Chapter Text
Tweek was different when he came back to South Park from university. Granted, everyone in their graduating class was different years later. That was to be expected. Craig had changed plenty, but everyone he talked to felt like he had simply grown into a different, better version of himself. Tweek was… someone else entirely. He wasn’t the anxious, twitchy boy that Craig had grown up with. He was no longer someone that would raise a fist to a face at the threat of danger. He seemed to be a shell of his former self, a mug waiting to be filled but lacking the liquid that gave it purpose and meaning in life.
It was hard. No matter how much Craig and Kenny both pushed and prodded to get answers, Tweek wouldn’t talk. He didn’t talk about any of his experiences at university, really. The past four years of his life remained a mystery to the two boys that loved him most and just wanted to see him flourish again. It wasn’t like he was hanging off of them like dead kelp. The only reason they’d insisted on him moving in with them was that his childhood house had gotten sold, the closest apartment complex was at least 45 minutes out, and Kenny didn’t want Tweek’s support network to be so far away. Tweek had a career… of some sort. He paid for his bills and groceries and occasionally disappeared on what he called “business”. But unlike when they were in high school, and Craig could listen for hours as Tweek talked about his favorite video game or TV shows, getting Tweek to talk about work was like pulling teeth, just like his secrecy about his life for the past four years.
Nonetheless, Tweek was as receptive as a sponge to how Craig and Kenny had changed. He embraced their new lives with subdued interest, showing he was proud of them with small gifts and gestures of affection without drawing too much attention to himself. It reminded the two of a skittish kitten. He picked up on their habits, their traditions without so much as a word of complaint or hesitancy, even in response to the things Craig and Kenny were themselves tentative to talk about. Tweek slotted into their relationship like a coin between two couch cushions, innocuous but enveloped by warmth and held firmly in safety.
The inherent comfort that came from them virtually adopting him didn’t quell the continuously present anxieties that arose in response to Tweek’s emotional distance. Hell, he was distant about everything . It took him posting to his Instagram about being out of state for a business trip before Craig and Kenny knew he had taken a flight somewhere at all. His Instagram had been the only way anyone kept up with what he was doing for years, the posts about his college life and partner, Mike, being the only things Craig knew about him.
“I’m not mad,” Kenny said one night over dinner. There was a placemat at the spot Tweek usually ate at, but it was empty. They’d just gotten into the habit lately of setting three spots instead of just two. “I’m just… worried.”
Craig nudged his food around with his fork. “I think we have a right to be mad.”
“Are you mad?”
“... no. Upset, a bit.” He set his fork down. “It feels like he doesn’t trust us.”
“I think there’s more to it than that.” Kenny reached across to the table to rub his thumb over Craig’s knuckles. “I really do. I don’t think he’d be so….”
“Flexible?”
“Open to change. If he didn’t trust us.”
Craig nodded in slow agreement. “No, I… you’re probably right. If it was anyone else, he would’ve flipped out before leaving, worrying we’d….” He laughed weakly, joylessly. “Dump all his stuff in the yard or something.”
Kenny smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes. They both sat upright when the front door opened suddenly enough that the doorknob hit the wall with a loud crack . Turning to the door, they watched Tweek storm into the house. Without preamble, he swung his arm back and launched his travel duffle bag at the wall. Kenny flinched. Craig jumped to his feet. “Tweek!” He called, voice breaking in alarm. Tweek turned his back to them, kicking the front door hard enough it slammed shut behind him. The plates in the cabinet next to the dining table rattled. “ Tweek !”
“Agh!” Tweek turned, reaching up to grip strands of his hair. He was crying, had been crying, judging by the redness in his eyes, and it made Craig’s heart lurch. He looked beyond distraught, the way he would’ve gotten when they were younger before he quit his parents’ spiked coffee.
Instinctively, Craig raised his hands in front of him, the way he found himself doing when Kenny was having a breakdown. This felt a lot like that, except ten times worse, because the force of Tweek’s bag hitting the wall had left a scuff, and his face was visibly pink with rage, and Craig’s heart was thudding in his chest. “T-Tweek, I need you to--”
“ Shut up! ” Tweek shrieked, losing his hold on his hair only to hit his head with his fist. “God, be quiet, please! ” His voice was high-pitched, shaking, betraying the tears glistening like lakes in his eyes. Craig stepped forward, extending his hands. Suddenly, Tweek slammed his fists against Craig’s chest, knocking him backward off the platform that occupied their entryway. Craig grunted as he fell, all of the wind being knocked out of him as he hit the ground. Kenny, panicking, flew out of his chair and grabbed Craig’s shoulders, pulling him into a sitting position and away from where Tweek had turned to kick the set of drawers that sat by the front door. When it didn’t topple, he grabbed the top and threw them down with strength it didn’t look like he had. The wooden top cracked clean down the middle, and only after the clattering wood fell quiet did Tweek slump down to the floor to bury his face in his hands and sob.
Kenny and Craig were stunned. They hadn’t seen anything like this from him in years. Craig had experienced his fair share of outbursts from Tweek when they were younger, usually fueled by stress and anxiety that Tweek’s ten-year-old brain wasn’t equipped to handle, but this- pushing Craig, throwing- breaking - furniture was a completely new beast.
Despite this revelation, the beast had crumpled to the floor, sobbing and vulnerable, and Kenny used this opportunity to slowly creep forward and sit on the floor a few feet away. He crossed his legs, resting his chin in his hands. “Tweek,” he murmured, voice soft to try and avoid scaring him. Tweek, however, didn’t respond, face still buried in his shaking hands. Kenny turned to where Craig was picking himself up off the tile. “Can you go get us some water? In the water bottle? The--” Kenny hesitated, glancing between Tweek and Craig. “The Animal Crossing one, I think.”
Craig’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly, but he nodded regardless and retreated to the kitchen.
Kenny and Craig had worked with age regression before, and Tweek had been there for enough sessions to understand what the experience was like. The surprise here was that Tweek had never, ever seemed inclined to participate, or even think that it would work for him. But here, now, doubled over on the floor, crying so hard he couldn’t talk, Kenny had a feeling he knew exactly what was going on.
Slowly, carefully, Kenny crept forward across the floor. Tweek was kneeling on the tile, bent at the waist virtually in half, with his face buried deep in his hands. It did little to muffle his audible hysteria, the sobs mostly emanating from where his back was heaving for breath. Kenny rested one hand on Tweek’s back, carefully brushing his fingers over the vertebrae he could feel under Tweek’s shirt. He was a thin little thing, always had been, which made it easier for Kenny to scoop his arms underneath Tweek’s knees and pull him close.
Tweek shifted, hitting his fist softly against Kenny’s chest in protest, but it lacked malice, coming out more as a petulant protest than anything else. But in seconds, he slumped against Kenny, all his muscles losing their ability to hold him together as he melted against the other. One hand came up to grip the soft fabric of Kenny’s shirt, and Kenny grimaced at how red Tweek’s face was. He looked like a baby, cried breathless from being left alone for too long, slumped against Kenny as if he was holding onto his own mother.
Kenny swallowed thickly, reaching up with one hand to brush tears from Tweek’s face. He was still crying, but it seemed like the worst had passed. Every fiber of Kenny’s being had been rewired, redirected from his initial trauma-based panic into his motherly, caregiver role. He held Tweek tightly, slowly rocking side to side and letting Tweek nuzzle his face in the spot between Kenny’s ribcage and his arm.
Kenny looked up at the sound of footsteps, and Craig sat down beside the two of them, handing Kenny the cup. He took it, adjusting his grip slightly so it looked a bit like he was holding a baby bottle, and nudged Tweek gently. “Hey, sweetie, I’ve got some water for you. Look up for me?”
A big sniff followed, and Tweek slowly turned to stare up at the two with bloodshot eyes. His pupils were big, lips parted slightly as he let out soft huffs barely reminiscent of his earlier crying. Kenny held the straw of the bottle to his lips, and it took no more prompting for Tweek to shift his head and drink greedily from the adorned cup.
“Whoa, hey,” Kenny chuckled, pulling the cup away when Tweek coughed harshly. “Take it slow, starlight.”
Tweek huffed but did so for a few more swallows before pulling back and turning to press his head into Kenny’s side again.
Kenny set the water bottle aside and slowly stroked his hand along Tweek’s ribs. “Better?”
Tweek didn’t answer.
“Tweek, honey…” Craig reached forward and ran his fingers softly along Tweek’s back like he was stroking a cat. His lips opened and closed a few times as he struggled to find a question, ultimately coming up with, “What happened?”
Tweek shook his head in response.
“It’s fine if you don’t wanna talk about it,” Kenny reassured, shooting a glance in Craig’s direction. “But can we get up’n off the floor, please?”
After a moment of silent contemplation, Tweek wriggled and detached himself from Kenny. He sat on the floor, watching Kenny and Craig stand, and then reached his arms up towards Kenny, a slight frown on his face. Kenny chuckled at him, bending down and scooping Tweek into the air. He was considerably lighter than Craig, and Kenny stumbled slightly in response to the unexpected lack of weight. Craig set a stabilizing hand on his shoulder, and Kenny went to set Tweek down on the couch.
“I’ll pick up the stuff in the entryway,” Craig said. “If you put away dinner.”
“Sure. Can you throw something on the TV for him, though?”
“Oh.” Craig turned to locate the remote as Kenny retreated to the kitchen to box up their spaghetti from dinner and clean up the dishes. Craig lifted the broken table off the floor and set it straight, then picked up Tweek’s duffle bag and came into the living area, putting it softly on the table. Tweek shifted his gaze from the moving characters on the screen to where Craig was standing by the table. Craig offered him a lopsided smile, a little apprehensive of the distant look on Tweek’s face. “What’s up?”
Tweek lifted his arm and pointed to the cartoon on the television. Craig turned to frown at the show. He and Kenny had been through enough Bluey episodes to recognize this was a rerun of a previous season. In this scene, Bluey and Bingo were sitting at a table with a plethora of crayons and childish drawings surrounding them.
“Oh,” Craig chuckled, tension seeping out of his shoulders. “You wanna color?”
Tweek nodded in affirmation. From their collection of toys, Craig procured a package of crayons and a small stack of colored construction paper. Tweek watched him set them on the coffee table and only slid off the couch to engage with the supplies when Craig stepped away.
“It’s nice to see him relaxed like this,” Kenny murmured, making Craig jump. He hadn’t realized the other had come to stand at the end of the coffee table, watching Tweek scribble with crayons as he wiped his hands on a towel. He grinned cheekily as Craig turned to huff at him. “What’s in the bag?”
“Oh, I hadn’t looked yet.” Craig turned towards the duffle across from Tweek.
Kenny threw the hand towel over his shoulder. “He threw it at the wall pretty hard. I just wonder if anything’s broken?”
Tweek glanced up as Craig unzipped the bag's main pocket and grimaced. “Ah… yeah.”
“Mmm.” Kenny lifted the packet of papers off Tweek’s now cracked laptop, dropping them on the table carelessly as he lifted the broken piece of technology. “I figured.”
“Think it can be fixed?” Craig pawed through the rest of the bag. “Looks like most of this is just dirty clothes.”
“No clue.” Kenny turned to the kitchen with the laptop.
Craig hoisted the duffle bag of clothes onto his shoulder. “I’ll go throw these in the laundry,”
“Yeah,” Kenny agreed.
Tweek reached across the table and grabbed the discarded packet of papers, brandishing a red crayon in his other hand. With Craig upstairs and Kenny taking a screwdriver to Tweek’s laptop, neither was there to stop him from smearing splashes of waxy color across the paperwork. He scowled as he dragged the crayon across the black text, scratching out line after line and scribbling over notes written in pens in the margins. His chest burned with embers of rage, threatening to explode into a full-blown inferno as he ripped off the top pages and scattered them across the living room. The crayon he was gripping snapped, and he smacked his fist against the coffee table in frustration, sweeping all of the papers onto the floor.
“Whoa, hey, what’s going on, bud?” Kenny’s voice was distant past the ringing in his ears. “Shit, that looked important….”
Tweek folded his arms stiffly, watching Kenny pick up the crumpled papers off the floor. After stacking them into a neat pile, Kenny sat on the floor at the coffee table, carefully smoothing out the more ruffled sheets. Tweek watched him flip through the paper, his eyes widening moments before he reached out to snatch the papers back. Kenny recoiled. “Hey, I wanna take a look.”
Tweek whined and smacked his palm against the coffee table again.
“Tweek…”
“Whoa, what happened?” Craig sat on the floor across from Kenny, reaching out to look at the papers Tweek had scribbled over. “... what’s all this?”
“I don’t know. He seemed pretty pissed about it.”
Tweek picked up a piece of light blue construction paper and settled it on the table before him, grabbing a green crayon and drawing with a deep frown. His tongue was caught between his teeth as he worked, and he was oblivious to how Craig and Kenny watched his movements unblinking.
A green airplane and red-and-orange scribble later, and Kenny was staring at a crudely drawn illustration of a plane crash. His eyebrow quirked up. “Morbid.”
Craig peered across the coffee table. “I don’t think he likes flights much. Traveling has always made him anxious.”
“What about this?” Kenny set one of the crinkled pages of the packet acquired from his duffle bag. Tweek’s reign of terror had gotten to about half the pages before he’d gotten fed up and thrown the packet across the room.
Tweek scowled and shoved the packet away from himself, back in Craig and Kenny’s direction. “No!”
The exclamation stunned them into silence. It had been at least twenty, maybe thirty minutes since Tweek had said anything, so the refusal of the packet was both a relief (a sign he was recovering from the episode) and worrisome (raising questions as to why he was responding so negatively to what obviously was important, work-related paperwork). Tweek provided no more information, though, instead folding his arms over his chest and looking back at the cartoon playing on the TV, now disinterested in the bucket of crayons before him.
With care, Craig stacked the papers from the packet into a pile, frowning at the text on the front page. Despite Tweek’s erratic scribbles, the computer-generated text was still readable and, now that Craig had a chance to look at it, familiar to him.
Kenny went to get to his feet, but Craig’s hand shot out to grab his wrist. “Wait, wait, Kenny, this-- didn’t we watch this when it premiered?”
“Huh?” Kenny leaned across the table, glancing at the title written across the front page in big, bold letters. “Oh… oh, yeah, yeah, I remember that one, with, ah, the nonbinary protagonist? What’s’er face, uh….”
Craig flipped open the packet gingerly. “Sage?”
“Yeah, yeah, that’s the one. I think the finale came out last month.”
“This looks like a manuscript for another episode.” Craig glanced at the crinkled pages. “But it-- Tweek, did you write this?”
Tweek’s gaze slid from the TV to the packet in Craig’s hands and frowned deeply. He reached across the table and tapped softly on the front page, which Craig flipped to. Underneath the title, in smaller font, were written two author’s names- one Craig didn’t recognize and Tweek Tweak.
Kenny’s eyes went wide. “Tweek! I didn’t know you wrote for television. That’s sick!”
“This must’ve been important.” Craig set the manuscript on the coffee table. “Why’d you ruin it?”
Tweek stared at the packet. Briefly, his attention was diverted from the topic at hand by the start of an advertisement on the TV, but it was redirected when Craig nudged the manuscript in his direction. Tweek’s hands moved on their own. They reached forward, flipping open the packet and pointing at a note in the margins. “Mean,” he insisted. He flipped to another page, where something had been scratched out. He pointed to it too. “Mean.” He repeated the process three, four times, his voice becoming more hysterical. “Mean, mean, mean, mean, all mean!”
“Okay, okay,” Craig reassured, pulling the paper back before Tweek could get too worked up. “You got your feelings hurt, didn’t you, cupcake?”
Tweek’s lower lip quivered, and he stared at the coffee table, nodding.
“And I bet the flight home sucked, too, huh?” Kenny added.
Tweek nodded again, moving to rub at his eyes fervently.
“Okay,” Kenny breathed, audibly relieved at having gotten to the root of the problem. “You’re feeling better now, though, yeah?”
Tweek nodded, wiping his hands on his shirt. “Home, ‘n…. Safe.”
Craig reached out and cupped Tweek’s face, gently pressing his palm to his cheek. Tweek leaned into it, letting his eyes flutter closed. Craig thumbed softly at the dark, swollen marks under his eyes. “You look exhausted , starlight.”
Tweek hummed and nodded against Craig’s hand lazily. “No sleep.”
“No sleep?” Craig breathed, exasperated. “None?”
Tweek didn’t answer, instead reaching out to grab at Craig’s shoulders with his eyes still closed, blindly fumbling until Craig scooped him up into a hug.
“Nap,” Tweek mumbled, curled up in Craig’s lap with his forehead against his neck.
Craig couldn’t help but grin. “Now?”
“Mhm.” Tweek gripped Craig’s shirt in a loose fist. “G’night.”
“Oh, jeez.” Kenny laughed. “We gotta get you up to bed first, little star.”
Tweek offered zero help as Craig struggled to get his legs underneath himself. Kenny rested a hand on Craig’s shoulder as the three trekked upstairs and pulled the sheets back so Craig could place Tweek in the large bed the three sometimes shared. Tweek buried his face in a pillow and moved to try and tug a blanket up over his shoulder.
“You don’t wanna change out of your travel clothes?” Craig asked softly.
“Tired,” Tweek whined, sounding like he was on the verge of tears again, and Craig quickly let go of the subject, instead settling in alongside Tweek and pulling the blanket up over the both of them.
Kenny rested a hand on Craig’s shoulder, bending over to kiss the top of Tweek’s head. “I’ll come up once I’ve gotten a better look at his laptop,” Kenny murmured. Craig hummed, hooking his arms around Tweek and pulling him close. Both were asleep by the time Kenny came to join them.