SUMMARY: Tweek moves to South Park and in with the Donavans...

WARNING: Disordered Eating, Vomiting, Anxiety, Foster Care, Self-Hatred


His tears were dried now and he assumed they were tear tracks that stained his face. His head hurt and he felt far away. He shouldn't have become attached to Ms. Grant and her home. He shouldn't have become attached to his parents. He shouldn't become attached to anyone in South Park either. He wouldn't let himself.

He had driven for four hours, fifty-seven minutes, and two seconds (he had been keeping track to keep himself entertained) when he came upon a sign that read Welcome To South Park. The sign was covered in graffiti. Graphic pictures of cleavage and genitals, blank was here sprayed on with spray paint and the thing that stuck out to him the most (because it was painted across the sign in a sloppy signature): NOW ENTERING SOUTH PARK, NEWCOMERS BEWARE. He knew in the back of his mind that it was just some teenagers trying to scare some kids… but he never listened to his rational thoughts. They were in the back of his mind for a reason. His hands started to shake and he had to grip his staring wheel tightly to keep himself safe.

He doesn't remember much of the drive. Usually, when he drove, he did so for pleasure, to take his mind off of things. He liked watching his surroundings speed by him as if all his problems and worries were passing by him so fast that he didn't have to think about them. Usually, when he drove, he remembered everything he saw. Now his mind was just blank and he didn't remember a thing. It was strange because his mind was always on, his head filled with the most ridiculous scenarios that could happen but now he just drove like he was driving to his execution.

He knows he should pull over by now. He's been driving for 5 hours straight and he feels off. He's surprised he's not freaking out at this point because usually if he was driving while feeling like crap then he would be afraid of dozing off while behind the wheel and getting into a car crash and dying. But right now, that all seems so little compared to what he's about to face. He doesn't want to think about it and he thinks that he'll just deal with it as it comes. Then he thinks that he's never done that before and scolds himself for not thinking ahead before he struggles to turn his thoughts back off.

As he drives he assumes that South Park is a pretty small town, especially compared to his own town. He comes upon a small hill that when he looks down upon, he can see several shops all in one center. He doesn't recognize a lot of the names of the shops but he sees that they have a Whole Foods and a shopping mall. It's not important though, he's internet on not becoming attached to this place, which includes its stores. Plus it's not like he'll be shopping much, especially with friends if his social track record is anything like the one he has in his own town. He rolled his eyes and drove down the hill, through the shopping center.

The sun is still setting but the streetlights are on, making him wonder what time it is. He glances at his radio which he wasn't even aware was on, playing a song he had never heard before, and sees that it's 5:36. Ms. Grant told him he was supposed to meet the Donavans at 6:00 and instructed that he wasn't a minute later. There had been many instances where he thought that when he came this close to his new house and family that he would run, not arriving at the house but instead leaving the state… or country, maybe it was even possible to fall off the face of the Earth? But then he would picture the worried, disappointed expression on Ms. Grant's face, and not seeing that face was worth more than seeing the faces of his new family, if he should even call them that.

It's not late out and he can see people walking around the center, either with their families or friends. Everyone in the town seems to know each other. He sees people waving at each other or bringing each other into hugs. He feels like an outsider, like he's not supposed to be watching the people interacting with each other. One group, in particular, stands out to him. It's a huge group of teenagers, kids that look like his age. There's 13 of them (an unpleasing number) and he notices how happy they all look together. Some were play fighting with one another (another thing that bothered them, seeing that they were so close to the street). There was a boy holding a girl's hand, obviously in love. Behind them was a group of 4 more girls, hunched together in their own group, hands covering their mouths to hide what they were saying from outsiders. There was another boy holding another boy on his back and the sight of all of them together made his heart hurt, something that never happened. He had always told himself that he hated kids his age, that he hated kids in general but in all of his years of watching his classmates hanging out together, he had never felt like he was missing out on the experience of having friends until he saw this group. It didn't sit well with him that he had never even tried to fit in or make some friends.

He drives out of the center, leaving the group behind. He hopes he'll never have to see them again. Beyond the shopping center he sees three big buildings, all built a little ways away from each other. His heart sinks father into the pit of his stomach as he realizes that he'll be going to one of those schools in a matter of a few days.

He drives further down the road and sees some local parks. Some look better than the others but none of them are actually good. He likes nature, he finds it peaceful but the parks in this town are trashed. More graffiti covers the slides on the playground, he seems shattered glass gleaming in the sunshine in the sandbox and he swears there's a homeless man sleeping on a park bench. That was a good way to give off a good impression of your town…

He continued driving and came upon groups of houses. He could tell he was getting closer and closer to his inevitable destination and he wondered what he looked like. He wondered if people were going to be able to tell if he was about to pass out or out-right sprint away once they opened the door. He could feel his knees knocking into each other and the cold sweat dripping down his face and drenching his clothes. He hoped he didn't smell.

He turned onto the street where the Donovans lived. He was going to throw up. He found himself slowly driving down the street of houses and was glad that there no were other cars around him, allowing him to pace his speed. He came closer and closer, five houses away, four houses away, three, then the next-door neighbor's house and finally… he was there. He still didn't know why he kept telling himself that this was actually happening, he knew this is where he was going to end up for a while now, he shouldn't be surprised. Maybe he was just resentful of his situation?

He parked in an empty space near the family's mailbox. He noted that the mailbox was a cheesy one, resembling a chicken. He assumed it was the work of the kid that the Donovans had… Chuck or Chad, something that started with a C. You could see how he wasn't really intent on making an effort to remember his name. He hoped this kid wasn't weird or hyper. He caused himself enough anxiety, he didn't need some kid he probably didn't even like bouncing off the wall on a sugar high.

He took his hands off the steering wheel only to quickly put them back on when he didn't know what to do with them. He was still shaking and wasn't even sure if he would be able to walk up to the front door. He took account of himself, looking at his appearance in his driving mirror. Messy hair… check (and he hadn't even had the chance to pull on his hair all day). Sweaty face… check. Too thin cheeks… cheek. Wrinkled clothes… check. Shaking hands… check. Nerve-wracking thoughts… check. Nausea… check. Misery… check. Oh brother

He was exhausted but somehow he found the courage and stretch (more like he forced himself) to get out of his car. He opened the door and a cold breeze knocked him off guard. He had forgotten he was in Colorado now and was surprised to see that there wasn't any snow on the ground. He took a hold of himself and mumbled about the wind under his breath as he went to his trunk and took the two bags he had packed. He had never had much, had never wanted much. Nothing he could buy anyway.

He closed his trunk and walked towards the front door on wobbly legs, peeking down at his phone. It was 5:57, he had three minutes to spare. He had three minutes to get over his situation unless he was going to make a run for it, something he wasn't going to do because it wasn't fair to Ms. Grant, someone who he had made miserable and had finally managed to get rid of him. He froze in the middle of the walkway and looked down at his phone again. 5:58… 5:59, shit… he couldn't be late.

He pushed himself to keep walking to the front door. It was almost like there was an outside force acting on his body because before he even had the time to think about what he was even going to do or hell even say to this family…he knocked on the door.

It's too late to run away. Don't freak out. Act normal. Please, God, don't make me twitch. Don't make me a weirdo. Make me act normal for once. Please-

The doorknob shifted and he took a sharp, shaky breath. He watched the door open in slow motion as it revealed two figures standing in the back of it. They both looked ecstatic, making him feel undressed and even more un-enthusiastic than he already was. At least they looked friendly, although looks were deceiving. He couldn't get too comfortable.

They were obviously his new parents. The woman was on the shorter side but was still taller than him, with short, brown hair and white pearl earrings. He could smell the scent of lemons wafting off of her, the smell of cleanliness. She had an orange dress on with a brown belt and wore a white shirt underneath. She was very pretty and gave off an energetic energy. Lucky him…

The man was tall as well and was balding, making him question how old the couple was. He wore thin-framed glasses and had a big nose. He had a white button-up shirt on (and his buttons were all buttoned correctly) with a black jacket on top with blue jeans. He seemed like a quiet, thoughtful type of man.

"Hello." The man greeted him, extending his hand out for him to shake. He wiped his damp hand on his pants, hoping they wouldn't think too much about it before shaking his hand. He had a firm handshake, something that brought him comfort. "You must be Tweek."

"Y-Yes." He said, thankful that he only stuttered. "I-It's n-nice to-GAH-meet you."

Fuck, never mind-

"It's nice to meet you as well Tweek." The woman said, extending her hand for him to shake. He was surprised to find that they didn't take much notice of his… outburst. They didn't look at him like he should be at a mental hospital instead of their house. They looked at him like he was normal.

"I'm Roger." The man told him, smiling kindly at him. Their attitude towards him was kind of freaking him out. What if it was all an act? "Roger Donavon."

"And I'm Besty." The woman introduced herself. "We're so happy to have you here."

He nodded and attempted to smile but he wasn't sure if he succeeded. He couldn't remember the last time he had forced himself to bring his lips into that position, hell the last time he had even given someone a genuine smile. He was abnormally self-conscious.

"Please, come in Tweek." Betsy told him, beckoning to the inside of her home. He realized that he didn't know what to call them. Mr. and Mrs. Donavon? Donavan and Besty? Dad and mom? He wasn't sure he was comfortable with any of those options. He had called Ms. Grant as such his whole life.

He stepped inside the house and took in his surroundings. The house was very modern and he remembers that he forgot to get a good look at the outside. In front of him was a long hallway, with one door on each side. There was a long rug that was rolled out in the hallway and a long, brown table with framed photos. He couldn't see what the pictures were of from where he was standing but he assumed they were of Besty and Roger and their son. He wondered if they would want pictures of him now. He wondered if he even wanted to be in the pictures.

"You can put your shoes here if you like." Mr. Donavan told him, pointing to his side where there was a row of shoes lined up. There was also a coat rack and a bench but he didn't have a coat to hang out, underestimating the cold weather. The house was warm inside though, making it feel like an actual house. Not that Ms. Grant's house wasn't a house but it wasn't a home. Somehow in his mind, there was a difference between the words.

He sat his bags down and took off his shoes, lining them up at the end of the row of shoes. He hoped that was okay with them but they didn't seem to care where he put his shoes. He told himself that if they didn't care then he shouldn't care either but then again, that was a back-of-the-head thought. He knelt down, adjusting his shoes so they were in a straight line, not knowing what else to do with himself.

"It's alright kid." Mr. Donvan chuckled. He noted how he wasn't laughing at him but then again wasn't laughing with him (because he wasn't laughing). He knew these things should put him at ease but they didn't. Instead, they made him more guarded. "Your shoes are fine there."

"S-sorry." He apologized, standing up.

"Don't apologize." Mrs. Donanvan told him cheerfully. "Come on into the kitchen, you must be starving."

Why did people all feel like welcoming guests with food? He wasn't hungry, he felt sick. Plus he knew that the Donavans weren't aware of his… diet and that he couldn't refuse the food they gave him. That would be frowned upon and seen as rude by Ms. Grant and he was trying to keep the image of her pursing her lip out of his mind as much as possible.

He trudged behind them into the kitchen. It was a nice, open kitchen with a white theme. It smelled just like Mrs. Donavan did and he assumed that she must've been cleaning before he arrived. He appreciated anyone who had a good sense of cleanliness. But under the smell of lemons was the smell of a meal, meaty and savory, something he didn't think he would be able to stomach.

In the back of the kitchen was a dining table where he assumed… Chris… was sitting at. There was a boy that was no doubtly his age, just like Ms. Grant had told him, sitting down with his head bowed down. He was smirking at something and he assumed that the kid was on his phone. He seemed like the type of kid that had a lot of friends, a popular kid. He seemed tall even though he was hunched over himself and was a little on the chubby side even though he was probably one to pull it off as being big-boned. He had a red letterman jacket on even though it was warm in the house and had brown, seemingly soft hair.

"Clyde, this is who we've been telling you about honey." Mrs. Donanvan told her son, getting his attention. That was his name. Clyde snapped his head up from his phone and looked at him, making him avoid eye contact with him while he shifted back and forth on his feet. Adults were one thing, they knew they at least had to act nice but kids didn't give a shit. If someone your age didn't like you then they didn't spare your feelings. That's why it came as such a shock to him when Clyde gave him a kind, genuine yet goofy grin.

"What's up, man?" Clyde asked him, continuing to smile. He had a nasally tone to his voice. "I'm Clyde."

"It's-NAH-n-nice to meet you." Tweek told him and this time, he was given a strange look for his uncontrollable outburst. Clyde's expression wasn't a judgemental one though, it was more like a look of concern.

"Come sit down dude." Clyde told him, gesturing to the seat next to him. "You can sit next to me."

He nodded gratefully at him and quickly sat down in the seat next to Clyde's. However, Clyde returned his attention to his phone, snickering at something before typing some sort of message to someone. Meanwhile, Mr. and Mrs. Dovavan were busy at the stove, preparing dinner and making the nauseating smell in the kitchen even stronger. He felt extremely awkward and out of place and was once again reminded that he didn't belong there, just like he had felt when he was in the shopping center and saw the big group of friends together. He bit his lip and suppressed the urge to jerk his head to the side and the tears that were threatening to spill. He had never cried so much in just one day before, he hated how out-of-control it made him feel, even more than he usually felt.

"Food's ready!" Mrs. Donavan exclaimed, setting the first plate down in front of him. The plate consisted of a type of meat, meatloaf he assumed with mashed potatoes and greens. Mr. Doavan sat a basket of bread in the middle of the table along with a dish of butter and a side salad. A normal American dinner… but he wasn't a normal American. He wasn't a normal anything.

"Is this okay Tweek?" Mr. Dovavan asked him, sitting down at the table with his own plate. Tweek watched Clyde out of the corner of his eye, happily eating the food he was given. He felt selfish for not wanting the meal, Ms. Grant had always told him that it was a shame to waste food when there were so many kids going hungry. She stopped telling him that story when she realized that his relationship with food was more than just childish pickiness.

"Y-yes." He nodded slightly, picking up his fork apprehensively and taking a bite of the vegetables. He would've assumed they were safe to eat, something that wasn't too heavy but then he tasted the greasy butter they were cooked in and fought back the urge to sit it out. He gagged invariably and swallowed the food before smiling at Mrs. Donavan who smiled back.

"So, tell us about yourself Tweek." Mrs. Donavan told him, starting up a conversation at the table. "How was your drive here?"

"Good." He said, failing to sound chipper. "It's really c-c-cold down here."

"Yes, it is." Mr. Donavan. "I assume you're used to the warmer weather from where you're from? You're from Dakota right?"

"Umm-yeah, I g-guess I a-am." He shrugged. "And y-yes, S-south-HAH-Dakota."

"Did you get a good look of the town?" Mrs. Donvavan asked him.

"Yeah, I'd s-say s-so." Tweek told them, not wanting to offend their town with his real answer. There wasn't really much to look at. "There was a p-p-park that-MMM-looked n-nice."

"You should go down there sometime." Clyde suggested. "I go there all the time with my friends."

"What a lovely idea Clyde." Mrs. Donovan beamed at him. "I assume you know that you'll be starting at South Park High in a few days Tweek?"

He nodded his head, cutting off a piece of his meat and putting it in his mouth. The meat tasted sour in his mouth and he quickly took a sip of his water to help him wash it down.

"That's so cool." Clyde smiled. Clyde seemed like such a happy, innocent boy, Tweek had never seen a kid like him before. It made him a little happy if he was being honest. He had an idea that his cheerfulness was real and that he was actually happy that he was there. He didn't know how to feel about that part though.

The rest of dinner's conversation was directed at him so much. He was asked the occasional question about Ms. Grant or his school back in Dakota but he was glad that he wasn't asked questions that whole time. That way he was just able to concentrate on eating an acceptable amount of food while keeping his nerves at bay. He also learned some things about his new family (was he able to call them that yet?). Mr. Donavan owned a shoe store at the shopping mall he had seen and even knew how to make his own shoes. Mrs. Donavan worked part-time at the new Whole Foods (how had this town just now gotten a Whole Foods?) but mostly stayed at home, doing housework or having her friends over for book clubs or lunches. Clyde was on the football team at South Park High and liked video games and seemed to have a good group of friends for himself. They all seemed very happy with their lives, making him feel like he stuck out even more.

After dinner (he had eaten most of his dinner to his amazement), Mrs. Donavan cleaned up the kitchen while he sat at the table, not knowing where to go. Clyde was back on his phone and now so was Mr. Donavan. He just sat there with his hands folded and in his lap and he felt very stiff.

"Clyde, why don't you go show Tweek his room?" Mr. Donavan suggested to his son, once Mrs. Donavan was done with the dishes.

"Cool." Clyde smiled, standing up from the table and looking down at him/ "Ready bro?"

"Umm, yeah." Tweek said, standing up as well.

"Great, we'll see you two later." Mrs. Dinavan told them both. They were leaving? So soon after his arrival? Surely they would stay to see how he settled in, why did they seem so causal about leaving him alone with their son? They barely even knew him, what if he tried to murder Clyde? Of course, he wouldn't but still, the amount of trust they already had for him was too much pressure.

"Every Friday night we go out for a parent's night." Mrs. Donavan told him excitedly. "Sorry to leave so soon after you just got here Tweek. Do you mind? Because we can stay here if you'd like-"

"No." Tweek said, a little too harshly. "No, it's o-okay. Go-AHH-ahead. Have f-f-fun."

"Thank you, kid." Mr. Donavan said, coming over to him and ruffling his hair. He didn't take kindly to that. "We'll see you two later tonight."

"Bye, mom. Bye, dad." Clyde waved to his parents as they got their evening coats on.

"Bye Clyde."

"Bye Mr. Donavan. M-mrs. D-donavan." Tweek waved to them.

"Oh please Tweek, you're family now." Mrs. Donavan assured him. "You don't have to call us that."

"At least call us by our names." Mr. Donavan told him. "If not for us, for yourself."

"S-s-sure." Tweek nodded. He was definitely not doing that "Have a good night."

"Bye boys." Mr. Dovanan waved to them one last time before leaving the room with his wide, leaving him alone with Clyde. He worried that Clyde was going to be mean to him now that his parents were gone, that it really was all an act. However, Clyde smiled at him and wrapped his arm around him in a friendly manner.

"Come on dude." Clyde told him, leading him out of the kitchen. "Let me show you your room."

He threw up into his hands, trying to be as silent as possible as he regurgitated his food. He hadn't eaten that much food in… forever and felt awful with the amount of food he had consumed. He had never thrown up on purpose, had never forced himself to vomit like he had seen people do on TV before. He wasn't even forcing it now. Somehow he had just found himself, kneeling down in front of the toilet in his new bathroom in his new room before gagging and retching.

Clyde had shown him to his room and left him to unpack his stuff. He said he would be back in a few minutes so they could hang out together but was going to let him get settled in first. He didn't have much to unpack though so it took him about 10 minutes to put all his clothes away and to set up his laptop on the table in front of the window. His new room was big, close to huge and he hated it. It didn't feel like a home like the rest of the house did, it felt too empty.

He had made his bed and then sat down on it. He wasn't used to the feeling of the new mattress and felt uncomfortable sitting on a bed that wasn't actually his. He bit his lip once more to keep him crying. He cried too much, especially for no reason. The Donavans were nice, Clyde was nice. They wanted him to call them by their names, they considered him to be their family now. Clyde wanted him to hang out with his friends, they included him in their conversations. He didn't know why it hurt so much that he felt wanted. Maybe it was because he felt wanted by the wrong people.

That's when he started to feel sick. He clapped his hand over his mouth when he felt bile rising in his throat and he was thankful when he stumbled into the room that was his bathroom. And that's how he found himself puking into his hand and pouring the vomit into his toilet as quietly as he could, as to not offended his new family if Clyde heard him and told his parents. And now that he was throwing up, he was crying again and he wanted to grip at his hair and…scream but he couldn't. Because he didn't want puke in his hair as much of a mess as it already was and if he screamed, he would out himself as a freak. Even though he was pretty sure that his new family (he knew he could call them that now but it still didn't seem right) already knew he was weird, he didn't want them to know how messed up he really was.

His chest heaved up and down as he fought to catch his breath once his meal was out of his system. He tasted the sour taste of the meatloaf and he smelled like lemons instead of vanilla and he wasn't in his usual, yellow and blue-styled bathroom and he hated it. It was all wrong. He didn't belong there. Calling someone by their first name or meeting someone's friend wasn't going to change that. He hated it all.

He grabbed onto the white marble counter and stood up on his wobbly legs. He started at himself in the mirror and wanted to punch the person he saw. He didn't hate himself but sometimes he wondered why he just had to be the way he was. Why couldn't he be normal? Why couldn't he adapt to change easily? Why didn't Ms. Grant love him anymore? Why couldn't he have parents who loved him so he wouldn't have to change in the first place? Why wasn't he good enough for anyone?

Maybe he did hate himself.

He took a washcloth that hung up on the towel rack and ran it under warm water before wiping his face off/ The warmth felt good on his skin and he desperately wanted to crawl under some blankets in a bed (even if it wasn't his) and sleep. Sure he may not actually get any shut-eye but at least he would be comfortable and away from everyone. He washed his mouth out with some water (brushing your teeth right after vomiting was bad for your teeth) and left the bathroom to change out of his sweat-drenched clothes.

He grabbed the pair of sweatpants and the t-shirt he had left out for himself and changed into them. His clothes were cold but dry and he laid back on his bed, closing his eyes… for a moment before someone knocked on his door.

"Tweek?" Clyde asked from outside his door. "Dude, are you in there?"

"I-I'm-NAH-coming!" Tweek assured him, sitting up in his bed and rubbing his eyes. He had forgotten about him. He went to his door and opened it to see a smiling Clyde holding up a video game case in one hand and a game controller in the other. His smile faded when he saw him though.

"Whoa, are you okay?" Clyde asked him. "You look terrible."

"T-thanks." Tweek muttered, feeling the need to get defensive.

"No-fuck-I didn't mean it like that." Clyde explained, smacking his forehead with the video game. "I was just checking on you."

"Oh." Tweek said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well I'm okay, just… n-nervous I guess."

"Don't be nervous man." Clyde told him. "You got me now, we're bros."

"B-bros?" Tweek asked him.

"Yeah man, we're fucking brothers now." Clyde assured him. "I have your back."

"My-NAH-b-back?" Tweek asked again, not understanding what Clyde was saying.

"Oh come on, I'll show you." Clyde said, pulling him by his hand and dragging him out of his room. "Let's hang out."

"Hang-GAH-out?"

"You sure do ask a lot of questions." Clyde told him. "Haven't you ever hung out with any of your friends before?"

"I-I've never-MMM-really-GAH… had a-any friends b-before." Tweek admitted, shamefully.

"Oh." Clyde shrugged. It wasn't a big deal to him. "Well, you have one now."


Ending Notes:

I would just like to point out that Tweek does not have an eating disorder, he has disordered eating habits. There's a difference between the two and it's common for people with anxiety to also have problems with food and in this, Tweek has a problem with routine, so he feels uncomfortable when he is given food, he usually doesn't it. I have a similar problem and I thought it'd be a concept to explore. I've seen Tweek eat different foods throughout the show though, so this isn't a concept that's necessarily canon.

I love Clyde if you couldn't tell 💖 I definitely see him having a chicken mailbox!

Craig and everyone else are introduced in the next chapter but I may or may not write the Creek interaction until chapter 4, it depends on the direction I take in chapter 3.

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 😁😁