EDIT: This story is about Tweek and Craig, as in Creek. It contains slash, (tyde, bunny, dip, gregophe, and style), and child abuse/neglect. It has anime-speak in Red's part, and is dragging on longer than I orginally intended. This chapter will suck a bit because it's mostly backround info intro. The second one possibly too... After that it will get better i swear. Actually, it stays kinda crappy for a bit longer till you get past when they eat breakfast in my opinion.

"AAHHHH!!!"

Tweek jolted his body into an upright position, his heart beat placing at the far end of the bell curve, but only slightly out of the middle of his own average. It had been the crow call of his alarm. Not literally of course, who would choose to wake to the sound of a bird screaming? No, Tweek's alarm reminded him of a crow call because once, when he was walking through a cornfield on a "field-trip", (The teachers at South Park Regional High School had found this pun extraordinarily amusing, while the students had been forced to endure a lesson on ethanol,) Tweek had gotten distracted and strayed from the group only to come across a crow, the first non bird-of-prey he'd ever seen, last year, in ninth grade. The call it gave had been low and had graduated to a deafening high note, all than less the time it took to speak a one syllable word, and came like clockwork every 48 seconds. (he had counted) His alarm clock was the same style of a note, except that the second one ended, the next shriek would immediately follow it.

Tweek had a loft bed, and an old computer (along with several strewn about coffee cups) resided underneath it. The blonde needed a loft bed for space; there was barely enough floor to walk around the room his parents had chosen for him, in their one-level apartment floor above Harbucks. Tweek had asked multiple times but had only gotten a loft bed when his dad saw someone on the street throwing one away and remembered him. (which was unusual... him thinking of Tweek, that is.) Mr. Tweak claimed the previous owners had been throwing it out because their kid had out-grown it, but Tweek could never escape the feeling that it was old junk and going to break underneath him. The thought wasn't that paranoid, his bed squeaked involuntary when he moved about, and he had all the reason to suspect his dad was lying about the bed's stature.

He grasped the ladder tightly as he trudged down, eye's still wide from the shock of being jolted awake, but heart pace gradually slowing. He rubbed his eye with his left hand as he shut off his alarm with a shaky right; carefully timing the shut-off as another note died out, so that he didn't stop the screeching midway.

It was six, and he had fifty six minutes before the bus came. (only one more year before he could drive to school!) Tweek always counted things like that, because anything that he could rely on calmed him. At any rate, being a sophomore, he couldn't drive without an adult. Riding with his parents wasn't an option, ruled out by them as much as Tweek himself.

Tweek's relationship with his parents was less than great, depending on who was looking at it. His parents thought it was a pretty fair one. They rationalized that teenagers wanted to be left alone, and acted sort of like he didn't exist. They were far from cruel, and it wasn't as much that they ignored Tweek as that they truly didn't care what he did or what happened to him. They never wanted a child in the first place. They hadn't openly told him before he asked, but certainly made no point in trying to hide that he was a mistake. They loved each other, don't get me wrong, but they weren't ready (or willing) for a child to care for. In fact, neither of Tweek's parents had good relations with their parents, and three-fourths of his grandparents just saw Tweek as the bastard child of their own rebellious children. At seventeen, (in the angsty 90's) both his parents ran off from their homes, supposingly finding their 'soul mates' –in that they both hated their parents, as the main reason. His Nani, though, loved him unconditionally. Tweek liked to think of her as his only real family. She was his mom's mom, and was there for him during the most important parts of his life.

Some thought that Tweek's "behavior" was because of an accident. When he had been little, (around five) he had hit his head on a glass table; getting barely-visible stitches on the left side of his right eyebrow. This was true, but those who thought that his parents had rushed him to Hell's Pass were wrong. No, they weren't even paying attention to what had happened, and Nani had brought him there. Even those who didn't think that his parents rushed him there (if such people existed...) would still have been wrong. Yes, Tweek hit his head when his was five, but no; it wasn't related to the way he acted. He hadn't even hit it that hard, in fact, if the same thing were to happen now, his more-developed skull wouldn't even get scraped. He hadn't even cried that long, for christ's sake! But it had been the only guess, the only excuse, to how he acted, and everyone seemed to jump to that conclusion.

Tweek twitched twice and shivered. He was always cold. Except for on his neck, hips, and forehead, which, to Tweek, seemed ten degrees hotter than the rest of his body... and twenty degrees hotter than South Park. However, that warmness might have just been what others call average, because he had always felt chilled; even others told him that. He was especially freezing on his ears and ankles, and always especially his fingertips- so coffee always felt good to hold.

As he heard a bang on his door and the masculine voice that was his father's, calling "Get UP Tweek, if you just keep sitting there, you'll miss the bus!" Tweek had sat down Indian style on his carpet after shutting down the annoying sound. His dad knew he wasted a lot of time in the morning, taking, maybe, thirty-four of the fifty-six minutes sitting or looking around, thinking of anything that could go wrong that day—if he forgot something at home; if one person or another said this or that-- but a lot of the time he just stared into space. His twitching slowed when he did this. He liked not thinking.

Tweek's thoughts wondered back to his parents. He wasn't sure what he thought of their relationship with him. On one hand, it was every teenagers' dream to be left alone (and he knew and respected this), but on the other, there was a void in him; where he missed that special interaction, and fostered that need to fend and care for himself. (which he wasn't all that good at...) Tweek never thought of his parents as bad parental figures, their morals "were just screwed over." They technically never even married. (not that that bothered Tweek, he just read in a magazine once –in an office after finally convincing his mom that he did have to go to the doctor-- that parents who didn't marry had a tendency to care less for their children. Tweek had to agree.) Everyone outside of his immediate family figured that their family was just as normal as anyone else's, maybe a screwed up dad like Stan, or an over bearing mother like Kyle's. Tweek knew that they didn't know how wrong the others were about the second one. Mr and Mrs Tweak didn't act abnormal to anyone but themselves and a few very close friends. (ahem, drinking buddies... not that they were alcoholics; in fact, they only drank the one time the month they met up with their friends- but when they did, they got themselves completely wasted...) They were always trying to act older than they were. Tweek wondered if it was because they were ashamed of their age. The Tweaks didn't flat out lie about their age, they just danced around the truth. They always avoided speeding to appear more responsible (and so the police never had to look at their licenses and see their actual ages) and his father even took the extra step in adopting the habit of spewing intelligent sounding metaphors to any passer-by. They owned their own business, a coffee shop; to look older in taste and stature, but mostly so that they didn't have to talk to anyone or answer to a boss. Living in the upper apartment of the cafe, it was only a matter of time before Tweek drank his first cup. Black coffee, at age five. He called it "yicky" and spat it out, only to forget and try it again at age seven. He now liked the sense of hyper-ness it gave him, and with no controlling parents to monitor his intake, he became hooked. By two more grades, (in fourth) he became a complete addict. His parents shop and downstairs floor provided him with coffee any time he had wanted it. It was always there for him. His mother had tried and failed; but mocha-chinos and lattes (or even just black coffee) hadn't ditched him.

Mrs. Tweek's motherly instinct kicked in every once and a while, and she would sometimes casually ask questions about Tweek's day, but growing up with her, Tweek learned to answer quickly and not bore her, or she would raise her voice and start picking things up and slamming them back down. When she yelled, she shouted things like, "FOR CHRIST SAKES, CHILL!" and Tweek always figured his mom detested her son being born the spaz he was, or that they had a son at all... Yes, he had been born like this, and his addiction to coffee intensified his spasms. His mom never threw anything when she yelled, but it was enough to strike slight fear in Tweek's heart when he heard her call his name. Was this the cause of his paranoia? Tweek didn't know, and didn't care (past was past, how ever he got it, he was stuck with it now) but he certainly didn't blame her. He didn't blame her for wanting the residents of South Park to think she was older than she really was, either. She was only thirty-three, and had a sixteen year old son. I repeat; when she was seventeen she ran off with Tweek's dad, and got herself pregnant. They decided to move to a town no one would recognize them from, start a business that looked appropriate married, and act older and married, but finding your 'soul mate' doesn't necessarily make you a good parent.

Tweek jerked himself alert with another twitch and thought to himself something along the lines of 'coffee withdrawal' before reluctantly pulling himself up and glancing over at his alarm. "Six-thirteen." he said to either himself or no one in particular.

He got his coffee and, after finishing it, went back upstairs to get ready for school.

He made the bus.

(if this sounds familiar, its beacuse its from my other account that i just revived and edited)