably frequently talk about topics like addiction, anxiety, poor mental health, etc. (i'll always have warnings in the beginning of each chapter) (also he's not a crybaby in this, he's a badass) I don't have this planned out, just some ideas that I can mix and match everywhere but it's heavy on Tweek, Craig, Creek and the rest of the gang.

-Craig and Stan's gang are kind of combined here along with Wendy's (I don't think she actually has a gang but I consider her gang to be her, Nichole, Bebe, and Red and I also added Hedi). I like the idea of them all being friends because I love them all and CG and SG are seen together a lot (in my mind, I haven't seen all the episodes). No need to put them against each other; they're all funny and cute and awesome.

-Last thing, I just want to point out that like I said above, I haven't seen all the episodes of this show so I don't know everything about it. I see a lot of people say that everyone gets the characterization of the characters wrong. So I just wanted to put it out there that I might not them right either and that that's okay to me. People interpret the show differently and notice different things so we might not all have the same views as each other. For example, I see Craig as being someone who's super tall while Tweek's shorter. This has actually been proven in canon by the character designs (Tweek and Kyle are shown to be shorter than the other kids) and coffee stunts growth, something Tweek drinks a lot. This doesn't mean that I think Tweek is the "woman" (as Matt and Trey would put it) or that Craig's superior to him, it's just how I see him.

With that being said, if you're reading this I hope you like this and have a great day/night! Please leave any comments, questions or feedback in the comment section and if you have any ideas for me, I'd love to hear them! 💖💖

-Lis 😁😁

WARNING: Caffeine Addiction, Slight Drug Addiction, Anxiety, ADD, Child Abuse and Foster Care (also I know very little about the foster care system and how it works so I apologize to everyone if I got anything wrong)


He stared down at the bottle of hair gel in distaste. Looking at himself in the mirror he sighed in exhaustion, not knowing why he had just spent the last hour trying to make himself look presentable.

His hands were shaking as he looked over his reflection. His long, uneven, beach blonde hair was parted in the middle and he had applied a shit ton of gel to his head in an attempt to keep his hair down. His hair wasn't the problem though, he was the problem. His hair would stay down and he wouldn't even need to gel if it wasn't for his irritating habit of grasping at his hair and pulling it every which way in an unsuccessful attempt to get a hold of himself. He had been using the same bottle of gel on and off for a year and it did nothing. By the end of the day, his hands were sticky with the product and his hair was unstyled, sticking up here and there. Today would be no different, especially since this was probably going to be one of the most nerve-racking, hair-pulling days of his life.

He didn't have the energy to wash the gel out so he moved on to look over the rest of his appearance. Usually, he wouldn't care so much about the fact that he always looked like a train wreck (he was one after all) but Ms. Grant had told him it was good to look nice when he first met someone new to give them a good impression of himself. He didn't know why it mattered so much that he gave them a good impression, once he started screaming and twitching they would automatically hate them. Still, he respected Ms. Grant and she was the nicest person he knew, who was he to not listen to her?

He looked at his face and frowned. Sunken in cheeks, pale skin, fear-filled eyes- there wasn't anything he could do about that, it's just how he looked. Well, maybe if he ate more than his face wouldn't be so skinny. And if he actually went outside instead of spending all day in his room then he would have a darker complexion. And maybe if he wasn't always freaking out then his eyes wouldn't look like he was on drugs. Still, his looks didn't matter that much to him, especially to all of that.

Looking down at the clothes Ms. Grant had picked out for him, he continued to frown. He was wearing a nice button-down shirt and a pair of jeans. He wished she would've picked him out a shirt with no buttons. He used to wear shirts with buttons all the time when he was little, that's what his parents always bought him but he hated the buttons. They were just another thing he could fidget with when he was nervous. He buttoned and unbuttoned his shirt almost unconsciously which led to the buttons being buttoned into the wrong spot. That would no doubt happen that day as well.

He felt sick. He had to fight his hands to stay down by his side so he wouldn't tear his hair out. Tears were welling up in his eyes but he wouldn't allow them to fall down his cheeks. He didn't cry. He knew this day was coming for a while now and he had thought he had accepted his fate. He was moving. He was leaving Ms. Grant and his hometown. He was going to live in a small town in Colorado and there was nothing he could do about it. He didn't want to leave though, he couldn't stand the idea of living anywhere else. Moving in with Ms. Grant was hard enough.

When he was seven his parents were arrested. Before he was taken away from them, he thought his parents were the best people in the world… by default. Together his parents owned the town's local coffee shop and they made him work there. That's where his coffee addiction came into play. He drank it like it was water. Sure, it made him jittery and anxious and extremely paranoid but nine years later, he still can't get off of it. Or maybe he was addicted to the drink because it was the closest thing to the real thing he was addicted to… meth.

Thinking it over, he supposed he didn't have the best relationship with his mom and dad. There were often times when he told himself he hated them but that was usually when they had pissed him off. In the end, once he was calmed down, he would take back his words because he didn't hate them. As much as he shouldn't he loved them, even to this day. They were the people who had loved him despite his many flaws. Well, that's the way it had seemed, they were the nicest people in his life at the time anyways.

School was hard for him for two reasons. The first reason was that he was never able to concentrate and get his work done, leading to many visits to the principal. His teachers called him unmotivated and a disruptance to their class because he was always loudly tapping his pencil on his desk or randomly screaming out in frustration or fear. No one understood what was wrong with him and they didn't seem to care if there was actually something causing his abnormal behavior. They just labeled him as a troublemaker and if he was particularly annoying that day then he would spend his day in the principal's office while he got lectured.

The second reason it was so unbearable for him was because of the kids. It was hard to hide his habits. He couldn't really control his screaming or groaning along with the impulse causing his eye to twitch or for him to pull out his hair. And since he couldn't control or hide it, people noticed. His teachers thought he did the things he did on purpose, to be a class clown or to draw attention to himself. His classmates thought the opposite and labeled him as a freak.

They directed spitballs in his hair, tripped him in the hallways, called him Twitchy Tweek (a nickname that wasn't even clever), pushed him around on the playground, threw balls at him, ripped up his classwork, flicked him, pinched him. They practically just did everything that he hated because they knew it irked him. It made him wish he was invisible and he couldn't imagine why his teachers thought he wanted to receive the attention he did. As if he wanted to be called a troublemaker and a freak just because he couldn't control himself.

His parents were frequently called into the school to discuss his behavior but it's not like they cared. His mom would tell the principal that he was a special child and his dad would say that they didn't know what was wrong with him, that he had always been hyper. Then his parents would change the subject by talking about their coffee and would end up selling the principal a bag and then giving him a cup of the drink before leaving. At least the coffee called the principal down.

He tried to talk to his parents about how he acted but once again, they didn't care. That's what leads him to the conclusion that they didn't really love him and why he shouldn't love them. He remembers trying to converse with his parents about his inability to stay still and about how his brain wouldn't shut up but they always ended up making it about them.

"Mom? Dad?" He asked his parents one night at dinner. His fork was rattling against his plate since his hand was so shaky and his plate was untouched. His parents called it picky eating but he thought that it was a little bit more serious than pickiness since the only thing he would eat was toast.

"Yes, Tweek." His mom said sweetly. He hated her sweet voice, it was the voice she always used when she wasn't really interested in talking to him. It was so fake yet he found himself being manipulated by her tone every time because no one else talked to him so kindly.

"I-I can't sit still." He admitted to them even though it had always been clear that he had trouble doing that.

"Drink some more coffee." His dad instructed him to do, pouring him a mug from the jug they kept on their table and sliding it towards him. He did what he was told.

"I want to sit still." He told them, a little more firmly. He hated how they always thought the solution was caffeine.

"Well, maybe you just need to calm down son?" His father suggested, standing up from his chair and resting one of his feet on it instead. "You know when I was your age-"

"Dad?" He cut his dad off, not wanting to hear his story. His parents told the worst stories, their lives weren't even interesting. They always left off on cliffhangers and sometimes they just didn't make sense. "I d-don't want to hear a s-s-story."

"Well, what do you want honey?" His mom asked, cutting herself a piece of chicken.

"I want to sit still." He told her, his eyes welling up in frustration. "I-I want to."

"It's normal to be hyper for your age." His dad pointed out, sitting back down in his seat.

"I'm not hyper." He fumed through gritted teeth. "I can't think straight and I want to stop shaking."

"It's okay Tweek." His mom assured him. She was lying to him, why did they always say that? It was never okay, why didn't they understand how much he was struggling.

"Today the kids pushed me on the playground again." Tweek told them. "I scraped my knee."

"That's too bad baby." His mom pursued her lips.

"You know Tweek, when I was your age, I got into a fight." His dad informed him. "You should fight these kids and put them in their place."

"Fight them?" Tweek shook. "I-I don't know how to fight anyone."

"Let me tell you a little story about when your mother and I first met." His dad told him, standing up again and resuming his position with his feet on the chair. His foot was really bothering him, his dirty work boots on the white cushion of the chair. "You see, a long time ago there were a lot of guys who were after your mother. She used to be very attractive."

"It's true I was." His mother confirmed. His eye twitched. How could his father cause her to feel so bad about herself? Did they even love each other?

"Well, when I started courting your mother there was this big muscular football player named Quib, who didn't take too kindly to me. He wanted your mother all to himself. And so one day he challenged me to a fight."

His father sat back down and continued eating his food. He blinked and looked back and forth between his mother and his father. This was exactly why he didn't like when his dad told stories, they never led anywhere.

"Well?" He asked them, after a few moments of silence.

"Well, what?" His mom asked, oblivious to his discomfort.

"What happened?"

"Oh, I-I don't know." His dad admitted to him. "He moved away or something."

"Yes, I think that's right." His mother confirmed. He was losing his mind.

"AHH." He yelled, furrowing his eyebrows as he lost his temper. "YOU GUYS NEVER HELP ME. YOUR STORIES NEVER GO ANYWHERE. I HATE IT. I WANT OUT, I WANT OUT."

He banged his head on the table, getting mashed potatoes in his already messed up hair. His head hurt from the contact but he didn't care, he need his thoughts to shut up. His parents gave each other a concerned look but then shrugged and continued eating.

Still, he followed his father's advice, and the next day when one of his bullies pushed him down on the blacktop on the playground, he snapped. He stood right back up and charged over to the guy, making a fist and punching into the boy's face. The boy fell to the ground but he wasn't done yet. He knelt down over the boy on the ground and continued punching his face while sweat and tears dripped down his cheeks. He grunted and screamed while he beat the kid up and he gathered the attention of the whole playground. The playground monitor rushed over to him and pulled him off the kid, where he burst into tears.

He was taken to the principal's office where he was lectured for being violent, the principal not knowing that his father had told him to beat up his bully. For once he was glad when he saw his father enter the office. His father explained how he had told him that kids were picking on him at school and how he encouraged his son to stand up for himself. His principal told his dad that physical bullying was not tolerated at his school and that what his son considered bullying was really just light teasing. His dad said that he wasn't raising a spaz and then started selling him his daily bag of coffee grounds.

After that, he got into fights every day. His knuckles became permanently bruised and scared and one time he even broke his wrist. His dad congratulated him on hitting someone so hard that he needed to go to the hospital and it felt nice to be complimented, even if it was because of something he hated doing. He hated fighting and he wasn't a violent person by nature. He only did it because it helped him to connect with his dad and it helped him feel in control. When he was punching someone his mind was quiet for once and he was truly in his body, focusing on beating the crap out of a kid who called a retard.

So that's how he lived his life. Beating the shit out of kids in an attempt to be loved by someone that was never going to love him back. When he wasn't fighting he was the normal Twitchy Tweek that pissed everyone off. The Tweek that no one ever wanted to deal with, the Tweek who they thought they could fix by isolating him in an office. He drank coffee, his thoughts flew around wildly in his brain, he couldn't sleep at night, he didn't eat, his parents didn't love him, no one loved him… and he just had to accept that that was okay. Even if no one else loved him, he loved himself. Even if he really was a spaz or a retard, a troublemaker or a distraction, he loved himself. He had to… no one else would.

And then he had to live a new life.

He was laying in his bed, fidgeting with his sheets, unable to close his eyes. His mind was currently focused on the fact that he was down to his last pair of underpants and he didn't know how to explain to his parents that there were gnomes stealing them.

His face turned red and blue when colored lights shown through his window. He winced at the light and his thoughts were interrupted and pushed to the back of his brain by the sound of loud sirens. He tore the blanket off of him and looked out his window to see the local policeman standing outside his house.

Then he heard his mom screaming and his dad yelling as they appeared outside of the house in handcuffs. His heart dropped and he admittedly ran down the stairs to get a better idea of what was going on. His parents were being arrested? That wasn't right.

"MOM! DAD!" He called out from the front door. His was whole body was twitching and his head was swimming. There were several policemen with walkie-talkies and clipboards, filling out paperwork as they talked to the other person on the line.

"TWEEK GET BACK INSIDE." His mom shouted to him from over his shoulder but he didn't listen. He ran over to her and latched himself onto her leg so she couldn't move.

"GET OFF OF ME BRAT!" His mom yelled at him, trying to shake him off his leg. He didn't understand why she was yelling at him. She never yelled at him and she never called him names.

"Get the kid out of here." The police officer with his mom instructed another officer and he was gently escorted away from his mother. He watched with tear-filled eyes as his mother and father ducked their heads into the police car and then were driven out of sight.

"I want my mom." He told the officer who sat him down on his porch and gave him a blanket. He was bouncing his knee up and down and couldn't keep his hands out of his hair.

"You're going to be okay kid." The officer assured him. He was sick of hearing people say that. Saying that it was all okay was making them liars. They were all liars.

"W-w-where are you t-t-taking my p-p-parents?" He asked the officer who sat beside him, unable to control his stutter. He scooted over, distancing himself from the stranger. He wasn't supposed to talk to people he didn't know, making him freak out even more.

"Your parents are going somewhere that they should've been taken to a long time ago." The officer told him, sighing loudly. "It's for the best."

It's for the best his ass. He was taken to the police station and sat for hours in a hard chair next to a new officer's desk. He couldn't sleep no matter how much the officers told him that he should and insisted that they get him coffee. They were reluctant at first due to the fact that his parents were arrested for their coffee and that they no doubtly gave it to him and because of his ever-lasting level of energy but 7 hours later and they gave into him. They just wanted him to shut up.

6 more hours and 10 cups of coffee later and he was taken to a dark room with only a table and two chairs. The room resembled the ones on the TV when his dad watched TV after dinner. Two new police officers came into the room and asked him a bunch of questions about his parents. He answered them truthfully, tears leaking out of his eyes, and hoped that he wasn't saying anything that was going to get his parents hurt.

He never saw his parents again. After he was questioned he was led back to the main room of the police station where a nice old lady was waiting for him. He was introduced to her and her name was Ms. Grant, his foster mom. He didn't know what a foster mom was and once he was informed that Ms. Grant was basically his new mom, he threw a fit. He told the officer that he wasn't going with the lady and that he wasn't supposed to talk to her because he didn't know her. He was scared that she was a murderer and he didn't want her to replace his mom. He screamed at the top of his lungs for what had to have at least been 30 minutes while he collapsed on the ground, kicking his knees and waving his arms around so no one could touch him without getting hurt. He even considered beating one of the police officers up but quickly came to the conclusion that violence wasn't going to get him what he wanted. He was in a police station, after all, surrounded by grown men with guns. That only made him cry harder.

Ms. Grant was a nice lady though. She knelt down beside him and didn't talk or try to touch him while he cried. When there were no tears left for him to cry and he was gasping for his breath, she offered to take him to get ice cream so they could get to know each other better. He told her he didn't like ice cream and then she asked him what he did like. He told her he liked coffee but the police officer he was with told her not to give him any more caffeine, that he had slept since he had been there. Ms. Grant hushed the officer though and told him that she would get him anything he wanted as long as he didn't cry. She said she didn't like it when people cried and that she wanted him to be happy. That caught his attention - no one had ever told him they cared about how he felt before.

He sniffed and wiped the tears off his face before she helped him up off the floor. She held his hand and took him out of the office as she talked about who she was. He didn't really remember much of what she said. His head had been pounding the whole time he was in that building and he was exhausted, He even fell asleep in her car, something he rarely ever did and when he woke up, he was at the store.

He was bought anything he wanted. All he wanted was his mom and but he knew that it wasn't possible. He settled with coffee, some new clothes, and a bucket of legos. Ms. Grant bought some groceries and at the check-out line, got a bag of peppermints that he shared with him on the way home. To his new home. He was on edge the whole drive but Ms. Grant must've been a quick thinker because the mints helped to calm him.

Her house was small compared to his. It seemed just like the kind of house an old lady like herself would live in. One level, a swing chair on her porch along with fake plants and garden gnomes (he was going to have to talk to her about those). The house was a pale yellow and the curtains to the two windows were pale blue. When he got out of the car, he smelled damp grass and honey. He eyed the gnomes warily while Ms. Grant took his hand.

"GAH-" He screamed when he came closer to the statues.

"What is it Tweek?" Ms. Grant asked him kindly. He found that weird, people usually gave him funny looks or ignored him when he made strange noises.

"Gnomes- NAH." He whispered before giving another scream. He was starting to shake again.

"You don't like my gnomes?" Ms. Grant asked him. He hoped he didn't offend her but judging from her tone, she didn't.

"Underpants." He said randomly, his eye twitching uncontrollably. "They steal my underpants."

"Well you need those, don't you?" Ms. Grant laughed. He liked her laugh, it was sweet and real. He had never heard someone speak so truthfully before.

"Y-yeah." He replied.

"Then they'll have to go then." Ms. Grant shrugged, walking up the pathway with him. He saw white lilies planted beside the path along with stones that shone in the sunlight. The whole appearance of the house was very aesthetic and calming.

"Do I-I-AHH- have to leave h-h-here now?" He asked her as she unlocked her front door.

"I'm afraid so dear." Ms. Grant admitted to him."But it'll be alright. You'll stay with me until you're adopted."

"A-A-AH-Adopted?" He stuttered.

"Yes, Tweek." Ms. Grant told him as they walked through the door. The inside of the house was painted the same pale yellow as the outside and all the furniture and decorations were either pale blue or white. The house looked bigger on the inside. Standing at the front door he could see the living room and kitchen and then a hallway where he assumed his bedroom would be. He had never slept anywhere besides his own bed before.

"What if I-I don't w-w-want to-GAH- be a-a-adopted?" He asked her, taking off his shoes. He felt uncomfortable being barefoot on someone else's floor. Of course, he wasn't actually barefoot, he was wearing socks but he could practically feel germs jumping onto him.

"I know this is hard sweetie on you." Ms. Grant said, pursuing her lip at him sweetly. It reminded him of his mother only Ms, Grant was actually sympathetic toward him. He didn't know if he liked that or not. "But it'll get easier."

It didn't get easier, it only got harder. He grew to consider Ms. Grant his mother. She was nicer than his real mom but he never dared to admit that she liked her better. She actually listened to him. She said he believed him about the gnomes stealing his underpants and got rid of all her gnomes. He told him that fighting the kids at school was only going to make them meaner to him He didn't listen to her about that though, he still liked the feeling of control he felt when he fought. She didn't call him a brat, didn't call him hyper and she tried her best to understand how he felt. She never succeeded though. He knew he didn't make any sense to anyone but at least she tried.

School got harder. Since he no longer lived in his old school district, he went to a new school. He still got into fights, kids still called him names but he wasn't ever labeled a trouble maker or sent to the principal's office. Instead, he spent much of his time at school in the guidance counselor's office. His counselor always asked him the same questions in a slow, calm voice, as if she thought he didn't understand her or was trying to put him to sleep. He asked him about his parents, if he knew that they were bad people (not his words), if he knew why he liked fighting, and other questions as such. He didn't know why he had to answer the same questions over and over again, every day. He asked Ms. Grant if she knew why and she just told him that the counselor was just trying to help him. He told her that she wasn't helping and she told him that it would get better soon. That was the only thing he hated about her, how she repeated the same phrase over and over. He didn't want her to be a liar but whenever she said that that's all she was.

He grew up. He went on to middle school and then high school and no one had adopted him. New foster kids came and went from Ms. Grant's home and he was the only one who stayed. All the kids were young and cute so of course, they were quick to go. No one wanted a teenager, especially one like him who was twitchy and agitated all the time. Ms. Grant was the only one who truly wanted him. Until about two weeks ago…

Two weeks ago Ms. Grant sat him down on her couch for a talk. Naturally, he was extremely anxious and couldn't stop sucking on the peppermints she kept especially for him and running his hands through his hair. She told him that it was nothing good, that in fact, it was good news she had. Of course, he didn't believe her… and of course, it wasn't.

He had been with Ms, Grant longer than he had with his own parents. It was hard enough being taken away from his parents, people he told himself he wasn't even supposed to like. So when Ms. Grant told him that they had finally found a family to adopt him, he was upset, to say the least. He didn't remember what happened after Ms. Grant told him the news. He thinks he just went into a state of shock, sitting there with his jaw dropped. He was supposed to stay with Ms. Grant until he was an adult, that's what he had planned. No one had ever wanted him, he didn't think there was even the slight possibility that they would find someone that wanted him as their son. He didn't like having his plans ruined and refused to go.

Ms. Grant told him that he had no choice, making him feel like he had no control over his life. Then again, when had he ever? She told him that he was her last foster kid and that once he moved, she was retiring as a foster mom. She explained that she was getting older and that she had things that she still wanted to do before she died. He started panicking, thinking about the idea of her dying and her not fulfilling her life because of him. That's probably the only reason he agreed to do so in the end.

Even though he agreed to move, he still didn't drop the subject. He was on his best behavior from then on, trying to control himself more so he wouldn't be so stressful. He avoided getting into any fights at school. He cleaned and made dinner and actually ate his dinner (before that all he ate was toast and mints and all he drank was coffee with the occasional glass of water) even if it made him sick. He didn't want to live anywhere else. It had taken him so long to get used to Ms. Grant's house, so much strength, and patience and now he had to get used to a whole nother house.

He stopped sleeping at night again. All he could think about was his new family. How many people would he be living with, if he would live with any kids, if the people would even like him. He wondered what would happen if they didn't like him. What if they were nice people and he was just incapable of liking him? What if they were mean like his parents were? What if they kicked him out? What if he got on their nerves?

And then he would go to a new school. He would have to meet all these new kids who would think he was weird just like the kids he knew now. He would be an outcast again, just like he always was. He was currently a junior, the kids were definitely bigger now, what if he wasn't able to fight them? The only reason he could do so now was because his classmates were so predictable. He could easily match their movements so he could ultimately win in the end. He didn't know these kids, he couldn't predict their moves.

As much as he worried though, he couldn't get out of it. A week after the talk he was packing up his room. Yesterday was his last day at his now old school (something that was actually kind of a relief). Last night was his last night of "sleeping" in his bed. And right now he was standing in the mirror of his bathroom, judging every part of himself for the last time. He couldn't help but tear up a little.

Fuck, no! He didn't cry. He wasn't a baby. Everyone thought he was but he sought to prove them wrong everywhere he went. He's not depressed… he's just not that happy. He's not crazy…just a little anxious. He's not lonely… he's always had his thoughts to keep him company (even though he'd rather be lonely than constantly have voices in his head.) He doesn't hate himself… everyone else does. No one his age knows what they're doing… he's just a little lost. He just doesn't like change but he doesn't fucking cry like a baby. He's the strongest person he knows. The tears still slip down his cheeks and he angrily brushes them away.

"Tweek?" He hears Ms. Grant call for him from outside of his room. He sighs sadly, knowing this moment was coming. He doesn't bother to take one last look at his bathroom, it was just a bathroom after all. He walks out, turning off the light and shutting the door. He doesn't take a last look at his bedroom either. He guessed that it was never really his, he was just bothering it. His possessions were already packed in his car that Ms. Grant bought him when he got his driver's license. He walked out of the room and shut the door behind him. He forced his legs to walk into the kitchen where Ms. Grant was.

"Good morning Tweek." She said happily, cooking eggs at the stove. Of course, she was happy, she was finally able to get rid of him. Maybe she never liked him in the first place and was a good actor.

"Morning." He muttered, intentionally leaving out the good. There was nothing good about that morning.

"Now look Tweek." Ms. Grant told him, sitting down at the table. It was covered in breakfast item's that he eyed consciously. "I know you're not the biggest fan of breakfast but I thought it'd be a good idea for you to eat something."

"Okay." He shrugged, not wanting to cause any trouble. He sat down in his usual chair and took a piece of toasted bread out of all the food on the table. He hated the idea of wasting all the food she had made but already felt sick to his stomach.

"Tweek." Ms. Grant told him knowingly. "You need to eat more than that. Good God boy, look at you. You're just a skeleton with skin."

"I-I-I…AH…can't." He flinched. "I'll… GAH… t-throw up."

"Oh, Tweek." Ms. Grant tisked. "You aren't still nervous about moving are you?"

He didn't say anything, choosing to tear his piece of toast up with his fingers instead. He hoped she at least made coffee.

"I've spoken with the Donovans many times before Tweek, they're nice people." Ms. Grant assured him. "They're very excited to meet you and they even have a son your age. His name's Clyde and he'll even be going to school with you. Look, you already have a brother."

"I-I-I d-d-don't want a… GAH… brother." He trembled. "I-I want to stay h-here with y-you."

"You'll still get to see me." Ms. Grant smiled sadly. "And you can call whenever you want to as well. Come on Tweek, you knew this wasn't forever."

"I-I didn't think… MMM… anyone would e-ever t-t-take me." He admitted to her. "I t-though I'd s-s-stay here. Until I m-moved out."

She stood up from her chair and to his relief, brought him a mug of coffee. He still had never been able to stop drinking the caffeine even though. It didn't give him the same feeling he got years ago when he drank the meth laced one his parents gave him but it was the closest thing he would ever get. He took it willingly and sipped nervously on it.

Ms. Grant didn't say anything to him after that. She ate some breakfast herself and store what wasn't eaten away. Then she stood over him and he knew what time it was. He stood up as well and burrowed his face into her chest. In all his 9 years of living with her, he had never hugged her. He wished he had though, he wished he had appreciated her more. She smelled like coffee and mint and vanilla and he wanted to smell the scent forever. His heart felt heavy and he tried not to twitch so he wouldn't ruin the moment. He must've hugged her forever. He refused to cry and he fought back tears. She finally pulled him away from her and led him to the door.

"Come on dear." She said with her own tears in her eyes as he led him to his car. She wasn't going with him so this was their final good-bye. They stood by his car awkwardly. "You don't want to be late."

"I'll … NAH…miss you." He told her, his voice breaking.

"I'll miss you too Tweek." She told him, patting his back. "I'll visit you, I promise."

"Okay." He sighed, accepting defeat. This was happening, he was leaving.

"Come here." She told him, bringing him into one last hug. This one was shorter but it meant just as much to him.

"Drive safely." She instructed him to do as he got into his car. "If you get tired or start fidgeting, pull over and calm down some. I packed extra coffee and a loaf of bread with your stuff. Don't go hungry. You also have your wallet and your phone…"

"I'll be okay." He told her, smiling sadly at her through his window. She seemed to be getting anxious and he didn't want her to feel that way, he knew it felt horrible. "I'll call you when I get there."

"Drive safely Tweek." She told him as he started his car. He unfolded the piece of paper that had the address he was driving to.

"South Park, huh?" He muttered under his breath. "Here I come."

He waved once more at Ms. Grant before he drove out of the driveway and out of the sight of the house. He didn't look back, he knew it would hurt too bad. He kept his eyes forward and his destination on South Park. And tears welled up in his eyes and this time he didn't wipe them away. He let them stream freely down his face.


Clyde's in the next chapter. Clyde's mom is still alive. I guess you can just pretend that this was before the toilet episode and that she never died. She actually seemed pretty nice the first few seasons but then she became a bitch before she died.

Please leave any comments. questions or feedback in the comment section, it would mean a lot to me! If you have any ideas for me, I'd love to hear them! 💖💖

Everyone have a great day/night and I hope you keep reading!

-Lis 😁😁